Soulful Colouring

“Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art.” 

― Neil Gaiman, Make Good Art

Sitting poolside just a few minutes ago, I sat, eyes closed, water beading off my body, the warm air evaporating the cooling effect of the dip I had just taken and it occurred to me in a mild epiphany sort of way that what I had wished for had come true.

One year ago at this time I was just days away from quitting my soul sucking job. I had crazily put my hand on the same burner for a second time in 3 years and had learned a tough lesson about myself. I recall day after agonizing day showing up and wasting my time, hours and hours of my very precious life working for an employer that cared nothing about their employees and only about the bottom  line.  The job before that was the same.  My talents were only appreciated when they translated into big profits for them. My take was a pittance compared to their greedy grabs. I had become so disillusioned. 

I recall dreaming and longing for a different life. There had to be something more. Something more fulfilling. Something more spiritually nurturing than being surrounded by this kind of pressure. The constant performance anxiety. The unrealistic goal setting. The "shark tank" mentality. The competition. This was not me. Not that I was not capable. Oh no, I could swim in that tank as well as the rest of them. The difference was, I had no real desire to swim with the sharks. I wanted to swim by myself. In my own tank. Free to make my own decisions and set my own goals and work on my own schedule.  

It made me want to escape to a desert island. I even read a book about a woman who did exactly that (turns out it is not as wonderful as you would like to believe, but that is a whole other blog). So I looked at my finances and asked myself what would a year off do to me in the long run? I asked what real difference it would make to my future if I took a year off? Let's face it, we could all be dead tomorrow and what good would my retirement savings be to me then? My daughter was fine. My house was sold. The truth was, nothing was stopping me other than the voice of the status quo that says you have to do things this way or that. Have to? Have to? Says who? No, the truth is, no one can make you do anything you do not want to do, and for most people, that is when fear steps in. And make no mistake, fear is a biggie. 

Someone once said there are only really two motivating factors in life - fear and love. And when you really think about it, that is it. Once I got past the irrational fear (and most fear is irrational), I was able to take the leap. So now here I am, not quite a desert island, but in many ways even better (indoor plumbing and all), and I am not sitting on a street corner begging for coins. Imagine that!  

I am looking out the window from my desk here at birds and palm trees and blue sky and writing this blog. Yesterday I finished a piece of art I was working on. A princess parrot on canvas. It turned out good enough to hang in a private part of the house (the bedroom) and it felt good to be creative for the sake of creativity. Nothing more. Nothing less. I am thinking of doing a few more pastel drawings. I heard some advice from Dr. Wayne Dyer about looking back on  your childhood and remembering what you really loved doing as it was a clue to your soul's purpose as an adult. I tried to zero in on something that I really loved doing and as simple as it may sound, I actually really loved to colour. Simple crayons and colouring books could amuse me for hours. Working with the pastels reminded me of that. I think I may have evolved a bit beyond that level of expertise since then, but the feeling I had while I did it was very similar. That feeling of being totally immersed in something. Deeply focused. Going to a place where nothing distracts you. There is a feeling of completeness in those moments. There is no stress. No anxiety. Just a peaceful calm. Surely this is a place we are meant to spend more time. How could it be otherwise?

I often visit this place when I am writing as well. Or decorating. Or gardening. Any or all of these activities are art. Whether the end result is ever seen, or gets purchased, or wins a prize, matters not. What matters is that when you feel this type of immersion, nothing else enters. So I go there more often now. And that is my desert island. 

My "insular Tahiti" Dr. Dyer.

March Meeting Fantasy

There wasn't a moment to spare. It was going to take some scrambling and quick thinking but she was determined to complete the mission.

She was fuelled by the thrill and spontaneity of it all. She imagined each of their faces as the couriers delivered their envelopes one by one. She had not told a soul. The moment to share had presented itself this morning like an epiphany to her.  This was the sort of thing people like Oprah or Richard Branson or Bill Gates probably did all the time. Not her. It had taken her a few days to let it all sink in, but now she had a plan. It was always the way she had envisioned it. Crazy. Spontaneous. Wildly fun.

Her peeps in Canada were freezing in the most brutal winter in years. A Polar Vortex they kept calling it. How had she been lucky enough to miss it? Not just a week of it. Or a fortnight. The whole bloody thing. Someone had been smiling down on her in the winter of 2014 and she wanted to share her good fortune. 

She watched as the email trail began. There was one woman down. Her much loved friend Rae was down for the count with a bad flu. She could not host the monthly Book Club meeting. Who could take over? Who could rescue the March meeting? The replies were coming one by one. Negative. Nope. Sorry, no can do. It was looking grim. The girls needed a place to gather the first Thursday of every month. It was like a religion to them. It was their monthly fix of connection and female bonding and wine...yes, don't forget the wine. It had to happen. 

Think. Think. Think, thought Deb, reminding herself of a scene from a long forgotten Winnie the Pooh movie her precious Emma had watched as a small child. It should have hit her instantly, just as the winning lottery numbers did when she read them on her computer screen a few days earlier. It had taken her a few days to let the news settle in her brain. She was rich. Richer than rich. It was one of Australia's largest jackpots, and it was hers now. 

She got in her new car, a modest little Mitsubishi Lancer and as she backed out the driveway, she realized she could drive any kind of car she wanted now. Perhaps she would donate this one to someone needy. It was like new. Less than 3000 kms. She shook her head to banish that thought for now and headed directly to the travel agent. For the entire five minute drive to town her head was full of imaginings. She saw each beloved member of her book club in her mind as they opened their couriered envelope.

First Jan. The front door closed to the cold while she busied herself in her open kitchen whipping up some warm and nutritious comfort food for the evening meal. Wiping her hands on a tea towel while she walked to the door to see who was there. A blast of Arctic air entering her cozy warm entryway while she quickly signed for her letter. She could barely see the delivery guy's face as he had a scarf wrapped around the lower half. With her lyrical voice she wished him luck as he mumbled something and carefully navigated the steps down and back to his truck. Closing the door behind him, she wondered why Qantas Airlines would be delivering something. Her hands needed another wipe and she needed her reading glasses. There they are, she said aloud as she retrieved them from the small bookcase near the kitchen island. She had been using them earlier to look for a recipe in one of her many culinary volumes. She slipped the paperwork out of the packet and as she took it in, she let out a hoot, picked up her cell phone and called Bruce. You won't believe this she said into the phone......

Carla was next on the delivery route. She was sitting at her desk, a throw around her shoulders, writing. She was always writing these days it seemed. She was finding it difficult to keep warm. Even with the heat cranked up, -30 was in evidence. This drafty old house she thought to herself. The loud gong of the doorbell startled her and she took her throw with her, knowing that as soon as she opened the door, the icy air would hit her hard. She invited the UPS man inside the foyer so she could sign for her letter. He stepped inside, apologized for bringing in the snow and she exchanged some empathetic small talk about his job and how the cold must be making his life miserable these days and then let him out and quickly shut the door behind him taking note of the snow and ice build up on the steps and making a mental note to deal with it in the morning. It was late afternoon and it would be dark shortly. She was not expecting anyone else today. It could wait. Her glasses had fogged coming back in from the cold entry and it took a moment to see the Qantas logo. Hmmm, she thought. This is odd. She carefully peeled the plastic envelope open and as the content slowly revealed itself to her, a wide smile spread across her face. She could almost feel the warm tropical air as she headed back to her desk and started to make arrangements with her family. I am soooo out of here she thought, and she started to call Sylvia to share her news.

The UPS guy, meanwhile was getting back in his truck and although the next stop read Strath Ave., he decided to jump ahead to the Sunnylea address instead as he had noticed a bit of a fender bender at the corner of Prince Edward and King Georges and he wanted to avoid it. He reached for the next one in the pile. Kim. His back tires skidded on the ice as he pulled away and cut up to Bloor St. It took him what seemed forever to make a left onto Bloor, but finally he was away and turning right up Prince Edward. 

He stopped in front, double parked as the snow banks made it almost impossible to find a spot. Kim had been sitting on the sofa in the living room window, trying to finish up this month's book and was finding it hard to focus as her daughter was practicing for her piano lesson the next day. The dog started barking as the UPS guy approached with her mail. Shush. Shush. Between the dog and the tedious scales on the piano, she thought, after she answered the door, she was going to retreat to another room to read.  Normally she might have engaged in some sort of witty banter with the delivery man, but it was just too damn cold and she signed and dispatched him hurriedly. Brrrrr, she shivered as she came back in and stood by the fireplace where a few embers were still glowing. As she started to read what was inside, she laughed out loud! That crazy Deb. Then she said, well, looks like we won't have to sell cookies after all as her daughter looked at her with a "what the hell are you talking about mom?" look. I have to pack she told her...I'm heading down under for Thursday's book club meeting! As she headed upstairs her daughter followed her, a million and one questions firing at her all the way....

The house with the red door by the looks of it he thought. It was getting dusky, but the red door still stood out. There were no cars in the drive, so he took advantage and pulled in. The walk had not been shoveled. He suspected there was no one home. He rang the bell and waited. He rang it again. He started to fill out a pick up post-it note when the door opened. Susan? No, said the sweet young voice. I am her daughter. Can you sign for her? Sure. Of course. She scribbled her signature on the screen and took the envelope from him. She closed the door behind her and looked at it. It was stiff from the cold and looked important. She walked over to her phone and checked the world clock. Mom was in Europe. Still up I bet, she thought and called her right away. Should I open it, she asked when Susan asked her what it was. Of course, go ahead, tell me what it says. 

She read it out slowly. "I am hosting this Thursday. A copy of your e-ticket is enclosed. A limo pick up time will follow. Pack light. It's hot. Don't worry if you have not read the book. See you Thursday morning in Brisbane. Can't wait! Love, Deb xo"

Well. Looks like I will have to postpone Paris, she replied. Call your brothers and tell them I won't be home this weekend after all. Sorry honey, I know you were looking forward to all of us being at your skating competition Saturday, but just this once, I am going to have to miss it. Let's schedule something else when I get back. Don't worry mom, go for it! We will be fine. As she hung up the phone she paused to think how lucky she was to have such great kids. Besides, she could get a ton of work done on the long flight.....

As the UPS guy looked at his schedule and realized he had 4 more stops to make before quitting time, his annoyance was hastily dismissed in his mind when he repeated what he always did at times like this. "At least I am not Tom Hanks in Castaway." He would say that three times in a row like a little mantra. It always placated him. He headed to Bloor West Village.

Donna saw him coming up her steps. She was running around like a mad woman looking for her other glove that must have dropped on her way in a few moments earlier. She had exactly 10 minutes to grab some of the boys things and head back out if she was going to catch the beginning of her eldest son's game.  She could not remember a time when she was not in motion like this. She cherished her vacations for this very reason. She allowed her mind to drift to Baja, one of their favourite getaways. She made a mental note to look on line later at some possible tropical destinations for their next holiday.  She needed one. She wondered what was being delivered. Her husband called just as she opened the door, telling her his last appointment was turning into a dental emergency and he would meet her at the game albeit somewhat late and she was half listening to him as she was signing for the envelope. She watched with dismay as snow blew all over the floor as they stood there. Closing the door and mouthing good bye as she was still talking to her husband, she grabbed a kitchen towel and threw it on the snow that was melting on the hardwood floor. Grrrrrr....winter!

She turned her focus to the envelope. Qantas Airlines. Huh? It took her a moment to absorb the note. No. Really? OMG! She is serious. She wasn't sure if she could pull it off. Sooo much to reschedule. Then she realized, this was a once in a lifetime event...and thought of the time she missed the Vegas trip and made up her mind right then and there. Hell Yeah! I'm going she said to the dog, the only one listening, his head tilted and his ears perked up. She looked down at her precious pup and said, How would you like some Kangaroo Jerky in a half joking manner before she realized she meant it...

After knocking and ringing on Rae's door three times, he turned to leave when the door opened just a crack and a woman in a thick terry bathrobe peeked out the small crack of an opening, a tissue held to her nose and said in a hoarse voice, wait, don't go, I am home. He looked back over his shoulder, still protected under the porch roof from the snow and wind and he could see clearly she was not feeling well. Maybe whatever is in the envelope will make her feel better he thought...or worse, you never know with mail.  He was glad he was wearing gloves as she handed the stylus back to him after signing. He had a thing about germs. She apologized between coughs and closed the door and retreated to her sofa. There was a fire burning in the hearth and she had been trying to read but was dozing more than reading. 

This flu had really knocked her on her ass. She felt bad she had to cancel hosting book club this month, but there was no way she was up to the task. The delivery had aroused her curiosity despite how lousy she felt. She read the note. She read it again. NO BLOODY WAY! Both of her boys were home and heard her shout from their rooms. Mom? You OK? Oh, I am MORE than OK she tried to shout but her swollen throat prevented her from reaching the volume she intended. Come on down here she said as loudly as she could. Bring that bottle of Vitamin C with you.  They both descended the stairs, her youngest holding the vitamin bottle. He handed it to her and said, Wassup Mum? She ignored the annoying term and said, I need to get well really quick, as she shook 4 tablets out of the bottle and downed them with the water she had been sipping on. I am going to Australia on Wednesday. The boys looked at each other. Clearly their mother was hallucinating. Yeah, right mom, and we are going to Timbuktu and they chuckled between themselves.

She folded the note into a paper airplane and flew it over to them as they headed into the kitchen looking for a snack. She watched as they read it together and then she said, Who is laughing now, hehe? There was a PS. on her note that read: Even if you are still not feeling well, get on the damn plane and sleep it off girlfriend!  She suddenly felt better. Funny that.

The next envelope read - Dr. Deb. Once again, he had to double park. The snow plows had failed the city miserably this winter. But, it really was hard to keep up, so he did not get too angry. Dr. Deb answered the door herself. The kids were all out of the house. One at dance class, one at a friends and the other at school still. Her husband was out too. It was a rare moment alone in her house in fact. Unless you count the pet snake. But he was generally pretty quiet. She motioned for him to step inside as the wind had picked up and the snow was swirling around in a little cloud around him on the porch. A sculpture on the mantel caught his eye as he was a bit of a hobbyist sculptor himself and he made a comment. Nice piece he said and he glanced toward it. It rarely went unnoticed and it was special to her and she thanked him and wondered if she should share the story of how she acquired it with him, but decided she wanted to relish the short time she had left before everyone started to arrive home and left it at that.

You a medical doctor? he inquired. No, she said, but did not enlighten him. She smiled widely and said good night and drive safe and he left wondering about the doctor lady with the cool sculpture, concocting his own version of her life in his mind as he drove off. Dr. Deb walked down the narrow hallway to the kitchen where there was brighter light and curiously opened the envelope. Smiling, she picked up her phone and called her office. Her assistant was still there working late. I am afraid we are going to have to make some changes to the  meeting schedules this week. And see if you can get a deadline extension on that report. Her assistant was somewhat flustered as this was highly unusual, and asked her what was going on.

Knowing the time difference, she replied, my book club meeting just got moved up to Wednesday and it is going to be a particularly lengthy meeting, not to mention, in a very distant location. As incredible as this may seem, I am going to Australia for a few days. She was still holding the note as she talked on the phone and skipped down to her PS. It read, BTW Dr. Deb, I have a bike here in my garage with your name written on it...miles of countryside to explore at your leisure - get down here girl!

Her assistant laughed and said, Well, you best get packing matey! Good on ya! She hung up the phone and looked out past the frosted panes and thought how lovely it would be to feel warm again. 

He had left the last one labelled Caroline for his final delivery of the day as it was closest to The Queensway and his route back to the depot. He was slowing on her street to read the house numbers and noticed the car ahead of him pulling up and into the same house. If he was lucky, it would be her and he would make this quick. He stopped behind her and called out to her as she started to get out of her car. Caroline? She turned to look at him, the wind smacking her face bitterly. She held her hand up to shield her cheeks and said, yes? She walked toward him and he to her and they did a very quick exchange of signature and pleasantries in the cold and now dark light.  The streetlight just enough lumination for them to see what they were doing. She did not read the envelope return address until she got inside and took off her boots and coat.

This bloody winter is exhausting me she thought to herself. I can't wait for St. Kitts. The familiar Qantas logo alerted her to something out of the ordinary right away. What could this be she wondered. She was still in the hallway and started walking toward the big round table in the kitchen where she tossed her purse on a chair and called out to the kids to see who was home. She got two replies, one male, one female and knowing everyone was home and safe and warm, she decided to make a cup of tea before opening the letter. Her hands were still cold from the exchange out front. 

She threw a tea bag in a mug while the kettle boiled and decided to open it straight away. Her face lit up as she realized what was about to happen and she shouted for the kids to come down to share her plans. As she told them she was going to Australia for this weeks book club, they whinged a bit about how unfair it was that they could not go, but the reality was, they were very happy for her and after the year she had been through, knew it was a wonderful surprise and much deserved gift. Her biggest challenge would be getting the time off from teaching, but surely they would not expect her to pass up such an opportunity. She would make it work. Life is short and she knew that all too well. 

In the  meantime, another UPS driver was delivering an envelope further west on a different route. She pulled up in front of the Markland Woods address wondering if she should pull into the wide driveway, but opted to stay on the street so she could make the loop around the circle easier when leaving. She walked up the sidewalk to the front door and rang the bell and waited for Lenore to answer the door. Coming!, she heard a female voice shout from the kitchen. Lenore had been busy preparing dinner and the music was so loud it was a miracle she heard the bell at all. She had taken to dancing in her kitchen lately in between slicing and dicing. 

She turned down the volume and headed to the foyer. She opened the door and the UPS gal, reluctant to step inside, finally succumbed as Lenore insisted she come in out of the cold. Oh! What could this be she said out loud. The UPS gal sort of shrugged her shoulders and gave Lenore a half smile. Don't know she said. But I like your butterflies. She nodded toward the beautiful butterflies suspended in glass on the wall. Oh, those! Yes, I love them too! She signed the screen and thanked her, noticing her name on her badge on her coat. Thank you Judy! Be careful out there. Good night.

Lenore knew as soon as she saw the logo. She shrieked with glee! She opened it and did a cursory reading, then grabbed her phone and FB messaged Deb in Australia. You are INSANE! Deb messaged back. Yup! Lenore messaged back. See you Thursday! She went directly to her computer and started changing her flight so she could stop in Vancouver on the way home to see her daughter. The boys would have to fend for themselves for a few days. She was not missing this meeting!

The final envelope was a bit more of a challenge. But not impossible. They were docked outside of Charleston, N.C. Deb had done some sleuthing to find out exactly where and as Trish sat sipping her morning latte on the deck, she noticed a delivery man heading toward their sailboat. She wondered if he was heading to their slip. He was pausing at each boat to read the names and slip numbers. He stopped at theirs. You Trish? he inquired.  She stood up and held her hand above her brow to stop the sun from her eyes. Yes, I am Trish. Delivery for you then. He walked over to the side of the boat as it bobbed gently against the rubber bumpers and handed her an envelope. He then passed her the stylus to sign as he held the little device steady for her. 

He walked away down the dock and she giggled as he almost lost his balance. No sea legs she thought. She went back to her cup and sat down, putting her feet up on the seat, her legs outstretched. Relaxed. Life was good. Her captain had gone into town for some supplies and she was alone. She had just finished Skyping with the kids and they were both OK. She was really enjoying Charleston and all the great adventures to other ports on the coast. As she started to read the note, a smile broke out, then more of a giggle. Well, she thought, never a dull moment. She opened her FB app and messaged Deb. I am totally in! See you Thursday! 

When Deb got the call from UPS telling her all of the envelopes had been delivered, she let out a yelp and a WOO HOO so loud she wondered if the neighbours might think something was wrong. 

She could hardly wait to greet all her old mates at the airport. 

OK ladies...back to reality. Hope it warms up soon for you. Miss you all. 
Decomama xo

If you can't Stand the Heat.....

One of the pre-move worries that nagged at me last fall was wondering if I would be able to cope with the heat of tropical Queensland. Most people I shared this with likely thought I was mad to worry about that above all else, but for me it was a biggie. I don't fare well in any extreme temperature, hot or cold. I had grown to hate winter in Canada for that reason alone. So it came as no surprise to me that it would concern me to be facing the other end of the weather spectrum down under.

In Canada it is a matter of course to expect air conditioning in the summer months just about everywhere you go. Whether it be a shopping centre or a restaurant or the house next door. I imagined that if Canadians felt a need for a/c in summer, surely a semi-tropical Australian state would consider a/c mandatory. A necessity. Not a luxury. Turns out I am wrong. (yes, yes, I am from time to time - Ha!) What has come as a real shocker to me is that not only is it considered a luxury, it seemingly is considered wasteful or something that most folks only resort to when things get completely unbearable. In fact, I would go so far as to say it has been my observation that the longer you can hold off turning on these evil devices, the brighter and shinier your badge of honour becomes.

These Queenslanders are some kind of tough. Initially I caved to switching on at the least hint of temperatures above 27 or the slightest inkling of humidity, but as time has passed, I find myself becoming more acclimatized to the heat and after the heat wave that gripped us the first two weeks of January with temperatures soaring into the 40's, now I find anything between 27-32 quite pleasant and as long as the ceiling fans are rotating and the windows are open, I can tolerate going without...with the exception of the car a/c of course.

That is a necessity for me and although there are some who would poo poo me here, that is the one place I am holding firm to my creature comforts.  Along with a tolerance for the heat, I have found the population in general far more tolerant to other discomforts as well. Perhaps I am more of a princess than I thought, but I cannot walk barefoot on the grass here (too crunchy, ouch, ouch), and I am not ever going to pick up a gecko, although I have become more used to seeing them everywhere, and I am NEVER going to hold a snake in my bare hands.

At first I wondered if it was just the people I knew or was meeting or if it was just about the cost of the electricity. I have come to the conclusion that it can be any number of these reasons, but I have seen as many well off home-owners as more budget-minded types resist the urge to "spoil" themselves with such luxury. It seems to be more of a mind-set. Who can tough it out? As though they have a reputation to uphold. The evidence is everywhere. Department stores, hardware stores, big box stores all carry stacks and stacks of fans. Desk fans, table fans, pedestal fans, ceiling fans. Cheap fans. Expensive fans. Remote control fans. Fans at every price point. A fan for every nook and cranny. Mountains of them. Best to just blow all this hot air around rather than cool it down and feel too comfortable. A/C is for wusses. Pussies. Canadian princesses.

No self-respecting, XXXX drinking, croc whisperer, roo-bar wielding old mate in these parts needs the manufactured cooling air produced by such a modern day contraption whether they can afford it or not. There was an internet joke being circulated a while back about the Scot and the Irishman and the Aussie sitting around the campfire telling tales of how tough they were. I forget the specifics of the stories the Scot and the Irishman told, but when it was time for the Aussie to share a story of bravado, he did not say a word, he just stood up, walked over to the fire, unzipped his pants and proceeded to stir the fire with his penis. 

I laughed so hard when I heard that joke. But like most jokes, there is always a smidgen of truth behind the tale. No question, they can take the heat and so can many of the women. My next door neighbour, a fairly weathered widow of about 75 is a case in point. She is a very nice woman, exactly the kind of neighbour you like - quiet, responsible, neat. I mentioned how happy I was that the house we are renting has A/C and she glanced over her shoulder away from the fence where we stood having a gab and motioned her head toward her own luxury possession protruding from the side of her house, a look of disdain on her face and said, "yeah, me too, but I never use it." 

Now I imagine every time I turn mine on, she is shaking her head and snickering about that coddled Canuck next door that can't take the heat.

And she'd be right. :)

Farewell Goanna Downs

Sadly, my trial run of country living is about to end for a spell after this week. The owners of Goanna Downs are returning from their holiday and our house sitting gig will be over when they get home.  We will be back in town by Saturday night.

I did not know what to expect when we moved to this temporary home.  I had never spent this much time in a rural setting in my life and it seemed the perfect opportunity to test myself since the place we will eventually be living is only 2.2 kms up the road. We don't have quite the spread - 5 acres vs 270, but the surrounds are very similar and the road to town is the same one we have been driving these past three weeks. We are surrounded by neighbouring sugar cane fields and bush in the same way. The same King Parrots and kangaroos and wallabies and goannas and other wildlife will be present as will the starry nights and balmy evening breezes.

I will likely even still hear the distant moans of cows and the early morning wake-up call of the kookaburras, so although the plot of land we will inhabit is smaller, it is just as serene and peaceful as this larger piece of paradise we have had the good fortune to enjoy here.  As the gardens and land around the house were not mine to tend as we stayed here, I had to resist the urge to get my hands dirty the way I would were it mine. I have missed gardening these last few years since I left my house and I am eager to create a new garden and home in this vastly different climate and landscape.

See ya Decomama :(

Goanna Downs has given me a chance to observe the conditions and the type of trees and plantings I can expect here.  The owners here have had 25 years or more turning this block of land into their much cherished home and their personality and experience shines through in every aspect of this warm and inviting landscape. Being here just long enough to start to get a feel for this area and the daily patterns of light and weather and the comings and goings of the local farmers has given me a taste of things to come.

Today we went into town for the Thursday market and I found myself closely observing the various stalls and the people running them. Many of them are farmers and rural dwellers themselves and it got me thinking of the various small cottage industries I might eventually develop myself.  There are so many things I could turn into a modest income even with our small (in comparison) plot of land.  Organic gardening will top my list and I did notice an absence of that at the market.  I could do year round herbs and then add other veggies as the season dictates.  I could do a specialty "Canadian" offering...Maple Syrup flavoured goodies and butter tarts perhaps? There is only one other woman there with baked sweet goods and one with breads so the competition is not too severe.  

The possibilities really do seem endless and the interesting thing to me about it all is that with the drive to make oodles of money no longer part of the equation, it can just be more about offering something for sale that is unique and different that would allow me to become a part of this small community and get to know the locals.  I found myself stopping to chat with some of the vendors today as I have started to get to know some of them and it was such a lovely feeling asking them about their wares and listening while they explained the features and benefits of their products.

  One such vendor was the owner of Essentially Avocado who makes her own skin creams and lotions from her own avocado orchard, pressing her own avocado oil and only uses other natural ingredients in the mix.  She rubbed some on the back of my hand with her weathered fingers and as I spoke to her and sensed her passion for her creations and looked at the sincerity in her eyes, I loved how she was clearly passionate about what she was offering. She was a simple woman, hard working, her skin care products an off shoot of her avocado and mango farm. She was also selling mangoes (which I sampled and cannot get enough of these days) and she told me that the avocados would be ready for picking at the end of February, early March - something else I am really looking forward to with great anticipation.

After living in a large city for so long, it is easy to forget that there are so many people out in the world just eking out a living in these ways.  They may not be getting rich from their sales each week at the local markets, but the trade off of country living seems to be enough. 

I am fairly convinced it will be enough for me too.

(Oh, and by the way ladies...that cream she rubbed on the back of my hand 4 hours ago is still leaving my skin supple...she may be on to something with her avocado oil!) 

Green Demons in the Dark of Night

Remember when you were a kid and you used to think there were monsters under your bed? Maybe you still do even as an adult. I have also considered toilets a possible source for monster habitats and over the years have always made sure I took a good look in toilet bowls all over the world before use. We have all heard crazy stories about snakes and other creatures making their way into these little porcelain ponds, so, in my mind, it is better to err on the side of caution, especially if you are faced with using an out house or port-a-potty. 

So, now that I have enlightened you with my private behaviour upon entering the water closets of the world, allow me to share my story...a true story...a recent story...less than 12 hours ago in fact. Sit back, relax, and allow me to regale you with my 3 AM tale of TERROR!

Yes, that's right...TERROR!  For those of you with weak hearts or sensitive tummies, you may want to stop reading now. OK, OK, it's not that frightening...but that is all relative of course and depends on your level of tolerance of all things creepy and crawly.

It was a hot and muggy night at Goanna Downs. The ceiling fan, the only comfort as I lay naked atop the cool cotton sheets. Half asleep, a bit tossy and turny, I felt the familiar call from my bladder in the middle of the night. The one that just won't go away no matter how much you try to ignore it...the call that does not exist when you are young and your bladder behaves like a camel. Nowadays it just cannot make it through the night. I know if I do not get up, it will nag and nag until I do, so finally, I give in. 

If there is enough filtered moonlight, I will forgo turning on lights so as to try and maintain as little awakening as possible, but last night, the clouds were shadowing whatever light was emitting from the January new moon and I had to flick the switch on. I took my customary glance into the vitreous China bowl and saw nothing too unfamiliar. I did note a wee bit of debris that might have gotten left behind from the previous flush...as is fairly standard out here in the bush with the low water pressure and septic system. I did hesitate and wonder if I should take a closer look, but it seemed innocuous and hence, proceeded to sit on the throne to pee.

Just as I began to release my pent up urine, the HORROR began! Something touched the back of my thigh, just where it meets my tiny bottom (OK, not so tiny), and that's when the SHREAKING began! OMG! OMG! AAAAAAAAHHHHH! There is something in the toilet! I jumped off the seat faster than my Kiegel reflex's ability to stop the flow and now not only did I have to deal with a monster in the toilet, I had to deal with the slippery puddle on the polished slate flooring as I fled to the safety of my bedroom screaming to be rescued from the demon of the dark night. What? What? What is it darlin? Now the fear had really kicked in and my voice is all shaky and crackly and I tell him there is something in the toilet and now I think I am going to start crying like a 4 year old and he, being the brave hero he is, jumps out of bed to slay the dragon in the toilet with all the bravado and machismo I have come to expect of him.

I am now busy mopping up my mess and he is calling me to come and see...so I peek around the corner and lo and behold, the creature that was just moments earlier sliding his slippery body against mine is sitting on the edge of the seat, clearly now claiming the throne as his own. All that was missing from this scene was the crown upon his bright green head and buggy eyes. You little bastard I thought. How dare you invade my private spaces. Get RID of him I am shouting now. Catch him! Catch him! He was a slippery devil and he slid out of my dragon slayer's  hand once, but not twice and was delivered out the back door into the night post haste.

I calmed down and hit the shower for obvious reasons and once I dried off, I came back to bed and knew that this 3 am wake-up call was going to keep me from re-entering the Land of Nod for a good while. We both laid awake now, and as the entire event was replayed in my mind and our play by play description of what had just happened started to settle in, my trauma turned to hilarity. How could an Australian Green Tree Frog scare me half to death? It even occurred to me that I may have scared him half to death as I may have actually given him a bit of a shower...one he will never forget either!

And so, another adventure in my new life as Lisa Douglas comes to an end.

Ribbit! 

Call me Lisa Douglas

No sooner have I booted up my computer and sat down to write this blog, I can hear a loud croaking sound coming from the dining room fireplace. What the hell is that?, I think to myself and I get up and pad down the hallway to investigate the sound. It grows louder as I approach and seems to be coming from somewhere to the left of the hearth but I am not sure and so rather than find myself having to confront some large slimy reptile, I turn back and try to ignore the racket it is making. Maybe if I just pretend and hope it is actually outside the fireplace wall, I can relax.

Call me bloody Lisa Douglas. It is not far off. And right now, my Oliver (who is actually more like Mick Dundee) is not home to rescue me from what is surely a killer frog with a croak that loud. Is there a such thing?, I actually wonder to myself. I suppose if it were to ambush me in the hallway by jumping near me it could be considered a death threat as I would surely have a heart attack if any bit of it's slimy body scathed past my skin.  It has quieted down now for which I am grateful.

I am living in Green Acres. No joke. Spiders as big as my palm, geckos surprising me when I least expect it, the moan of cows in the paddock, cane toads as big as small rats, skinks (there is a new one for ya) that are apparently snake food which means snakes are surely hovering in the grass and I am on constant alert for any slithering around me as I walk across the lawn. I have not come face to fork-tongued face with one yet, but I am ready.

Just a few short months ago, the closest I ever came to a snake was in the handbag department at Holt Renfrew and the hardest part about that was swallowing the price tags. My, my, how life has changed.  I have since learned that if I do get bitten by a snake, I am to apply pressure to the wound, then wrap above and below it with a tensor bandage or some facsimile. If I am faced with an angry farm dog, I am supposed to face it, not run from it, and if I ever encounter a wild boar or pig, I am to climb a tree...they are not very good climbers apparently. 

Now, armed with all this new found knowledge, I feel prepared for anything. Yeah, right! I have however braved whacking and killing a March fly with my bare hand...better than being bitten I concluded and I now acknowledge that gecko poops are something that commonly appear on the kitchen windowsill in the  morning and sometimes even in your clean dishes in the cupboard, so I never use any plate or bowl without examining it first and giving it a cursory wipe just in case. 

Country living is new to me. And country living in the semi-tropics is even newer. The other day as I stood at the kitchen sink, a large goanna slowly made his way across the drive along the Bromeliad garden log edging. Just a few minutes ago, as I poured myself a glass of ice cold green tea, a spectacular Australian King Parrot did a low fly by past the kitchen window and across the front yard, a blaze of red and green so vivid against the overcast sky and drought burnished lawn, it took my breath away. It is as though there is a price to pay for the moments of awe.

Like yesterday when the mercury rose to 38 degrees and I wondered if I could stand it any longer. But, a drive to the ocean and a frolic in the waves at Rainbow Beach for some relief created a similar contrast. A cold seaside outdoor shower awaited as we scurried across the hot sand and again found something pleasurable to extinguish the heat and wash away the drying coating of salt on our skin.

This is Australia. A land of harsh contrasts. Not unlike my own personal contrasts. City gal to country gal. Holt Renfrew to Big W. (don't ask!) Dry cleaners to clotheslines. High heels to wellies. CBC to ABC...not all that different!  

There is one difference between me and Lisa Douglas though. I don't really long for Park Avenue, or Bloor Street or Rodeo Drive or The Magnificent Mile or any of those streets any more.  

You don't need designer clothes or shoes or handbags here. 

Just balls. And I am working on growing a set of those. 

Got one of these Kangaroo Scrotum pouches for Christmas! 

Fair Dinkum!

Try finding one of these beauties at Holts!

Cracked Open

If someone had told me I would be driving past a signpost that reads Jumpo Creek on my way home everyday a year ago, I would have laughed and said, "yeah, right, very funny", so when I see this now familiar marker along the roadside as I cruise past on what still feels like the "wrong" side of the road,  I still shake my head in disbelief.

I think back to just one short year ago, living in Toronto, working in the interior design world, wondering where my  life was headed and the internal angst that had a grip on me as I knew change was coming but was still uncertain as to exactly which path I was going to take and now as things have begun to fall into place, I feel a tremendous sense of relief that I chose this new road that allows me to pass Jumpo Creek each day.

So many people thought I was crazy. It was hard to block out the naysayers at times. They could not imagine me living in the country. I was a city gal. No way could I do it they said. It's not you Deb. I often wondered if maybe they were right. Maybe they knew me better than I knew myself. But a little voice inside me kept telling me they were wrong. I had longed my whole life for this sort of peaceful simple existence. The city was wonderful in many ways, but it never offered me the serenity of country life. There was an anxiety attached to city living that was like a constant underlying current I could not turn off. 

Out here now, as I drive out of town along the winding country road, past sugar cane farms and modest country homes. up and over the rise in the road that reveals Bauple Mountain off in the distance, a calm and peace flows over me like a deep breath of fresh air filling my lungs and leaves me knowing I am on the right road. The current is switched off.

Yesterday, Christmas Day, as I squatted down, hammer in hand, taking aim at a rock hard freshly picked macadamia nut on the concrete patio, after three good hits on the sweet spot, I watched the hard shell crack and break away. The goal is to do this without breaking the nut inside and peeling off the shell to reveal the most perfect creamy white, buttery tasting treat. I disposed of the bits of shell and examined the prize inside each time before popping it in my mouth and marveling at the texture and subtle sweet taste of this unaltered nut. No salt added, no sugary coating, just fresh, raw, nut meat. 

Funny I thought, this macadamia metaphor. I too have been cracked open. The life I held on to so tight for so long is gone and what has emerged is a fresh new version. 

And it tastes delicious.  

This Old House...she ain't what she used to be...

Montgomery House Renovated

On October 10 of this year, I wrote a blog about saying goodbye and leaving Toronto and revisiting my old house and how I reckoned the house was a metaphor for my life. I returned from a week of island bliss this past weekend to a note from an old friend who sent me a current photo of the house. 

On the drive home from my holiday, I had been contemplating my new life here down under and felt an obvious shift in myself. It felt like it had taken a few weeks to settle here, and like a mixing bowl full of batter being poured into a new cake tin, I had finally filled all the crevices and leveled out.  It was a peaceful satisfied feeling. All traces of anxiety had vanished. Any lingering doubts had evaporated. It was astonishing really. So, it almost came as no surprise at all when I saw the transformed house photo. 

Yes, I thought to myself, there it is. Here I am. We had both been reconstructed. And we were both better than before. Since no house project is ever 100% finished, no human evolution is ever complete either. The house still needs some final touches, a bit of landscaping and likely the interior needs some decorating as well. Similarly, I too am imperfect.  There is and always will be some room for improvement. To state otherwise would be untrue. There has been some clear progress made however, perhaps inside a little more than out in my case, but I am OK with that as I find the internal changes generally lead the way to the external ones. 

I am happy that the house did not fall into disrepair after my departure. It could have gone that way, for the house or for me. There is always a risk involved with change. The leap requires you to trust your intuition even when so many outside influences are distracting your vision.  Just as I could not see the destination of the old house last October, I was grappling with my own life vision at that time. The house has turned out way better than I imagined it would as the photos here can attest. I present three photos of the house. One is from pre-construction.  One is mid-construction. The third is present day. 

Montgomery House Pre-Construction

Montgomery House Under Construction

Like me, the pre-construction looked OK on the outside and I spent a lot of time maintaining the gardens and at times it felt I could barely keep up. As I was busy trying to keep up the outside appearance of the house, the inside was deteriorating faster than I could keep up with it. At times it felt like the house was eating me alive. I knew I had to leave it behind. It meant walking away from the life I once lived and knew without knowing where I was going or how I would get there. It was the most frightening and difficult journey of my life so far. There were obstacles at every juncture, negative voices all around me, agonizing decisions and as many mis-steps as there were victories, but I survived it all and life moved on.

My new life has begun. The old house is new again. 

And this time the focus for the new house is starting with the inside.

Ain't that kinda apropos? 

Go Ahead and Jump!

Unlike many of my clients over the years, I am fairly quick to make design decisions. I have learned that over time, we grow tired of colours or fabrics and end up changing our decor eventually anyway, so why lament and fret over the choice as though it were a life and death decision? If you like it, and it fits with your current scheme and tastes, go for it. This is also why I no longer choose crazy expensive things when it comes to accessorizing as I know that one day, I will want to replace it with something new and different.  

Trends come and go and there is a school of thought that avoiding trends and sticking with classic patterns and neutral colours is the way to go, but it still comes down to our inherent need for change.  So I generally advice my clients to stick with neutrals for the big ticket items in a room, like sofas, large case goods and custom draperies and then have some fun with the accessories as these are the way to add a current punch to your space. Art, pillows, throws, lamps, bowls, funky lighting, sculptural elements. These are the fun and interesting things to shop for and incorporate into your rooms that will reflect your personality.  

They are the easy come, easy go bits that can also be the jump off point for your decorating scheme. I have been influenced by any number of these over the years and as I am about to embark on another new space in a few months from now, I have been keeping an eye out for inspiration.  So far, I have found a set of everyday dishes and a couple of toss cushions that are leading the way from a colour and graphic perspective.  My last two spaces were on the girly side colour wise and since my next home will be a shared space, I needed to tone down the pinks a bit and bring in some more masculine touches without losing all feminine qualities.  So, my Dudeman Manolo Blahnik painting did not come to my new world with me, nor did my pink chair or my Lily Pulitzer style green chair with the polka dot upholstered seat cushion, but I do wish I had not sold the Surveyors floor lamp...however, we move on and begin again.

Old space...goodbye pink!

The new space will be cooler toned, more metal, polished concrete, modern and minimalist. The colours will be added to black, white and grey backdrops. I think green will be the predominant "splash" colour, which leaves room for several options above and beyond that. When I saw these dishes with their curvy, linear pattern and the exact colours that were in the back of my mind, they became the starting point for the rest of the space. An added bonus was that Aussie man liked them too.

I liked the mid-century modern feeling they evoked and at $40 for four place settings, when I tire of them in a couple of years, it won't hurt my pocketbook to change things up again. I also liked the wonky spirograph design (remember that?). The toss cushions (shown at the top here), keep the colours and graphic qualities moving through the space. Although I have been reluctant to jump on the Chevron stripe trend, this is an inexpensive nod to it without going overboard with an entire wall painted out that way or a carpet etc.

The bird cage pillow brings a softness to the hard edges of the chevron stripes and also introduces a bit of a feminine touch without being too girly. And besides, I dig birds. It is also allowing a few other colours to subtly enter the space, with an opportunity for lager splashes of the purple or yellow elsewhere.

The other important reason for me to start with these small pieces is that it plants the vision seed for me. When one is in the pre-construction phase of a project, making these small purchases grounds the plan for me. It gives all the planning a destination.  Visualizing the plates on the kitchen island or loading the mugs into the dishwasher or fluffing the toss cushions on the sofa makes the plans more real to me. Not just a bunch of drawings and budget figures. Suddenly, I see myself in the finished rooms, using them, enjoying them, creating a home...

...once again. 

Cool...redefined!

You remember that scene in Dances With Wolves when Kevin Costner crosses over? You know, the scene where he has been alone for a long time guarding an outpost that has been abandoned and over time he has changed from uniform-clad soldier to full-on native American? He comes to realize that his hot stiff scratchy woolly jacket and pants are completely inappropriate for the climate and his ability to survive and thrive? Yes, that scene.  

Well, I am currently turning native myself.  The 5 vacuum sealed bags of clothing I hauled across the world with me are for the most part useless here in small town Queensland.  Summer is fast approaching (WHAT? It is going to get hotter?) and even my coolest of cool garments from Canada are not making the cut.  Since I am not working and have no need for business attire and all the accessories that go with that, I have concluded that the main objective now is to remain as cool and comfortable as possible.  Nothing heavy, nothing form fitting, little jewelry, minimal make-up (it just melts off anyway) and no strenuous outdoor exercise between 7 AM and 5 PM. 

I used to think that gauzy colourful dresses and skirts and tops were for hippie chicks and other cultures, but lately, I have been diving into the gauze and tie-dye pool of fashion faux pas like a thirsty camel at a desert oasis.  My once coiffed hair is finding itself lifted off my neck and pinned haphazardly at the back of my head and I go no where without a large brimmed hat and a litre of cold water.  I may not be dancing with wolves, but now I am armed and ready to cavort with kangaroos and koalas, the latter has so far eluded me, but my eyes are on constant survey mode whenever passing by stands of eucalyptus trees.  Believe it or not, there are actually road signs that remind drivers to be on the alert for them.  So I wait, patiently day after day, for a glimpse of these well-camouflaged living teddy bears, certain one day my patience will be rewarded.

After all, I saw my first moose and her calf on the roadside in the BC interior this summer.  I had waited my entire life for that...so I have faith.  Speaking of colourful wildlife...I spotted my first Pale-Headed Rosella at the bird feeder I hung last week on the back porch. He had apparently been spotted by one of the other members of this household a few days ago, but until today, he had eluded me.  I did not run for my camera.  I was tempted. But instead, I just observed him in all his glory. I spoke to him, assured him he was safe near us and he listened and ate and watched us and seemed to get over his fear fairly quickly so I am sure he will return and I will have other chances to capture him in a photo.  

I have to admit, my new look and surroundings are sitting well with me.  There is an ease and casual comfort in these lightweight garments that feel much like wearing nightwear all day long. It was fun and freeing to just select them based on the colours that appealed to me and the sheerness and cooling factor without even a nod to any fashion trend or seasonal style. No one cares, no one is judging and with any luck, the parrots will recognize me as someone they can trust since I am dressed like them!

Just call me Polly, NOT wearing Prada!

Crazy Bird Lady

Rainbow Lorikeets

I have always loved birds. Birds in the wild. Bird art. Birds on fabric. Bird jewelry. Bird ornaments. As a rule, if there is a bird on it, I will have a look. You know that expression - be careful what you wish for...well, if ever birds were to be front and centre in my life, they surely are now. There is actually a bird sanctuary across the street from where we are living. 

Forget the crow of a rooster as an alarm.  Instead, I hear a veritable symphony of birdsong starting around 4 am every morning now.  I think they have come into my life in such a dramatic fashion to force me out of bed much earlier than I would normally rise.  It gets light earlier here as well, so by 4:30 the sun is coming up and by 5:00 am, I am up now. I never thought I would see the day where I started emulating my parent's crazy sleep/wake schedule, but alas, it looks like I may be there.  With the sun heating up the world so early, it is really imperative that I get moving at this hour if I plan to do anything strenuous in terms of exercise.  Much past 7:30, it just gets too hot.

But back to the birds. It is just amazing to see the tropical parrots and colourful bird varieties here in Queensland. Last night before dusk I watched as hundreds of Rainbow Lorikeets gathered at the top of a massive mature Eucalyptus tree. Standing near the tree, the sound of this choir of birdsong was like a scene out of Hitchcock's The Birds...on steroids!  On another tree, a similar scene prevailed, only this time with large white Cattle Egrets, not to be outdone by the Sulphur-Crested Cockatoos.  The local residents think nothing of this daily spectacle of nature, but these exotic species are like wildlife eye candy for this Canuck.

Cattle Egret

Sulphur-Crested Cockatoo

Prior to this viewing of a real life episode of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom (for those of you old enough to have seen that show on TV), I had gorged myself on the back porch, binoculars at the ready on a pair of parrots in the adjacent Jacaranda Tree. They were so multi-coloured and different from the lorikeets and the Australian King Parrots I had seen the first few days after I arrived, I had to look them up. They were called Pale-Headed Rosellas. They were a couple and they moved in tandem from tree to tree, gracing me with their beauty for over an hour and then they flew off across the neighbourhood together, having dined on the seed pods of the Silky Oak and nectar of the Jacaranda like a seasoned old married couple out for dinner at their favourite restaurant before heading home for the remainder of the evening, where they might then have reviewed their night out and chuckled over the crazy Canadian woman who wouldn't stop staring at them all night.

Pale-headed Rosella

When I wasn't busy perving on the Rosellas, I was mesmerized by the assortment of Honeyeaters. They come in quite a few varieties and they amuse as they hang upside down draining the Jacaranda Blossoms of their nectar. They also like to chase each other from tree to tree creating a mad scene of seeming aggressive birdie tag. 

Blue-faced Honeyeater

This morning as I did my loop around the park, the evidence left behind from the hundreds of Galahs that feast on the ancient fig trees, crunched beneath my feet. There is always a bit of a risk of them leaving a not- so-sweet surprise on your head or shoulder as you walk under these trees when they are feeding but so far, I have been lucky. Note to self... I must remember to carry some tissue with me from now on. 

Gulah

The ability to do this on a daily basis is enough to make my day. Like any gift of nature, it feeds my soul and makes me grateful to be alive and fortunate to witness these beautiful creatures. I always enjoyed birds in Canada. I used to feed the Goldfinches and got excited to see Cardinals and Pine Grosbeaks and Cedar Waxwings depending on what part of the country I was living in at any given time, but this is a whole new ball of wax down here. The type of birds I am used to seeing in cages or zoos flit and fly around here like Sparrows and Chickadees - as common as that. 

These are the kind of Tweets that really interest me.

Deb Down Under...Week One

A whole new world. I think that was the song.  The lyrics keep popping up in the back of my mind constantly. There is one slight difference however. That was a Disney song and my name ain't Jasmine (although there are some that may think I am a bit of a princess) and Aladdin is not whisking me off on his magic carpet...not yet anyway.

No, before there are any dazzling sights to behold, we have several months of work ahead of us to create our little paradise here down under in Queensland.  After surveying the plot of land we are planning to turn into our peaceful new home surrounded by eucalyptus forest and cane fields, the reality of what it will take to get from here to there has hit me over the head like a wayward boomerang at full speed. 

The ground is hard and crunchy and the rain is no where in sight. I was tempted to take a spade and see what happened when I tried to drive it into the ground, but I knew the answer without even trying. My organic dream garden is a way off yet. First things first. We need to get the house built and worry about the landscaping and gardening later. For now, I will have to set that part of the dream aside.  On a positive note, there is a very well supplied Farmer's Market every Thursday here in Maryborough that impressed me the other day so that will head up the Thursday morning "to do" list each week. 

There was a wide range of produce and interesting vendors participating. A number of ex-pats selling their unique food and crafts. A German woman who had found her little slice of paradise here selling a variety of olives from her own grove. She said she had grown tired of the crowds and traffic in Black Forest town she hailed from and was much happier in Oz. If her yummy assortment of flavoured olives were any indication, I would say she had found her niche.

A young Turkish fellow had a stall where he was baking fresh "Turkish breads" that looked more like foccacia pizzas to me, the aroma of the feta cheese, roasted tomato and olive toppings was impossible to resist, so lunch was decided right then and there. As it was only 9 am, it was wrapped in brown paper and would wait until later. I was elated at another stall when a young Thai woman had the efforts of her own organic garden available for sale and her veggies were so beautifully arranged and displayed it was clearly a labour of love for her. I nearly danced a jig when I spied three perfectly fresh bundles of Cilantro, every stem and leaf pure perfection. It was the one item I had set out to find that day that I was sure I would have difficulty finding. I had a notion to make a large Quinoa Salad with sweet potatoes and fresh corn and black beans and the Cilantro was a necessary ingredient. So, thanks to her, mission accomplished.

I had a little more difficulty finding what I thought would be a no-brainer - the black beans. They had navy beans, kidney beans, white beans...but not a black bean in sight. Red kidney beans would have to do. In the end it mattered not, but you can be sure I will be buying a case of the damn things if I find them in my travels.  It was also curious to me that all the canned beans had sugar added in the processing. Looks like I may have to start cooking my own from scratch, which leads me to another dilemma. Cooking. The house we are staying in presently is a classic old Queenslander style house (shown pictured above). If you don't know what that is, they are built on stilts, so the air circulates under them and they generally have big porches all around the front and back and the windows are left open (sans screens - geckos are my new friends!) for the air to blow through. Some do have air-conditioning but ours does not. So, the last thing you want to do is fire up a  hot oven or stove any time past 9 am or much before 6 pm, so planning menus and cooking time is crucial to prevent overheating the house and more importantly...yourself!

Early evening is spent with a cool drink on the porch watching the sun go down over the horizon and observing hundreds of colourful birds and the emerging flying foxes as they appear at dusk.  Dinner is enjoyed after that when the temperature goes down.  There is air conditioning in the bedroom but so far we have not needed to turn it on at night but it is still spring here in the southern hemisphere with summer just around the corner. It will hopefully give me time to acclimate before it arrives and challenges my internal Canuck thermostat.  

Lots to learn. Lots of change. It is, without a doubt, a whole new world.

A whole new world

Don't you dare close your eyes

A hundred thousand things to see

Hold your breath - it gets better

I'm like a shooting star

I've come so far

I can't go back to where I used to be

lyrics by Tim Rice

Fearlessly Forging Forward

Three large suitcases. One set of golf clubs. One carry on. One handbag. That is all I am taking to the other side of the world with me. Whittling down my life to approximately 200 lbs of clothing and possessions took some ruthless editing and more than a few anxious moments, but I did it. 

In two days, I will check the bags through to Brisbane.  There is mostly clothes and shoes in two of the bags and the third bag is an odd assortment of things I could live without but simply did not want to leave behind. Mostly meaningful things. A couple of books, framed photographs, my favourite mug, my softer than soft pillowcases, gifts from friends over the last couple of years that symbolize my journey. Stuff like that. And yes, Margot - a 4 lb carved stone that has been my house protector for 20 years. It must work - I have never had a break-in. It will grace the front door of my new house one day.

Anything that did not fit will be stored here in Canada and over the years, perhaps bits will find their way back to me...or not.  The last move I made meant leaving behind even more and already I struggle to remember what most of it was. Things. Just things.  It would have been unfathomable to me 10 years ago to find myself so unburdened as I am now.

One "thing" I came across today in my wallet has only been with me less than a year. It was a small medallion given to me by a very close friend. I have treasured it from the moment she gave it to me because every time I have worried about or doubted my decision to move to Australia, it has helped me move forward. On the front, as you see above, is an image of a woman or goddess, her feet are roots, firmly anchored in the ground and her arms are raised above her head, reaching, seemingly taking nourishment from the sky. She is a symbol of strength and conviction in my mind. She is sure-footed, confident, in touch with herself, her body vulnerable, exposed, without fear. Her foundation is solid and her outstretched arms have also found a place that feeds her heart and soul. Her spiritual life, clearly as grounded as her physical form, completes her.

On the back of this medallion is one word.  Courage.  She came to me when I needed her. Or did I? Certainly there were moments when I felt a need to hold her between my thumb and fingers and meditate on what she symbolizes to me. At other times, she was just a comfort to me, a reminder that I was on the right path. A touchstone. I would repeat the word over and over in my head. Courage. Courage Deb. You can do this. She also symbolized the support and encouragement I have been given from the friend who gave her to me. It helped me recall the many conversations we have had over the past months.  The analyzing, the dissecting, the laughter, the tears, all leading me to where I am today. 

I tucked her back in my wallet where she mingles with some coins, guaranteeing she will be seen often.  Once in a while I take her out for a walk with me, tucked in my pocket or in my clenched hand. I used to worry about losing her this way. But now, I doubt that even if I did lose her, I would never really lose her message.

She has really rubbed off on me. People keep telling me I am courageous. I used to hear their words and think, ME? Courageous? I always thought courageous people were heroes like firefighters or policemen or soldiers. But now I realize that courage comes in many forms as do courageous people.

And I guess, like the cowardly lion, I had it all along.

Only, this time, I am following my own yellow brick road. 

To Oz.

Changing Patterns

It's official! I stopped in my tracks when I checked the beep on my phone and read the email. Good news Debra it said. The Singing Lady has a cheque for you. I always enjoy these emails from this consignment shop. "We sold your China".  Last May I took all my fine china, crystal and depression glass collection to this shop hoping to unload these items. No one I knew wanted it. They either had their own ill-chosen sets they dusted off every Christmas and Easter or their tastes had changed, their entertaining had become less formal (the latter most likely) or they loved their china and would continue using it until it was passed down to their heirs.

My daughter was completely disinterested. She does not even want to own a house. She claims she prefers a smaller, more low maintenance space. A condo will suit her one day apparently. She has never been one for fussy formal table settings although I do believe she is comfortable in formal dining situations.  I did teach her basic etiquette. It is always a handy skill in the work world at the very least. I don't have to worry about her embarrassing herself should her future partner's family judge her knowledge of which fork to use. (Gawd help her if she chooses someone whose family is like that!)

Anyway, it feels like a seriously symbolic moment for me. One of the last bastions of my former life has been passed along to a new owner. The baton has been handed off. I think back to the girl who chose that China all those years ago. It mattered to me. I was careful not to pick anything too bold or flowery. It was all white.  Unfortunately, at the time I was very drawn to Victorian period design, so the edges were embossed in a raised garland of small roses that turned an otherwise timeless plate into something fussy and overly feminine.  I used to occasionally pair it with the pink depression glass and it did make a spectacularly girly luncheon splash.  It also worked well at Easter with all the pastels but just as my lifestyle has changed, so has my taste in crockery.  I would never choose it now in a million years!

The money I got for it was criminal compared to what was paid for it. I can't dwell on that though. I am just glad it is gone. I don't have to retrieve it from the shop, store it in a basement somewhere for the rest of my life. One more thing I don't have to worry about. I hope the new owner enjoys it. They got an amazing deal on it. It was in mint condition. Not a single chip or missing piece. Service for eight and all the accessories. Serving bowls, platters, cream and sugar, salt and pepper - the works. When I think back to the time I chose it all, I recall doing it because it was expected. I remember people saying - "You are going to register somewhere of course." Um, yeah, OK, sure, I am.  Truth was, even then, it did not occur to me that it was all that necessary, but I got caught up in the rules, the proper etiquette for a young woman about to marry for the first time. So, I went out and selected Rosenthal China and Crystal, which was a little non-traditional (my first husband's father was German), no Royal Doulton or Royal Crown Derby for this gal...even then I was determined to buck the system a bit.

My first husband had inherited silver from his grandmother, so I had to choose something that sort of blended with the intricate ornate pattern of the flatware. I always felt the silver out shone the China...in a good way. But when he left, so did the silverware, so then I had to find a replacement. Not just for him.  So, not long after, I did find both. Husband number two came along and within a few years, he was awarded a set of silver for 25 years of service with his company. Once again, I had to choose from a menu of patterns, this time matching the silver to the China.  Silver is wonderful to look at but a royal pain in the ass to care for.  For a time, my wonderful cleaning lady would take it upon herself to polish the silver for me, but even she grew weary of that chore. It was not uncommon some holidays for me to sift through the case looking for the least tarnished fork tines to set the table, always placing the most severely burnished looking pieces at my own place setting...no one would notice I reckoned. 

So, once again, the silver set number two left with the second husband. There won't be a third set. My table will be set with stainless from here on out. No more polishing. No more special box to store it. Dishwasher safe. Worry free. Care free. Something simple and streamlined. 

Not unlike the next third of my life.

Here's hoping anyway.