I Get Around

With all the talk, and action, being done about moving house, it has had me reflecting on how many bloody times I have actually moved.  I worked out last week that this house we are in now, is the house I have lived at the longest.  In my whole life.  Eight years.  It's a record for me.  So here's how the role-call of my habitats goes....

1.  Have no idea what the suburb was that I was brought home from hospital to.  But I know it was on the Gold Coast.

2.  Carrara - lived in a big house on the canal, right opposite the Flea Market.  This house will always be remembered as the place my sister was run over by my Dad.  Yep, unfortunately it runs in the family....  Lived here for around five years I think.  Started grade one, then moved a few months later.

3.  Coomera - Seven and a half acres of beautiful land with a ginormous house.  We had a bit of a hobby farm, and it wasn't until I was in my teens that I looked back at regret for all the horses we owned and I never really rode.  Geese remembered for their angry attack on my little brother's knackers.  The giant mulberry tree that grew in the chicken "pen"....it wasn't really a pen, more like a farm in itself.  The creek that ran through the property where we would have muddy swims and the big dam where I gained my first set of stitches.  Great memories.  We were here for about four years.  

4.  Oxenford - Smaller house, smaller property.  Probably the best years of my childhood.  Lived opposite two of the best friends a girl could ever (and still) have.  Back in the 80's, this little suburb was quaint.  Everyone knew everyone.  You could ride your bike around all day and return home at dusk without a worry in the world.  All you needed were a pair of swimmers and thongs, and you were set for a whole day's fun.  The only downside to this time was my parent's marriage falling apart.  We were here for about three years.

5.  Oxenford - The rental.  Family friend helps us out by renting us his house.  Because Dad has lost all control of his problem, and we now have no money!  This house saw a marriage break-up, a new man in my Mum's life and my sister move out...  Strange times.  Another few years here.

6.  Oxenford (again) - The Caravan Park.  Urghhh...... Take this as a warning.  Gambling = disaster.  For many years now I have looked back on the fact that we lived in a caravan park as pretty embarrassing.  Part of my marriage vows (well not really) were that we would NEVER stay in a caravan, let alone live in one.  But, in my older age, I can now understand that my Mum and Step Dad just did what they had to do in order for us to get by.  We lived in said caravan park for a few years.  I was in high school.  It was not ideal, but hey, it was ok.  And I certainly learnt quite a few life lessons whilst there!  The irony in this is that my Dad now lives in a caravan park....go figure.

7. Melbourne bound!  Stayed at my Aunty's house in Woori-yallock.  At 15, and straight from the beaches of Queensland, I thought this was surely the coldest place on earth!  It's not.  A month spent here discovering the beauty of Victoria and the "fashion" that was bomber jackets and desert boots.  I have still not recovered from these finds....

8.  Bayswater - Says it all really.  Good old Baysie.  The four years I lived there were super fabulous!  The walk to high school was always an adventure.  There was a flasher who loitered about the creek at the back of the school.  Never got to see him, shame.

9.  Ferntree Gully - My parents had decided they would move to Hong Kong.  So a house was bought, and my boyfriend at the time and I, along with my little brother, moved in.  Tumultuous times followed, with a brother who got involved in all sorts of trouble, and a boyfriend that would then become my husband.  This house saw my 21st and hens night amongst other celebrations.  I think all will still remember the big black man and his shlong.....  Lasted here a couple of years.

Stay with me here!!!

10. Boronia (aka Bosnia) - Bought my first house with the ex-husband.  Can you believe it only cost us $75k!!!!!!  Delightful little weatherboard that saw WAY too much.  The great memories are those of my beautiful first born being brought home and the fabulous parties we held there.  I lived there about 3 years, until I left my marriage.  Ex-husband still lives there....

11.  Moved in with Mum and Step Dad, with son.  Three months.

12.  Ringwood - found a cute little unit.  Just me and my boy.  Just six months.

13.  Ferntree Gully - Work friend offered her house for rent.  Lived with another friend, until she disappointed me and was sent packing.  Met Andrew whilst living here. We were married in the back yard and brought Chelsea home from hospital there.  Another few years passed...

14.  NOW.  Phew.  Eight years.  This suburb has been one of the most memorable.  Another two babies born and brought home.  I have met some amazing people, everyone knows everyone.  Mostly that is a good thing, but at times it has caused me a lot of grief.  A part of me is sad to be leaving......but there's another part of me that will be happily waving goodbye.  

So to all of you who declare "I hate moving!" - how many times have you actually moved?  Do I belong on a reality show?  Or perhaps in therapy?

Forgiveness.....and other stuff

This post has been swimming around in my head for a week now.  Exactly one week.  For it has been one week since my Dad arrived to stay.  He lives in Queensland, in a caravan park, in a van he oh so proudly owns.  Ask him, he'll tell you about it.

I did not know my Dad for a 15 year gap.  Not long after we (My Mum, Step Dad, Brother and miniature chihuaha - in a powder blue datsun - remember datsuns?) packed up our belongings, leaving our own shit-heap caravan/home behind, and headed to Victoria - we lost touch.  Well, more to the truth.....he kind of disappeared.  The kind of disappearing that happens on purpose?  To avoid paying money.  Nice.

Anywho......it TRULY didn't bother me, most of those 15 years.  In fact, I quite preferred it that way.  It was uncomplicated.  One less person I had to deal with.  It simplified my teenage years, to a degree.

Fast forward to circa 2002.  The phone rings.  Some random is on the other end.  And I have NO IDEA who it is.  Turns out it was my Dad.  Turns out he had a minor stroke and a pretty decent car accident.  Turns out he remembered he had children.

I can't even remember how that conversation went.  Needless to say, it must have gone well - given he's been staying here this week.  What happened after that phone call wasn't overly mind-blowing.  It was quite simple.  I had a choice.  I could hold a grudge against him and never let him in, or I could let it go.  The fact that he pissed away my family's security, all that we owned, and gave in to the gambling demons that haunted him?   We went from being a relatively "normal" suburban family with a very successful business owning Father....... to a Fatherless family who had to gather all of their possessions and live in a caravan for a couple of years.  Fun?  Not.

But I did it.  I forgave him.

Life is short.  

When I picked him up from the airport, over a decade after last seeing him, what I did see was an old man.  With next to nothing.  And he got in the car like nothing had ever happened.  So I went along with it.  And still do.

The strangest part about this story?  That he has been here for most of the seven days he's been in Melbourne, and I can honestly say I have not had a decent conversation with him.  Of course, that's not counting the stories he has told me about his kidney stones, constipation, sore shoulder and the strangers I knew nothing about until he told me!  Each day he has been here has been the same.  I go about my usual routines, and he hovers between watching television and popping outside for cigarettes.  

We are still strangers.

I feel like this should sadden me?  But it doesn't.  It just is what it is.  In essence, I am thankful that I have a Father.  One who has, over the past ten years, taken the time to get on a plane every couple of years to come and watch television at my house.  Taken the time and made an effort to send my children, his grandchildren, birthday cards.  And always calls me a week beforehand to let me know he has sent them something.  He has also taken the time to try to be a part of my life.  Even though I think I haven't really let him in.  I don't think he really knows me.  And probably never will.  

For all his faults, I love him.  And I know he loves me - unconditionally.   He never asks me for anything.  Nor do I ever expect anything of him.  So for now, it's working.  This Father/daughter thing.  It may be unconventional in some eyes, but that's my family.  Unconventionally conventional.

I want to end this with one of my all-time favourite quotes. 

 From one of my all-time favourite quoters - Oprah....

Are you a forgiver?  Or a grudger?

I need Dr Phil - Part one....

**  I started writing this post two weeks ago....but it was all too hard, so I'm trying again today....

c/o sodahead.com

Not for me....well, I guess it is in a round about way for me.  I was watching yet another amazing Intervention on Dr Phil today, and I stood there crying and feeling the torture this poor family was going through, watching their family member literally killing themselves in front of their own eyes.  And there was nothing they could do about it.  Enter: Dr Phil.

Addiction is a nasty, evil and soul-killing thing.  It drains people, drains the people around them.  And unfortunately, too many members of my family have been afflicted with this evil, and I'm just about at my wit's end...

It all started with my Dad (well, I'm guessing his Dad, or his Dad's Dad, or someone prior to my Dad started it all?), who discovered the "joys" of gambling many many years ago.  Gambling pretty much ruined his life, not to mention his family's lives, which I guess in turn, means mine?  I don't see my life that way, i.e. ruined, but it was certainly altered.

Gambling led my family from a humungous house on the Gold Coast, a successful family plumbing business and what I would have considered, a pretty regular and happy family life, to smaller homes and businesses and a fairly dysfunctional family life.  Until we eventually had to sell everything and rent a house from a family friend.  The inevitable happened, and my parents divorced and we then lived in a caravan park for a couple of years.  This all happened in a matter of approximately seven years.  So it was a pretty swift fall from grace.  Some relief came in the form of my Step Dad and his job offer in Melbourne, so off we went.  But the damage had already been done, and I did not see or hear from my Father for the following 13 years.  I am however, pleased to say, he re-entered my life eight years ago, and we have a pretty good relationship.  I accept that he had/has a disease, and he is now a reasonably elderly man - so bygones are now bygones.

To say I have "issues" with and around gambling, would be a huge understatement!  I made it perfectly clear to my darling husband not long after we met, that the one thing that would be a deal-breaker, was gambling.  He and I now have an agreement that he is "allowed" (typing that sounds SO wrong) to gamble Melbourne Cup Day.  And it's a bit of family entertainment - the kids pick horses and put a dollar on them.  Win, win.

Needless to say - this first addiction was the first of many to emerge in my family, and I believe was the catalyst to all that would eventuate.....