Relationships

Some years ago, a significant relationship of mine broke apart. Although it was of my doing, it was still difficult and scarring. As with most things in life, I believe that you learn things about yourself if you’re willing.
So what did I learn from this – lots.

I learnt that I am a powerful sexual goddess.
I learnt that I do need time out alone.
I learnt that I am sex positive.
I learnt that I can share.
I learnt that I need to work on my communication to make sure what I’m trying to say is being heard.
I learnt that personal presentation does matter to me and proper diet and exercise is vital to maintain well-being.

From previous relationships, I have also learnt.
I learnt that I need someone who is willing to be a part of my greater family (and they are great).
I learnt that I need someone who stimulates my brain as well as my loins.
I learnt that I need someone I can laugh with.
I learnt that I want someone who is as (im)mature as I am and that is not always defined by age.
I learnt that I deserve to be considered.
I learnt that I am worthy of quality.
I learnt that I can’t cope with messy people.
I learnt that I want someone who is open-minded.
I learnt that I need someone who is on-track financially.
I learnt that I am attracted to intelligent, articulate people.
I learnt that I need someone who is generous of spirit.

Naturally, I hope to keep on learning.

Desire

DESIRE

It can waste away – unused
Fade gently
Die quickly
Rise sharply
Slow burn to an intense high
Peak too soon
Be a passing phase
Make you wonder if it existed at all
Ensnare you brain
Ensnare your body
Confuse your mind
Delight your senses
Enliven your skin
Quicken your pulse
Scare your sensitivities
Challenge your pre-conceptions
Spark your creativity
Get your juices flowing
Lead you into the unknown, down unlit pathways, around blind corners and dump you terrified centre-stage with eyes of strangers upon you

one person's experience

I told myself that it was too raw to write about but as anyone who knows me knows – I have zilch willpower. I paid up. It was voluntary. No one forced me into it. For years I’d had a curiosity, an itch that needed scratching. Subliminally I’m sure I recognised the logo and name from passing it so many times. It was only three doors up from my favourite bar and bottle shop.

Consistent effective branding with on-trend interior design backing up their message, the 100% white-washed 14 foot ceilings and wide waxed floorboards accentuate the eye floaters dancing in front of my vision. By the end of the long day session, my fading acuity of sight will be multiplied in the subdued atmospheric lighting.

The group of 26 workshop attendees and 6 facilitators sit cross legged on army regulation dark grey wool blankets. My lower back will be pushed to its comfort boundary by the closing of the ten hour session. Median age early 20’s to mid thirties, these upper middle class women self-describe as ‘open, intrigued, curious, nervous, tired and excited’. I can’t help but wonder how much is said honestly as how much is self-delusional. Do they say what they feel or what they think they’re supposed to say?

We all do a little hands-up agreeing to ‘what happens in the safe space, stays in the safe space’.  These women-only workshops costs more than I make in a day and the cynic in me can’t help but do a quick arithmetic to work out what this workshop might net.

The workshop exercises designed to break down our layers reek of self-congratulations and are non-inclusive of gender diversity, sexual orientation, age and experience. One of facilitators delightfully goes off-script often, her individuality showing through the uniform.

I sense too many over-porous people desperately seeking meaning, connection and reassurance. A one day workshop isn’t going to achieve this; regardless how many references are cited in the 20 page handout. Looking to be awakened their external crusades will provide fruitless, and I bear witness to their awkward confusion. Upon returning home, I have to scrub my skin to cleanse myself of the loose energy.

I was there myself, looking for something I had heard others describe. I was utterly underwhelmed. Lingam and yoni massage are useful things to learn but I don’t feel I learned anything new. I’m not saying the techniques demonstrated aren’t useful to a lot of people. I have already done a lot of energy work and felt I landed in a room of beginners.

I’m the kind of person with whom it takes a little while to accept people into my circle but once you’re in, you’re in. The non-sexual intuitive touching exercise really didn’t do it for me so I chose to sit (stand) out. The facilitators dutifully checked in with me to ensure I was ok. I was but I didn’t fancy touching people I don’t know. Call me strange. . .

The final section of the day reinforced their other courses on offer – read up sell at a $50 discount for today only.  I won’t be signing up for more. I don’t take the bait that maybe on some future course I may find the missing piece of the puzzle. I honestly believe that I would do better in a smaller group situation or solo situation. I need to state that I believe Tantra to be very useful to most people and anyone who wishes to work on their sexuality and relationships is definitely making steps in the right direction. I also met some delightful, radiantly beautiful women.

As our final exercise, we state our intention for the future and I willingly state mine as my feelings towards the workshop do not diminish my reason for signing up in the first place.

“I reconnect to myself as a sensual and sexual being”

We then wrote down what obstructs us from achieving this, burnt the written paper is was written upon, turned and walked down an avenue of love entering the world as a new born version of ourselves.

 And all I could think of was ‘Hurry up, there will be too many people at the bar by now.”

The Middle Third

I recently entered a competition to develop a podcast. I bought a microphone and all. This was part of my submission. The working title is called 'The Middle Third'

The middle third

When you’re supposed to be on your path already –

When you’re supposed to know if you like Thai food or not-

When you’re supposed to know how to change a flat tyre-

I’m in the middle third of my life, most likely. I have been to University; I have held full time jobs, even progressed up the ladder within a company.

I remember being at high school and during that one-on-one with the careers counsellor saying that I never really want a career. I just want to earn enough to do what I want to do.

Thirty years on, I guess that’s where I am. I do what I want to do. I’ve worked hard to get where I am financially and now I’m more or less doing what I want.

It has been said that on any given project, the first third goes by pretty quickly and easily due to enthusiasm and excitement. The last third is motivated by seeing the end in sight. It’s the middle third where people have a look around. 

This is my middle third.

Story ideas

I don’t live your  ’up at 7am, at work by 9am, knock off at 5pm’ work life but it doesn’t make me any less of a productive part of society. Not out of bed til 10am, I write, I make art, I read. http://www.vox.com/2016/3/28/11306124/chronotype-night-owl-discrimination

http://www.b-society.org/

I’ve been seduced by seaweed at times. Scrap booking for times gone by. Amateur scientists, average Joe experimenting with science, research, collating of specimens. Collecting in a socially acceptable manner but not perceived as hard science, but with an aesthetic value http://www.collectorsweekly.com/articles/when-housewives-were-seduced-by-seaweed/

How artists see the world differently? Colours, movement (interview photographer Uri, Alexander Horowitz book,) kinaesthesia  http://www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-26925271

Ghosts – more than just us here – dreaming of my ex father in law short story. My view of the world. GOD= combined spirits.

Rabid feminist as I wonder if things are getting better for women. The feminist icons I read are ageing. Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Gloria Steinem. Are there new women to take the reins? http://stylelikeu.com/the-whats-underneath-project-2/maybe-im-not-fuckable-thats-fine-im-not-fuck/

Different roles/demands of marriage/parenthood. Diane Goldie.

My friends are leaving their male partners, for themselves not other men. To explore their desires not even sexual but mental, emotional needs. To study, to travel, to read, to do nothing, to meditate, to lead a healthier more balanced lifestyle. What’s the future of relationships? What’s their expiry date?

Friendship – how it changes. Forgiveness and understanding that we can approach things differently and that’s ok. Needs nurturing but not suffocating. They take on a different aspect when one has an intimate partner. More diversity in friends as I’ve aged – wider ages and backgrounds, differing occupations but fundamentally shared core values. Reconnection from the past. Face time over Facebook.

How far can you dismantle a marriage/partnership til it no longer is a marriage? Open relationships? Long term apart r/ships. Living side by side I think might be my ideal. Time alone to pursue painting, writing and thinking space but also time to miss you.

http://www.dazeddigital.com/artsandculture/article/29968/1/blind-fingering-dates-are-london-s-latest-craze  This idea tickles me pink. Honestly I can see positives in this. Surely there are worse things in this world.

You are one of those people who stuff just happens to

You were supposed to be here. It is 1pm already and where are you? You always have an excuse of why you’re not on time, like it’s something the world has done to you. It’s never your fault. It’s the woman who stumbled getting on to the tram and the ambulance had to be called. It was the dog that you found without a collar or lead and what were you supposed to do, just walk away and leave it to wander off and get run over. What was it this time? Was it your friend who always happens to lose his wallet and just needs a few bucks for the train fare? Do you really think it is money for the train he wants? How do you know he’s not ducking into the Bottle-O for a long neck?

You are one of those people who stuff just happens to. Your car is always in at the mechanic. The phone company somehow didn’t get its last payment and they cut off your service. How is it that you get through life?

Remember the time your bathroom at home was being renovated. You said you’re a man and that between work and the playground opposite your house that it would be fine. One morning though it wasn’t fine, was it? One morning you really needed to go. You grabbed whatever clothes were on the floor, threw them on, launched yourself out the front door without locking it and crossed the road. No need for keys, you were only going to be a few minutes. Approaching the modern automated public restroom from behind, everything looked okay. You only saw the ‘out of order’ sign after you’d pressed the open button urgently a few times. What now?

You look around the park and the dew on the play equipment sparkles in the early morning sun. Shifting weight from left to right, time was running out. What now? If you go home, there’s nothing there to make this situation resolve itself. Then you see it. The council recently installed a dog litter removal point. Above the bin is a roll of small black plastic bags. You roughly grab one and find a bush big enough to provide some camouflage. Bag spread as wide as you can, you pull down your trackie pants and assume the position. Oddly the council hasn’t provided any paper product so you sacrifice a sock to the greater good. As you exit from behind said bush, an older couple walking their dachshund pass.

 ‘Nice morning for it,’ they chorus as you pass one another.

cheese glorious cheese

Is cheese life beyond death?

Cheese represents decomposition in edible form. Milk, which represents the sustenance of life for calves, is the main raw material for cheese. Bacteria which already exist within the natural environment of a farm at least, if not in a modern scrubbed home then interact with this sitting milk. Time plus milk plus bacteria will add up to a delicious product.

Does eating cheese take us closer to death and life beyond death?

What cheese would I like to be reincarnated as? Currently I really like the fresh, lemony goats cheese rounds about 120g in weight, white and off white in colour and though classified as a semi-soft cheese, at times it can be almost runny. It’s perfect for me when it still has about one third chalky centre. Over ripe it can have quite a strong ammonia character.

Either that or Appenzeller which is a semi hard from north eastern Switzerland. It exhibits a lovely ‘stinky socks’ aroma, is straw yellow in colour and has tiny holes within its hard rind. The big pay-out is the washed rind. Different  producers use cider, wine or a herbal brine never disclosing their many years old secret recipe. Whilst I love a big chunk hacked off the block, it also makes a fabulous grilled cheese on toast.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2511272/Would-eat-cheese-HUMAN-FEET-ARMPITS.html

The above linked article refers to a project whereby human bacteria was deliberately used in the creation of cheese. I was disappointed that no one apparently consumed the end product. Would I? Absolutely I would. I’d definitely eat cheese made from my own bacteria. I wonder if I’d want to know about the person who donated the bacteria or if I prefer the anonymity.

I’m not a very spiritual person but can’t help but flirt with the greater concepts of life and death and reincarnation. I usually dance around my fluid ideas regarding these when asked. Cheese is a very concrete incarnation of these big ideas.

Well that’s my excuse for my high consumption.

no latte for Lily

Short Fiction 

Lily was wiping down the tables, her regulation green cleaning cloth was the standard Starbucks green to match her shirt and peaked cap. The wide arc of her reach she was sure was only spreading the germs across the table rather than actually removing them. Who really knew what was in the label-less spray bottle they were issued with.

Her manager, Howie, may have been outwardly enthusiastic for all procedures Starbuckian but surely no person was actually like that. Perhaps he was an automaton, she daydreamed, installed by the Head Office hierarchy to brainwash the employees. She wondered if his bed linen at home was also Starbuck green. Did he dream of matcha green tea lattes or mocha frappes with a caramel twist?

“Lily...LILY!”

She roused herself from her mental tangent to see Howie tapping his watch in her direction. She glanced up at the omnipresent clock behind the till and was grateful to see that her time was up. It was a job she had to keep reminding herself to be grateful for. It wasn’t glamorous and it wasn’t even engaging most of the time but it did mean that she could pay the rent to do the things that she wanted to do.

At high school when the careers counsellor was doing the rounds with her class, Lily had foolishly said that she didn’t actually want a career. Such talk wasn’t acceptable at the private girls’ school that her father worked 6 days and 1 night in order to send her to. Lily had only wanted to practice her art. She never bothered to think about the fact that this world required an income in order to navigate it successfully.

Apron swiftly removed as she ducked behind the counter and into the staff room, she clocked out, hat thrown in her locker and well-loved denim jacket thrown over her shirt to disguise her uniform. She had a date. A coffee date of all things. Lily didn’t even drink coffee. She wasn’t exactly thrilled that Mr. Potential had chosen this Starbucks as their meeting point but she always let her dates choose the meeting place and she would privately judge them as they did so. Perhaps they could grab a quick takeaway and go for a walk. The sunshine of an autumn afternoon was always her favourite time to walk. The quality of light was so crisp that it made colours seem richer and more distinct than any other time of year. The sky never looked as blue as it did on an autumn afternoon.

She took a couch near the front door, sinking down into the soft pleather cushions and dug out her phone to send Mr. Potential a text letting him know she was there. No response. Okay, she waited a minute. ‘Who these days doesn’t have the phone glued to their hand?’ she thought.

She wondered about a follow up text to let him know she was on the first couch in on the right but thought better of it. ‘Don’t want to appear too eager’ she decided. A bit of Facebook browsing to take her mind of it. Seven minutes later, she glanced up at the clock behind the till just in case her phone clock was wrong. It wasn’t. It never was.

She checked Messenger, her emails and all the other apps she used but there was no message from whom she was now beginning to call Mr. Not -so –potential.

‘Who chooses Starbucks as a place for a first date anyway’ she thought.

Almost half an hour had passed and she was sick of the inquiring looks from her co-workers she decided to step outside. They knew she was single and dating but she didn’t anyone else judging her dates. Her mother was bad enough, asking too many questions, expecting each new suitor to be the white knight to save Lily from this eternal hell of low paid work. Lily wasn’t looking for a white knight. She fancied a co-conspirator. Someone to join her own adventures, someone to nourish her, someone to tend to her wounds, someone who would turn up to a coffee date on time for starters.

One more text to Mr. Not-so-potential ‘so, hi. Just checking that it was today we were going to meet?’

Nothing. No response. She wasn’t just being stood up physically but she was also being stood up digitally. She checked his profile on the dating website. She typed in his moniker – nothing. No profile appeared. That was odd.

She walked up to the corner and back down again. The sun had started to drift down pushing its rays through the leaves of the trees. Shafts of yellow, orange and red danced in the gentle breeze. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, doing up the buttons to keep in her warmth. Melbourne autumn days definitely provided a taste of all four seasons in the one day. Layers were her sartorial friend.

‘One more trip to the corner and then I’m out of here’ she thought.

The day was cooling quickly as she walked the dozen or so paces to the corner. She loitered. She turned and looked down both footpaths but Mr. Not-so-potential was nowhere to be seen. She dug her phone out of her back pocket, its blank screen giving her nothing.

‘Forty minutes. An eternity.’ she decided. She threw her phone in her bag disgusted at its lack of help and walked off towards her flat. ‘Stuff him’ she thought. ‘Mr. Absolutely-no-potential just lost his chance!’

Dreaming a reality

Six months or so after I separated from my husband, his father died. He had been ill for about 18 months with mesothelioma so his death was not unexpected. What was unexpected was being banned from his funeral. This man I had known for 16 years and was grandfather to my daughters. This man who I had accidentally walked in on whilst he was showering because he’d forgotten to lock the bathroom door. This man who had never said a harsh word to me. This was the man I was not allowed to say goodbye to.

I was working the day of his funeral. It was fortunate that I was working as the carport where my car would have been parked fell down crushing all underneath. If I wasn’t working then I certainly would have been home as it wasn’t as if I had anything else to attend. I’m glad I was at work instead.

My two daughters had free choice as to attend the funeral or not.  They had been sheltered from their grand-dad’s illness until it was impossible to keep the secret any longer. They were both still young and this was the first death of a close family member that had really any significant impact on them.

Separating from my husband was one of the hardest things I had ever done, so this was a time of heightened stress for all of us. I endeavoured mostly just to get through each day whilst shielding from daughters from how strung out I truly felt. I wasn’t sure what normality meant anymore. I mention this because, with hindsight, I can see that small things had an amplified impact on me emotionally. The day of the funeral came and went and I did what I usually did – went about my life in a numbed state. The next day came and went, then another day and another day as they have a habit of doing.

 I don’t recall the first it happened. I was going about my business with my head down, a habit I had recently developed to avoid making eye contact which would lead to unwanted conversations. Further ahead on the street was where I saw him. I knew logically that it couldn’t be my father -in-law as he had been buried months before. That didn’t stop me pushing past people trying to get a closer look. I lost him in the crowd then stopped in my tracks, breathing heavily.

This happened again a few months later and months again after that. I began to get used to it and no longer found it strangely confusing. I began to just smile to myself knowing that I was seeing something no one else could see.  Life went on and ‘us little three family’ as I began to call us, got on with things. School, work, newly formed habits of how we spent our time filled out lives. We moved out of the temporary rental property and into our own home. Divorce formalised things and life developed its own rhythm.

It was probably five or so years later than I had the dream. I have always loved my wild and crazy dreams though I’ve always felt I’m really the only one who cares or finds them interesting. In my dream, I was in a crowded public place when I saw him there standing alone. Slowly I approached, confident it was him.

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons with the sun low in the sky. “David?” I asked as I reached out for his shoulder, though I already knew it was him. He turned to face me. The sun was behind him, its glare making it difficult to discern any facial features. I moved around so I could clearly see his face. He was smiling at me with that warm smile he always had. He didn’t say anything to me. That’s not what this dream was about. He looked the same as he always had for the 16 years that I knew him. His photo-reactive glasses half tinted in the setting sun, a small breeze lifting his comb-over in an almost comical way.

I started with what I knew I was here to say

“I just want to thank you for all that you’ve done for me and my daughters. I am so glad that I had a chance to know you. You were a fabulous grandfather to the girls and they are better for knowing you. I am better for having known you. Thank you”

I turned and walked away. I had had my chance to say what I needed to.

I awoke with a smile on my face and a calm start to my day.

Never again did I see my father in law in the street. I didn’t need to.

ALL ARTWORK MY OWN AND FOR SALE

Dating at age 44

At age 44, I’ve dated. As mentioned before, I had a period where I was viciously dating. I really like the phrase viciously dating as I find it fairly represents how I approached the whole thing. I threw myself into it whole-heartedly, fiercely, with passion and energy.

My online profile was very honest. I mentioned my kids, showed full length photos, some photos without make-up and was very clear about what I was and was not looking for. No pint getting connected with someone who wanted more children. I had two and was satisfied with that.

I’m short and what is politely termed curvaceous. If someone was looking for tall, thin and blond then they should keep on looking. I was always upfront about my physicality for as much as it’s okay to say that we don’t judge a book by its cover, the last thing I wanted to see was a man’s face drop when my eyes met his. We are not all attracted to every body type. Harsh but true.

Yes, I tried speed dating, blind dates and the more organic ’fancy some random guy on the street’ type of dating. My preferred form was the online dating website - very easy to do whilst sitting in bed in my jammies with a bottle of Sav Blanc and a laptop. I liked the ones where it was more than a swipe left or right on your phone. I’m old school, I know. I wanted to read what they had to write. Good spelling and vocabulary were being judged, trust me. Later on I actually met a gentleman who had a side business helping men write their dating website profiles. It’s something I’ve often thought about myself. Keep that one up my sleeve for later.

Working full time an hour from the city and with two teenage daughters at home meant grabbing a drink after work in the CBD wasn’t a possibility. I was never one to hang out in clubs or go to a live gig so that wasn’t another closed avenue. Turns out the village match-maker doesn’t exist anymore so it looked like online dating was for me.

That said, it was fantastic for making connections and list comparisons but there was no addressing the issue of chemistry. Yes, it exists and yes it matters. Sometimes as I sat down at a table with a date, you could feel a little exciting frisson. Other times, it was more of a fizzle. I was always polite but I hated wasting their and more importantly, my time. Dates were always located halfway between theirs and mine. I didn’t want anyone hanging out in my hood if it didn’t work out. Coffee was the preferable first date that way it could short and sweet. This assumes they passed the flirty email, text banter and intelligent phone conversation stages.

I’m protective of my space. When chatting I’d nominate the suburb over as where I lived. My work was geographically remote so I was safe out there. Once I allow my privacy wall to be successfully traversed, that’s fine but I don’t let people in easily. The trials of the kind you read about it in fairytales weren’t that far-fetched, as far as I was concerned.

My best friend and I had a system. You have to have a system. She always knew where I was and with whom. I’d email her every single detail I knew about the guy, including his online profile. She would know where and when we were meeting. She would text me 30 minutes into the date and I would have to respond. This arrangement gave me a great opportunity to discuss our safety system with date. One occasion, my date and I were getting along so well I hadn’t noticed my phone receive multiple texts and calls. True to her word, she called the restaurant and demand to speak with me. I was in a lot of trouble for that one.

Usually they were impressed I had thought about it enough to have a system. I’d then ask them if anyone knew their whereabouts, just in case I was the axe-wielding homicidal maniac – not them. Damn! They hadn’t thought of that. The keystone of the system was me calling her on my way home to let her know how it all went. This served two purposes. She vicariously lived through my dates and it meant I didn’t sleep with anyone on the first date cause I’m a good girl (whatever that means..)

I met some fabulous people and some not so fabulous people just like in real life. I believe it’s really important to have a safety plan. Someone in the world should know where in the world you are although you may not want it to be your mum. I’ve been multiple people’s safety person and part of me likes the excitement of being in the know. So I do recommend online dating. It was lots of fun. You need plenty of energy and a good spreadsheet to keep track of everyone.

#myindigoobsession

Last year I started having some sessions with a counsellor. It was during my blue period. I was experiencing a very strong attraction to dark, indigo blues. My paintings were being pulled in that direction. I seemed to be drawn to dark blue fabrics and items #myindigoobsession Indigo, cyan, navy, cobalt, azure, cerulean. Even the names of the blue pigments attracted me; their mellifluous sounds haunted my mind.

all artworks my originals

I found myself nesting, actually curling up on the couch pulling the soft blankets in on top of me. The television may have been turned on but I wasn’t. Books couldn’t hold my gaze; their words raindrops beading on my skin. I avoided phone calls and even refused to read text messages or emails. Bailing on prior commitments, I found the clutter of people draining. I attended my job in automatic mode, flicking the switch that would shut off 8 hours later when I crawled back into my nest. The bills still needed to be paid even if I didn’t feel up to it.

I don’t precisely recall who or what finally made me phone the counselling service but I did and a session was set for 5 weeks time. Five weeks could have seemed an aeon away but knowing it was booked in was a comforting thought. Day by day, the five weeks passed.

There’s an odd thing about counselling sessions. Two strangers sit opposite each other in a neutrally aesthetic room on chairs that at first seem comfortable, and one opens the flood gates on the issues at hand. I can see the counsellor sifting through the oncoming waters trying to pick up the pieces of a jigsaw without knowing what the final image looks like.

My counsellor (we’ll call her Kate cause that’s her name) seemed to know when to raise the levy so we could more intimately discuss a point. Knowing the right question to stop me in my tracks, she was adept at asking questions I didn’t know how to answer. One thing I’ve discovered about myself over the years of journaling is that I have a gestation period of roughly 24 hours. I need time to digest an idea and roll it over in my sub-conscious before I can formulate my response. Even when I was dating I found that I didn’t really know how I felt about someone until the next day. Counselling appeared to be similar. The next day, I could articulate what had taken place but straight afterwards, my head was in the clouds.

I managed to get some great clarity on a few issues during our sessions. I may have made the initial appointment after some depressed episodes but we never directly dealt with depression. By discussing a variety of issues, I suspect we dismantled the depression brick by brick bringing the sunshine back in.

Whilst many of my friends may not have ever known that I suffered from depression, which in and of itself can be a trigger word, I have discovered that by talking and writing about it fears of stigma have blown away. It is precisely people like me who are bubbly, talkative and energetic on the outside who others don’t suspect would suffer from anxiety and depressive episodes. We can. We do. I guess that’s the point. I don’t know how I got lost but I talked to a professional, I took it easy on myself and I climbed out of my nest ready to face the world. I still like my indigo blues and find it grounds my visual art but I’m no longer stuck in my indigo obsession.

What if I’d never had children?

What if I’d never had children?

I am by no means saying that I wish I’d never had kids OR that I,in some way, don’t like or love my children. I am just playing with the idea of a future where I hadn’t had children.

I do wonder if I’d have just knuckled down and down the career thing. I doubt it. I remember very clearly being in secondary school and I was around 15 years old. This was probably when you started to have career sessions with the school counsellor. I seem to recall doing those delightfully useless aptitude tests. I can’t even remember what my results of those were. School friends were talking about what university they wanted to attend, which they were going to do and what their working lives would be like. I sat alongside and nodded where appropriate but never felt any future of mine involved a pencil skirt, a phone and a desk.

All artwork my original 

 Being trapped in a city skyscraper for many hours a day only to thrust into the throng of all of those other thousands of city workers before, after and during the lunch hour rush had exactly zero appeal. Even today, I can’t see there’s any job that I would do that could convince me to partake in that daily ritual. That said, I’ve never been a part of Friday after work drinks, water cooler discussions, smoko or other office bonding rituals. One of my brief retail stints was in the city and I did the long train commute. I did enjoy that though for the plethora of books I was able to devour during that time.

So it appears the big business career was ticked off the list early on. Would I have studied more? I don’t think I was suited to Uni life back then straight out of school. I did try two different courses at two different institutions so I did at least try. I felt alienated. Yes, I know many others did too. I felt that they weren’t my kind of people. By that, I mean that I felt I couldn’t relate to them. There seemed to be no common ground to meet upon. I think in essence, that it wasn’t the right kind of course for me at that time. Now, I would look at those subjects not as something to get through but as something that inspires and stimulates. Yeah, I’d be one of those annoyingly enthusiastic mature age students. I wasn’t engaged then but possibly now I could be.

I’m skirting around the issue of whether or not I would have started down my creative path any earlier. I’ve been skimming back over my journals recently (only skimming as I don’t necessarily believe that journals are for being read as much as they are for being written). They go back 12 years or so. I mention writing and where it fits in my life. Further through the pages, I also write about the short painting courses that I was undertaking and the mutual painting group I started. I had small children at this point and there was quite an effort and energy involved getting the children looked after whilst I did these courses. If it was easier, would I have done more of it? I think not. My then husband wasn’t very supportive at all of any of my creative endeavours. I believe he was threatened by pretty much anything that didn’t revolve around him and the home.

Creativity by its very nature involves playing around with ideas and concepts. It’s incredibly messy and often very demanding of my time. He couldn’t have coped with it and I wasn’t pissed off enough to make the massive changes needed to get here. In one of her books, Mirka Mora talks about the selfishness necessary to follow the artistic life. I think she’s right. Art for me involves shutting out all other stimuli, including partner and children, to really concentrate on the thread that I’m exploring.  I struggle even having the radio or music on if I’m sitting down to write. Life experiences have no doubt enriched what I bring to my creative practice so these are not bitter words.

All that said, I’ve met some incredible people via my involvement with my children and I can’t imagine not having my current friends in my life.  Where would I be living? Who would I be living with? Would I travel more? Would I physically look any different? So many questions that can never have coherent answers.

I have two beautiful daughters who I am grateful to have in my life. They are so much fun and have taught me so much about myself and life. Each step in life brings us to where we currently are and I love where I am.

Viciously Dating

It is often said that you meet people for a reason. Well over my 7 years of vicious dating, I met many people. I tried dating in all its many glorious forms.

 First of all I signed up to RSVP which is a well advertised and from my understanding a well patronised online dating site. My best friend at the time ( and luckily for me and her she still is) signed me up over a bottle or more of Sav Blanc. I say it was due to her superior typing and word skills that she did the finger work. Either that or shall was experimenting vicariously through me. ... So what to say of those times? I met some lovely people a few of which are still Facebook friends or more. I chatted with some interesting chaps who I’m sure were perfect for someone else – just not me. I interacted with some downright dodgy characters who didn’t even graduate to getting my phone number.

Tired from the effort I thought I needed something which skipped the list keeping stage and jumped straight to the ‘do we have chemistry?’ stage. Speed Dating! Convinced by same said friend, one Sunday afternoon we went speed dating. She swore that friends of hers had done it, had fun and connected with some lovely gentlemen. Well, not one of those lovely gentlemen, were in our session. It appears that we scored the tradies from Narre Warren whose leisure activities stretched as wide as watching tv lounging on the couch whilst drinking beer to huntin’, shootin’ AND fishin’.  

I devoured a few of those popular paperbacks “He’s Just Not That Into You” dating rules and how to find Mr Right kind of books. I turned up looking good even when I didn’t necessarily felt like it. I kept my eyes open to men in all circumstances even in the local fruit shop. And one day whilst waiting in a popular Melbourne restaurant for a friend (I’m always early. In fact if I’m late it just means that I’m on time)I met a man who I spent 14 months with. This was what I termed an organic meeting - all chemistry and no list ticking. He wasn’t Mr Perfect. In fact he probably wasn’t even Mr Halfway-there. We had fun together. We both liked good food and good wine and good movies. I always knew it wasn’t forever but it sure was a fun 14 months.

I even went clubbing with friends which only reinforced that it wasn’t my scene. I have trouble concentrating with background noise, always have. As a mother of 2 teenage daughters, I sincerely doubt that Mr Right or even Mr Almost Right was going to be hanging out in a noisy doof doof club.

So I figured it was back to online dating for me. This time I surveyed my friends. Which sites might be fruitful for the kind of man that I was looking for? Some of the free ones turned out to be big hook up sites which wasn’t what I was looking for. On a side note, I’ve always found that as a semi confident woman, sex for sex’s sake hasn’t actually been all that difficult to find. Certain other sites seemed to demand you fill out essay length forms before anything would even go live.  I found one that was a happy medium. Never one to pay any money, I signed up for my free profile and filled out the necessary questions. Forget that I incorrectly spelt my profile name – not that anyone ever picked me up on it. I was off and running.

One gentleman in particular seemed to continually check out my profile.  Quick check of the photos – ok..Peruse his question responses – nothing to raise any concerns there. DAMN! He’s in Perth. How come his profile states location as Melbourne? Oh, he’s moving to Melbourne in a week. Nice..fresh meat. We connect. We email. We talk on the phone. A couple of weeks later, several days after he moves to Melbourne, we have our first date. I warn him to wear his serious walking shoes as I’ve planned a 4 hour walking tour of my glorious city. He was such a gentleman and after driving him home all I could think was that I wanted to spend more time in his company.

One time I sat down and listed the reasons I met certain men. Moreover, these are the things I learnt about myself while dating these men. Please note the names have been changed to protect the innocent. They are in no particular order and I promise the names are made up so there’s no point trying to figure it out.

Simon – I need someone who is willing to be part of my greater family

Matthew– I need someone with brains as well as a hot body that he knows how to use

Pete – I need someone who matches my inner age

Chris – I need someone who I find sexually appealing

Adam – I need someone who doesn’t spend longer getting ready than I do.

Craig – I deserve someone who doesn’t keep me waiting whilst he answers a work call while having dinner with me

Greg – I need someone who doesn’t refer to me as simply ‘a friend’

Martin– I need someone who is willing to be with me and my children.

Ben – I deserve someone who is motivated and on track financially

David -I want someone who has a strong interest in good food and wine/beer

Jason - I deserve someone who is generous of spirit

All artworks featured are my originals and for sale.

I very much enjoyed my time viciously dating. It was fun. I met some lovely men and some not so lovely men. All said, I’m grateful not to be dating. I love my man and am happy chilling out at home together.

my Pozible progress

Well I'm just over a third of the way to my goal with my Pozible project and the steps seem to keep falling into place. I'm grateful to those who have pledged support. Thank you so very much!

Whilst I only have a handful of stockists currently, I'm starting to cast the net wider each day. I am always carrying samples on me and it's lovely the way things lead from one thing to another. 

I also now have plans to print an adorable antique cutlery set on white cotton napkins. They look really sweet.

I'm also learning so much more about computers and social media each day. I'm grateful for the knowledgeable friends who are happy to lend an ear or proffer some advice.

Thanks and this ride ain't over yet.

To those, who would like to support even in the smallest of ways, any pledge no matter how small will help this dream become a reality. Crowd- funding projects like Pozible really do rely on people "putting their money where their mouth is". Rest assured, I take each pledge with so much gratitude. I sincerely thank all of you.

I don’t belong here

I’m living in the wrong place; somehow it just happened. One thing lead to another and there you go – I’m living in a place to which I don’t belong. Please don’t misinterpret me. I love my house. I have friends in the local area. There are some great shops, cafes and public transport within waling distance. It’s visually pleasing, mostly quiet and I’ve mostly good neighbours.  It’s just that I don’t belong here.

I don’t feel like these are my people. I often find myself at odds when discussing ideas or issues. The main thrust of my artwork usually gets greeted with raised eyebrows and an open mouth. Worse – I find myself censoring what I show and (here’s the real kicker) even what I create.

This isn’t where I want to be – literally.

For now, I’ll stay - due to ties that have a natural limited lifespan.

Good thing that I dwell in two places. I also have a part time inner city abode. The vitality and fast pace I find in my other home stimulates and energises me. I appreciate this dual living for how it sustains me for now.

Oops

At first, I thought I was crocheting vessels, then I thought they were breasts but I think I made a vulva.....

an illuminating few days.

We do what we think is best at the time. When we know better, the important point is to do better.

I’ve had an illuminating few days.

Firstly, I’ve realised that I have the capacity to miss someone. I’ve never missed anyone in my life. I’ve heard the words said to me and heard them convincingly in movies but I’ve never missed anyone. I always thought this was a good thing as it meant I was happy and content in myself not needing anyone to make my life complete.

I’m still happy and content in myself and don’t believe I need anyone to make my life complete but I’ve discovered that I do, in fact, have the capacity to miss someone in my life. Part of it is no doubt is the gap in connection via text, message etc as he was in a different time zone and working to boot. He’s been interstate before for a few days but I didn’t feel it then. Is it where we are in our relationship right now? I don’t know but there’ll be a test when I go overseas in a couple of weeks. Interesting times.....

Secondly, I also was able to spend some time and get some advice from an experienced member of Australia’s art scene. I got some honest feedback and constructive advice. And yes, I am going to take it on. Nothing too unexpected was shared. It was all about taking the next, necessary steps in order to get to the next level.  Now I know better, I’m on my way to doing better.

I’ve learnt a lot recently and I plan to just keep on learning!

Opportunity doesn't exactly knock...

Opportunity doesn’t knock exactly but it can completely depend upon saying yes instead of automatically saying no. Sometimes I’m too tired to say yes; sometimes it’s simply easier to say no; sometimes it’s like I’m on automatic pilot and haven’t actually thought about the proposition.

If you’re someone I said no to when I haven’t actually thought about then I apologise but of course, I may have actually said no because I mean no. In fact, I know that it is vital that everybody learns to say no without feeling bad or guilty. It’s really important that we can put our boundaries in place. This is an important lesson that we need to allow our children to learn as well and we can help this by respecting them when they do express it.

That said – I mean something else with this post. I mean that sometimes saying yes can lead to new and exciting possibilities. Having a coffee with someone can lead to offers of new places to explore whether it’s work, travel or whatever.

I’ve recently signed on to the #100 happy days challenge which essentially is a project that encourages the individual to mindful of their daily  lives and express the happy moments they find in each day, It’s not anything more complicated than that. Now, I already consider myself to be quite aware of this but I’ve signed on to reinforce this and also hopefully create awareness of this in others.

Feel free to follow me on Instagram (amandakennedy4) to see this project.

Rhythms

What would my “natural” sleep order look like?

I love an afternoon nap. I actually think that it benefits me. Others do coffee, read, play virtual games. I like to sleep. No, I didn’t use the word nap though I do like to nap too.

Nap vs sleep

Less vs more

Keeps things at bay vs restorative

Nanna vs hedonistic

Daydream vs dream

Cheeky vs carefree

Anyways – I think if I didn’t have external constraints such as children and work I’d sleep at least 2 hours every afternoon anytime from 3pm onwards. Even if I’m able to commitment wise,  I often don’t cause I’m worried about it being too late and how it will affect my slumber that evening. Of course, this leads on to thoughts of what would my daily patterns be if my work was flexible and I didn’t have to factor in my children.

I don’t think I’d wake til 9.30/10 am. I like then to have a walk and run errands in the morning then graze my way through to the afternoon with a vino or two, some reading, some arting then naturally time for a nap before pottering around to do dinner. After dinner I’d socialize or get down and dirty art-wise til maybe 11pm then shower and time for bed. Sounds good to me!

Of course, work and kids and other people don’t necessarily follow this schedule – ah,well..

Transplanting myself into another place wouldn’t work as I’d be too busy exploring it to settle into such a schedule. This is not a question easily answered but that's okay.

Below is an interesting link. I particularly relate to 'late sleeper' prejudice. This website is very interesting in general. Lots of ideas to mull over. Have a look if you have time.

www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2012/05/11/internal-time-till-roenneber/

Peanut Butter Brownies

Some of you will think I’ve finally gone too far and some of you will think I’ve come just far enough. 

     

Peanut Butter Brownies….

No, it’s nothing quite as simple as swirling some peanut butter through your standard brownie mix…oh no!

First you make the almost sickeningly rich fudgey brownie base layer, then when that has cooled you whip up a butter creamy peanut butter layer and smooth that neatly (?) over then once that has set to some degree in the fridge you drizzle over chocolate ganache and sprinkle chopped peanuts.

Oh, I should have mentioned don’t try and achieve anything else that day. Between the dishes created, the time spent gathering your ingredients at the supermarket, measuring, baking then cooling and you sneaking a taste at every stage it pretty took up the bulk of my day – though perhaps I should mention that I didn’t get out of bed till noon.

The point is this – I’m on holidays. My time is my own. If I want to waste a day making a recipe that has caught my eye some months ago but I can’t justify making as I’ll probably only have a small piece of as it actually even reads too rich for my blood – then I will!

At this point, it’s almost 6pm and it’s setting in the fridge.  Maybe, I should start thinking about what to do for the kids for dinner. For myself, I couldn’t touch another thing. My senses have been satiated by the mere act of cooking that dish, and if I’m to be honest, which I am, all the sneaky little tastes along the way.

This evening I look forward to browsing another half dozen cookbooks I picked up recently from the library. Who knows what will happen next?

Here’ s an abbreviated version of the recipe. The odd quantities come from the fact that I translated it from an American recipe.

1/Melt 250g butter + 285g dark chocolate together.

Whisk 1 cup white sugar + 1 cup brown sugar + 3 eggs together

Combine sugar and chocolate mixes together.

Stir in 1 cup plain flour + 1/3 cup cocoa powder (both sifted)

Bake for 30 min @ 180 degrees in a 33cm x 23cm lined tin then cool

2/ Blend 185g butter + 1 cup smooth peanut butter(just short of 375g jar)

Then add 2 cups icing sugar and 1 tsp vanilla and mix till creamy.

Spread evenly over cooled brownie base (smooth with the back of a spoon heated in hot water) then refrigerate.

3/ Heat 1/3 cup cream and whisk in 115g chocolate bits and stir. Drizzle artistically over peanut butter layer and sprinkle with ½ cup chopped peanuts..

Ta da!