Hello China

Hello to my first viewer in China!

What is the correct term for blog viewer? Lurker? Reader? Who can tell. There's always the (good) chance someone has stumbled across a blog whilst looking for something else, had a quick squizzy, then fluttered away. So, viewer in China, if you stayed a while, hello. You are most welcome here.

There are big things brewing on this here island. Big, exciting things. I'll share them with you if they come to fruition. In the meantime, the rumblings and brewings are distracting me from my day's work. I can't hear myself think, and it's not due to those little boys of mine chasing each other at high volume, although that is definitely still happening. 

At least a year ago, I'm sure I said that I would one day share a bit about boating at night. As you know, I'm still fairly new to boating. I've been an 'islander' for under 2 years and prior to that I hadn't driven (sailed?) a boat. Last night I'd requested that the boat be left for me rather than taken home by the Zimbabwean. It's not left for me very often. He's very fond of his boat, that Zimbo. Anyway, it was a rare night... a night when I would be home after the last ferry, so either he needed to come out to pick me up, or I could have the boat for the evening. 

Another unusual happening: there was a passenger in my boat who desired to be dropped off at a wharf on the south-western side of our island. So I had an unusual route to follow, on my unusual way home, which allowed me to really make the most of the boating at night experience. Once I'd delivered my passenger, it was just me and that vast, dark space. 

I love boating alone, when I can go as fast or as slow as I desire. It feels brave, and adventurous, and free. It's not really though. Really, I am just coming home, and it usually takes less than 10 minutes. Still, there is rarely anyone else near me on the water, and if another boat is seen it is anonymous. The darkness blankets the faces in the other boat so I don't notice if it was someone I know. Very different to boating in the sunshine... when you might spend as much time waving at familiar boats as you do looking ahead.

The blanket of darkness can feel lonely or lovely, depending on my mood and how I've perceived my day. Yesterday was a good day. I was tired but light - happy with a good grade on my most recent philosophy essay. The evening was beautiful. Shimmering water. There were stars above me, a glowing moon above the hilly landscape, wispy-wide clouds. The air was clear and very very crisp (it is nearly winter). The watery stillness, which is never really still, becomes exquisite once the sound of the engine goes and the boat has been tied up for the night. Then I have just a short walk up a dirt road to our home. No street lights. Glowing windows coming from our house, if I'm lucky. Sounds of the bush at night.

Many people look at me sideways when I say that I live here. They ask what there is to like about it. Some even give a little shudder and a shake of the head. 

My heart sings when I cross those waters, under sun or stars. 

A better photographer than me would have a magical picture to share with you, but you'll need to use your imagination. It looks something like this...

Time to smile

Life is a struggle for my child. Not in any physical sense of the word 'struggle'. He can run, skid, jump, swim. He reads well, he understands mathematical concepts. He even has fairly good intuition when it comes to observing people and certain situations. 

But he carries a cloud around with him, sitting somewhere near his heart. Sometimes he hides behind it. Sometimes he's engulfed by it. Sometimes I think maybe he even forgets it's there. Most of the time he just brings it with him, like a trusted blanket.

I'm not fond of the cloud. I never have been. I find it difficult to live with, at best. Other times I find it utterly annoying. Most of the time it's this irritation that gets up my nose and under my skin. Sometimes, on days like today, his cloud makes it difficult for me to find his light. And then I can't find mine either. The irritation becomes words leaving my mouth, trying to get a reaction from him. Not kind, loving mama words. My brain switches off, my heart sinks within the depths of me and only the stinging of his latest gripe is present. Each word that comes from me only thickens his cloud, makes it a bit darker, reminds him that he needs it - to carry it around, like a trusted blanket.

So, what lifts his cloud? 

Two things lift his cloud. Being around water certainly thins it. Cleansing, dynamic, powerful and gentle water. Lucky for him, he's learning to be Boat Boy. The only other thing that has lifted his cloud is homoeopathic medicine. Our family homoeopath, Peter Tumminello, has understood him from their first meeting, and his remedies have profoundly influenced me and the boy with the cloud, more than once. I kiss the ground Peter walks on, and feel deep gratitude for his commitment to his work.

I have 8 hours to soften my hard edges. Hmmmm, what shall I do with them? Let the tears escape down the hill to the water. Fill my cup up with some Xavier Rudd. Take a walk with my dog in the sunshine. Apply my mind to an online lecture or two, a bit of work on an assignment, some readings on Liberalism and Justice. Hang clothes to dry in the sun. Meditate. Chant. Bake.

Be brave mama, life is joyous.

Post Script: Life did not turn out to be quite so joyous today afterall. After our rocky start to the morning, I heard from a friend that a 2 year old boy had drowned in a back yard pool in Armidale NSW, next to my friend's parents' house. My friend's Dad had found the little boy and pulled him from the pool. He didn't survive the night.

The pool was in a backyard that wasn't fenced. Apparently neighbours had been fighting with the pool owners to fence the pool - which is the law in this country, well, in NSW at least. All backyard swimming pools must be fenced with child-proof gates. Who was enforcing that law in that particular backyard? Liberalism and Justice indeed.

My heart goes out to those parents who have lost their child. It wasn't their swimming pool. They live 2 houses away from the backyard in question. Community carelessness with the highest cost.

May day may day

Philosophy essays and Academic Cultures group assignments have been using up all of my spare time. However, this morning I found a spare 30 seconds, so of course I decided to try out the Polish Plum Cake recipe I've had sitting on my kitchen bench for 4 weeks. But I didn't have any plums, so it's a Polish Boysenberry cake... which looks delicious. If it goes well, I'll share the recipe next time I pop in.

I was recently tapping away at my iMac (are you listening Apple? I already give you free plugs... what will you do for me?), burning wood in the head (that means: thinking very very hard!), when I heard cries for help coming over the side fence. O dear... one of the chookies (I think it was Sugarplum) was not looking good. She was crouching and panting and looking very faint (you'll have to imagine that look on a chook - it's more of an essence/vibrational thing. Perhaps if you have chooks, you'll get it) and my next door neighbour was needing some moral support to cope with the act which we deemed necessary. On went the rubber gloves, out came a bowl of oil, upside-down went the chook. I tried to be gentle... really, I did. But somewhere between being held upside down and my finger being inserted into her egg-exit, the chook did expire. 

Poor lady. I tell you, if I'm ever in a lot of pain, crouching and feeling faint and looking poorly, and someone shoves their finger up my backside, I too will expire. So you can imagine, I was very sympathetic. The thought of it makes me feel a bit queasy.

That brings our chook count down to 7: Rhodey, Bluey, Chalkey, Banana, Ruby Tuesday, Crayon, and Fido.

I'm not always as delicate as I look though(!). I brushed myself off, removed the rubber gloves, retreated to my honey-coloured kitchen and made myself a cup o' tea. And then got back to the essay at hand. 

The may day proceeded - with a flat tyre and a child falling into the water on the way home. Wet child was not as drastic as it sounds... between the ferry and home he willfully played on the beach and kind of accidentally/deliberately got very wet. Perhaps if you have children, you'll get that. And as for the flat tyre, well that really is a lovely way to get to know your locals. There is a certain kind of man who can't walk passed a woman with 2 children, a car which has been unloaded onto the side of the road, and a flat tyre. He just can't. And I find that helpful spirit very endearing.

I'm enjoying May. Sunny, crisp, clear, chilly May.