The Month of Thinking Positively

So I’ve decided to make some changes in my life.  In fact, I often decide to make changes, but for reasons as yet unknown to me, they rarely eventuate.  So by a stroke of amazing luck or just lucky timing, an email arrived in my inbox telling me how to do just that.

There is a fantastic blog called zen habits.  It’s written by a bloke called Leo Babauta, and he seems pretty damn enthusiastic about most things in life.  I’ve been subscribed to it for quite a while now and daily it gently encourages me into thinking about ways I can become more productive, more balanced, more organised, and generally an all-round happier person.

A recent post was entitled “7 Little Habits that Can Change your Life, and How to Form Them”. 

“Woo-hoo!” I said, as I read it.  “This is just what I need!”

In this post, he gives a list of the seven habits that he would be working on if he was to go about changing his life.  He then goes on to say that not everyone’s the same, so please adjust this list to your own circumstances (well not in those words exactly, but that’s what he means).

The first habit he mentions is Thinking Positively.  Now as much as I hate to say it, I’m a little more of a negative thinker rather than a positive thinker.  It’s something I really don’t like about myself, so it seemed a great place to start.

Leo also says that you should concentrate on this one habit for 30 days, commit in a public way, log your progress and be publically accountable, so……….here I go.

I, Mandy-Jane, promise to think positively for the next month.  I further promise to log my progress (or lack thereof) at the end of every day, right here, for all the cyberworld to see. 

I think I’ve read somewhere that it takes 3 weeks to break an old habit and start a new one, so a month should see me pretty right.  And today being the first day of Spring, seems the right time.

And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.  I do have a positive thought experience to share.  Today was a very windy day.  We live on top of a big hill and believe me, the wind up here can get quite fearsome at times.  I don’t like the wind.  In fact I hate it.  It turns me into a feral, fire-breathing, hot-headed and altogether unpleasant person.  That is when it doesn’t overwhelm me with fear that one of the beautiful trees outside is going to come crashing down on the house!  Thankfully that has never happened.

So today, I’m trying to hang out the washing.  And the good old rotary clothes line is not co-operating at all.  I need it to turn left; it turns right.  I need it to keep still while I peg clothes up; it becomes a merry-go-round.  I’m getting angry.

But wait.  With all this wind, the clothes will dry a lot more quickly!  I won’t have to leave them out and risk them getting rained on overnight.  They’ll dry and I can bring them in, fold them and put them away.  Less work for tomorrow!  Hey, this positive thinking thing is not bad!  I’m feeling better already.

So there you go.  Only one day into it and already I’ve made some progress.

Now if only I could think positively about the housework that’s waiting for me.

Goodbye Winter, Hello Spring!

Yes, it’s finally that time of the year again!  Today is the last day of Winter.  I know it will take a while for things to really warm up, but already I can hear little birds chirping outside, and only this morning, I heard a fly buzzing it’s little wings!  Okay maybe that’s not so good, but it’s a sure sign that Winter is getting ready to pack its bags and go and bother someone else.

That’s all.

House for Sale!

So we’ve decided to sell our house.  Not an easy decision, but an important one.  While we absolutely love the views, the visits from native animals, the greenery, the isolation and the fresh air, we’re not so hot on the endless trips into town that seem to be occurring more and more frequently now that the girls are growing up and spreading their little wings into other activities.

Of course, it means a move back into town.  Back into a neighbourhood.  Back into a street where I’ll look out of a window and see my neighbour’s window, instead of seeing gum trees blowing gently in the breeze, or a little koala sheltering from the rain.

Let’s see if we can get a buyer first!

I’m writing, I’m writing ….. I think.

Well I’ve stopped talking about it and thinking about it.  I’ve resisted my sudden urges to do a mad spring-clean of the house, and I’m saying “No!” to those voices in my head that keep telling me to go outside and pull up weeds (even though we pay a gardener to do just that!).

Today I sat down and squeezed out a page and a half of a playscript.  Yes I know a page and a half is not a lot, but it’s more than I’ve done in one session in a long time.  And it’s a habit I intend to keep.  After all, the future enjoyment of theatre audiences depends on it.  (How’s that for motivation?)

So off I go.  Another page and a half before bed!

Mother knows best (really, I do!)

When I was growing up, I always believed that my mother knew best.  Well, she always told me she did.  I was the youngest of four daughters.  My sisters all turned out fairly well, so she must have been doing something right.  So I listened to her.  I did as she told me.  I obeyed her (mostly).  I didn’t drink and drive.  I didn’t go home with boys I didn’t know.  I didn’t put small objects into my mouth.  And I always wore clean underwear.

It all seemed fairly straightforward to me.  So, when I had my own kids (girls again), I confidently believed that they would listen dutifully to every word I said, and behave with the utmost respect and admiration for me, their mother.

WRONG!

Oh they love me.  I know that.  They just have minds of their own.  Of course they would rather play outside in the mud than come in and clean their rooms.  Naturally they prefer eating ice-cream to spinach.  And if they want to wear a skimpy, summer dress on a day that’s threatening snow outside, well I can understand that too.  I am a reasonable person.

I recently had the opportunity for a girls weekend away.  It’s something all the women in our family do once a year.  A chance to get away from the home base, talk about girl things, kick back and relax.  Most importantly of all, we get to leave the husbands at home with the kids.  We’re drinking beer; he’s wiping up spilled milk.  We’re telling dirty jokes; he’s telling bedtime stories.  We’re sleeping off hangovers until 1 in the afternoon; he’s being woken at 6 am with pleas for breakfast.

So, when my husband suggested that this latest trip away would be a good opportunity for him to take the girls to his parent’s house for the weekend, my first impulse was to say ‘Hey that’s a great idea!”.  But then, the mother who knows best creeps in; the mother who knows that no-one else can do it as well as she can.

“You know, maybe that’s not such a great idea.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Well because you’ll be driving in a car.  What if the girls get carsick?”

“The girls have never been carsick.”

“Well what if they get bored and start fighting?”

“Then I’ll tell them to stop fighting.”

“What if they start throwing things?  What if they throw something at you while you’re driving and you have an accident?”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?  What if you have an accident anyway?”

“I won’t have an accident.  I’m a good driver.”

“What if you fall asleep at the wheel?”

“I won’t.”

“What if there’s an earthquake?”

“There won’t be an earthquake.”

Of course I know he’s right.  So I begrudgingly accept the fact that he’s taking my two little girls away from me OVERNIGHT.  Somehow it seems easier to accept if it’t just me going away.  But he’s taking my babies.  He goes off to pack.

“Did you pack their warm pyjamas?”

“Yes.”

“What if it’s hot there?”

“I packed their cool pyjamas too.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Did you pack enough clothes?”

“Yes.”

“What about medicine?  In case they get a headache?”

“I’ve packed the baby panadol.”

“Do you think they’re sick?”

“No, of course I don’t think they’re sick.”

“What about shoes?  You don’t know what the weather’s gonna’ be like, so you’d better pack sandals as well as gum boots.  Oh and don’t forget their coats.  They really feel the cold, you know.”

“I have their sandals, gum boots and tie up shoes.”

“Coats?”

“They won’t need their coats.”

“Are you serious?  Of course they’ll need their coats.  Don’t you know what can happen to kids when they get cold?”

“They’ve got jumpers.”

“Well what if the weather warms up while you’re there?  That can sometimes happen, you know.”

“It’s okay.  I’ve got warm weather clothes and cool weather clothes.”

“Toothbrushes?”

“Yes.”

“Toothpaste?  You know they only use the one with the Disney Princesses on it.”

“Yes, I know that.  It’s packed.”

“Tissues?”

“Yes.”

“Bandaids?”

“In the car.”

“Sunblock?”

“It’s Winter.”

“It doesn’t matter.  The sun’s rays can still get to you, even in Winter.  I don’t know how those kids will ever be safe with you looking after them!”

Eventually he tells me in no uncertain terms to please leave him alone and stop interfering, and he finally gets the suitcase packed.  As I’m watching them climb into the car, I feel that mother who knows best creeping up behind me.

“What if they’ve forgotten something?

Instantly I stamp her out and wave goodbye, knowing that they’ve forgotten nothing, and will most definitely have a very wonderful time.  I walk inside, smug with the knowledge that, although Daddy will certainly look after them, little girls need their mother.

Or should that be, mothers need their little girls?

I’ve finally seen it!

At last, the ABC has aired the 2007 remake of Persuasion, without a doubt, the most fantastic Jane Austen novel ever.  Want something more exciting?  My husband (who is so not into JA), watched it with me!  Want something even more exciting?  He loved it!  Want something even more and more exciting?  It’s the first in The Jane Austen Season.  Next week – Northanger Abbey.

Looks like my TV viewing days are back!

Who’d be a writer?

I was eighteen when I first decided to become a writer.  I had a job in a typing pool, where all I did all day was type.  And type the same thing over and over again.   It was mind-numbingly boring, as you can imagine.  So, to ease the boredom, I’d make little notes on scrap bits of paper.  Scribble down anything from my daily life that sounded as though it might fit nicely into a short story or maybe a novel or a play, further down the track.  Up until this point, it was so easy.  I still have most of those scrap bits of paper.  I also have an unbelievable number of unfinished short stories and plays.  And now, it’s not so easy.

I don’t know whether I’ve finally realised that maybe I’m not so good at writing, or whether I’m just too lazy to get down and do it, or whether, now that I’m no longer eighteen, I’ve come to accept that you really can’t do everything in your life that you once thought you could.  Sure there are other factors to consider.  I have small, demanding kids.  I co-run a theatre group.  I’m trying with all my being, to keep our house tidy.  But in the end, either you do it or you don’t.  And even if it’s not very good, you still do it.  And you keep doing it.  Even if, like me, you sit in front of the computer and try so hard to write that blood comes out of your eyes or nose!  Yet for all your angst, you still have a blank screen in front of you.

But one thing’s for certain.  I know I’m not the only one.  There is a great online writing community over at Absolute Write, and I know for a fact, that there are more of my kind over there.  Many much better too, but that’s to be expected.

So, on I go.  I’ll just make sure I have a cloth ready to wipe up the blood.

That’s just clawful!

You may or may not know that I’m a vegetarian.  I just don’t enjoy the taste of meat.  I also don’t enjoy the taste of fish or seafood of any kind.  So when my husband decided – for reasons I can’t yet work out – to take the girls to our dam for a spot of ‘yabbying’, I was pretty hopeful that they would return empty-handed.

Unfortunately, they didn’t.

They returned with a bucket of filthy, slimey yabbies with claws that were almost twice the size of their entire body.

Now I’m not an outdoor girl.  I don’t like camping, fishing or even hanging out the washing.  So it stands to reason that I also don’t like crustaceans that belong at the bottom of a muddy waterhole, being inside my house.

“What are you going to do with them?” I asked.

“Eat them!” they all said in chorus.

“You’re not cooking them in my kitchen” I said.  Even though, as a failed cook, I have no right to call it “my” kitchen.

But cook them, they did.  I can’t give you any details of what happened next because I promptly left the kitchen and barricaded myself in the bathroom, feeling a sudden, urgent need to wash my hair, or paint my toenails or apply a face pack.

When I returned, the three of them were seated at the table, digging happily into the catch of the day.  I’m told the meat is very sweet and tasty, but let’s just say I’ll have to trust them on that one.

Garden? What garden?

I’m not a garden person.  I like to look at gardens.  I even like to sit in them.  But I do not do gardens!  Why then, we chose to live in a place that is surrounded by grass, trees and plants of every description, I still do not know. 

I’ve had my moments of inspiration.  Unfortunately, they are just that.  Moments.  A bit of clipping here; a touch of raking there, and that’s about it.  Most of the time, my “garden” is merely a sea of green, interspersed with fallen autumn leaves and flowering plants fighting for their lives amongst the weeds.

So it was with some trepidation that we decided to hire a gardener.  My impression of gardeners is that they are people who love gardens, and the moment one of these people saw our ….. garden, they would run screaming up the driveway, declaring that we were bad people and had no right to have a garden in our care.

However, this wasn’t the case.  He was really very nice.  He looked around our yard.  He remained calm.  He even smiled.

“How long have you had that apricot tree?” he asked.

Daniel and I looked at each other.

“Which one’s the apricot tree?” he whispered to me.

The gardener laughed.  We figured that was good sign.  “So I take it it’s never had fruit?”

Correct.

He moved on. 

“So we’ve been pulling these weeds out every time they come up” said Daniel, pointing casually to a green, trailing plant.

“That’s not a weed” said the gardener.

“Oh?”  We looked at each other, not really knowing what to say next.  “Then why does it just seem to grow a bit wild, like a weed?”

“You need to prune it.  You think plants look perfect if you just let them go their own way?”

“Well …. yes.  That’s kinda’ what we hoped.”

“Wrong!  Plants need care, nurturing, WATER!” 

I felt he was about to report us to the Department for the Protection of Unloved Plants.

“So, when can you start?” I asked brightly.  “As you can see, the garden needs a little …. care.”

 He reached into his pocket.  I half expected him to produce a walkie-talkie and request backup.  Instead, he pulled out a small diary.

“How does next Tuesday sound?” 

“Great!” we said in unison.  From somewhere behind me I think I heard some plants clap excitedly.

Get well soon, little Koala

We have a lovely gum tree just outside our front door.  Today, as I glanced out of the window, I saw a small koala sitting on the grass, just under the tree.  Immediately, I thought this was unusual.  We get a fair few koalas around the place, but they’re normally snuggled on a branch, either sleeping happily or munching on gum leaves.  This little koala was just sitting there, quite still.  It put its little hand on the tree as if about to climb up, but dropped it again.

We sneaked over to take a closer look.  It just looked at us, and made no attempt to move.

We rang the local wildlife rescuers.  Within 30 minutes, a man arrived, got out of his truck armed with a cage and a blanket, and skilfully loaded the little girl into a cage.  (He identified her straight away as a girl.  Some people are good like that.)  She made a tiny screeching sound.  He looked at a piece of her poo which was nearby.

“I’d say she’s got a problem with her teeth” he said. 

We wondered how he worked that out by looking at her poo.

“It’s not digested properly.  She’s not getting enough nutrients.”

Oh.  Well that made sense.

He said he would look after her and bring her back when she was well again.  I hope that’s soon.  She was so beautiful.