Dad

It's 20 years ago this Christmas that my Dad died. Like, the actual day, where half of the worlds population are celebrating the birth of some baby that actually happened a thousand years ago. Or is it longer? Not to mention lying to their children about a fat bearded man who snuck into their home and left them presents for being good. I'll save the rest of that spiel for another post.
Dad had been sick for a year, really sick for weeks. He was skin and bone, with this frightening bloated belly, like a child from Ethiopia suffering starvation. It was this awful waiting game, the one with no winners, just a whole lot of pain, a whole lot of waiting.
I've always wondered whether it would be better or worse to lose someone suddenly, like in a car crash, so that you didn't have to watch them die. Better that I never know, but I imagine in the long run it's just the same - constant, heavy and unstoppable grief.
Dad died in the middle of the morning, around about present opening time. Mum was with him, us kids scattered about the house, I was reading a new book that I had been given that day, it was called Rocco, it took me weeks to finish that book, and another 18 years before I could throw it out. I think I held onto it for so long because it was a physical reminder of that moment. It was a really shit book and I could never bring myself to reread it, but it meant something to me.
Mum came to find me, crying, told me Dad had died. It was such a surreal moment, hugging, walking down the passageway to the bedroom, for a minute I thought I was going to burst out laughing (it's a common stress response - these days it happens when my children have their immunisation needles - I get a terrible fit of the giggles. Such a good mother.).
I'm not sure to this day whether his dead body gave me peace or concern. At least he wasn't suffering anymore....and at least I didn't have to watch him suffering anymore. But that emaciated man lying before me was not the Dad I knew, trusted or really loved. I was frightened of him. I didn't know him. He couldn't be my Dad like that. One of the things that always bothered me was his body in the coffin. I hated the thought of him being trapped in there with a pile of dirt on top of him. I still hate the thought of it, so I'll take this opportunity to remind my loved ones that if it's ever me in that casket burn the damn thing up and throw me off Mt Gillen. You can take the girl out of Central Australia but you can't take the Central Australia out of the girl. (I also quite like the idea of everyone slogging up that hill - may I suggest you do it at Easter time -  in the lovely weather.)
What a shit Christmas. My first day back at school, Year 9 (of all the grades at school surely Year 9 is the worst, just the worst. Teenagers are animals.) and a classmate yells out to me as I'm walking in the school grounds "Did your Dad die on Christmas Day?!" with equal measure of ridicule and intrigue. I answered quietly, but still people heard. Yes.
What else to say? I never knew. For years I harboured a deep sadness that I couldn't describe, or share, or confide in anyone. I didn't have the words, or the maturity. I hated my friends for not asking the right questions and I hated myself for not speaking my truth. I escaped in my imagination, dreaming of a day when I would not only be the the fittest, coolest, gorgeous girl but have the fittest, coolest, gorgeous boyfriend. Ohh the hours spent daydreaming.
I'm not going to be able to finish this post today. There is much more to say, but I'm rambling a bit already and I want to say it properly. I still miss him. As a man, as a Dad, as a figure. There is so much I wanted to share with him. And he with me. I hold him everyday in my heart, I speak his name, I remember him always, my wonderful Dad.

A New Week

I've weaned myself off wine (for the time being) so I'm part way to feeling terrific again.
Asides from tearing my 6 year old son a new asshole for not opening the driveway gate this morning. In hindsight, a definite overreaction, but at the time, a definite rage. Poor kid. Mother Guilt is officially in fine working order today.
Damn there is a bit of a comedown after what I think may have been a 10 day wine bender? No wonder my tolerance was increasing! No wonder I barely managed to walk the dog for 20 minutesas exercise. No wonder I currently can't see my fanny - far too much tummy hanging down.
In admitting all that, here is what I have done since yesterday.
Yesterday, a 3km jog, slow, unpretty, at times very huffy puffy, but I did it. 20 minutes uninterrupted. Back on the horse as they say, onward and upward from here. A 60 second plank, 5 minutes worth of sit ups. There is definitely some muscle under all that fat, just got to get to it now...
This morning I woke up at 6.30 and Maggie and I took the dog for a 30 minute walk. Almost cooler at that time of day. Almost.
Later today I attended my first Pump class at the gym in a LONG time. Yes I know I'll be sore tomorrow. In fact, just in case I'm sore today, which I'm pretty sure I'm gonna be, I've taken some Nurofen. Always good to cover the bases.
My living room floors are so dirty they have actually started to call out cries of help to me when I walk over them, 'wash us, mop us, please', so I'm hoping this wonderful motivation might continue later in the day & result in some shiny floors. At this point I've actually spent more time thinking about doing them, than it would actually take to do them.
I plan to get straight on that, after I do my 30 minute guided meditation (Topic: GetMotivated!), get my daughter to sleep, eat lunch, wash dishes, hang out washing...god I'm exhausted just writing it.
To Be Continued...

Heat Wave

Just a quick one, I need to complain about the weather.
Again.
Usually every year in Oct/Nov I take the kids for a week down to Adelaide to visit Mum. It's generally pretty cool still down there, brisk in the evenings, dry and fresh and clean in the day.
We didn't do that this year. At this point I have no holidays booked in the foreseeable future (thinking about plenty, but nothing real yet) so I FEEL LIKE I'M STUCK IN HELL.
My study is a cosy little room at the end of our house that I generally forget to open the curtains in and if I leave the aircon running for 10 minutes it is a lovely little ice box. It's currently only been running for 6 minutes and I have streams of sweat whispering down my back, beads of perspiration on my brow and rapidly melting icecubes in my wine glass.
Yes I know it's only 4.45pm, I've given up caring. This weeks vice (and last weeks, and possibly next weeks too) will be wine. I'm finding it takes the edge off nicely.
Things should improve shortly, but it may be too late for my recently acquired spray tan. Hopefully the stripey look is in. I am going to 3 different social occasions this week and I needed something to hide the wine glow/boat I've been developing. It's certainly helped, however I can't go swimming for 3 days or I risk the whole thing disappearing, which is like cutting off my nose to spite my face. Or something like that. My brain function is running low trying to conserve energy, must not overheat, do not swim your skin will go white...
I haven't done a full 5k run in almost 2 weeks. I've attempted a few, but for the first time since I became 'a runner' I have given up after 5/10/12 minutes. I'm pretty sure I managed 12 minutes the other day, but I may have been hallucinating from the heat. It's unbearable. The heat, not the giving up. I'm beyond caring.
I hereby declare I will run naked into the next wonderful wet season storm that hits Darwin. Let's hope it hits whilst I'm at home.

Untitled

I have a friend, mostly through facebook, who has been blogging alot lately. She lost her second child at 13 weeks gestation, and now being pregnant for a third time she is being amazingly brave and frighteningly honest as she regularly blogs her fears, feelings, hopes for herself and her family. It's excellent to read and be a part of her journey, my admiration for her has grown, she inspires me to write more openly, to be unafraid of what people might think and try to free myself from the internal dialogue that is so loud, but often so unhelpful.
So here is a little bit of that. Today I had an appointment with some ladies who for the past 40 years have been a part of a 'life changing' seminar called the 'Greatness In You'. I heard about it through a friend of mine (a real one, she's not even on facebook!?) and she is so much of a good quality person that I felt it was something I could look into. It's a 4 day seminar that costs $2800, meals & accommodation included. All personal testimonies say wonderful things and the ladies who run it seem very capable and legitimate. They don't give too much away, suffice to say it involves laying your life up till now out for all to see, with lots of discussion relating to your formative years and a gradual unlayering of your true self, a new sense of purpose, a positive change....
My formative years were wonderful, until I hit puberty. I had a good family, strict parents, but alot of love, good role models, great memories. Then Dad went and got cancer, spent a year dying from it, left us with a Christmas Day anniversary, a grief stricken mother and a ragged memory of what life was and should have been. For me the changes of puberty and the raw grief of a parents death are strictly entwined. My body changed as did my life. I got tubbier, blackheads and a big nose. I still have those things, along with the grief. Not so raw anymore, but still it beats inside of me, makes me who I am, defines me in many ways.
I want to find out who I might have been otherwise. If I still had that childs self confidence, if nothing tragic had ever overwhelmed me and the ones I love. I hope so much that I can find some Greatness in Me. I'm sick of playing out the same patterns, eating too much, drinking too much, wishing tomorrow I might wake up and be different. Better.
My sugar free life didn't last long - how could it have? Wine has sugar in.
My partner has the potential to be very supportive about this, however the $2800 is proving a hurdle to him. There are many things he would rather our money was spent on than 4 day seminars. Too bad my grannys cousin died 5 years ago and I inherited a lovely wad of cash from her so I can pay for this Greatness my self. I do need his support though. I need him to believe in me? Sadly the $600 I spent on this damn 12 week endevour has resulted in a grand weight loss total of 1.5 kilos and a strong sense of disappointment in myself.
All this combined with a Darwin build up, a step-family breakdown, an increasing dependency on the friendship of wine and I'm calling out for help. Not to you, the reader, just to myself. That true self, somewhere in here...

Sweet Nothings

The last few months have been hot, relentlessly humid and sweaty, the air is thick with bugs, steam and pent up resistance. I hate it. It is a terrible 2-3 months to be in Darwin and the cumulated effects of it tend to play out in a similar manner on myself and most people I know. Shorter tempers. Unhappiness.  Lethargy. Little motivation. A tendency to talk about how hot it is.
We have had a few storms this week, well 2, and they have briefly bought some much needed respite. They are a glorious thing to be amongst, the tropical storm, thunder and lightening, wind and biting rain and cool air. Such sweet cool air.
This post isn't actually about the weather, but I thought it a good introduction into talking about some of my recent madness. I've had a gross 2-3 weeks with weight gain (talk about a first world problem. I'm ashamed of being ashamed about it), family issues and some seriously negative head space. There are times when I think that I am pretty hot shit (in a good way) and others when I can't bear the sight of myself. I want to be anywhere but in my own head because I can't handle listening to the vitriole I spill at myself.
I know the deal. Ignore the negative voice. Make fun of it. Counteract it with something positive. Look for evidence (am I really a pig? How fat does a fat pig have to be anyway? Aren't most pigs fat? Isn't that a good thing?) Would you say such things to your daughter? Your friend? I know, I know.
My negative voice is so familiar to me that I don't even realise it's there anymore. Sometimes I think it's speaking the cold hard truth to me. Often I challenge it, try to defy it, counteract it. But it is a bossy, hard bitch of a voice and it feels stronger than me. I've lived with it for a long time and in fact spent most of my teenage years perfecting and agreeing with it. It's a damn hard habit to shake.
Let's cut this long story short(er). Years ago I read a (at the time - 1999) mind blowing book called Potatoes Not Prozac. The idea that what we eat plays an enormous part in not only our physical wellbeing but also our emotional & psychological health. Since then there has been much written and spoken about this. There is no denying it.
Just a sidenote here. I've written before about how food is such a comfort for me (damn I wish cleaning was, I really do) and unfortunately it's those 'bad' foods that give me short lived joy through eating them - chocolate, icecream, most things high in trans fats and sugar.
Therein lies the key to my successes and failures. The demon that is sucrose, fructose, corn syrup, honey, molasses....sugar. Sweet poison. Empty calories. My frenemy.
I've repeated this pattern many times in my life. Feel upset about something, eat something (usually sweet) to numb the worry. Feel bad about eating something sweet. Crave eating something sweet. Eat more to curb craving. Feel bad for eating more. Worry. Eat. Worry. Despair. Eat.
I've cleared my cupboard /fridge/freezer of everything with excess sugar. I've white knuckled it through the past 48 hours, acknowledging these incredible sweet cravings that are reminiscent of nicotine urges, so strong and overwhelming that they are. Ignored them. Bought blueberries instead. I'm not through it, but holy dooley my head is clearer. Cleaner. I'm looking forward to this next stage. Energy. Not so high, not so low. Kindness, for myself. Acceptance. Good health.
On that note - cheers and good health, I'm off to drink a glass of wine...

The week that was

This week has been many things, but mostly hot. So hot, this muggy Darwin buildup, that my blood feels thicker, my temper shorter and my head heavier.
It started with a sense of dread that my dear mother was returning from 6 weeks away overseas visiting family. I was worried she would return still in the midst of grief, which the thought of makes me sad, angry, upset. I have spent much of my life knowing a mother who is open with her grief and although in many ways it is good that she knows how to cry, I've felt it as a burden for many years. I've retreated from her since Donno died, scared of the sadness I might witness. It's something that I don't know how to talk to her about, so instead I push her away. 'I'm not your Mother!' I want to scream, runaway, but instead I console, listen, hug. I love her for it and I hate her for it.
I could go on, but for her sake (and my own) I'll leave it there.
Except to say she has come back feeling positive, happy to be in her own home, ready to get back into tutoring, gardening, even church! Having a scientist as a husband for so long meant that attending church fell by the wayside.
So we had a wonderful and reassuring chat on the phone, full of excitement for her Christmas visit, full of family stories from her trip away, I got to tell her things about the children that only Nannas care about! So that's good news.
My daughter's had her hair cut short and looks fantastic. I've put  half the weight I lost in 6 weeks back on in a week, I still don't wish to speak about it, but there it is, in words. There are a lot of feelings relating to that, most are of the unhappy variety but I'm trying hard to keep my eyes on the prize and not indulge my negative voice by listening to it. God it's hard. Disappointed is an understatement. Self esteem is hiding under a log, quivering. Chocolate calls to me from the supermarket shelf, like heroin - I can make you feel better, I can make you happy....
Did I mention the wine?
That's enough for a Saturday night. I'm off to turn the aircon on, pour another glass of wine and read a good book. Sweet escapism after a strange week.

Great Full

These past few weeks I've been taking some time out from my occasionally messy head to reflect on things that I'm grateful for. There are many, yet sometimes they are upside down and just need to be turned around.
One example of this occurred a few weeks ago. I attended my friends Hens Night which was about 30 women, mostly from 'down south', all old friends and family. Some were very nice, some funny and of course a few were a bit dull, but it was nice to be a local and meet new people. One of the old friends was chatting with me and made a comment relating to my having lived in the Territory all my life. 'Have you never lived anywhere else?' she asked me somewhat condescendingly. I replied that I had been to many places, and even spent more than a night in lots of them, but that yes, I had lived almost my whole life in the NT.
When I got home it was playing on my mind. I felt as though this person was taking the piss out of me, judging me to be a bit naive and possibly unworldly because I was from the Territory. Proudly from the Territory. Happy in the Territory. Living a successful and busy life in the Territory. Before I knew it I had gone from feeling a bit flat to feeling like a bit of a champion, because I know who I am and I'm proud to be a Territorian. I'm double proud to have born my children here, because it's a special place and a special breed. My partners father was born in Alice Springs, our blood is here, our history.
I'm extraordinary grateful that I am here.
Another warm fuzzy came during our weekly 'talk' for our 12 week challenge. We were asked to write down the names of the people who we could talk to when we were struggling with things, particularly relating to the challenge. I wrote down 4 names, thinking that would do. When we went around the room, out of the 6 people present, 3 of them had struggled to write down a single persons name. In the end most had written Mum. I felt both sad for them and confused with myself. I have almost a whole handful of people I wouldn't hesitate to talk to if I needed. How lucky am I? Why do I still have so many excuses as to why I'm miserable? Far too many excuses methinks. It was a great reminder of how much I have, how blessed I am.
Speaking of blessed today my gorgeous boy lost his first tooth. My first baby, the first tooth we ever saw grow in him. He then lost it down the sink whilst cleaning it for the tooth fairy, but we have written her a note so fingers crossed he will still get some cash.
My lovely daughter is learning to stomp and stamp and be perfectly 2. She couldn't/wouldn't go to sleep tonight so I sat in with her, holding her close as she cuddled in and fell asleep on me. Such a joy, such a privilege. Such a lovely girl.
Not to mention a frivolous night at bookclub last night with new friends, a fast approaching holiday for 2 days on my own, then 3 days with Josh! Whatever shall we do with ourselves?!
I'm feeling humble and grateful today. Thanks for reading x