Wednesday, 3 July 2013



Hi everyone!


If you are reading this, GREAT! But next time head over to my new site. I decided to start fresh and change a few inconsistencies. So please, continue reading my blog but instead put the new address into your memory and continue the journey with me.





Thursday, 21 February 2013

When did I stop caring about caring?

The older I get the more I have to say but the less I'm likely to say it.

Why is that?

When I was a young'n I found myself slightly invincible - slight being, I took bold moments knowing the probable outcome.

I was a newly 18 year old quite happy to hold my head high and flaunt my then sporty physique through the crowds of older and drunker party goers without a care in the world. I would order confidently at the bar. I would easily ask for directions. And I was simply content, sitting alone ( plotting my next puma pounce).

Do we have more to lose the older we get?

I remember being in my early teens and hanging out with some friends in the school holidays. I took the dare to extravagantly run down the street through a crowd of people and purposely fall over. A challenge I delighted in. An opportunity to actively and dramatically show my ability to pretend - for I was an aspiring actor at the time. No fear. No embarrassment. Just a moment to make my friends laugh.

Does fear come with experience or does it come with not experiencing?

In the last week I have been exposed to situations where my younger self has cried out in disappointment. Moments where the adult in me or perhaps the more reserved adult has taken no action when perhaps, once upon a time, long ago, I would have. I would have at least said something.

I'm finding the older I get the more I choose to not do. Whether it is an act of kindness, a moment of confidence, something that should be said and a judgement that was too quick to make.

Sometimes I wish I could see myself through the eyes of others. Not my friends, not my family but those who do not know me. That pass me by in a second never to meet my eyes or feet (depending on where they are looking) again. Someone who took a moment of their life to simply place a personality on me without ever knowing me. Who would they say I am?

We so quickly judge those that we do not know. We place stereotypes on their clothings. We avoid them because of their interests. We unfriend them due to their actions. We simply allow a second of our life to decide so much.

I was walking behind a girl and boy today. Presenting in the stereotype of punkrockers. Blue hair and piercings. He in black and skinny jeans. She in a mini skirt and sporting a very petite waistline. And within 10 seconds of being behind them, quite intriqued by their choice of hair colour and style, the lady in blue dropped a cigarette butt so casually and still alight and continued walking on her way.

Dumbfounded. Outraged. Annoyed. Ignorant. Saddened. Angry. Confused.....and yet silent. 

I heard my inner child screaming.....say something....inform her she dropped her cigarette butt by mistake....gesture towards the ground and then perhaps to the nearest bin....spill some facts on the problem of pollution....the dwindling population of sea turtles....just say something.

But I didn't.

My adult self took one look at the equation. 2 against 1. What impact would I have? Would my choice of words or facts cause guilt, paranoia or anger to seep through her? And I was alone, was she physically stronger then me? Was the boy level headed or anger driven? How would they possibly react? A probability I was not certain on.

And then it struck me.

 When did I lose her? When did I place tape over her mouth and quieten her wild ways?

I found myself annoyed the other day when asked by a client to help fill out a form. I didn't have time or the patience to fill out a long list of questions for them. I didn't realise at the time they couldn't read. I didn't realise that my privileged life of education where I learnt reading and writing I have been taking for granted. I didn't realise there is probably a story behind this man.

When did judgement set in?

I hate reading the news. Pages of downfall, destruction, pain, hurt, murder, don't need to see a MA15+ movie or play Call of Duty to get a rush or imagine warfare. You just need to read the pages. Go outside your house and walk a little. It's all there.

But it's not just those terrifying accounts that cause us to become blind sighted, blinkers off and straight forward moving. It is those stories where the acts of kindness have gone wrong. A moment where someone has done the decent thing and it has been thrown back in their face. And it is these stories that have stopped me from helping. Assisting the elderly gentlemen, been frozen with doubt when deciding to help someone in distress or given money to a lost soul. Because I'm too scared of what will come of my decision - directly or indirectly.

I am no longer under the umbrella of my parents, my independence is not shadowed by my ignorance of teen-hood and my actions are that of an adult.

I may not know all that is to be known, factual or cultural, but I believe I understand right and wrong.

So when is it ok to have a voice? To stand firm on a belief and not feel the pressure or fear of being judged and punished for it.

When did I stop caring about caring?  

Thursday, 14 February 2013

C is for Cafe 66

Last night I took Mr H and I on a date. A date to Cafe 66 for Coffee and Cake. I was a little worried about this fortnights date night as our week nights have been a little consumed with events, sleep catch ups and the consumption of a new TV Show Madmen. And with today being Valentines day and secretly hoping the man has organised a night out I knew I didn't want it to feel like we had to always revolve our dates around a high intake of food and so I thought what's a favourite meal of mine. D E S S E R T. And hence date night was created.**Unfortunately Mr H forgot his phone which meant photos were taken on mine so excuse the poor quality. 

Tuesday, 5 February 2013

Week Four of 52 weeks of Thankfulness

Chivalry. Dead or Alive or only for the lucky ones....

Well I consider myself a lucky one. Not only did I marry Mr Right I married a gentlemen. And I ain't ashamed to admit that the chivalry that goes with that class of gentlemen tickles my fancy!

Mr Right a knight of the round table. A loyal, strong, committed, loving and dangerous* (I thought he would like that one) man.

I think there is nothing wrong with chivalry. I don't think it lowers a woman's level of class, power or dominance. In fact for me it romanticizes the way a man can show, one way of many ways, of how he loves me.

On the weekend Mr. H and I went camping. A pastime that is not necessarily right up there for one little lady but definitely enjoyed because I know how much he L.O.V.E.S it. It rests the wicked, calms the anxiety and you can actually breathe as your lungs are suppose too. During this weekend we experienced weather that one does not hope to experience while camping. Rain and gusty winds!  However with wild winds comes one wild man on his trusty stead.

Throughout the weekend he kindly parked the car on my side closest to the driest patch or entry to the camping amenities. He pulled out his raincoat and hurried over before I left the car to protect me from the rain. He kindly ordered I stay in the car while he pegged down the tent with extra pegs insisting he did not need my help but rather preferred I stayed safe and dry. And he guaranteed my safety when he made the decision to move the car to higher grounds and kept watch while we slept in the car for a couple of hours until the wind died down.

I work. I earn my own money. I make decisions. I choose what we have for dinner. I open my own car door and I can order for myself. I am still a strong, assertive, decisive (at times) woman even with a man by my side and my arm looped within his.

I believe in chivalry. Perhaps a modern chivalry. A line of roles in a household is important, necessary and simply helps two to exist. Before we were married we talked openly and honestly about our roles in our marriage. We discussed traditional views and modern views. We discussed who would clean, cook and be in charge of the banking. We identified when roles need to be reversed, shared and mostly honored. We catered to each others wants and understandings and came to a greater love for what we believed a husband and wife meant. This isn't for everyone but it was for us.

I will always enjoy a bought meal, an opened car door, a man who carries my groceries and one that looks dapper in his tie and shirt (and a five o'clock shadow to keep the mystery alive). But what makes one man chivalrous compared to another? His deep respect for a woman; wife, daughter, mother, grandmother, aunt, neighbour or friend.

So I am thankful for chivalry. For there is nothing sexier, sweeter, admiring then a man who holds adoring love for a woman and can show it emotionally and physically.

For a man who will walk on the kerb beside you, protecting you from the on coming world.


*by the way this is merely a dimly lit insight, having read a few controversial blogs and literature on the term 'chivalry' . I know there is more to its origin in regards to knighthood and the debate of whether it is still exists and to what level.
** And for all of you that believe it goes two ways, I also believe it does, just so you know this girl cooks, sews, does laundry, irons and even takes the garbage out! I may be boasting about my love of chivalry but I also know the respect is returned.


Monday, 4 February 2013

B is for Bistro

It was recently the better half's turn to invent the next date, something beginning with the letter B. Now we have given ourselves a fortnight to organise A - Z dates (enough time for the pennies to accumulate and for the creativity to flow). It was down to one day to go and I thought for sure this man has forgotten. But alas Mr Right turned up on his trusty stead and brought me too....Yknot in Coffs harbour where we had B is for a Bistro Breakfast.

Tuesday, 29 January 2013

Week Three of 52 Weeks of Thankfulness


A moment of reference.

A feeling of pain, sorrow, remorse.

An unplanned phenomenon that brings about a lesson. One worth learning?

Perhaps it is the rain that brings on this dark thankfulness topic. The falling motion of a lifeless entity that can bring about great change, destruction, life and consequence.

Perhaps rain is just like regret. One minute it is here and the next it is gone. The possibility of an occurance and when it does occur, it can cause infinite endings. One being regret.


Rain can be.

I dislike regret. It takes up time. It seduces me into believing I can change the past. Perhaps if I relive it enough I will somehow change that which continues to replay within my mind. If by some means I WILL change the past. Relieved and relived. But alas, I can not. And regret continues to consume my time.

Regret. I have many.

I regret the conversation I had in the office at two different employment scenarios. Pride and sarcasm got the better of me in both. One resulted in consequences out of my hand, the other however thankfully understood the immaturity of a drifted young girl finding her place in the corporate world. 

My Father has only ever asked one thing of me. Just be happy. Be happy sausage he would tell me. Just be happy. I regret to inform you Father that I have failed you on multiple occasions.  

I regret the conversation I had one evening with a group of friends. Where once again words did not match my intent or internal emotion of a struggling girl facing one of the biggest decisions of her life. Awful and inconsiderate things were said. And if only I didn't say them.

They say regrets are moments of our lives where we wish we had done something different or perhaps said it a different way (maybe not say it all). They say those regrets are an opportunity to learn. A lesson in the wings. Because we were meant to be exactly where we were when the unplanned phenomenon was taking place without our awareness. Ignorant.

I regret wasting my time on a relationship that wasn't worth the hassle. The conversations that were never had with parents. The need to portray, appeal and improve.
I regret my time spent on impressing others. Having the need to constantly prove I can be as good as you. I can be part of your group if only you saw past the unbleached hair, no brand named clothes and where I live. Please forgive my lack of intelligence and eager personality to prove I want to be your friend. 

I don't think a day goes by where I don't think of something from my past that I wish I could change. And YES I am tired. I'm tired of the What-ifs and the Should-haves. And trust me I have tried to just let go. Accept the mistake, the could haves and the maybes and just move on. And maybe for a few days, weeks if I'm lucky the emotions associated with the regret reside. Giving me a moment to breathe. But then.....just when you think you are safe....a memory is recalled. You see a photo, you get a whiff of a distinct smell or a stranger walks by reminding you of someone. And then the rain starts to fall.

I regret the moment that I chose to let others decide for me. Passively and actively. For not taking the time and passion in planning a wedding that deserved to be planned. If only I could go back and change my dress. Had my hair differently. Taken the veil out. Was more organised. Decisive. Creative. If only I was the woman I am today and not the girl I was when I had the wedding. Perhaps then I could look at the photos in awe rather then with regret. 

But that's it isn't it. All those times that I look back and regret, they are merely times that I was a girl just trying to find the woman I was just trying to find me. All those moments, spoken and unspoken words and bad choices of clothing, were really just me  trying to fit in. Except fitting in never seemed to work.

And so it took one rolling regret, my northern star and the willing notion of a girl to help me find the sun.

The future still seems scary. And I will never be able to change those times that constantly grind the inner membranes of my brain. But I will be thankful for my regrets. Not for the lessons learnt (I think I could have learnt some of them other ways). But  I am thankful that I found out who I am now and not in another 10 years and with the regrets that go with those years. I only hope I can continually grow into being the person I am suppose to be and not the person that needs to fit in. And I know I will still have many regrets in the future....but this time I'll be making them for me as me.


Tuesday, 22 January 2013

Week Two of 52 weeks of Thankfulness

Cookies and Cream connoisseur ice-cream.
Willy Wonka nerd bar.
Medium McChicken meal with a sweet and sour sauce.
Hot chips and gravy.
Chocolate covered stuff.
....just a few guilty pleasures.

I eat it. I crave it. I want it. I desire it. I day dream it. I need it....and yet I shouldn't have it.

But sometimes when a girl needs sugar.... by golly she means business!

So we have those days, weeks and for some, months where the craving is the only thing that will satisfy those roller coaster hormones.

Anxious hormones. 
Moody hormones. 
Angry hormones. 
Sad hormones.

Hey! Female hormones are real (of course I'm only speaking on behalf of women and not all women). But when this lass has a craving, lets just say it will continue into the night and right into the next morning and the only thing that will help this craving, is not a big glass of water or a hypnotic evening of I do not want that mars bar, I do not need that mars bar, but the actual sugary goodness that has taken over her mental taste buds. So give the girl a break and give her the keys to the car!

We know its bad for us. We know to much is not good. And we know it will go straight to our thighs. And though we have processed these thoughts and hey about 30% of the time those truthful thoughts have won, 70% of the time we really do need that McChicken burger!

The moment our taste buds come in contact with the sugary evilness, the equation breaks down. No longer does E = MC2 (evilness = McChicken burger). But instead we have now reached a level of calmness, understanding, serenity and breathtakingly yummy goodness...

Ok ok maybe a little deep but in all honestly that moment makes another moment that came before the raging hormones simply seem...approachable.

So I thank you 24 hour Maccas, Coles that is open until 10pm and the video store who I can rely on to provide some teeth decaying choices. I thank you selfishly for your convenience, ease of access, spoilt opportunities, complete disregard for the food that is just as good in my fridge if not better. I thank you. I thank you for saving my cravings, calming those irrational thoughts and giving my body a rush of sanity. Because sugar for me gives me the giggles and stops the possibility of too many unneeded fights with loved ones.