Why do we do it every year?

The Queen’s Birthday long weekend is celebrated, in Victoria, over the second weekend of June and for all but one of the last 17(?) years I have been heading to the little Bellarine Penninsula town of Portarlington to attend the National Celtic Festival. I am not Irish, Scottish or Welsh, though my ancestry has strong Irish leanings, however we are talking four generations back, if not further, and nobody in my family has a musical bent.

I only attended my first festival because my boyfriend at the time was a roadie for one of the bands, yet I find myself returning year after year. It is permanently marked on my calendar. I organise my Saturday work shift months in advance so that I am free that weekend and I have been a volunteer for a number of years now.

I’m not the only one who returns to this festival every year. There are dozens of us who, even if it is just for one day, make the annual pilgrimage to Portarlington.

Why do I do it? Why do we do it? Why does this festival have such meaning to so many people?

As I edited a selection of the 1500 photos I took over the weekend (I’m a volunteer and an official photographer) the meaning of the festival became clear.

It means friendship.

It means dancing.

It means fun.

It means music.

It means singing.

It means sore feet and losing your voice.

It means learning that you can attend a festival on your own and not be alone.

It means magical moments such as watching strangers lose themselves in movement.

It means a room full of people of all ages and abilities dancing a jig or a reel with joyous abandon.

It means men in kilts and women in hand knitted beanies.

It means fiddles and bagpipes and guitars and flutes and harps and pianos and banjos…..

It means seeing four generations of the one family enjoying a weekend together.

It means finding your ‘tribe’.

It means hearing ‘Whiskey in the jar’ a dozen times and loving every rendition.

It means discovering new artists from Australia and overseas and becoming fans for life.

It means seeing cultures that seem to have no connection come together in music and love.

It means seeing the same faces from last year and being so delighted that they are there again.

It means having bands you know stop their set mid-song to have you take their photo.

It means watching craftsmen in action, passing on their knowledge of the old arts.

It means watching young musicians flourish and develop.

It means witnessing a room of adults sit in silent weeping as a gifted singer/story-teller hypnotises them with words.

It means knowing that we have history and traditions and stories and songs that mean something.

It means that I will be back there again next June.

 

 

It’s not your time just yet.

Last Tuesday morning I awoke to the realisation that this might be your last day with me and my mind became numb. You were not well. You hadn’t been ‘right’ for a while, but I explained it to myself as simply old age creeping up on you. But suddenly the creep had become a race and I knew that I needed to take you to the vet to see what, if anything, could be done.

Avoiding the inevitable had become the norm. I was a bad owner. Yes, your ability to see had diminished to the point where I was sure that you only saw shadows and your back legs were beginning to give way…….. but you were happy. You were still eating and drinking and following me around as you always had.

To be brutally honest, I didn’t want to hear what the vet might have to say.

However, I could no longer avoid the truth. You needed to be seen by the vet. Those back legs that had been giving way over time had deteriorated rapidly and this morning they were almost not able to hold you up. You looked afraid and suddenly very old.

As the minutes ticked away I became acutely aware that this might be the last time I talked with you, the last time I rubbed your velvety, black ears, the last time I looked into your beautiful, if now unseeing, brown eyes.

I had to take your photo.

With tears in my eyes I swapped lenses on my camera. It may sound ridiculous to non-photographers, but you needed and deserved the 50mm f1.8. If these were going to be my final images of you they had to be done properly and a prime lens is the only way to do you justice.

We went to the vet. The news was not good. You have spinal degeneration and the nerves to you lower back and hind legs have been severely compromised. The options were almost non-existent. You could have X-rays to assess the extent of the damage but they might not show everything. You could have a CAT scan, but again that might be inconclusive. Because of your age spinal surgery is not an option.

I was faced with two options. We could try anti-inflammatory medication or I stood by your side as we sent you to the Rainbow Bridge.

I’m a realist. I know that you are old. Your thirteenth birthday is but a few months away. That’s a good age for a dog. But it’s not time for you to go. Not yet.

So anti-inflammatory meds it is.

Within 24 hours your condition had improved 1000%. You haven’t become a puppy again, but you are able to stand and walk more confidently. It is true that your brain is telling you to turn left but your back legs are a few seconds late in getting the message, but that doesn’t matter. You are happier and my fears for you have been allayed……for the time being.

It is a day by day scenario, Riley dog. I know you won’t be with me for all that much longer, but it’s not your time to go. Not this week.

I won’t let you suffer. I won’t prolong your life out of selfishness. I will look after you until I know that the time to say goodbye is upon us. Until then I will continue to cook your food, pick up your poop and listen to your gentle snores as you sleep on the spare pillow next to me.

You’re my main man. You’re not leaving me yet.

How dare you!

“Hey baby, what you got goin’ tonight?”

And with that, my sense of security flew out the window.

How dare you, you little prick.

You made me question and consider my personal safety in ways that I shouldn’t have to.

I continued to walk towards my destination wondering whether I should have engaged you. Would replying to you’re pathetic comment have provoked you in an unpleasant way? Had not replying to your pathetic comment provoked you? Was I now ‘at risk’ from you and your companion?

I chose not to think about you as I enjoyed dinner with my friends. You were not going to ruin my night, but there you were, front and centre in my mind, as I prepared to walk back to my car. Were you still loitering about with your mate, looking for trouble? Were you now alone waiting for a target?

My keys were firmly in my hand, one key protruding between my fingers as a weapon. I wondered whether I should be talking on my phone with a friend as I walked to my car, but decided against it as I wanted my ears to be on alert for your footsteps. I had already planned the route I was going to take so that I was in as much light as possible.

Fuck you!

I should not have to be on high alert as walk back to my car after a dinner with friends. I should not have to ask friends to walk me back to my car. I should not have to question whether I am going to be safe from assault at any time of the day or night based on the fact that I am a single person of the female gender.

I’M NOT GOING TO STOP LIVING THE LIFE YOU HAVE, WITH THE FREEDOMS YOU HAVE, BASED ON MY GENDER AND THE FACT THAT I AM ALONE!!!

I am NOT going to buy a can of mace. I am NOT going to decline invitations. I am NOT going to change a damned thing!

Why not?

Because I’m not the one who has to change.

I am not the one in the wrong.

It is NOT wrong for a single woman to go out on her own. No matter what time of day or night it is I, and every other single man or woman out there, has the right to freedom and safety.

You unnerved me you little twat, but you’re not going to make me change how I do things. I’m tougher than you think and I’ll tear you to pieces if I have to.

I’ve felt better

Every now and then I get a migraine that knocks me for six.

Fortunately, these days, it is only every now and then. I remember vividly when it used to be fortnightly.

There is only one thing I can do when it hits. Lie very still, very quiet, in a dark place and sleep. I have to lie still because any movement makes me want to vomit, it needs to be quiet as sound makes my brain throb like it’s going to explode out of my eye sockets and darkness is essential as the light is amplified. I also need to be naked because the clothing hurts my skin.

Sleep comes quickly when I have a migraine. Hours disappear. This is no afternoon nanny nap. This is brain healing time.  I might be knocked out for three or more hours before waking with immense relief that the worst has passed. But this period of wakefulness is short-lived as the exhaustion takes over and I go back to sleep a full night’s sleep.

However, the following day is a write-off. These headaches from hell drain every ounce of energy from your body and the body needs time to recover fully.

I cancelled all my plans for today. I stayed home and did domestic duties. I did them slowly as I needed to rest each time I did anything that was remotely strenuous. Thankfully it was a glorious day in my marvellous Melbourne and I was able to spend time laying in the sunshine each time I was spent.

I’m lucky. This only happens a few times a year now. I have friends who live with constant migraines. That’s not living. That’s existing.

For now, this recovering brain is going to go to bed and rest for another few hours before facing a week at work.

Goodnight.

I can tie a tie?

When did I learn how to tie a man’s tie? Was it my mother or my father who showed me many, many, many moons ago.

How is it that I instinctively knew what I was doing?

I have been a single woman for most of my adult life. The requirement for me to tie a neck-tie is, and has been, almost non-existent yet there I stood in front of my adult son tying a proper ‘Simple knot’ around his neck.

There was no hesitation or indecision on the part of my hands. I’m sure that it took me less than fifteen seconds to have it done and securely placed at the opening of his collar.

How is it possible to have muscle memory for a task you have done less than ten times in your life? Add into the equation the fact that I had just walked in the door and I had no prior warning that I was going to be expected to tie a tie which meant therefore no time to hit up Google for an online tutorial.

I’ll simply have to own it. I’m bloody amazing.

I’m thinking

The urge, the need, to write has begun to make its presence felt. A continual niggle in the far recesses of my sense of self.

I can see words leap into my frontal lobe and then just as quickly dash away behind a semi-translucent fabric. Complete sentences, entire trains of thought, there for the briefest of moments before they are lost………possibly………(probably) forever.

Dare I stop to trap these dialogues? Can they be caught? Or are they meant to tease me and tempt me and frustrate me because I have been pulled away from my writing for so long?

So many things vie for my attention. Each one of them require time and dedication that eat away the minutes of the day. Yet none of them can be scheduled. My mind does not work that way. I cannot be prescriptive and set aside blocks of time to specific tasks. Certainly not those that require creativity.

There is always something that is neglected. Tonight it is the pile of dishes in the sink. It is a small sacrifice. My need to press the keyboard into life was far more important than a frypan and a sink of hot, soapy water.

 

 

The bucket list you didn’t know you had.

I ticked something off my non-existent bucket list yesterday. It was quite the achievement. Something I had not really considered to be a thing I would ever do. Something that I hadn’t even thought was an item to mark off as ‘completed’ in my list of things to say I had done in my life.

However there I stood, in the magnificent waters of  a secluded beach at Torquay, on a truly perfect summers day, without a shred of clothing proudly proclaiming to my equally naked friend that I could tick ‘that’ off my bucket list.

I don’t have a bucket list!

What’s with this bucket list? Do we have Morgan Freeman and Robert De Niro (Oooops!!!! It’s actually Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman) and the American film industry to thank for the requirement of a bucket list? It was a lovely movie gentlemen, but now people find themselves having to think of things they need to achieve before they die and tick them off a list.

Imagine the horror as you take your final breath, knowing that you didn’t do the things on your list. OMG!! Especially if you had that list written down and it was stuck on the fridge door with a Mickey Mouse magnet. Family members would see your list and KNOW that you did nothing with your life. Let’s ignore the fact that you lived and had a life……..but you didn’t complete your list!!!!

How about just living your life to the full and experiencing the opportunities that are presented to you? That’s what I am doing.

You don’t need a list.

I’m sure the starving in Africa don’t have a list. I can’t imagine the farmer in the rice paddy of Vietnam has a list nor the Amish woman in North America or the bloke living under the bridge in Melbourne.

Life is not about lists. Life is about living and yesterday I felt incredibly alive.

I have no idea how many of you have done it, and I am definitely not telling anyone that you should or shouldn’t do it, but I cannot even touch on the emotions I felt as I took the last item of clothing off and bared my imperfect self to the elements.

Yesterday was a sterling summer beach day. Low 20’s, clear skies, gentle breeze and clear blue waters. The stretch of beach that has been the designated nude beach for decades is magnificent. The sands were not crowded and the vibe I sensed was wonderfully calm. Many people had brought their dogs which only added to the sense of normality. The only difference on this beach was that the people swimming, throwing balls for their dogs to chase, walking or laying on their towels on the glorious sunshine was the absence of fabric.

Also absent was the self-consciousness. This was a space where men and women accepted themselves and their perfect imperfections.  Hallelujah!

So I took all my clothes off and walked alone to the water and I laughed and cried at the wonder of it all.

 

2018: The year in review.

December 31, 2018. At midnight tonight we begin a new year on the Gregorian Calendar. Watch as we struggle for weeks to remember what year it is. There will be errors aplenty as the unthinking end their written or typed dates with an eight instead of a nine.

I can hear the cursing now. (I will be one of the cursing)

Humans get all excited at this time of the year. Suddenly people are filled with an almost demonic fervour as they plan their year ahead. Pledges and promises abound. Sales of Nicorette patches increase in preparation for the annual quit-athons. Gyms employ extra staff to cater for the influx of the overweight and obese who have promised themselves a healthier life beginning January 1. Holidays are planned. Budgets are drafted. Relationships are evaluated.

Good intentions are thrown around like confetti at a wedding. But like confetti at a wedding, very few of these good intentions land where they are expected. So many of them end up stuck in a tree, drowning in a pool of water or being caught by the wind to drift off into the ether, never to be seen again.

I stopped making promises and resolutions years ago. Such nonsense only adds extra pressure on an already pressured mind. Not to mention the sense of failure and disappointment when you find yourself unable to live up to your high ambitions. Fuck that.

I now let things happen. And things are happening.

2018 has been another amazing year for me. The amazement began in 2017 and has continued unabated. I have discovered so much about who I am as a person and who are the people who are important to me. I know what I want from the world around me, and more importantly, what I don’t want.

My life is a whirl-pooling mosaic of people and experiences that has opened my eyes to the wonders of living the life I want to live rather than the one that is ‘expected’ of me. Not saying that I’m going to suddenly go all vegan and stop shaving my legs, rather I am going to do the things that make ME happy.

At the end of the day you are only responsible for ensuring your own happiness. You can, and will, only make yourself unhappy trying to make other people happy.

2018 has been a social year, a working year, a new website year, a discovery year, a year when I didn’t give a shit about Xmas. It was also a year that raced by me and where I struggled to find a balance with all the activities I had on.

Not that I am making any promises, but I am going to try to be very careful with how I fill my calendar in 2019. I have to find time for working, friends and family, photography work, photography excursions, socialising and relaxing. (And let’s not forget the BIG holiday planned for later in the year)

Yet another thing I learned over the last twelve months……….. I can’t do it all.

True friends will understand if you have to say “No” sometimes. (Saying no is when you learn who your true friends are.)

This New Year’s Eve is going to be one hell of a lot quieter that the last since my dance-partner in crime is holidaying in Italy with his boyfriend. A BBQ in my clean and tidy pergola, underneath the fairy lights, on my new chairs is just what the season has ordered. Though, truly, I don’t think there will ever be a New Year’s to top last year. Can’t be repeated, can’t be replicated.

I’m not excited or enthused enough to shout it with glee, but I wish myself and my loved ones a very happy 2019.

Stay safe, stay happy, stay smiling.

 

So this is Xmas……….

T’was the night before the night before Xmas and I finally decided that I should make some token of effort for the festive season. It has been one of those years where the days have flashed by at warp-speed and my brain has only shifted into third gear. Therefore, my brain thinks that it is only August but the calendar tells me that tomorrow morning is Xmas Day.

I’m just not feeling it.

I have done the usual Xmas things purely because they are expected of me rather than me wanting to do them. I have baked the shortbread, I have worn the Xmas hat at work, I have attended the Xmas functions and events, I have written the annual Xmas card letter (as yet unposted) and I have wished people Merry Xmas………. but I’m not ‘feeling it’.

It’s not that I am in a depressed state of mind. On the contrary, I couldn’t be in a better head-space. To say that life is good would be an understatement of incredible proportions. Life IS good. I just don’t really care for Xmas this year.

Perhaps being out working and/or socialising and not being home has a lot to do with things. Why spend hours setting up and decorating a tree and the house if you’re not home to see it? #1 son is barely home to see Xmas decorations either and he didn’t offer help to set things up. No..I tell a lie…he did ‘offer’ he just never followed through with his offer.

However, be it an attack of the Xmas guilts, a sense that I was missing something or a feeling that if I decorated I might start to feel somewhat more festive, last night I made an effort and put up a few decorations before watching ‘Love Actually’ while I did the ironing. Not the big tree. I wavered but I didn’t totally surrender to the silliness!!

Tonight I will continue the saga of the ironing basket whilst watching Carols By Candlelight and don’t be surprised if you hear a rumour that I sang along. Who knows? By tomorrow I might be feeling all come over with Xmas cheer.

I doubt it, but Xmas is the time for miracles.

 

Worn out

If you’ve seen the wonderful new movie “Bohemian Rhapsody” you may remember a little quote from Mary and Freddie’s perfect reply:

“You’re burning the candle at both ends,”

“Yes, but the glow is so divine!”

The glow is divine, but eventually all the wax is gone and there is nothing left.

I have been burning the candle at both ends. I’ve probably even broken the candle in half and have been burning both pieces at both ends. This week I, and the universe, realised that there was almost nothing left to burn and I was shown signs that I needed to take time out for me. Time to stop and be still.

I was noticing that I was simply ‘functioning’ in my day to day life. I’m not one to simply ‘function’. I participate. However, I think I had been participating in life to a point where there was too much participating and there was no time to stop either physically or mentally.

Circumstances (aka The Universe) intervened this week and plans that had been made were suddenly cancelled and plans that are usually made were not possible to be scheduled. I sensed that the universe was doing this on purpose. The universe was looking out for me. The old me would have ignored the signs and tried to cram things into the empty spaces in my calendar. The wiser me read the signs and agreed with the universe. It was time to take a breath.

I can’t remember the last time I sat on the couch and watched a DVD. You know, really just sat on the couch, not stood in front of the couch doing the ironing………..but I did just that on Thursday and Friday nights. Me, in my pyjamas, with the dogs and a cup of tea. Bliss.

The house was so still and quiet yesterday. No music, no TV, no phone calls, the street outside was quiet. The peace of the quiet was soothing. I hadn’t realised how jarred my senses were until they were allowed to rest.

There was something I was meant to go to in the late afternoon. I had RSVP’d in the affirmative, but by 3pm I knew that I didn’t want to leave the sanctuary of my home. Not only that I didn’t want to , but that I couldn’t and I shouldn’t. I knew in my soul that going out into the world yesterday would destroy the inner peace that was returning to me.

I needed to hibernate and re-centre. I needed to be selfish and look after me before my body forced me to stop, and I know from past experience that my body can be a right forceful bitch when she has something to say.

If you were to ask me what I did yesterday I couldn’t tell you. The hours between waking up and climbing into bed hold no thoughts of significance. But it doesn’t matter one iota. All I know is that I woke up this morning feeling more refreshed and alive than I have in a very long time.

I think I will make time for myself more often. I think we all should