My...Neighbourhood

Thinking about what to write for this post has made me realise I've been really quite lucky to have lived in some great neighbourhoods over the years. (It's also made me a bit nostalgic and wistful...damn those itchy feet of mine.) They've all been unique in some way, but there's also a few defining commonalities regardless of city or country - greenery, walking distance to a village (somewhere to eat, somewhere to shop), and friendliness in shared spaces. 

I grew up in the leafy suburbs of Melbourne's east - not the inner east like South Yarra, or the outer east like Ringwood or Ivanhoe, but the mid-east, Kew. It was (and still is) suburban Melbourne at its finest. It was a pretty nice place to grow up, actually. The streets were blessed with long established oak trees, the parks were plentiful (perfect for tree climbing and dog walking and finding some space of your own-ing), the trams frequent-ish and the schools were not too bad at all. 

And it had a sense of community. In primary school the neighbourhood kids walked together most mornings, and in high school we caught the tram together. We had a street party, at least once. And I remember epic water fights in the heat of Melbourne's long dry summers, running in and out of neighbour's gardens to refill our various watery weapons. We knew our street, our neighbourhood. It felt safe, it felt like ours. My parents still live in the same street, and they still know their neighbours. A dying art they say, this neighbour thing. 

After a few moves around Melbourne's mid-east, the next stop for me was Balmain, Sydney. I still marvel at my luck, picking Balmain out of all the places to pick when I moved to Sydney. It's a suburb full of dogs and pubs, with winding streets that lead you on to patches of green and surprising harbour views. Being a peninsula it's a bit isolated, a bit cut off from the rest of Sydney, but there's a gorgeous main street with restaurants and cafes and cute little shops so come the weekend you really don't need the rest of Sydney. 

Balmain was pretty great, although I don't remember anyone ever saying 'hello' to me in the street. Maybe because it's a bit of a destination suburb, there's a lot of day trippers. You can't tell who is your neighbour and who isn't. Or maybe I just wasn't feeling so friendly around that time. Maybe. 

Then the husband and I moved to Potts Point for a year. We lived in an apartment, which had harbour views from the tiny balcony right at the top, if you stood on your tippy toes and angled your head the right way. Potts Point is just a short walk from the city (a little longer if you take a detour past the sparkling waters of Woolloomoloo and the Gallery and the gardens, and why wouldn't you?) but it feels like it's one perfectly contained city in itself. It's unusual as it's one of the few high density suburbs in Sydney, and the high density living happens mostly in gorgeous deco apartment buildings (swoon). 

You'd think living a little on top of each other would lead to niggles and tension, but in our experience it lead to thought and consideration and small acts of kindness. I'd move back there in a heart beat. 

Then we headed overseas and drove our relocation consultants to distraction searching for the right place to live. They'd show us a shiny new apartment with all the mod cons in a 'great expat area', and we'd say 'Hmmmm, it's nice but can we go for a stroll and get some dinner, or groceries?". Because for us where we lived was just as important, possibly more important, than what the actual place was like. We'd happily sacrifice space and newness if it meant we'd be in walking distance of a shop or a cafe or a bar. Which, apparently, in Hong Kong at least, is not a typical consideration for expats and relocation consultants. 

The thought of having to jump in a cab every time I needed some milk filled me with dread, so we pressed on, and - after some frustration and a few tears (mainly mine) - ended up in the most perfect spot. Our apartment was a short but steep fifteen minute walk into Central yet it was surrounded by lush masses of greenery. And flamingos, and monkeys. You see, our apartment was perched just above the zoo. At night we would wander down the street for a martini and a steak and then head home, normally in a taxi - the hill really was steep! Come morning we'd awake to the sound of howler monkeys and red-crowned cranes in the gardens below. Pretty freaking awesome. 

Next was Seoul, and another great neighbourhood - Hoehyundong - which you can read about here and here. It was one of those crumbling old areas, a rabbit warren of shacks and concrete and incredibly slightly dodgy looking massage shops. It was just starting to be redeveloped, hence our shiny new skyscraper of an apartment building. On one side we had Namsan, on the other was Myeongdong and the sprawling Namdaemun market. It was a great spot to spend three and a bit years. 

(Slight tangent - after all our moves I've come to the conclusion that it takes a minimum of twelve months to start to get to know a place, to start to feel like you belong to a place. What do you think of that timeline?)

And then we moved back to Sydney, and we bought a house in Paddington. Paddington is a great suburb filled with all the things we love - cafes and restaurants and pubs and parks and trees and dogs. There's a little community garden at one end of our street, and an excellent butcher up on Oxford Street who happily shares cooking tips, and not too far away is Centennial Park where a whole herd of dachshunds meet up once a month. I can walk into the city if I fancy, and on a warm sunny day we can drive to the beach in fifteen minutes or so. 

We've got a rental on one side, so our neighbours change fairly frequently. But on the other side we have a neighbour who grows exotic orchids under shade cloth and listens to opera, loudly, on a Sunday morning. And almost everyone stops in the street to pat Ferdi on our morning walks, which makes him ridiculously happy.

We're close to the boy's other house, and to their school. We have three locals within walking distance - places we're happy to go when we want a break from cooking, places where the staff say hi. Since leaving Melbourne's east I'm used to moving, often, but I think I'll be happy to settle in this neighbourhood for a little while longer.

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The My... posts are a way to get me writing more throughout 2015. There'll be one a month, each with a different My... prompt. You can play along as well, whenever and wherever you want. This month's prompt (June) is My Neighbourhood. Next month's prompt (July) is My Wardrobe. Interpret each prompt however you like - a story or a jumble of thoughts, fact or fiction, personal or not. Don't feel too constrained by the months either, if you like a prompt then have a go. And make sure to let me know if you do join in!

Death by Doxie : Extra Curricular

And this is why you won't see too many flat lays around these parts - the dogs think that if it's on the floor, it's theirs. 

These photos are from a month or so ago, when the lovely folks at Extra Curricular magazine sent me a few copies of their super cute and gorgeously put together magazine (payment in kind for an interview I did with Helena Leslie for their Messy issue). I'd just bought some gorgeous banksias, so I thought - mags + flowers + concrete floor = perfect Instagram shot, yes? Well, maybe, in a Ferdi and Elfi free house. 

As soon as the magazines were on the ground Elfi came and sat on them, and showed no intention of moving. Then Ferdi decided to see if the banksias were tasty (they weren't). The dogs were saying - loud and clear - If you're going to give your attention to something close to the ground, it should be us. Elfi even blew me a raspberry...

My...Travel

It is such an Australian thing, this overwhelming desire to travel. A cliche, but  a cliche because it's true. To be Australian is to travel, from city to city or country to country. We are born knowing we are isolated, knowing we are far far away - from the rest of Australia, from the rest of the world. We grow up accepting long distances, accepting the tedium of travel in order to get someplace else. Travel is just what we do, if we want to do anything at all. And we are a migrant community, so all around us are reminders that there is a big wide world out there filled with sights to see and delicious food to eat and wonderful, intriguing, new people. Just waiting to be discovered. 

I'm no different. I've always wanted to travel.

As a kid, each year during the long summer break we'd pile into the car and do a road trip up the coast, visiting friends and family along the way. Heading north we'd visit country farms, stopping to ride the horses and swim in the creeks; we'd visit homesteads and hippie communes and flash apartments. We stopped in Sydney and the Gold Coast and Corryong and Toowoomba, and Nimbin. 

Despite the odd bout of travel sickness, and what was I'm sure hours and hours of annoying our parents with complaints and niggles, I have very fond memories of these journeys. I have memories of swimming pools and a ukelele under the palm trees; of gorging myself on mangoes, bought by the box-load at roadside stalls; of hand feeding overexcited baby goats in our underwear (Nimbin), of rainforest walks and leeches - eeeek! - and getting bogged in the mud (Nimbin, again); and of watching the most spectacular thunderstorms whip around the gums whilst perched on the outside pit toilet (yep, Nimbin again). 

Road trips are still one of my favourite ways to travel, whether it's an overnight stay in the country or six weeks in Europe. I love the freedom having a car gives you, you can stay or go as you please. I love knowing you've got everything with you in the car - the people you love, your clothes, the wine, the snacks, your toothbrush...

And then there's the music. Some road trips we get organised and create a special playlist. When we drove through Death Valley, from Mammoth Mountain down to Las Vegas, we listened to nothing but Simon and Garfunkel, The Carpenters, Dusty Springfield, and Johnny Cash. But on some drives, when we're a bit disorganised, we're reduced to digging through those cheap CD bins in service stations to find something half decent. This has happened in Italy more times than I can remember. 

So on our Italian road trips we normally end up flicking between unbelievably terrible dance music on Radio 105 and unbelievably soppy love songs on whatever Eros Ramazzotti CD my husband (slightly too excitedly) bought at the last Autogrill. One trip we were lucky enough to find a 5 CD set - Le 100 Canzoni de Sempre Internazionale - packed with gems from Wham!, Patti Smith, Toto, Survivor and Whitney Houston. It's still on high rotation in my iTunes playlist. And then there was the trip where I forced my not-then-husband to listen to Mariah Carey's The Emancipation of Mimi. On repeat. I have a feeling I owe my entire marriage to this trip. I'm pretty sure listening to We Belong Together thirty eight times as we drove through the Italian countryside is what finally convinced my husband that we did, in fact, belong together. But that's a whole other tale... 

Anyway, road trips are ace. Unfortunately despite (because of?) dragging them on road trips across all of the continents except for Africa, we are yet to convince the step-sons of this fact. They'd much rather fly / teleport everywhere. Yawn.

For me, part of the joy of travel is the getting there. Which is an odd thing to say because airport queues and flying anxieties and hours in a car seat are not joyous things, are they? But they are part of the ritual, they are sign posts of the fun and adventure to come. And in and of themselves there is something meditative, calming about them - a kind of enforced stillness. I want to get to x, but I have to endure a, b and c to get to x. So I will endure a, b and c. And, strangely, endure them with pleasure. But the step-sons would rather skip a, b and c and go straight to x. 

Maybe I was like that as a kid too, but I don't think so. Is it a generational thing? A result of the just-one-google-away times they live in? Or perhaps it's a result of the ridiculous amount of travel they've done, at such a young age? Maybe there's still room for a little romance when you're catching your third flight ever at age twenty-something, but if you're on your thirtieth flight ever before puberty it all gets a bit ho-hum? 

Anyway, I digress. 

Although I always had the desire to travel I was a bit of a late bloomer in the international stakes. Sure, when I was seventeen I spent a pretty incredible two months with a host family in Nepal. But that was followed by a stretch when - outside of a trip to Fiji - I didn't leave Australia's shores. But then in my middish twenties I cobbled together a six week solo around the world trip and everything changed. I landed in Madrid, my first European city, and fell completely, utterly in love. The Prado! The cobbled lanes! The age of everything - so old, so historic! The late late meals! The croquettes! The pig! Then I caught the train to Barcelona, and swooned. In San Sebastian I wandered, wide eyed and fluttery. And then Prague, how could I not love thee? I was smitten, and I was hooked. 

A few years later I did it all again, but this time I went to San Francisco and New York and Paris. And then I met my husband, and we travelled to Italy. And then we moved overseas and my goodness did we travel, across Asia and America and Europe. I may have been a late bloomer but I sure as heck made up for it. 

I sometimes ponder what this urge is - what this desire to move, to go somewhere, anywhere new is. (As an aside as a teen I used to rearrange my room every year or so. And the three and a half year stint in our apartment in Seoul was the longest I'd lived anywhere, outside of the house I grew up in). 

I could say it's driven by all the noble things. I could say it's driven by a desire for compassion and understanding; history, curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. But it's probably more about escape, about avoiding the mundane (I am so scared of the soul destroying mundane...). It's probably more about that feeling of stepping outside yourself. When you're in a foreign land, a foreign city, there are no preconceptions, there are no known knowns. Everything is an adventure. 

I was lucky enough to listen to one of my favourite authors, Robert Dessaix, speak about why he travels at the Sydney Writers' Festival last year. He talked about travelling to cheat time. We can't ever stop time, but when we travel we somehow manage to stretch it out. When we're at home there are constant reminders that time is ticking by - there are due dates for bills, there are places to be at specific times, there are dinner dates and doctors appointments, and all kinds of things that we must do. But when we travel, all that fades into the background. And it is a most wonderful thing. In the end I think that's why we travel too, to cheat time in a way. 

And to eat, of course.

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The My... posts are a way to get me writing more throughout 2015. There'll be one a month, each with a different My... prompt. You can play along as well, whenever and wherever you want. This month's prompt (May) is My Travel. Next month's prompt (June) is My Neighbourhood. Interpret each prompt however you like - a story or a jumble of thoughts, fact or fiction, personal or not. Don't feel too constrained by the months either, if you like a prompt then have a go. And make sure to let me know if you do join in!

My...Sport

I have a feeling those that know me well may have spat their morning cuppa all over their laptop screens when I announced this month's prompt. You see, sport and I have never really got along. You know those people that are a 'natural'? That can be good at any sport within five minutes of picking up a bat, ball or surfboard? Well, I'm the exact opposite of that. (Annoyingly my husband is a natural, just to highlight how very not a natural I am). 

I am terrible, at everything sports related. I have the hand eye coordination of a drunken mole-rat. At school I was always that awkward kid who got picked last for the team. (What kind of sadist invented that whole team picking system, by the way? I would very much like to have some words with them.). PE was torture, plain and simple. 

The school consistently forced me to play team sports, under some misguided notion that it was 'good for me'. But all it did was give me a lifetime of trauma. No really - I just had a horrendous flashback to me playing netball. I'd blocked that out until now. Excuse me while I go into the foetal position for a little while. Ugh.

Netball, softball, soccer, cricket, hockey, swimming, athletics, footy - it was all a humiliating disaster. Well...maybe not all of it. I do have two fond memories of sport at school. 

The first was around year ten, when we decided to start a girls soccer team. We had never played before so we had no expectation of winning. It really was just for fun. I remember playing a round robin, a full day of matches. We lost every game; I think maybe we only scored one goal! It was pouring with rain, which sounds awful but it was wonderful; all that mud to slip and slide about in, on our knees, Elvis style. We had a ball.

A bit later, a few of my friends decided to take over the school hall some lunch times so we could play indoor hockey. We took over the sound system too, and always had something a little bit retro, a little bit rock and roll playing, very loudly. Led Zeppelin was on high rotation at the time, from memory. I was still terrible, I had no skills, but I did have fun. It made me realise sport didn't have to be scary, frightening, humiliating. 

Actually there is one sport I am good at, with thanks to my Austrian step-dad, Erwin - skiing. Erwin loves the mountains, the cold and snow. So from a very young age every winter we'd head to Mount Buller or Falls Creek and spend a week or so skiing. We had lessons up until I was about sixteen, so I learnt proper technique, unlike my husband who is self taught. It's the one thing I can do slightly better than him. Not that I cling to that like a limpet to a rock. Not at all.

I adore skiing. I adore the brisk mountain air, the breathtaking views, the village feel of ski resorts, all the weird equipment and rituals and traditions (the queue jumping dares, the hot chocolates, the games of 500). And that feeling of freedom, being right on the edge of control and danger - pushing yourself, just enough, as you swoosh down the slope. One whiff of diesel fuel and I get excited; I immediately think of the ski lifts. 

Unfortunately you can't just pop your runners on and go for a ski. Especially in Australia it's an expensive and logistically tricky hobby. We don't ski very often these days, but when we do I still love it.

Outside of skiing, my husband goes through phases where he decides we need to do a family activity. When we were living in Hong Kong, that was squash. Since being back in Australia it's been tennis. We haven't played much lately, but for awhile we were playing semi-regular doubles matches with the step-sons as partners. Yes, I'm terrible, but that's okay. And yes, surprisingly, I do actually enjoy it. 

I guess in spite of all those traumatic school sport memories - the ones that make me shiver and sweat in fear - exercise and movement have become a really important part of my life. I discovered yoga about seven years ago and loved it - the feeling of progression and accomplishment, building your strength and flexibility week on week. I love doing hand weights and pilates and a weird mix of other exercises I've pulled off the internet. And, of course, I could walk for days and days. When I don't move, when I don't exercise, I feel terrible - emotionally and physically. Maybe school sport was good for me after all? 

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ps. In all honesty I did not feel like writing this post today. It's been such a sad, grim, heart breaking week. But I made a commitment to do one of these My... posts a month, and to write more, and sometimes writing is just about focussing on the task at hand and getting it done, even when you're feeling bereft of hope. Kindness and compassion and gentleness - that's what I'm seeking out right now, that's what I'm looking for in my corner of the world. I hope you are finding it in yours. x

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The My... posts are a way to get me writing more throughout 2015. There'll be one a month, each with a different My... prompt. You can play along as well, whenever and wherever you want. This month's prompt (April) is My Sport. Next month's prompt (May) is My Travel. Interpret each prompt however you like - a story or a jumble of thoughts, fact or fiction, personal or not. Don't feel too constrained by the months either, if you like a prompt then have a go. And make sure to let me know if you do join in!

On A Year And A Bit of Saying Sure, Why Not?

When we first moved back to Australia eighteen or so months ago I was feeling a bit lost. It was partly the standard dislocation and general weirdness that is a normal part of the repatriation process. But is was also partly something more.

Living in Seoul I legally wasn't allowed to work. So I dabbled in things here and there. I explored on foot and took lots of photos and wrote lots of words. I read and embroidered and did loads of paper craft. I always had projects on the go; I was never bored. And there was never any pressure to get a job, to go to work. My spouse visa wouldn't let me, but more than that people just accepted that as an expat wife my role was focussed on supporting the family and that was as it should be. But then we moved back home and suddenly everyone was always asking - sometimes tentatively, sometimes expectantly - Are you going back to work? 

Let's rewind a little. Before we moved overseas, I worked. Since my first 'proper' job in a bookstore at 16-ish I've worked. I've always wanted independence, I've always wanted to be self sufficient, I've always wanted to do well. Then we moved overseas and I stopped working and at first it was a bit scary, but after a year or so I adjusted and it was ace. It was fun to devote my time to my husband and step-sons, and to the house and the dogs. It was fun to have spare time for crafting and reading and blogging. And I appreciated it for the luxury it was.

But then we moved back home and it felt different. It felt like I should do something more with my time, with my life - and not just because people were telling me I should. I felt it too. I just didn't know what that something was. I knew what I didn't want to do - return to full time corporate work - but I didn't have a clear idea of what I did want to do. I was a bit confused about it all.

Within a few months of landing back in Australia, while all this was just starting to swirl about in my head, I found myself at ProBlogger. It was wonderful and fun and I met so many ace people. It was exciting and motivating, and completely utterly terrifying. I kept having these ridiculous circular conversations with myself that followed one of two themes:

Theme one: There's some things I think I'm pretty good at and I should totally dive in and just do those things, but - what if in reality I completely and utterly suck at those things? Let's face it, I have no f**king idea what I'm doing... 

Theme two: There's some things I think I'm pretty good at, but I'm in the ridiculously lucky position of not needing to make money so why should I feel the need to enter the marketplace, with all the pressure and stress and potential corruption of ideals that it may entail? Why can't I just enjoy life and employ my skills in non money making ways? Isn't ambition just thinly veiled vanity? A desperate need for outside approval? 

As you can imagine, neither were productive lines of thought.

And then Voices of 2014 happened. Some lovely person (I know who you are and I'm so very grateful!) nominated my little blog, and somehow I made it through to the top forty in the personal category. And because of that a few emails came my way - invitations to PR events and sponsor challenges. And I still had no idea what I wanted to do, and those circular arguments were still swirling about in my head, but I just started saying yes. I figured I'd see where things went, see what felt right. I figured I'd cross the river by feeling the stones beneath my feet (thanks for that one, Deng Xiaoping).

So I said yes to some fantastic freebies and to some things I put cold hard cash behind. I said yes to blogger brunches and photography workshops. I finally said yes to a Photoshop class, and a pretty intensive weekend learning all about freelance writing (both worth every penny). I said yes to Facebook groups and Instagram and real life meet-ups.

I thought that maybe saying yes would help me figure out what I wanted to do. And it has. After a year and a bit of saying sure, why not? I'm definitely more certain about a few things.

Firstly, I'm clearer about why I want to make some money. I know that in the grand scheme of things I'll never contribute to the family finances in a meaningful way (I contribute much more in other ways). But I want to have enough cash to pay for a camera lens, or a magazine subscription, or to buy that dress that I really don't need, or to cover the cost of upgrading my flight to Europe (that's what I'm working towards right now!). It might all sound frivolous and silly, but it gives me a strange peace of mind. It means something, to me.

Secondly I'm much clearer about how I want to make money. And it's not through my blog, at least not directly anyway. It's through freelance writing, and photography, and collaboration, and through saying yes to very select opportunities that do come my way thanks to Good Things*.

And I've realised just how much doing things leads to doing other things. I've realised how little actions that may not feel like much at the time can lead to opportunities down the track. Sometimes way down the track.

And all of this has lead to where I'm currently at. I'm writing six posts a month on this blog which was my intention at the start of the year (yay me!); I've been nominated for Voices of 2015 (thank you, whoever you are!); I'm writing for the Threadless blog (I'm working on a post or three for them this weekend, actually); I've hit 24 sales in my Etsy store; and I've just submitted a 4000-ish word article - with photos - for one of my favourite magazines (my first properly paid commission, and the editor loves it! Yippee!). I've also recently submitted a paid-in-kind interview with one of my favourite illustrators for a fabulous little magazine; plus I'm in the midst of organising a trial run as a contributing photographer (yes, a paid position!) for a website I've long enjoyed (really hope I can pull that one off...). Oh, and I'm a finalist in the mobile category at the Head On Photo Festival.

I know that not all of these things will work out (and yes part of me is scared to publish this post in case it all goes to s**t). I know that next month may not be quite as awesome and opportunity filled as this one. I know that I'll have to work hard and stay focussed and keep thinking and planning and pitching if I want to continue writing. But right now it feels like there are some pretty ace things afoot, some pretty ace things indeed!

I still don't really know what the f**k I'm doing (does anyone?), but I reckon I'll keep saying yes for a little while longer.

My...Morning Routine

The post is a bit tricky for me to write, because the honest truth is I don't have a morning routine. I, we, don't have a routine at all. There's no alarm set at the same time every morning, because every morning is different. 

Some mornings we have a full house, some mornings it's just me and the dogs. Some mornings everyone is up before ungodly o'clock because of school and tennis and international conference calls. Some mornings are slow, with newspapers in bed in the soft morning light and maybe, a little later, a giant family fry up with eggs and bacon and beans. Some mornings are not quite so calm, with I don't have any school pants and oops I forgot to print my homework and who is knocking on the door and making the dogs bark like crazy at this hour and dear lord I'm tired, is the week over yet. 

This chopping and changing might sound like your worst nightmare. I'm pretty sure it goes against every bit of parenting advice ever, but it works for us. The benefits of the life we lead are huge - my husband works crazy, long hours and he travels, a lot. But when he's home he's really home. He's there with his boys in the mornings, and when they come home from school too. 

And then, when I'm home alone, I get to do all the fun stuff I tend to postpone in the midst of family life. Things like blog writing and Instagram faffing, photo walks and late night yoga. Which in turn means that when the husband and step-sons are home I can really be home too. 

Having a flexible, adaptable routine helps makes all that possible. Although - and here's one to twist your brain a bit - I reckon you need to be a bit of a control freak to go routine free. People often comment on how clean and organised our house is, but that's because it needs to be. When you don't have a routine, when everything is changing and fluid and day-by-day, you need to have a bit of order amongst the chaos. Or is that just me?

There are three other touchstones that keep me sane amongst the constant changes; three things that happen every single morning regardless of whatever else is going on who whoever else is around. First up, there's a cup of green tea in one of my vintage Pyrex mugs. On the busy mornings I normally make it two or three times before I actually drink it. But it always gets drunk, eventually. 

Next is a shower. It doesn't need to be long, it just needs to happen. If you shower at night and not in the morning I can't possibly comprehend you. How on earth do you wake up and face the day without a shower? 

And my third touchstone? Walking the dogs, of course. Partly because Elfi barks at me nonstop if she thinks I've forgotten (which is exactly as relaxing as it sounds) and partly because - even if it's just a fifteen minute stroll - there is something about starting the day with a walk that helps settle your mind. I highly recommend it, especially if you have some dachshunds in tow.

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The My... posts are a way to get me writing more throughout 2015. There'll be one a month, each with a different My... prompt. You can play along as well, whenever and wherever you want. This month's prompt (March) is My Morning Routine. Next month's prompt (April) is My Sport. Interpret each prompt however you like - a story or a jumble of thoughts, fact or fiction, personal or not. Don't feel too constrained by the months either, if you like a prompt then have a go. And make sure to let me know if you do join in!

My...Pets

My childhood was full of dogs. And cats. And goldfish. And one very unfortunate guinea pig. I feel so blessed to have had that experience, of growing up with animals. 

Yes, if you think about it (and if you do the environmental maths), pets are a horribly selfish middle class extravagance. But they can also be the best teachers, counsellors and friends. They can teach you about unconditional love and pure joy, and about death, and cruelty. They can drag you out of yourself when you want to hide from the world; they can just be there, a warm constant presence, when you need them. Also, they can be ridiculously cute, which counts for a lot in my world. 

I can't ever imagine not having a pet, not having a dog. 

My first pet that I can sort of maybe remember was a sheep, called Lamby because we were very original with names. I was under six years old, and we lived in a big hippy commune, in a large old house, which was (somewhat incongruously) in a leafy wealthy suburb in Melbourne's inner east. One day someone left the gate open and Lamby got out and was hit by a car. Pretty sure we had roast lamb for dinner that night. 

Actually, to be honest, I don't really remember Lamby at all, but there's so many elements of that story I love. How could I not tell it?

My actual first pet memories are all about Jackie, and Julie, and Warragul. 

Jackie was a black Kelpie, and I think of her as my first dog. She was patient and gentle and smart, and I find it impossible to think of growing up without her being in the picture. That's her below, on the top left, with a grey muzzle and a spring blossom tucked into her collar. 

Along with Jackie I also grew up with Julie, the family cat. We found Julie as a teeny tiny kitten mewing in the lane that ran along the back of our house (we'd moved on from the commune by this stage). She really was the tiniest thing. I remember when we found her, my step-dad was adamant she wasn't going to stay with us. We didn't need another pet, and besides pets were an elitist affront to his socialist / communist politics. Pretty sure within 48 hours he was cooking her special meals and quietly hoping no one would come to claim her. 

Then there was Warragul, my dad's dog. Warragul is definitely the most amazing dog that I've ever had the privilege to meet. Warragul was a dingo cross something, maybe some kind of shepherd? He was a beautiful dog, with coarse black and tan hair. He was a bit of a mutt but he was mainly a dingo. He was ridiculously smart, and loyal, and very talkative. He was always a little wild - you'd never try to put a lead on him or take him for a 'walk' in any normal sense of the word. He'd follow you to the park though, because he wanted to, because he was happy to. And he'd tell the whole neighbourhood how happy he was about it as well. 

He loved my dad fiercely. Sometimes if Dad went out without him, he'd chase the car for ages hoping we'd stop and pick him up. And sometimes if Dad went out without him he'd go looking for him. He'd turn up at building sites that Dad had worked on months and months before. He'd turn up at friend's houses, 10, 15, 20 kilometres away. He remembered all those places over all that time. Amazing. Sadly I have hardly any photos of Warragul, but you can see him above, in the photo on the bottom left. Handsome fellow.

Later, when I was at an age where I wanted my own space and my own things, I got myself a gorgeous chocolate brown kelpie cross (labrador, I think) from the RSPCA in Burwood. Coco Marley. That's her above, in the bottom right. Just look at those eyes. Coco was the best dog and the worst dog. She meant so very much to me, she saw me through some really tough times. And she forced me to make some really tough decisions, too. If I write much more about her I'll get a wee bit sad, so I'll just direct you here if you want to know more. 

Right now we get to share our adventures with Ferdi and Elfi. They are hilarious and handsome and have such distinctive personalities. We love them; they are family. But like all pets do, one day, too soon, they will die. Hopefully they will die peacefully, free of pain and after a long and happy life. 

My husband can't bear to even think about it, but I know that day will come. And I know it will be indescribably, horribly sad. But I also know that before too long I'll be itching for a new companion, for another pet in my life. Every pet owner knows that this urge isn't about replacement - each dog or cat (or guinea pig) is so unique the idea of replacement is ridiculous. 

Instead, for me, every new pet is a celebration and remembrance of all the dogs and cats (and guinea pigs) that have gone before them. They offer a new friendship that is at once the same and yet always so different; a new bond that forms part of a long bittersweet line. 

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Jackie enjoying the Victorian Alps with us. Note how Beci is rocking the mom jeans and desert boots, whilst I am rocking the...um...nope, I've got no idea what the f**k I'm wearing either. 

ps. When 'researching' this post I came across this Tumblr, which suggests that maybe Communism and pets do mix...

ps. I also realise that I neglected to tell you about my many goldfish (one of which was called Mystic Astro Geek. True Story.). And I didn't tell you about that unfortunate guinea pig either. Next time, okay?

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The My... posts are a way to get me writing more throughout 2015. There'll be one a month, each with a different My... prompt. You can play along as well, whenever and wherever you want. This month's prompt (February) is My Pets. Next month's prompt (March) is My Morning Routine. Interpret each prompt however you like - a story or a jumble of thoughts, fact or fiction, personal or not. Don't feel too constrained by the months either, if you like a prompt then have a go. And make sure to let me know if you do join in!

My...Birthday

How many people remember your birthday each year? And I mean actually remember it, not Facebook-sent-me-an-alert remember it? For me, I think it's a solid 8.5. 

My Mum, of course, who will then remind my step-dad (he's the .5). My Dad, for sure. He was a day late in ringing me one year, and felt awful about it, poor guy (it didn't bother me, but it did bother him). My sister, my husband, two friends who have known me for many, many birthdays, and one friend who's relatively new to the scene (you know who you are). Oh, and my husband's ex-wife (and by default, the stepsons, which kind of makes it 10.5 doesn't it?). She's pretty awesome like that, thoughtful. 

As the date gets closer, my Mum or my sister (or both) will inevitably send me an email asking what I want for my birthday. And inevitably I'll reply saying I'm not sure. And then I'll give them a list that will include at least one book, one magazine subscription and something a little pampery. 

I'm a big fan of asking people what they want; I prefer giving things that are going to be of some use. I get a bit antsy when they give me the 'I don't know', or 'nothing in particular', or 'anything you get will be great' reply to my list request. But then I'm not very good at coming up with lists for myself. Sorry. 

I'm also not very good at celebrating my birthday, even though I adore celebrating other people's big days. It's partly being an introvert, I don't like being the centre of attention all that much. And partly being a little neurotic, wanting to please everyone even though everyone says "it's your birthday, do what you want". Plus the last six years or so the husband has been away for pretty much every birthday, and I've been in a city far from home. So I've tended to keep things pretty quiet on the actual day, with a sleep in and maybe a cupcake and a glass of bubbles. 

It's actually been pretty great, because it's meant my birthday celebrations can last for weeks. A dinner when the husband is back in town, a lunch or two when I'm back in Melbourne, maybe a breakfast in Sydney. One year I think I even treated myself to a few days in Hong Kong. Decadent. So yeah, I do like to drag out a birthday, just a little. 

I'm thinking about all this because it's my birthday next Friday. It's the one before a biggish one; one of the ones that make you stop and think  - that number can't possibly be right, can it? 

My husband is going to be in town, and the step-sons are coming over. And even my Mum is flying up for the night. I'm doing a cheeky lunch with the husband on the day, at our favourite fancy restaurant (which also just happens to be a three minute walk from our front door). Then we're going to slow roast a lamb, in our ace kitchen in our ace house, and we'll have a celebratory Middle Eastern inspired feast.

I'm quietly looking forward to my birthday this year; to celebrating with those 10.5 people. Because - for the first time in years and years - I'm feeling settled. It's not just being back in Australia, it's not just the house. It's my sense of family, my place in the world, that feels a bit more settled too. 

There's lots of people in the world who I adore and admire and appreciate, but in the end it's those 10.5 that mean the so much to me, in different ways and for different reasons. And I think, I hope, I mean something to them too.

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The My... posts are a way to get me writing more throughout 2015. There'll be one a month, each with a different My... prompt. You can play along as well, whenever and wherever you want. This month's prompt (January) is My Birthday. Next month's prompt (February) is My Pets. Interpret each prompt however you like - a story or a jumble of thoughts, fact or fiction, personal or not. Don't feel too constrained by the months either, if you like a prompt then have a go. And make sure to let me know if you do join in!

Typography Tuesday : Ann Patchett on Writing

Ann Patchett's This Is The Story Of A Happy Marriage was recommended by someone, somewhere. A favourite author, on the radio, maybe. I'm not that far in to it, but I've already underlined half the book. Ann writes about the art and craft of writing with such clear eyes, it's both reassuring and slightly frightening.

It's been a timely read; I've been thinking a lot about writing lately. Last year was kind of the year of the image for me, and it feels like 2015 might just be the year of the word. 

Art stands on the shoulders of craft. I like this sentiment a lot. It's something I believe to be true for many things, possibly for everything. Sometimes it feels like we live in a world where we are encouraged to jump straight in - to go for the creativity bit without first learning the skill bit (I know I do this all of the time). 

We see others creating fabulous things and we want to have a go and, sometimes, we want instant results. But we forget the long years of hard work, of sleepless nights and study, that led to that fabulous thing. 

Ann writes "If you want to write, practice writing. Practice it for hours a day, not to come up with a story to publish, but because you long to learn how to write well, because there is something that you alone can say. Write the story, learn from it, put it away, write another story." See that? Write the story and put it away. Don't pitch it, don't publish it, don't sell it. Put it away. 

In the happy social media glow of likes and comments and follows I often feel the need to share and publish and sell. And if I don't share and publish and sell I sometimes feel like I've wasted my time creating whatever it is I've created. So this is a much needed reminder that time spent building skills and knowledge is never wasted. Before art comes the craft.

The font is Harman Script. It's from a family of mix and match fonts designed by Ahmet Altun. It's pretty expensive (I bought it on special a little while ago) but each font in the family is loveable and versatile, beautifully crafted. 

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Is this something you struggle with too? Do you allow yourself time to simply practice your craft, whatever that may be? Do you feel pressure to share and sell, or do you just enjoy the creative process?

ProBlogger : Five Things I Learnt

In my last post I mentioned that I'd just returned from the Problogger Training Event. It was two days of fabulous sessions on all kinds of things - from the nitty gritty of Google Analytics to ways to engage your community and tips on becoming a freelance writer. I also met some really ace people in the flesh for the first time (*waves hello to Cheryl, Jess and Elle*) and got to spend more time with some other bloggy friends (Hello Dannielle!). So much food for thought! Now that the dust has settled a little, here are some of the key things I picked up... 

1. ProBlogger isn't all about making money from your blog. 

Sometimes it is, but sometimes it's not. During the opening session, Trey Ratcliff told a story about Star Trek's Leonard Nimoy - about how his real passion is Shakespeare, but he made his money by acting in a sci fi TV show. The money making bit is related to the passion bit, but it's not where he generated his income. Later, I attended a very informative session on freelance writing with Valerie Khoo and Kelly Exeter. One of the things they talked about was writing copy for corporate newsletters and company websites. They talked about writing that feeds your soul and writing that pays the bills.

This sort of stuff is music to the ears of bloggers like me who feel a little uneasy about sponsored posts (and, let's be honest, who don't quite have the blogging dedication required to build an appropriate audience to garner sponsorships). Yes, ProBlogger is about making a profession out of a hobby, but there are so many forms that this can take. 

Across a range of speakers it became clear that blog monetisation isn't just about sponsored posts and advertising. It's about partnerships and collaborations. It's about ebooks and opportunities; finding those areas on the outskirts of your passion, the things you love that overlap with the things people need.

2. You don't have to be the expert. 

This was a theme that came up again and again. One of the things Darren Rowse talked about in his opening keynote was that you need to deal with the fact that you'll never know it all. Put aside time to learn, figure out how to build your knowledge, but realise that there will always be more to know. 

This was something I definitely needed to hear. I always put off doing things because 'I don't know how'. I don't call myself a blogger or a writer or a photographer because I feel like an impostor when I do, because there's so much I don't know yet. But maybe it's time to acknowledge the skills that I have, to be be proactive about the things I want to learn, and to just start doing stuff. 

Somewhat related was another common theme - these days bloggers and brands alike are focussed on 'engagement', on 'making the reader the hero'. This means that you don't need to be the expert, you and the reader can learn together. Want to blog about veganism but you're not a nutritionist? That's okay - admit the gaps in your knowledge and take your community on a journey with you. 

3. I don't want to change the world. 

In that room of 450 or so bloggers dreaming big, I'm pretty sure I was in the minority on this one. But it's true, I don't. What I do want is to be good at what I do. I want to be proud of the things I write and the photos I take. I want to learn a lot more about the technical stuff, and build on the skills I have. And I want to be a nice person. 

Sounds kind of lame, right? But it's true. I want to be a great wife, a great step-mum; to enjoy time with my mum and sister and nephews and family. I want to create good things; to contribute to my little community, my little corner of the earth. But I don't want to change the world. 

4. I still suck at small talk. But that's okay. 

Thanks to my previous experience as a trainer and facilitator in the corporate world, and that whole moving overseas thing, I am much better at chit chat than I ever used to be. But there are still times when I am incredibly awkward or just say really dumb stuff. I'm pretty sure this lady now thinks I am a total freak / airhead, which kind of sucks because she's a blogger I admire. But that's okay, we all mess up sometimes. And next time it will be better. 

5. No matter who you meet (or don't meet) at the event, your network will grow.

At the last minute I drew up a list of people I wanted to connect with. I tracked most of them down (although I missed Lisa Tilse which I'm quite sad about because her blog is a thing of beauty). But here's the thing - in the week or so since ProBlogger I've got a ton of new active Twitter followers and a handful of new Facebook friends. They are people that I noticed using the #pbevent tag (and they noticed me), or who I saw interacting with some of my favourite tweeters (and vice versa). So don't fret too much if you don't make all the connections you wanted to at the event (it's a pretty hectic few days) - you'll find your network will continue to grow afterwards anyway. 

So, that's what I learnt at ProBlogger. Well, to be honest it's just the tip of the iceberg. I'll be back in the next week or so with another post about some of my favourite speakers and a bit more about what they actually said. So, stay tuned! 

Oh! And a bonus thing I learnt - 6. I do not like the Gold Coast. It is all the bad things about Australia crammed along an (admittedly gorgeous) coastline. I really, really do not like it. But more on that at a later date...