tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-241789232024-03-08T10:47:09.411+08:00Mrs. Smith.FuffenscheitMrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.comBlogger286125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-82764435902128052032017-03-06T17:59:00.000+08:002017-03-09T05:10:36.799+08:00Jack of all trades ... <h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDcj5fgTxWJJTL96er59WlRJ4oaUKUIKpnjOMYljicKfA1jv2k76cSnfPA4AIbcJtOzJ93xUWksYCAngiOqXTR6imUFfTzEMTGpoyfWdREu5payOtKR8jmjyKNa2tiQMOKRax/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDcj5fgTxWJJTL96er59WlRJ4oaUKUIKpnjOMYljicKfA1jv2k76cSnfPA4AIbcJtOzJ93xUWksYCAngiOqXTR6imUFfTzEMTGpoyfWdREu5payOtKR8jmjyKNa2tiQMOKRax/s640/images.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.dezeen.com/2014/01/02/more-images-of-zaha-hadids-jazz-yacht/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Zaha Hadid </span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Further to<a href="https://fuffenscheit.blogspot.com.au/2017/02/clarity.html"><span style="color: blue;"> last post's contemplations</span></a> on Clarity, I have discovered many things.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Post-post I went out in search of wisdom. The desire to have one crystal-clear image of what I was to do and be, was tightening my ribs like a concrete straightjacket. The internal nego-mantra kept brain-circling in every quiet moment "If I could just see what it looks like. If I could just get a picture of what it is, then it will all come together." (I have read A LOT of self-help and strategic planning shizz, so apparently envisioning your outcome is critical to success. <a href="https://www.google.com.au/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#q=envisiosning+your+goals&*"><span style="color: blue;">Everybody says so</span></a>.)</span><br />
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />So I went to a psychic. Of course, I did.<br />She was brilliant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />Wisdom from the psychic-with-the-spiritual-name in no particular order:</span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bring your energy back in from all the people who are leeching it (I don't think she actually said leeching, but I like the dramatic effect of the word and its parasitical inferences) </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Be grounded</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Listen to your own wisdom</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She had me imagine I was talking to my dad. 'He' told me to let go of fear and take a risk.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She also commented that just because I am good at stuff doesn't mean it's my calling </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And she clearly said to me "Let go of the desire to know what it's all going to be and go with the flow".</span></li>
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<span style="background: white;">I can't say I give a tinkling toss whether she was genuinely psychic or not. I wafted out of there like the mother of a toddler leaving a day spa to have a coffee alone before heading back to motherhood. Like any good psychic or psychologist, she had made me feel better about the existential crisis I was experiencing and had offered the illusion of control. And she gave me a big hug at the end.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />So, there I was feeling a little less desperate and a bit happier to sit with my messy mind. But still, the desire for 'an answer' was limiting my breath. Like some religious revelation, I knew it was going to come at me, the big shazaam. Unfortunately, the universe had gone all tight ass with the revelations, and no vision was forthcoming.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />Next, I went to a business coach, also with a spiritual name, who is nothing less than human spun-gold. </span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white;">She asked me lots of hard questions. Like "What do you want?" and "How does (insert various scenarios and ideas) make you feel". I squirmed around in my comfortable chair, shifting and itching, from sitting arms crossed and legs outstretched, to head in hands and elbows on knees. All the time doing lots of fast-talking without ever finishing a sentence or entirely forming an idea. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />"It's all so, so ... messy." I gacked out like a hairball from a cat. </span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />And that beautiful, gilded spirit-woman gently asked me this:</span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />"So look at your mess", gesturing in big circles at the circular mat in an invitation to visualise it, "How does it make you feel when you resist this mess when you just want to tidy its messiness." </span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Then she looked up at me and laughed "Look at your body language."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />I was as close to the foetal position as the comfortable chair would allow. </span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />Resisting the mess, I felt tight, thick on the chest. Short of breath. Panicked. Like when the kids were small, and the housework got so rank you stopped people from visiting wanting no witness to your weet-bix-encrusted shame. </span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div>
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</span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">"Now take a minute" she guides gently, "And see how you feel when you stop resisting the mess. When you can sit with it and accept it."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />I tried it on. Squirmed. Exhaled and Answered:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />"I feel ... relieved and excited, like the mess is where the gold is, and how it is full of possibilities."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />Checking myself, I saw that my body had moved into power pose, hands together gently in between relaxed knees, shoulders soft, heart open.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">My life is a messy scramble, just like the <a href="http://www.thesecretlanguageofbirthdays.com/"><span style="color: blue;">Secret Language of Birthdays</span></a> predicted ( Th ebook tells me I was born on the 'day of the Scrambler'). In accepting the mess, I could drop the shame, stop fighting it and enjoy it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">An insightful friend quizzed me late on Saturday night about my Clarity post, her bullshit-o-meter clearly registering high levels in the immediate area - "but wouldn't you just be bored doing the same thing forever?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />Yes, my wise and insightful friend, I bloody well would. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">As much as I fight it, I will always be far more Margaret Olley than Zaha Hadid.<b></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So you see I actually have discovered many things. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Like did you know that the full saying goes:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222;">"Jack of all trades, master of none is oftentimes better than master of one".</span></span></h4>
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<img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgor5FoT1fOcHfzXbg6K63d0_eyZDbI-A16AmWfSPyCztNs744wu-k8KElamgUJqqCS884v7rbhMtLlL0-ZhJ4VkFGJhC4wAj0IKznwwqJlZgbecfNx0hLYmvKK2e8vXgG-DSyN/s640/Margaret-Olley-main-e1352686591744-2.jpg" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" width="640" /> </div>
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Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-26367153485994059262017-02-26T15:54:00.000+08:002017-02-26T16:02:46.504+08:00Clarity My dad knew he wanted to be a doctor from the age of 7. He just knew it. It was his vocation.<br />
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From that day in 1937, that little boy in short pants had a clear line of sight to his future. He preset his trajectory and took flight on his unwavering path. At 70-something, he was recognised for working in General Practice for 40 years and was also known as an excellent general surgeon. He knew what he was, he pursued it, was good at it - he succeeded.<br />
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My envy of his clarity is intense.<br />
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My luthier is the same. He is so good at what he does, it makes no sense for him to do anything else.<br />
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I currently find myself in an insecure work situaton and I can't decide if its a problem or an opportunity. I am kind of good at lots of things and interested in lots of things. I just wish I had one thing I clearly excelled at, one clear vision ... instead its one foot in front of the other. And its a question of asking myself "What is the next obvious step?"<br />
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Midlife crisis? I wish. Its the same path I have been circling through for 25 years. When I was 21, I presented the same question to my Indian psychiatrist<br />
"But what should I do?" This was his response, a metaphor: "Life is like a bazaar. There are lots of pretty things to distract you. But you must make it through to the end".<br />
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I am still lost in the bazaar, distracted by every sparkle and colour.<br />
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Here's to clarity.<br />
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<br />Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-91502698446816950982017-01-02T08:56:00.003+08:002017-01-02T08:56:35.553+08:00Resolve<div>
Yesterday a friend reminded me of my blog, so I came back to visit. </div>
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This archive of blog posts is like an adventure through the wilds of my psyche, my sometimes anxious and often distorted mind. It is a trip through the seeking and questioning, advising and anxsting, through joy and my endless confusion. </div>
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The blog tells one story of a lot of years riding blind on the rough, dark, circular route of the shame train. </div>
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New Year's Day is a classic date for goal setting and resolutions. </div>
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Yeah ... nah. This year I just want to roll with life and see where it goes. </div>
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The engine has pulled into the 2017 station and I am disembarking <i>sans baggage</i>. </div>
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The New Year arrives and my web feeds race past with memes and goals and resolutions, screeching and blaring out announcements through the loudspeaker of 'should':<br /><i><br />Eat this. Make this. Work this. Plan this. Wear this. Lose this. Say this. </i></div>
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<i>You gotta do more, you gotta be more you gotta get more, you gotta have more.</i></div>
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<i>And never forget that your fundaments are flawed so fix yourself, fix yourself, fix yourself...</i></div>
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Enough ... enough. Fuck it ... enough. </div>
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Silence the soul bashing screeches and blares. For me, its time to look in the mirror and say: <br /><br />"I am ok."<br /></div>
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My life is not a fantasy, it is a reality and its ok. Actually, it is grouse. </div>
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I am fat, but I am phat. </div>
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<br />A bit dishevelled, a bit broke and neck deep in the motherload of love-and-family-mess I am, and I would rather be here than anywhere. </div>
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I don't know which train I want to get on next.<br />But truckloads of opportunities are arriving and departing all the time. Turns out, they had been queuing up at the self-doubt barrier the whole time, waiting for the wall to come down. </div>
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It is unnecessary to endlessly travel around the same circle of demented track and mourn the tragic loss of hours and tears to anxiety and self-decimation. Plenty of other trips to take. </div>
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2017 is a mystery ticket to life. I am gonna jump on board, relax, look out the window and just see what happens.</div>
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Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-54740142061915406262016-02-12T09:00:00.000+08:002016-02-12T09:03:49.365+08:00Hello, Gorgeous!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIOSMVVubhSV2iey87w_9BFNYOgKuHVZjxaaFeYG-W90MOi2gEiDkdRbRxEWTRj-2lBKICFlFadcz1UhaKYcqW1CLCLabQsPTFkj7tqasUFXVkwxwe5IIvPHh6HH8PGTqa7KFw/s1600/HELLOGORGEOUS%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIOSMVVubhSV2iey87w_9BFNYOgKuHVZjxaaFeYG-W90MOi2gEiDkdRbRxEWTRj-2lBKICFlFadcz1UhaKYcqW1CLCLabQsPTFkj7tqasUFXVkwxwe5IIvPHh6HH8PGTqa7KFw/s400/HELLOGORGEOUS%2521.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today I am going to write the words <b>"Hello, Gorgeous!</b>" on my mirror and let it be the first and last thing I say to myself every day. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fuck self-hatred. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is the prison gates of my own making, stopping all progress on the superhighway to where I want to be.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">These days I can even see the vision of my destination through its bastard blockade. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is the only thing barring my way forward and I am the only thing holding it in place.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today I am grasping the iron with both hands and I will cast it down,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">to present myself to life with a visceral, heart strong - </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>"Ta -dah!"</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then I will step over the gate and keep on walking.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">What is the first thing you are going to say to yourself today?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I see you I will say <b>"Hello, Gorgeous!"</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thank you for the inspiration and generosity I have so gratefully received this week:</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.linkedin.com/in/christine-storm-014b9512?authType=NAME_SEARCH&authToken=MiPr&locale=en_US&srchid=1082663801455237725297&srchindex=1&srchtotal=17&trk=vsrp_people_res_name&trkInfo=VSRPsearchId%3A1082663801455237725297%2CVSRPtargetId%3A44736208%2CVSRPcmpt%3Aprimary%2CVSRPnm%3Atrue%2CauthType%3ANAME_SEARCH" style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">Christine Storm:</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Chrysalis Business Consulting</span><br />
<a href="http://www.kapacity.org/?page_id=640" style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">Perfect PItch</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> : Natasha Cica and Rosalie Martin</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.94px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/GilbertLiz/posts/963184480430334:0" target="_blank">Elizabeth Gilbert</a></span><br />
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Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-48663880820494211152015-05-11T10:52:00.000+08:002015-05-11T11:10:49.788+08:00Things I have learnt from Musical Theatre #1: the hardest working kids in townFive months of my recent life have been consumed and invigorated by "Evita". A local theatre company gave me a shot at performing in the ensemble of their production and it has been my making.<br />
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I like to think that this blog, while often seemingly random and themeless, is a place for me to share what I learn. Evita has been an education.<br />
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The cast was made up of around 50 people aged from 11 to 'a lady never divulges her age'. Most of the cast had a teen in their number. I'd like to share with you what I have learned about these young people.<br />
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First I would like to ask you: When was the last time you committed to something, something outside of full-time work or study and committed to it for up to 12 hours a week for 5 months? A commitment that required focus, discipline, mental, creative and physical challenges and constant connection and interaction with 50 people working as a team. When was the last time a commitment like this required a final week of 50 hours in confined space with those 50 people you have spent 12 hours a week with, plus crew, and this was on top of your full-time work/study?<br />
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And in particular, when was the last time you did all this with professionalism, commitment and focus? Striving for excellence, all the while keeping your humour and squeezing the most fun that could possibly be squeezed from every second? <br />
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(I know, right? I couldn't do it. I was stuffed. I needed days off work and a lot of naps.)<br />
<br />
So this is what I have learnt about young people in theatre.<br />
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These young people are responsible, committed. They turned up sick. They turned up exhausted. They were vulnerable and anxious. They were kind and caring to each other. And so bloody funny. They turned up and turned it on every day.<br />
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Parents of teens who say they want to pursue a career in theatre or music or drama, can I just say to you, encourage them. Care for them. Please don't tell them they need something sensible 'to fall back on'. Acknowledge their dedication and hard work as well as their beauty and talent.<br />
You know, with support, they might just crack it. <br />
<br />
Or they might not. They may get to 25, be broke and decide that they haven't made it and that its time to do something sensible. (oh my god, so many years to be sensible.). At least they would have spent their youth working their arses off, surrounded by creative, stimulating people, pushing, challenging and exposing their vulnerability every day and having a fkn good time doing it.<br />
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If they can do that, lets face it, they can do anything.<br />
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Better to try than to get to 25 having done 'the sensible thing' and being broke anyway. <br />
Better to try than to get to 25 and feel that you lost yourself on the way.<br />
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Better to try than get to 42 and grieve for a version of life unlived.<br />
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My hat is off to you, young people of musical theatre. You are brave and bold.<br />
Seize it, relish it, pursue it now. Being 'sensible' is highly overrated.<br />
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Parents of young people who want to pursue a career in music, theatre and the arts, please don't fear for their future. You can have faith and be so proud of them. <br />
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They are the hardest working kids in town. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdp4onntGgU2HZCz6M8GSwyV_e6lxSfa2GxQtxHEp3RQ2fCPnbAupq_BteUTRuIQCUxCfWb0G1tTIx8pzc7RONIZhysjabNy8VRdzRH0QZ1-wuMcjG7zXfemQNZohplpS2VRQf/s1600/AB9Q7430-COPY+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdp4onntGgU2HZCz6M8GSwyV_e6lxSfa2GxQtxHEp3RQ2fCPnbAupq_BteUTRuIQCUxCfWb0G1tTIx8pzc7RONIZhysjabNy8VRdzRH0QZ1-wuMcjG7zXfemQNZohplpS2VRQf/s400/AB9Q7430-COPY+(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of Encore Theatre Company <br />
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Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-50499728330270229602015-04-25T09:13:00.001+08:002017-01-02T09:01:54.625+08:00Your measure<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6fPANKQRZb5OGQpfex66b5XoyEC884CMHobTb49X7_L4SE-QAiOCEKSc5Uph5I9_CG09i6Pukl9Lb7FL1UF2iP50hwR4S2VlsxhzVjUoCWvabZksqoYd_Lbk6bu7Nq5d52rk0/s1600/WIN_20141214_082057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6fPANKQRZb5OGQpfex66b5XoyEC884CMHobTb49X7_L4SE-QAiOCEKSc5Uph5I9_CG09i6Pukl9Lb7FL1UF2iP50hwR4S2VlsxhzVjUoCWvabZksqoYd_Lbk6bu7Nq5d52rk0/s1600/WIN_20141214_082057.JPG" width="400" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">What is your worth?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">A life - a heart, a mind, a soul,... a smile, a whisper.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Are you here to be weighed and measured and attributed a final value amount?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Do you direct debit your subscription to the daily posts of the meritocrats who sell you the equation - worth=wealth, at a price you don't know you are paying?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">And is your faith in the zealots who preach the noise that worth rises and falls with the number on a scale? As the numbers rise do you feel your worthlessness weighing you down in loathing and lovelessness?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Are you extroverted, sales-driven, devotees of the cult of personality singing upbeat hallelujahs more value-laden than the quiet-loving shy boy, demanding nothing, in his world of ideas and dreams? Whose genius exists in a wry twist of the lip, not picked up by tests and assessments and so easily obscured in the ceaseless pings and bleats, notifications and alerts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">And what of thought? Idle thought. Of ideas and dreams? Are they to be deemed, to be measured in applicable potential commercialisation, profit and outcomes? Are the only merits those that are measurable?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Work=worth</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Wealth=worth</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Fame=worth</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">And the wealth of likes and followers and attentions and validations=</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Are these our concrete measures of our value? Our KPIs?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Your face your waist your handbag your shoes your bike your house your means this brand that brand paleo fasting cleansing detoxifying - do these value add to your net? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Have you worked and accumulated and ticked enough boxes to attain sufficient 'worthy'?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">What are we selling down the river of measurability?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Art, language, history, music -ideas for their own sake? How do we convert these to measurable outcomes, to their dollar weight to prove that they are worthy of holding on to? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Is a child's education just a funnel towards greater worthiness? Its benefits only those that can be scaled and measured and standardised. Producing job-market fodder for a future workplace whose parameters are beyond prediction.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">How do you measure the worth of a teacher whose eyes and soul whispers to a child 'I see you and I understand you.' What value can be statistically assessed and estimated for a community around your child educating them and telling them 'who you are is all you need to be.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I am worth weary.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">It is an illusion, a construction, a fabrication.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">You exist as do I.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">There is only value in that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">To be. To breathe. To feel.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">That heartsong moment of connection in love and spirit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new";">A perfect melody drifting from a child at their work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new";">A breeze-drifting lace-leaf, yellowed by the season, twisting its dance by my window.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new";">A bubble of laughter, unsupressible, exploding through your nostrils and filling the library-silence with cackle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new";"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I seek a renaissance of self-determination and the worthless pursuit of joy for its own sake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">My measure. My love. My life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><br />Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-81666293747192702202014-09-24T07:33:00.006+08:002014-09-24T19:55:39.428+08:00If not me, who?Emma Watson in her recent speech to the UN - "If not me, who?If not now, when?"<br />
<br />
What an incredible call to action and resolve from this remarkable young woman. Yesterday I listened to another young woman tell of her belief that if she has a baby it will be the death of her career. Not only that, but she would be 'letting down' all the colleagues and mentors who support her career and have invested in her.<br />
She and the women in the room accepted this as fact.<br />
<br />
Women are so manipulated by their desire to be competent, to 'do the right thing', to 'play nice' that they do not see power and choices, only compromises. That the value, possibilities for success and ambitions of a woman decreases when they have children is true, but that it has to be this way, is an utter lie. <br />
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I am tired of holding back, of 'playing nice' of being more concerned about appearing too aggressive, too forthright, even 'unattractive' and so reverting to holding my tongue and being meek.<br />
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I could claim my power and choose my life.<br />
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Why not?<br />
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Women suffer from their own limiting beliefs as much as by socially imposed limits. We are excellent at 'playing the game'. That 'feminism' is a negative even shameful word, is testament to that. As is the disgraceful fact that men and women in the media now actively seek to undermine her words and cause by sexualising and exposing Emma Watson<br />
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We buy the magazines.<br />
We watch the shows and the films.<br />
We worship celebrity.<br />
We talk about 'thigh gap'. (What man in the world gives a rats ass about 'thigh gap')<br />
We accept and condone the proliferation of pornography.<br />
We accept the conventions of beauty and worthiness.<br />
We self hate.<br />
We fear making ourselves too big.<br />
We apologise.<br />
We bring each other down.<br />
We let our daughters do the same.<br />
<br />
I have done it all.<br />
<br />
<br />
But we don't have to.<br />
As citizens of the developed world we have more power than we realise.<br />
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In the west, women have gained so much. But we hold ourselves back.<br />
We do not have to subscribe to a masculine paradigm of beauty/work/wealth=success.<br />
We have choices.<br />
We can influence.<br />
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Imagine a society where parenting, community, love, expression, age, care, children, art, culture, individualism and connection were valued as much as sexiness and the size of your pay check?<br />
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We can take up space.<br />
The acceptance of limitations and polite apologies for speaking up and expressing opinion can stop.<br />
We don't have to play that way.<br />
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This needs to happen.<br />
For the millions of girls to be married as children.<br />
For the millions of girls who are denied basic education.<br />
For the millions of girls in our own countries who see no future, only welfare and abuse.<br />
For the young men who take their own lives rather than express what they see as weakness.<br />
<br />
<br />
We can stand firm in our own shoes.<br />
We can hold back the polite apology.<br />
We can refuse to be limited.<br />
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Hold each other up, men and women together.<br />
'Be bloody, bold and resolute.'<br />
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If not us, who?<br />
If not now, when?<br />
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<br />Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-755953086987777152014-07-01T10:06:00.003+08:002014-07-01T10:08:35.334+08:00Why I write<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDk01uH0lkel8EfRexfpRq_3jQNJGHW18ybQ9NmI6ei8moyMyK5ilq7oZNxX7BvpBs8MDZ19qnQOkpdazcF5wV8P84laYhDEdZZTxH14eP5bZ93ZejOZ_F4LrTxEjdqDDGwBp/s1600/IMG_3305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDk01uH0lkel8EfRexfpRq_3jQNJGHW18ybQ9NmI6ei8moyMyK5ilq7oZNxX7BvpBs8MDZ19qnQOkpdazcF5wV8P84laYhDEdZZTxH14eP5bZ93ZejOZ_F4LrTxEjdqDDGwBp/s1600/IMG_3305.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Why I Write</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I write to amuse myself, to see what comes out or, as someone famous once said, 'to find out what I am really thinking'. To be quite honest, I think my thoughts are better on paper. Words stumble and fumble out of me and I lower my eyes and send out unspoken apologies when I try and speak. Writing is clearer, more strident, more ... what I really think. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I write because if I don't write I become dark and mean and bitter and twisted and frustrated and I froth at the mouth and spit fire.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I write because it puts what's inside of me on the outside of me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Its sweet relief and gentle progress. Word therapy.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I write because I am shite at drawing and painting.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Because words are the way I paint pictures.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Words are the bomb. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Words are bombs.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Writing leaves a mark. Good writing leaves an indelible mark. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">To write a picture that another person can look at and say 'Hey, hang on ... that's me!' - now thats something.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">How does my writing differ from others in my genre?</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am not sure what genre I fall into? As a blog writer I think my writing is different as it aims only to share a moment with the reader. More forthright blogs that teach or tell or have themes can be so fantastic, but my blog writing does not seek to teach or instruct in any way. I am just sharing thoughts and ideas as they come in a stream of consciousness. My only agenda is the desire to connect.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Why do I write what I do?</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Last year I lost my father and I couldn't stop myself from <a href="http://fuffenscheit.blogspot.com.au/2013/09/joy-in-shade.html" target="_blank">writing about that</a>. Its not easy to read other people's difficult emotions, I know that. But after one of my posts a woman wrote this to me "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">I lost my husband suddenly, inexplicably, almost six months ago. Your beautiful words here sum up exactly how I feel. Thank you." </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A few short months earlier my beloved aunt died and I couldn't stop myself <a href="http://fuffenscheit.blogspot.com.au/2013/03/daring-greatly.html" target="_blank">writing about that</a>. My cousins read my blog post as my aunt's eulogy. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I wrote two posts years ago - one about <a href="http://fuffenscheit.blogspot.com.au/2011/08/sitting-still-where-you-are.html" target="_blank">restlessness</a> and the other about <a href="http://fuffenscheit.blogspot.com.au/2011/08/yes.html" target="_blank">presence</a> and they struck a chord with other women. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Thats why I write what I do. In the hope that what I express touches and connects me to someone else. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">That the story I am writing is not just my story and that what I write could mean something to someone I have never even met. </span><br />
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<strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">What am I working on?</span></strong><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Today I started work on a novel - a story for young girls. In ten months time I will have a first draft in my hands. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I write for my luthier at <a href="http://www.philipsmithluthier.com/">www.philipsmithluthier.com</a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I have joined a Writing group and now I call myself a 'writer', just in case its true.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And <strong> </strong>I have invited a friend to work with me to turn <a href="http://fuffenscheit.blogspot.com.au/2011/07/gracie-and-me.html" target="_blank">this piece</a> into something. She has agreed to help me create a book from it, agreed to turn the words into actual pictures and I will watch her in awe. </span><br />
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<strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">How does your writing process work?</span></strong><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A recent course called <a href="http://www.writerstudio.com.au/index.php/Introduction-to-Creative-Writing/Four-Week-Unlocking-Creativity-Course-Live-Writing-Classes.html" target="_blank">"Unlocking Creativity</a>" taught me the discipline of short, timed bursts of writing to themes. No time to edit or proof as you go. Silence that inner critic and "Just get it out, baby, get it all out!". This process taught me a LOT. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Did you ever watch the <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius" target="_blank">Elizabeth Gilbert TED talk</a> where she describes the Greek concept of the muse and the Roman concept of 'genius' as a being or force separate from yourself? A force that inspires and generates the work of writers and artists? Where the inspiration works through you and is not of you? I get that. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">When I write blog posts I lie sequestered in my bed - (my favourite place in all the world) with my scruffy dog curled up like a hairy doughnut nearby. I look out of the window, through the magnolia tree with its fairy flowers or its barren stalks and up to that sweet little nest at its top. I take in a great big breathe then I write ... whatever. I have been known to type a whole post on that ridiculously small keyboard on my phone. Being alone and writing relatively uninterrupted, in our tiny Smith house bursting with five people and a dog, is the most lavish luxury I have. I dream of a study, one's very own room, just like Virginia, but until then ...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This post has been written as part of a 'blog hop'. Bloggers all over the interwebs have written posts about why they write. Thanks to Deb at <a href="http://sewcraftygoodness.blogspot.com.au/2014/06/why-i-write.html" target="_blank">Sew Craft Goodness</a> for inviting me to participate. Part of the hop is to invite two more bloggers to participate, but I think all the bloggers I know have already been a part of it.But,i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">f you would like to post on why you write, please leave a message in the comments and I will link you here with a photo and a bio! </span></h4>
Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-34326266914657149452014-05-30T16:31:00.001+08:002014-05-31T07:40:16.664+08:00Me and Ken Burns<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/xrBAxbTr0qI" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The luthier made a truly stunning thing - a baroque instrument, a viola da gamba. He diligently took photographs of the entire process from the rough bits of wood to final completed instrument. I gathered up the shots and made a wee film of it with iMovie. It was a fantastic process. I didn't really know what I was doing, but nutting out how to crop shots and drop in music and lengthen clips and zoom and all was really fun. Jane Campion, eat your heart out! Well, maybe not quite yet.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What the luthier does never fails to astound me. His work is superb and sculptural and fine. This instrument, with its beautiful Baroque quirks, caught my heart. The size (smaller than a cello), shape (flat backed with sharp edges) and its extraordinary range (7-gut strings of sound, - and when they say gut, they do mean gut) and its unique, sweet feur de lys embellishment, handpainted with love by the luthier, all came together to make an incredible objet d'art. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, if you would like to see how to make a viol in 4 and a half minutes, please do watch this little film, cropped and edited with love by moi. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">iMovie. So good!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I do just have one question though. Why do they call that zoom-y, croppy effect "Ken Burns"? Who is this Ken Burns? Anyone?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I obviously have no idea, but his natty, zoom-y effects are quite jazzy. Thanks Ken!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-18600067814947616542014-05-29T07:18:00.001+08:002017-03-08T07:02:25.075+08:00And Still I Rise - Maya Angelou<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You may write me down in history</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With your bitter, twisted lies,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You may tread me in the very dirt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But still, like dust, I'll rise.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Does my sassiness upset you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Why are you beset with gloom?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Pumping in my living room.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just like moons and like suns,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With the certainty of tides,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just like hopes springing high,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Still I'll rise.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Did you want to see me broken?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bowed head and lowered eyes?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shoulders falling down like teardrops.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Weakened by my soulful cries.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Does my haughtiness offend you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't you take it awful hard</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Diggin' in my own back yard.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You may shoot me with your words,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You may cut me with your eyes,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You may kill me with your hatefulness,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But still, like air, I'll rise.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Does my sexiness upset you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Does it come as a surprise</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That I dance like I've got diamonds</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the meeting of my thighs?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Out of the huts of history's shame</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I rise</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Up from a past that's rooted in pain</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I rise</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Leaving behind nights of terror and fear</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I rise</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I rise</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am the dream and the hope of the slave.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I rise</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I rise</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I rise. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Maya Angelou</span></div>
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Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-72825403094599411722014-05-17T10:45:00.001+08:002014-05-17T10:59:40.464+08:00Saturday Life<div style="text-align: center;">
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I love rain on a Saturday.<br>
Staying in bed is legit on a rainy Saturday. <br>
My bed is my favourite place in the world and the heart of Saturday morning Smith family life. <br>
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This morning I have lain in state, me and my tablet, while the family has moved about me. <div><br></div><div><br>
I wish I had set up a time lapse film of this morning. It would have gone like this:<br>
the kids coming in and out,<br>
two little snugglers curling up next to me to watch a video of cute dogs, <br>
then bustling out to play, <br>
then coming in fighting <br>
and being chased out by their father, <br>
the Luthier bringing in coffee, <br>
then breakfast <br>
and the local rag or "two minutes silence" as a friend's father dubbed it,<br>
the dog curled up on the end of the bed, <br>
then next to me on the Luthier's side, <br>
then curled up beside a kid on the end again,<br>
barking to go out,<br>
kids loom binding together on the bed,</div><div>Killing themselves at their own jokes,</div><div>
the teen guy looking through catalogues and remarking "Oooh, carpets!</div><div>- said no thirteen year old boy ever.<br>
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Now the teen is beside me watching <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/tripodtele/videos/" target="_blank">Tripod</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/docbrown77/" target="_blank">Doc Brown</a> comedy videos on YouTube and the two smalls have sorted all their loom bands into colours.<br>
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And what have I been doing all this time,<em> </em>I hear you ask? Well, while sitting on my flat ass, propped on pillows, shifting occasionally when my legs go to sleep and happily watching the family flow in and out and all around me, I have done some research for the Luthier's trip to Malta. And may I say, <a href="http://fuffenscheit.blogspot.com.au/2009/07/shes-alright.html/" target="_blank">She looks alright, Malta.</a> My Mum lived there in her teens in the 50s. Can you imagine that? 1950s frocks and hand bags, dos and shoes on a tiny picturesque rock in the middle of the Mediterranean. What a romantic adventure for a teenage girl from post-war Plymouth! Her father was in charge of the Supply office for the British Navy under Lord Mountbatten and she attended a Catholic girl's school where their uniforms were individually tailored. She tells us stories of weekends out on yachts with officers and aristocratic girls with improbable names brought back from the Raj.<br>
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"If you love culture, history, and excellent weather you’ll love living in Malta. The Mediterranean Sea, a warm and sunny climate, a peaceful lifestyle waiting to be lived–that’s what to expect if you choose to live in Malta." <a href="http://internationalliving.com/countries/malta/living-in-malta/">http://internationalliving.com/countries/malta/living-in-malta/</a></div>
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I just mentally moved to Malta.<br>
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The Luthier has been invited to be the Violin Maker in Residence and a Juror at the Malta International Music Competition. One of his bows will be donated as a prize for the Violin competition. Competitors, musicians of many kinds of instruments, come from all over Europe, Asia and the US for the week. The opportunity for Phil to attend came through his profile on LinkedIn - who knew that LinkedIn would workpiece that? Exciting times! <br>
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A time lapse film of me and the Luthier packing up and heading to Malta for a week of Mediterranean-culture-soaked-bliss is my next wish. Fingers crossed for tonight's mega draw. <br>
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I don't imagine my bed would be my favourite place if I were in Malta. <br>
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This island's bedscape is now covered in toys, catalogues, a wet towel, kid's pyjamas and dressing gowns and my bedside table has collected an ex-breakfast bowl and a couple of dirty, empty coffee cups. My teen is onto "Wicked" and Hugh Jackman-in-musical-theatre videos on his laptop next to me now. And the dogue has returned, to curl up cat-like at my feet.<br><br></div><div>I love my bed and I love the internet - it makes my bed even better.<br>
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</div>Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-82491633263914426712014-05-13T12:05:00.001+08:002014-05-13T12:36:09.142+08:00Sting<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/cOg3llTXkvQ" width="459"></iframe>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><b>We Work The Black Seam</b></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Sting</b><br />This place has changed for good<br />Your economic theory said it would<br />It's hard for us to understand<br />We can't give up our jobs the way we should<br />Our blood has stained the coal<br />We tunneled deep inside the nation's soul<br />We matter more than pounds and pence<br />Your economic theory makes no sense<br /><br />One day in a nuclear age<br />They may understand our rage<br />They build machines that they can't control<br />And bury the waste in a great big hole<br />Power was to become cheap and clean<br />Grimy faces were never seen<br />Deadly for twelve thousand years is carbon fourteen<br />We work the black seam together<br />We work the black seam together<br /><br />The seam lies underground<br />Three million years of pressure packed it down<br />We walk through ancient forest lands<br />And light a thousand cities with our hands<br />Your dark satanic mills<br />Have made redundant all our mining skills<br />You can't exchange a six inch band<br />For all the poisoned streams in Cumberland<br /><br /><br />One day in a nuclear age<br />They may understand our rage<br />They build machines that they can't control<br />And bury the waste in a great big hole<br />Power was to become cheap and clean<br />Grimy faces were never seen<br />Deadly for twelve thousand years is carbon fourteen<br />We work the black seam together<br />We work the black seam together</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Our conscious lives run deep</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You cling onto your mountain while we sleep</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This way of life is part of me</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">THere is no price so only let me be</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Should the children weep<br />The turning world will sing their souls to sleep<br />When you have sunk without a trace<br />The universe will suck me into place<br /><br />One day in a nuclear age<br />They may understand our rage<br />They build machines that they can't control<br />And bury the waste in a great big hole<br />Power was to become cheap and clean<br />Grimy faces were never seen<br />But deadly for twelve thousand years is carbon fourteen<br />We work the black seam together<br />We work the black seam together</span></span><br />
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Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-46826633678539280442014-04-28T12:31:00.002+08:002014-04-28T12:35:47.009+08:00Joy The writing course I am doing is progressing really well. I am really enjoying the daily practice of writing and am starting to realise how much can be achieved with just a little every day. The course focuses on opening up and just "... getting it out there, baby!" focussing on laying out the detail and emotion<br />
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This is a piece I wrote as an exercise. Remember, it is written as a first draft and is all about just getting it on the page. But it came out of nowhere and I quite liked it.<br />
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"He watched her high-heels dance up the stairs to her brownstone. The Autumn shower was drenching him, but he was oblivious. The bliss of that woman, that first kiss in the rain, , had lifted his feet off the ground, beyond care for the drops running over their faces and lips and the weather. He stood there drinking her in until she turned, blew a kiss to him and disappeared through the door into the light and warmth. His smile cracked open his face and he whooped and ran through the puddles, trousers drenched and shoes squelching. He lifted his face to the sky, drips falling into his eyes and mouth, blinking and spluttering, he sang the old song, a modern day Gene Kelly, kicking through red and yellow leaves and overflowing with love. An old man in a high-collared overcoat and an umbrella pulled down hard over his head, eyed him and grumbled "Lunatic!" Giggling, David slowed to a walking skip, stopping to shelter under a florist's awning, watching the drops dance as they hit the street. With his hands shoved deep in to his coat pockets and a glow in his cheeks, 'Glorious evening!' he said to no-one in particular, "Truly glorious!" "Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-82679627994771263282014-04-24T07:19:00.001+08:002014-04-24T07:19:12.431+08:0015<div><br></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0Ojcafpi1BspfCrOI9m6o_vf2j2Me_eF7ZJsNDLDuMYiLpDSscJb-eN-nww0TRny4anLXAFKaXMZpMdEROnn-rhZIA2cqqd66aHzEDuaistkb8SbtEjoL2oEViknXA30EYVy/s640/blogger-image--2070859005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0Ojcafpi1BspfCrOI9m6o_vf2j2Me_eF7ZJsNDLDuMYiLpDSscJb-eN-nww0TRny4anLXAFKaXMZpMdEROnn-rhZIA2cqqd66aHzEDuaistkb8SbtEjoL2oEViknXA30EYVy/s640/blogger-image--2070859005.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div>15 years<div>2 states<br><div><div>3 children</div><div>18 weeks of morning sickness</div><div>5 hospital stays and <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">4 operations for the kids </span></div><div>11 years of business</div><div>Over 40 instruments</div><div>One 2 month adventure to France</div><div>9 jobs</div><div>1 mortgage</div><div>Bills, debts, mistakes and successes </div><div>a motorbike</div><div>and a dog.</div><div><br></div><div>We are still friends, still in love, still planning our future and sharing our dreams. </div><div><br></div><div>After 15 years of marriage, we sure do <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">have a lot to celebrate.</span></div><div><br></div></div></div><div>Happy anniversary to us! </div>Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-85709664063687190372014-04-15T18:02:00.004+08:002014-04-15T18:09:50.118+08:00FlasherAs you can see I have been on blog hiatus. I just haven't had anything much to say. Not in a bad way. Just in a bit of a blank brain kinda way.<br />
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Life has trucked on in a jolly, Smithy, summery way. Climate change is certainly working for us on the island, I can't remember such a long summer.</div>
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Today I started a writing a course. Its a scary step. From spending the money, to committing the time and doing the work just scares the shit out of me and it is the sort of thing I have previously found very easy to duck out of. I want it bad, but there are so, so many other things to do, priorities, etcetera, etcetera. This time the luthier looked at me and said quietly and firmly, as only the luthier can, "You should do this." So even though my knees do knock and my collies wobble, I am supported and not ducking out. </div>
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Do you find that? That its far easier to do jobs and commit to everyone else, than it is to commit to yourself? Doing things for the kids, or the luthier, or school, or whatever, certainly sits more easily in my chest than time and effort that is 'just for me'. Madness. I know that is madness, but it is true. And in an effort to break the habit and move forward a little, I have started a writing course. </div>
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"If you love it, do it", thats the sage advice I freely hand out, often unsolicited, to my kids and my friends. The time has come to take my own advice. </div>
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Writing for me is vulnerability, an exposure. While the act is always preceded by excitement, high expectations and lusty anticipation, often the reality, in my eyes, has a rather disappointing, withered result - much like a flasher in a raincoat under a lamppost in the park.</div>
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My first post to the course forum just went up for feedback. Let's hope they are gentle with me. </div>
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Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-7109097528583300222014-01-27T05:56:00.001+08:002014-01-27T05:58:38.134+08:00Donuts Happy New Year! <div><br></div><div>I hope your 2014 has started full of sweetness, love and optimism. <br><div><br></div><div>This has been the laziest holiday on record chez Smith. It's been all pjs till lunchtime, reading and watching movies.</div><div><br></div><div>Well, not entirely. The kids have been swimming lots and my two little 'sinkers' are finally getting fishy with it. In typical, slightly perverse style, Sach can suddenly swim 25 metres, but only backstroke. Whatever works for you, little man! </div><div><br></div><div>Little Soph has had a growth spurt extraordinaire, Josh is weeks away from his first teen birthday and the luthier has been working, working, working. </div><div><br></div><div>As for me, well, I've been baking. I have become a little obsessed with 'The Great British Bake Off'. It may be getting a little out of hand. I found myself at a party describing the joy of watching a baker with expert technique knead dough and my raptures were met with a sea of blank faces. Its hard to believe not everyone appreciates the dark art of baking quite as much as me. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I have, in particular, taken a shine to yeast baking - donuts and cinnamon scrolls and Chelsea buns so far and I think proper bread is next. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">There is something so therapeutic about kneading dough, watching it prove, then pulling the golden brown, sweet delights from the oven.</span></div><div><br></div><div>In these, the laziest holidays on record, it makes me feel like I've achieved something.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPhPMSuchulfi2m8u7hh2_e4gc_OQ77i43vFXfvHehaPAKOzkMV79fQ0k7bvsKQSJgDRJ_goYselnAdUjqxQ2C4gsUwtB3Lu0Z5giQveBdeeBOHC9-_wIr5hO5-dkhyphenhyphen55SeY4/s640/blogger-image-277948026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPhPMSuchulfi2m8u7hh2_e4gc_OQ77i43vFXfvHehaPAKOzkMV79fQ0k7bvsKQSJgDRJ_goYselnAdUjqxQ2C4gsUwtB3Lu0Z5giQveBdeeBOHC9-_wIr5hO5-dkhyphenhyphen55SeY4/s640/blogger-image-277948026.jpg"></a></div></div></div>Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-74213000847330457732013-10-27T11:32:00.001+08:002013-10-27T12:24:15.941+08:00Taking Care<div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Taking care isn't easy, is it? Of yourself, I mean, taking care of yourself isn't easy. There are a million different demands - real ones like 'Muuuuuum, I needs my breakfast.' or perceived societal ones 'Be smart, fit and fabulously sociable at all times' and then all the basic demands of daily life, you all know what I'm talking about. And Anxiety,my constant, tireless task master, just makes the job seem impossible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So where does the taking care of yourself start? This week. I've had quite a few people tell me that I need to take care of myself, so I am taking their advice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've accepted help from friends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been to a counsellor who shared a superb piece of advice: to walk every day and while you walk, to fully engage your five senses - can you see ants on the path, birds in the trees? What can you smell? What does the air feel like on your skin, the earth under your feet? What sounds reach your ears? What can you taste in the air? This technique brings you out of your mind and into your body and lifts your spirit. It gives rest to your thinking brain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had a massage with hot stones - this had the same effect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went to see the movie 'About Time' with my wonderful luthier. I am a huge fan of Richard Curtis's writing and films and this gorgeous, insightful story did not let me down. In fact, it could've been written just for me, so perfect was its message for my life, right at this moment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pay attention, breathe it all in, see, smell, hear, touch and taste it and love every second of it, of this life we have, of this precious time we are given. Use your five senses to be in this moment. This one. Not that one tomorrow, or that shit one yesterday, or the dreamed up one that has never happened and possibly never will. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This one where I am lying on the deck with Kevin, barefoot in the sunshine, listening to the kids squabble on the trampoline. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am working hard to quit my taskmaster and taking care of myself seems to do the trick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am here and I am enough. </span></div>
Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-82652443547568047282013-10-22T06:58:00.001+08:002013-10-22T06:58:37.335+08:00Gratitude<div><br></div><div>I don't even know what to say about the last two weeks whether to laugh, cry or spontaneously combust in a smokey puff of anxiety.</div><div><br></div><div>Our Sach has been in the hospital, two hospitals actually and it has been scary and hard for all of us. There has been a barrage of tests - CT scans, cystograms, a cystoscopy and ultrasounds. He has had so many nuclear medicine scans, I think he might glow in the dark. He's had a barrage of medication - morphine endone, ketamine, medazalam, kephalexin, not to mention the anaesthetic drugs for surgery. Diagnoses have ranged from appendicitis, to a mass in the liver,, hydronephroses and now we are sitting with a dodgy kidney and abnormal ureters until the next tests. The kid knows more about canulas and catheters and worst of all, his nemesis, the dreaded medical tape, than is right for a boy of 8.</div><div><br></div><div>So incredibly grateful that excellent free medical help is here for us when we need it. </div><div><br></div><div>And thank goodness he faced it all with confidence, spirit, intelligence and humour (and sometimes, inexplicably, with a Scottish accent). He could verbalise fears and demand that every nurse and doctor stop right there and explain exactly what they were going to do before they did it. He screamed when he was scared or in pain, he didn't swallow it up or pretend it wasn't happening. He made demands and tried to control what little of what was happening to him could be controlled. He took no shit. And I am so grateful, (not for the screaming, I could totally do without the screaming) but for his honesty and spirit and confidence.</div><div><br></div><div>I am grateful that, even though this is not over for him, with more tests and a final plan to be established, this can probably be managed. I am grateful that he went through it surrounded by loving family: his mother or father sleeping at his side in hospital every night; his brother and sister playing with him in the children's ward play room, catheter bag in tow; his big cousin playing endless games of that great card game - 'Oh Shit' taught to him by the lovely teacher on the ward and his Gran, aunts and uncle all there to love and support him.</div><div><br></div><div>I am so grateful for his gorgeous school friends who came to visit, sent gifts and messages to 'get well soon'. For the friends who cooked us food, visited and made sure we arrived home to a clean house and a care <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">package. That is love! </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I am especially grateful to Ronald McDonald House, who provided us with safe comfort and respite at such a stress-soaked time. Thanks to them we could rest, we could keep our family together for Sophie's birthday which we celebrated with cake in an isolation room in the children's ward. She declared it a 'shit day' but at least it was unforgettable.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We may not all support the McDonalds menus for kids but the service they provide through Ronald McDonald houses, to families like us, who have to travel for the medical treatment of their children, can not be underestimated. It can not. Nor can the generosity of the companies or volunteers who come in and cook meals for parents in the houses, or those that donate toys and food and other comforts to these parents at their most stressed and most vulnerable. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">If you can help a Ronald McDonald house, in any way, I urge you to. They are doing good. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I am grateful my son was not the boy with chronic skin conditions that had been in hospital for months, who had no visitors for the whole time we were there. Grateful not to be the mother of the twins with developmental problems so bad that they are violent and can't live together. They have to take turns being at home and in care.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Grateful that he is out of hospital.</span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Grateful that there is hope that there will be a plan and an end.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Exhausted and still anxious as hell. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But so lucky. </span></div><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc__H2uP8UBYfTSwiDyYLyuwweqoAXBG7zKyeJwCxZIB7IL6R9nQnFhw8jRkYpibfvVW-tKpueJKOZh1vUFEEZABaDp3_BaqH5gcBQEwbcHR6Cx8msSnjJIlYsFXCyjMyIYht5/s640/blogger-image-1802342440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc__H2uP8UBYfTSwiDyYLyuwweqoAXBG7zKyeJwCxZIB7IL6R9nQnFhw8jRkYpibfvVW-tKpueJKOZh1vUFEEZABaDp3_BaqH5gcBQEwbcHR6Cx8msSnjJIlYsFXCyjMyIYht5/s640/blogger-image-1802342440.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-28636898077946391362013-10-08T07:19:00.001+08:002013-10-08T07:22:53.683+08:00Something Beautiful<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbGhkdSTKDdfm2x4yOlahDBpNPGqM41XGEIv69z0SeKJqUQQy3VBElFKpp0L-maY_XhFFdBJOCX7x6RP4JPSashqkRG28Lg3LG5TMrpifjCV6iYzdTZ-5fFJiPKBee5yHWJiIa/s640/blogger-image--1223456676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbGhkdSTKDdfm2x4yOlahDBpNPGqM41XGEIv69z0SeKJqUQQy3VBElFKpp0L-maY_XhFFdBJOCX7x6RP4JPSashqkRG28Lg3LG5TMrpifjCV6iYzdTZ-5fFJiPKBee5yHWJiIa/s640/blogger-image--1223456676.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div><div><br></div>Sometimes you need to see something beautiful. <div><br></div><div>'Illumination' is an exhibition of the work of Tasmanian landscape painter, Philip Wolfhagan currently showing at the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery in a Hobart. </div><div><br></div><div>Philip's work not only illuminates but transports to the wild, Tasmanian sky, scrub and sea. His 'scapes evoke the sense that our island exists right at the edge of civilisation and our rugged Wild only just tolerates White Man's intrusion. Being in Tasmania's unforgiving Nature makes you feel that prehistory for this island was not that long ago. </div><div><br></div><div>I walked into this exhibition and did not want to leave. It applied itself like a balm to my grief wounds, the soothing familiarity, the light, air and earth of this wild island was all there, like family and home.</div><div><br></div><div>A short film plays of Philip Wolfhagan and his work and I am seduced by the life of the artist. Walking into his studio, pulling out a huge canvas, mixing his earthy hues with beeswax, taking the pallet knife to it and letting the blues, whites, greys and blacks reveal the torrid Tasmanian sky or the turgid sea all to an orchestral soundtrack that fills his lightwashed workspace. </div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes we all need to see something beautiful. Beauty to lift the spirit, to illuminate, to resonate, it is essential. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSP_obn0d7eKTgc-STmE0bHQGp5HDev-NlIdUhf5M46_6nEvLhuOkge5n5DicagRDV4PsgArp1iGnzEiclIrkGIjw6JZnPS9WeWVqxrkjmiGrVHy4eZHgaAVBTydlte3L_KrF/s640/blogger-image-1259605235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSP_obn0d7eKTgc-STmE0bHQGp5HDev-NlIdUhf5M46_6nEvLhuOkge5n5DicagRDV4PsgArp1iGnzEiclIrkGIjw6JZnPS9WeWVqxrkjmiGrVHy4eZHgaAVBTydlte3L_KrF/s640/blogger-image-1259605235.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-13764343352619192502013-09-29T19:26:00.001+08:002013-10-01T19:24:15.215+08:00Dark lightEven then, in that moment when darkness has seeped into the very marrow, there is light,<div>Light made more brilliant by that pitch.<div><div><br></div><div>Sadness, love, joy, they coexist in the same heart space - this trauma, this loss, this grief that rips like a grappling hook to the gut. </div><div><br></div><div>The wound is rent, but the glowing beloveds pour in love to wash healing over the gore unhindered, the skin of resistance too hard to regrow. </div><div><br></div><div>Light radiates from the crack between loss and life, between living and the abyss. From the thrill of being alive in the face of death. </div><div><br></div><div>There is pain and privilege in being present, of staying hand and hand till the darkness takes them forward alone and they are gone towards the light. </div><div><br></div><div>Relief in the end of suffering.</div><div>The primal wail of loss.</div><div><br></div><div>We remaining beloveds are left to set the candles flickering in celebration and honour of his shining life. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div></div>Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-13985172377801075172013-09-24T06:18:00.001+08:002013-09-24T06:18:57.264+08:00A LittleI guess it's ok to fall apart a little.<div><br></div><div>I made it to work yesterday but felt like I was walking around in a bubble. Everyone's voices were either distant and muffled or harsh, shocking me out of my thoughts of Dad. Lots of kindness was received which made me feel better and worse, better and worse. I couldn't quite think through a problem or finish a sentence. </div><div><br></div><div>After a sleepless night, that ended in apocalyptic dreams of being chased by awkward and unfeasible dinosaur monsters, unrealistic costume beasts like on a 70s episode of Doctor Who, now I can't seem to get out of bed.</div><div><br></div><div>Guilt is soaking my bones. There is so much work to do. So much. A day off is ridiculous. </div><div><br></div><div>But today seems to be the day of tears and there is not a damn thing I can do about that.</div><div><br></div><div>I've never been great for soldiering on.</div><div><br></div><div>It's been such a wild ride this last week. Days of trauma, of busyness, of family of friends, spirit and joy: all distractions from the sadness. </div><div><br></div><div>Now that the quiet has returned with the pressures of normal life and work, the sadness is filling me up.</div><div><br></div><div>A friend sent me this message last week and it describes the sensation exactly - </div><div><br></div><div>"It is so massive the passing of a parent. Like a high speed squash ball to the heart wall."</div><div><br></div><div>I guess it's okay then, for the heart, to fall apart a little. </div><div><br></div>Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-70688450821725525382013-09-21T07:36:00.001+08:002013-09-21T07:42:24.555+08:00To his grandchildren<p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">His grandchildren, did not have the pleasure of knowing Dane before he had Parkinson</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">’s.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">S</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">o I ‘d like to share some things with them, things </span></span></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">that they might not know.</span></p><div class="s6" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; text-align: justify; border: 1px solid transparent; "><div class="s8" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; top: 5px; left: 378px; width: 3px; height: 9px; float: right; "></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div></div><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The first is that growing up, I firmly believed that the name ‘ Doctor Dane Sutton’ had magic in it.</span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When I introduced myself, people’s faces would light up and with an invariable note of reverence and respect they would ask, “Are you Doctor Dane Sutton’s daughter?” and then the magic would happen – kindness would flow, doors would open, free tickets to the show appeared and often cake would be presented.</span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Magic!</span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">With </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">his name magic was invoked in daily interactions but was particularly spectacular with his patients, people in the medical professions and the brothers, nuns and clergy who all adored and respected him.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">People respected </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">nd loved Dane because he dedicated his life to love and care fo</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">r his community unconditionally</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">, with </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">spirit</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">empathy and stamina.</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"></span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">His magic was so strong that even when trapped inside his</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">physical self, barely able to communicate, </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">carers</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">, nurses and respite staff would feel the magic and pour out love and respect for our Dane.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I always wondered how they knew about the name magic when he couldn’t say his name.</span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">That’s when I realized the magic wasn’t in his </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">name,</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> it was in his spirit - in that twinkle in his eye.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And that spirit remains in all of us.</span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Now the other thing you need to know about Dane, is that Dane was, above all else, an ideas man.</span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And once an idea manifested itself, Dane had the drive and stamina to pursue that idea, sometimes in the face of all logic, reason, bylaws and minor legal requirements. </span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Dane did not set limits on his life.</span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">He had farming ideas with a property at</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">Notley</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> Hills wher</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> he ran a few</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">sheep and cattle</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> and he created beautiful gardens in each of our houses.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">He held a 99</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> lease on Tamar Island</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">, bought when he was young,</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> where he ran some cattle. </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">He gave the island back to National Parks and it is now the Tamar Wetlands project. </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">In order to transpo</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">rt his animals across the river to the island</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">, he got</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> this great idea to purchase a punt. He was very find of an eccentric mode of transport. </span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">One bull famously refused</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> to board the punt</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> when the cattle were moved off the island, and so began the tale of Bruno, the loneliest bull in the world. He was left to roam wild and free. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: '.HelveticaNeueUI'; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">http://www.travelways.com.au/travel-diary/123-short-walk-has-some-tall-tales</span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">When the walk</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">ways went into the island a few years ago, </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">Bruno was discovered</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">, and he wasn't happy about it. </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">Bruno’s story was out and </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">animal lovers everywhere responded to his lonely plight. His story</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">was even picked up by Reuters and featured in international press and a 'Save Bruno' petition was circulated. </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">When Dad was asked by the press what should be done for poor lonely, abandoned Bruno, Dad responded "I've got a couple of bullets in my top drawer” – Dad also had an uncanny knack for inflaming a situation and political correctness was never his concern.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">Dane had alternative idea</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">s</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">. He embraced the practice of transce</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">n</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">d</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">ntal meditation, every evening at about 5pm, silently in his study, while the noise and chaos of “arsenic hour’ reigned supreme outside with Mum and us 7 kids.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">He explored organic gardening when it was considered outlandish, learned acupuncture an</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">d believed strongly in the mind</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">–body connection years before it became accepted theory.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When Dane had an idea he followed it through.</span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">He didn’t look for approval or permission from anyone, even Mum.</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"></span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">And Da</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">d</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> knew how to have, not just a good time, </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">but</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> a great time.</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"></span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">One of his best ideas was the purchase of </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">our house at </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">Alanvale</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">. That house was almost big enough for all </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">of us and all of our friends and Dane’s spirit</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">Tha</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">t house was all about spirit. Those parties were legendary a</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">nd Dane lead the charge, his </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">incredible stamina kept him going till the early hours, often outlasting the cocky teens and </span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">uni</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> students who had lobbed for the do.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">That stamina kept Dane fighting his disease and its limitations to his very last breath.</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"></span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">So kids, listen and remember</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">,</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> Dane left us with an incredible model for life.</span></span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Live a life full of spirit, of fun, of love and service, pursuing</span></span></p><p class="s6" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">y</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">our</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> ideas with stamina and self-belief, even in the face of logic, disapproval and political correctness and when necessary, minor legal requirements, because that is where the magic is.</span></span></span></p><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRcqh77B6fsqMQnZIn5fFimRqFDSBSo8Ku56zaD3gbksKm24dh1rQvh2Bvs1MVFmFwdaBd_tQQ7IhGXr0_GWCn6TPCPIOfrSSBgk_vELbRXQULZDkiL1fjN_wDLUBfUb8HlFUj/s640/blogger-image--1130279796.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRcqh77B6fsqMQnZIn5fFimRqFDSBSo8Ku56zaD3gbksKm24dh1rQvh2Bvs1MVFmFwdaBd_tQQ7IhGXr0_GWCn6TPCPIOfrSSBgk_vELbRXQULZDkiL1fjN_wDLUBfUb8HlFUj/s640/blogger-image--1130279796.jpg"></a></div>Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-84036693994370206202013-09-16T08:34:00.001+08:002013-09-22T07:56:49.399+08:00To Dane.<div>
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Awake! For Morning in the Bowl of Night<br />
<div>
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight.</div>
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And Lo! The Hunter of the East has caught</div>
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The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky</div>
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I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,</div>
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"Awake, my little ones, and fill the Cup</div>
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Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry." </div>
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- The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam</div>
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Our beloved Dane, who filled Life's cup to the brim and drank deeply, passed away this morning, in peace and love surrounded by his family.</div>
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Here's to a wonderful man who lived fully, in love, faith and service. </div>
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We love you.</div>
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<br /></div>
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To Dane. </div>
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Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-33495626871436665542013-09-14T06:50:00.001+08:002013-09-14T06:55:37.254+08:00Love is Staying<br />
Caring. .<br />
Feeding.<br />
Washing.<br />
Wiping.<br />
Holding.<br />
<br />
Aging.<br />
But staying.<br />
<br />
Sad<br />
But staying.<br />
<br />
Stuck<br />
But staying.<br />
<br />
Feeding<br />
Washing<br />
Wiping<br />
Holding<br />
Aging<br />
Stuck<br />
Caring<br />
And So So Sad<br />
But staying to the end.Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24178923.post-6272782476532279502013-08-26T14:32:00.000+08:002013-08-27T08:06:36.841+08:00pal·li·ate<div class="snum">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">1 <span class="ssens"><strong>:</strong> to reduce the violence of (a disease); <em>also</em> <strong>:</strong> to ease (symptoms) without curing the underlying disease</span></span></div>
<div class="snum">
<span class="ssens"></span><br />
<div class="snum">
<span class="ssens"><span style="font-size: x-small;">2 <span class="ssens"><strong>:</strong> to cover by excuses and apologies </span></span></span></div>
<span class="ssens">
</span>
<br />
<div class="sblk">
<div class="snum">
<span class="ssens"><span style="font-size: x-small;">3 <span class="ssens"><strong>:</strong> to moderate the intensity of <span class="vi"><trying em="" to="">palliate</trying></span></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<span class="ssens">
</span></div>
the boredom> <br />
<div class="snum">
</div>
<span class="ssens"></span><br />
<div class="snum">
<span class="ssens"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><strong>Examples of <em>PALLIATE</em></strong></span></span></div>
<span class="ssens">
</span>
<br />
<div class="snum">
<div class="example-sentences">
<!--INFOLINKS_ON--><span class="ssens"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="KonaBody" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<ol class="content collapsed-list"><span class="ssens">
<li class="always-visible"><span style="font-size: x-small;">treatments that can <em>palliate</em> the painful symptoms of the disease</span></li>
<li class="always-visible"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><don em="" t="" to="" try="">palliate</don></span></li>
</span></ol>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<span class="ssens">
</span> your constant lying by claiming that everybody lies><!--INFOLINKS_OFF--><br />
<div class="etymology">
<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Origin of <em>PALLIATE</em></span></h2>
<div class="content">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Middle English, from Late Latin <em>palliatus,</em> past participle of <em>palliare</em> to cloak, conceal, from Latin <em>pallium</em> cloak</span><br />
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/palliate">http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/palliate</a></span></div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
The process of palliative care is beginning for my father. Last time he was in hospital one of the doctors used the sentence "and if his condition worsens we will begin to palliate".</div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
I had never heard it used as a verb before, the verb 'to palliate'. </div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
What does that actually mean? These definitions don't cover my perception of its meaning. They don't say it out loud. </div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
Does it mean making him comfortable as he slowly disappears, as that grip on my hand slowly weakens and slips my grasp?</div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
Does it mean cloaking and concealing the final stages of this long drawn out disease, which has locked and isolated my father in his body, losing one stage of function at a time, step by step, word by word over 13 years. This disease that has reduced him, physically, but made us blow up the memory of him to 'larger than life'. </div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
There is no cloaking, no concealing the outcome of this palliation. <br />
We don't know how much longer we have with our father, maybe weeks? Maybe. </div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
All we can do now is hold his hand to keep him company, as Mum and the carers make him comfortable. </div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
We wait. </div>
<div style="margin-top: 5px;">
We palliate. </div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="snum">
</div>
Mrs Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104008153119528385noreply@blogger.com4