Brown Paper Notebook #2

I've got a bad case of writers block.  It's probably a good thing though as I've got a stack of my 'real job' stuff keeping me quite busy at the moment.  So my blog doesn't get too neglected, I've dusted off a classic entry from the Brown Paper Notebook, my teenage journal I stumbled upon a month or so ago.  Enjoy...


She sits on the bus.  Desperately, she attempts to concentrate on one thought for more than two seconds.  She needs this precious time by herself to think of urgent matters such as finding employment, repairing a broken friendship and pondering the seemingly wasted month spent with her father in a desperate attempt to rekindle any resemblance of a stable family life.  She fleetingly manages to grasp a thought, but her heart won't let her.


She has met a man.  A gorgeous, amazing and exciting man with whom she spent the most amazing nights of her life.  She prays to God.  The same God to whom she prayed at age 10 when she was desperate for the return of her stolen bike.  God was good to her back then and she now prayed he could register that same level or urgency in her silent voice.  


It had now been eight days since he promised to her a phone call in 10 days, or was it 15 days?  She couldn't remember.  The component of the brain named memory is often excluded when matters of the heart are concerned.  This often leads to a disgusting confusion of the actual facts, when regurgitated to friends in a flurry of romantic, lusty excitement.


She could paint the picture how ever she liked, but deep down she knew he would never call.  Her heart, although as beautiful and sweet as a blooming scarlet rose had become infected with the disease of trust.  He was a stranger, the most remarkable stranger that had ever passed through her life. It was for this reason, that she dared her thoughts to venture beyond the realm of her practicality...


The girl on the bus staggers out of her fantasy.  The next few days will surely be hell.  If he phones, her fantasy will be fulfilled.  If not, a scar will be embedded on her heart that only the love of her one true love can erase.

This is How I Do It

I've been a bit quiet on the blog this past week or so.  I often compare myself to the captain of a ship; a very important person, responsible for countless lives.  Just some days it feels like my ship is called the Titanic.  

  

My ship started sinking when at short notice my day care was cancelled, throwing everything out of whack.  This in a week that I’d scheduled a huge chunk of work into two precious day care days.  I juggled, worked nights and am forever thankful to a beautiful husband, somehow we made it through.  Even if you don’t have children, there’ll always be those days or weeks that you think will ruin us.  Between work, family, friends and worrying about everything from, “we’re out of milk” to the war in Afghanistan, there’s often not enough left in the tank for us. 

So in a rare treat, last night I picked up a DVD and a block of fruit and nut and settled in for some quality ME time.  Now with two small children, watching a DVD is a luxury, watching one I’ve chosen myself is pure decadence.  I needed a chick flick, I need to cry, laugh and swoon all within a 90 minute window.  I chose “I Don’t Know How She Does It”, you know the one, Sarah Jessica Parker makes being a working mum look effortless in a crazy kinda way.  Not a new release I know, but refer to afore mentioned statement.  My choice of title perhaps was a reflection of my week and my SJP fix start to look more like self-help than self-indulgence.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve seen this movie, but I was disappointed.  Poor little SJP, I’m sure you’re lovely, but I just don’t believe it.  Do you think she had to pay her phone bill a week late because her car needed a new starter motor?  Do you think she worries about dropping the kids at kindy, slaving away in the office and making sure Matthew Broderick has clean shirts for work?

I’m sure my expectations were a little out of reach, but despite its title, I didn’t learn anything useable about how she actually did it.  So I’m going to get the ball rolling, starting a little sisterhood of secrets and tell you how I do it…

I have low standards – this sounds terrible, but honestly, when I lowered my standards the game changed completely.  Instead of being an over-achieving neat freak I now am comfortable with dirty dishes in the sink and with things left uncrossed off my list. 

Embrace the things you can’t change - Instead of making my children fit my life, I work around them.  Life changed forever the day I welcomed two new little humans into my home and I can’t continue to expect that I’ll be able to sleep in, read the paper in peace or basically do what I want for the next few years.

Eat take away – Don’t put yourself under unnecessary pressure.  If you don’t have time to cook, don’t cook.  One night a week won’t hurt at all and if you really can’t bring yourself to the McDonalds drive thru, keep your pantry and freezer stocked with lifesavers such as tinned baked beans, two minute noodles and fish fingers. 

Ask for help – I think the myth of ‘having it all’ is starting to become accepted as exactly that, a myth.  There may be moments of some days where the planets align and things work smoothly, but most days it won’t and you know what, that’s ok.  There’s nothing wrong with that and you’re certainly not alone.  Say yes to the kind offers which occasionally cross our paths and go one step further by repaying the favour to friend in need. 

Start spreading the love now by sharing your tips on how you manage the juggle.  How do you do it?

The Brown-Paper Notebook #1

As promised, the first of my entries from The Brown-Paper Notebook, my old journal I kept as a teenager and rediscovered earlier this week.  I'll save the cringe-worthy Love stuff for another week.  

I wrote in my notebook inspirational quotes, poems, my thoughts and feelings as well as short stories...

THE TREE

There was once a tree.  A tremendously beautiful tree.  A Tree that was so tremendously beautiful, not even a thousand artists could capture its beauty.  This Tree did not grow flowers, nor did it grow fruit.  It was however, home to a hundred birds who would sing each morning to thank The Tree for such a lovely home. 

The Tree sat alone upon a small hill and from where it stood it could hear the ocean, which lay not too far from The Tree’s small hill.  The birds had told The Tree about the ocean, it seemed so different to life up on the hill.  The smell of the ocean alone could sometimes drive the beautiful tree crazy.  

“Oh, why can’t I have wings like my friends the birds so I can fly above the ocean and see the beautiful creatures that live within.”

One day his friend The Wind came to visit the tree upon the small hill.

“I have some terrible news,” said The Wind.  “My cousin Storm is coming from across the ocean.  He is coming to visit you and is so jealous of your beautiful branches and the birds that sing to you each morning.  He has promised to rip you from the ground on your small hill and scatter your leaves in a million places.  You will survive, but you will never be as beautiful again.”

This frightened The Tree.  How terrible it would be to leave his small hill and his friends the birds.  He was scared of what was to come, but he would now be able to visit the Ocean and the Mountains and the Rivers.  Things only he had ever heard the birds talk of.

The next day The Storm came.  Tree was prepared for his journey.  He shut his eyes bravely and awaited the impact as the gusts and gales approached.  The vicious Storm ripped the Tree mercilessly from the hill.  A thousand raindrops pelted heavily on his leaves.  Ferocious lightning bolts struck his trunk smashing it into a million pieces. 

The Storm soon passed, leaving only a large hole where The Tree once stood.  Some time later, The Tree opened his eyes, his journey was over.  Parts of him had grown in a million beautiful places all over the world.  But the most beautiful place of all was next to a small beach.  The Tree was invisible to anyone who walked by and ignored its gnarled and knotted appearance, but the birds who sang to it every morning knew that this tree had become truly beautiful after its amazing journey.  

For the Love of Writing

I began 2012 like most people, with hope for a fresh start and some positive change in my life.  I had already committed to a short online writing course and was excited to be connecting again to something I once loved so much.


You see, as an angst-filled 18 year old, writing was my solace and vehicle to vent.  I felt terribly artistic and would sit in my room writing, really writing with a pen, smoking cigarettes and listening to Massive Attack.  I covered an old notebook in brown paper, because this seemed like a creative thing to do and filled it with beautiful words. 


For some reason I connected writing with only painful emotions, so a few years later when I fell in love, moved to the beach and gave up the smokes, I also gave up my writing.  


What began as just a little writing course has now snowballed into something that consumes every spare square of my mind.  Doors have opened, strangers are reading what I write and I’m even getting paid for it.  I have never felt on a surer path and am seeing obstacles removed only moments after I’ve manifested them.
  
This week I have started to entertain the idea of writing a book.  I have no idea what it will be about, but like all this other writing business, I’ve planted the seed and trust that something fabulous will grow from it.  


With yet another reminder that I’m on the right path, yesterday I stumbled across my old brown paper notebook.  So I’m making a real out-loud commitment to a second blog post a week which will be an entry from the Brown-Paper Notebook.  This could be interesting and I’m going to have to do a bit of a Facebook inventory to check which old boyfriends I could be embarrassing myself in front of.  


It will be a laugh anyway and at very least, I’m really looking forward to the trip down memory lane.

A Picture Says....Week 2

Hello friends, I hope you enjoy the second of my posting in my creative Blog-Off initiated by the lovely Kelly at www.kellyexeter.com.au...

The smell of the rain on the cobblestone filled her nostrils as she explored another quaint lane way.

Finally, she was here.  The journey from Australian suburbia to Parisian laneway had been more emotional than she’d anticipated.  What began as a simple decision to take a 12 month contract with the Paris branch resulted in a tangled mess of hurt feelings and broken promises.  It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she lamented.

 
“I only wanted to taste a REAL chocolate croissant”, she said out loud as the buttery smell from yet another bakery wafted by.

He had Skyped her already, every day in fact.  With beer bottles and the sound of his mates laughter in the background, she knew she didn’t belong there anymore.  In only a week, she had been introduced to the culture, the decadence, the romance.  Yes it was confirmed, she was in love, with Paris. 

Each step she took led her further from her past, and like the rain falling from the sky, washed away the past to reveal the beautiful rainbow of the future.  

Our Special Visitors

Ghost taught me everything I know about
the afterlife and pottery.

Do you believe in life after death?  Do you think we’re “watched over” by our loved ones who have passed away?  I believe in God, but I wouldn’t classify myself as religious.  I’ve dabbled in many different religions and spiritual beliefs, but as is typical for my generation, have never committed to anything.  My version of Heaven and Hell comes straight from Patrick Swayze in Ghost.  Today I’ve been confronted to face my views on religion and after-life in the most unlikely way.


While out walking with my children this morning, my three year old questioned me on the grumpy garbage man who didn’t respond to his cheerful “hello”.  I explained that not everyone is as friendly as we are sweetheart and maybe if we worked with smelly rubbish all day we’d be grumpy too.  He pondered that for a moment and proceeded to tell me that he always says hello to the people in the sky.  Before I had time to question him, he’d moved on to the next topic in the typical machine-gun pace of a toddler.  


Ten minutes later and he was telling me he saw a baby up in the tree and could I get him a ladder so he could see the baby.  I asked him some questions, but couldn’t make sense of any of his answers.


I didn’t give it too much thought until I raised it with my husband this evening.  He’s a spiritual soul and a bit of a deep thinker.  He gave a knowing nod and started asking our little Spirit Whisperer more about these people in the sky he talks to.  
“The baby is sad because she’s lost her dummy and can’t find her Mummy or Daddy.”  


Yikes.


Now, my son has an active imagination, loves to role-play and at times often believes he is Murray Wiggle.  So I’m torn as to what the best approach is with this.  


My husband and I both have friends and family members on the “other side” and the thought of them popping by to get to know my children fills my heart with joy.  We’ve joked in the past about our “visitors” who come to play with the kids when we hear Tickle-Me Elmo play on his own.   I’m beginning to now entertain the idea that there’s perhaps more to this than battery malfunctions.


I know that religion and afterlife is such a personal matter for us all and I would never proclaim my views over those of anyone else.  In fact, I don’t think I know what to think.  I do however believe in the power of social media to help solve problems, so turn to you dear reader for your advice on what to do with my little John Edwards.