Category Archives: Friends & Family

Mother Love

by . Posted on
26 Nov

My parents have been visiting from the UK.  It’s the first time they’ve been to Avalon since our wedding here on the farm so you can imagine what a huge effort we put into trying to get all the outstanding jobs finished before they arrived (the thing is, there are always a million jobs still to do on a farm . . . )

We have always fought like cat and dog.  I was so angry and felt so rejected when I was sent away to boarding school aged 8 and I hated school and didn’t try, so I didn’t get good grades and I was an endless disappointment to my parents who knew how intelligent I really was.  I was an angry and troubled soul who rebelled as a teenager.  I hurt myself as much as I hurt them – smoking, drinking, sex games etc  Of course I failed miserably in my ‘O’ and ‘A’ levels and the family myth is that I got expelled for smoking.  At least with a change of schools and a headmistress who saw past the bluff and bluster to the pure heart beyond (thank and bless you Miss Hibbert you turned my life around and were the first person who gave me reason to believe in myself) I finally made good friends and began to belong.

My lesbian liaison didn’t help relationships with my parents and my subsequent heterosexual hedonism was more cause for concern and criticism.  Then I had an abortion and ran away to Hong Kong and pastures new.

Relationships were always strained and full of censure although we always had our honeymoon periods before I crashed and burned in some way in my selfish acts of self sabotage.  Needless to say I have been the black sheep and true to form have dabbled in all the addictions and explored far and dark horizons of the soul, psyche and society.

Not surprising them that they have viewed my spiritual journey with mistrust, that they have had to pick up the pieces financial and otherwise more times than any of us care to count or mention.  If their story has been one of disappointment, frustration and despair, mine has been that of rejection, lack of love and never being seen or heard for who I truly am rather than measured up to who they want me to be.

Needless to say its a relationship of tears and sorrow, rage and rejection and failure from all sides to forgive, let go, start afresh or see the other’s point of view.  Part of the problem is that we are all so alike.  Not only did I inherit my father’s nose, varicose veins, dodgy hip and temper, but I inherited my Mother’s constant criticism, aspirational nature and love of nice things, wealth and money.

Somewhere in there though is a pure and innocent, trusting and perfect heart.

This year as you know I have travelled deeply into my story and my self hatred, I am learning to forgive and nurture and be kinder to myself.  I have been opening my heart space with my ‘Heart of Yoga’ and have released a million tears and some long held heartache.  Instead of being a cold hard stone in my chest my heart is a living breathing thing.   I have had a huge shift.

None of us are getting any younger and who knows when or if  we will see each other again or whether they will visit Australia one more time so we were all determined not to fight or fall out.  We all decided not to spend too much time together and to bite our tongues and we succeeded.  By the second week when we had hardly spent any time together we all realised how much we loved each other and even had some beautiful times and some precious memories I will treasure in my heart forever.

Showing my parents the pristine rainforest of Angle Creek I held my Mother’s hand many times as she clambered over rocks – I don’t remember ever holding my Mother’s hand before.  Papery, warm, small and gentle, it was beautiful and somehow in those moments in the healing cathedral of green that is Angle Creek, where Mother Nature comes to rest, heal, nourish and nurture, something between us that has been broken for 40 something years was finally mended.  A miracle happened and I realised that contrary to my life ‘s lament that I hate my Mother and that we don’t get on, I realised that I love her.  Always have, always will.

She isn’t perfect, she is sometimes very unkind, she sometimes says things that are cruel or hurtful or thoughtless.  So do I. But like me she has a golden heart.  Like me, she had a far from perfect childhood and was abused and damaged.  Like me she longs to be loved and shows her love with the giving of gifts.  Like me she has a doughy belly and snake like skin on her shins.

Maybe the reason we have butted heads so often and for so long is because we have looked in our mirror reflections of each other and not liked what we have seen . . .

But finally, aged 45, in the middle of my life, I am able to proudly say ‘I love my Mother’, I am part of her, she is part of me, she made me, grew me, nurtured me, shaped me.  I chose her for a reason – so I could learn what love is and what love isn’t and finally learn to forgive and love unconditionally.  I love you Mummy, I really do x

A Musing on the Meaning of Life

by . Posted on
15 Mar

We almost lost my niece, Isabel, a week or so ago.  She was very ill with what everyone thought was a tummy bug, but Millie was worried and took her to hospital after two days of throwing up and tummy pains.  By the time the specialist decided to operate and got in there, her appendix had burst and it was all apparently a horrible mess.  After the op she just kept on throwing up and she seemed to be fading.  Ged and I got our hands to work sending Reiki and we both got that she was going to die.  I can’t begin to express how precious Issy is in the family – the only grandchild for my parents before Ben came along  but she has held the honoured, and probably onerous, position of only grandchild for over 10 years now.  Of course she is spoilt, and like all kids she can be a proper little madam, but for Millie and Phil she was the first and as it turned out, the one and only, of the family they had dreamed of (and there’s a helluva lot of heartbreak there), for my Mother she has been the longed for grandchild and I am sure a chance to be a better grandmother than she was mother, and for Melissa the closest it seems she will ever get to having a child, and for me, the hope of a happy child in our family.

Anyway, she almost left us and I could see, in my mind’s eye, the horror and the shattering grief and the hole in all our lives which would be left if she departed and I remember being frantic that she must stay and saying over and over again ‘You’re not going to die, Issy, you’re going to be fine’ but with this cold hand of dread clutching at my heart.

She was, is, fine.  she turned the corner and now she is home and well.  But we are changed.  All of a sudden death came knocking at the door of our lives and a shiver ran through our family.

We all take everyone and everything around us for granted yet nothing is guaranteed.  We moan about the facets of our lives which are too much like hard work but we don’t excise them.  We think life is meant to be hard or a struggle or about acquisition but it’s NOT.  It’s about the heart, about love, about joy, about sharing.  About the miracles that abound every day that we are too busy to see . . .and yet, even having had this revelation, I have slipped back into my own man-made monotony and material world.  WHY?  Why are we so shallow, so caught up in our own emotional ebbs and flows and not centred on joy and happiness and concentrating on that, allowing that in.

I feel like I don’t KNOW how to be happy, that I am always looking for what is WRONG, not what is RIGHT, and GOOD and LOVING.  That’s my family background of constant criticism and nit-picking STILL running the program of my life.  How do I let it go.  Just let it go . . . just hand it over to God and he/she tosses them into the brazier behind and they are gone . . . ashes to ashes, dust to dust, embers sparking against the celestial sky.  Phew, I feel lighter already . . . now can I embrace my life, open my heart to those who love me and be free, happy, joyful . . . we shall see . . .

Extreme Nesting!

by . Posted on
15 Sep

Having got Arthur safely on the ground and on the udder, we had a crazy week turning our little house into a welcoming home for Benjamin.  (Having been so certain about a name for so long, I have to admit to being completely open-minded now about what he/she might be called.  I guess he/she will tell me when they get here . . . )

Ged spent the weekend sanding first the Baby’s room floor and then our room.  Which obviously necessitated complete removal of everything from both (as well as the dismantling of most of the rest of the house to protect everything from dust) so we were camped out sleeping on the mattress on the sitting room floor for almost a week while the subsequent layers of Tung Oil were applied and dried.  Not comfortable!  Especially when you are a Weeble and can’t get up from a lying position at the best of times!
On Tuesday Ged drove me into Port Macquarie for a fairly full on day of getting jobs done, supplies in, last treatments for both of us prior to the birth and a trip to the midwife (who now has my 4WD – just in case of floods!)  Then I had several days when work was completely abandoned as I wielded my trusty paintbrushes and rollers.  I call this ‘extreme nesting’!!  At 5pm on Friday night the upholsterer delivered the newly loose covered sofa and at 7 we had the lovely Chris and Ruth Latimore over for supper . . . and after some fairly hilarious and very stressed joint effort, we have a house that is truly and properly a home . . . at last.
Saturday was the most surreal and peaceful day – hot and airless and lazy.  Ged gave me a massage which was blissful and then I went for a walk before coming home to eat and sleep.  It felt as if I could FINALLY rest now that we had the home I had so long envisioned.  And the day had a most meditative quality, the calm before the storm . . . so when the Baby spent all day Sunday wriggling down into a full-on birthing position and the Braxton Hicks doubled me over, I was sure we were starting labour, and after eight months of talking confidently about it, the fear set in . . . .  But by late that night it had all calmed down (false alarm!) and it looks like we are back on track and I have had my little terror tantrum!
I will have to get Ged to take a picture as I am absolutely ENORMOUS now, and looking forward to being able to do up my shoes again.  Although as I said to Ged the other night, I have been pregnant for so long that I can’t remember what NOT being pregnant feels like.  Arthur is growing like a weed and it is fascinating to witness the herd mentality to Mothering – he is always baby-sat by someone, male or female, horse or cow, and all the cows are chasing Phee away from his new friend (much to Phee’s simultaneous amusement and disgust!).  Even Tinkerbell has become broody which is hilarious to see, and Baby is adamant that she is going to the stallion in a month or so when the Baby Bonus money comes in (after all, it has got her name on it!)
So here we sit, being patient now, clearing the desk and waiting to meet this little person I’ve been growing . . . as ready as we can be in body, mind, space and soul.  Another new chapter is about to begin  . . .

A brave dog, a tough man and a fading wife

by . Posted on
22 Jan

Back to peace and quiet (I miss those kids!!) and as soon as the Grippers drove away on the next leg of their ‘Holiday Coast’ adventure, the sun disappeared, the heavens opened and the deluge resumed!

Thus we are back to parking on the ‘other side’ of the river and riding home in the Flying Fox.  Whoever is doing the winding gets a fine upper body workout, but pulling yourself across hand over hand is very wearying!  Phoenix leaps in and out with panache and daring and stays still for the crossing, and when he has to stay behind sits longingly on the platform watching until we get to our cars before he takes up his ‘watching’ position on the verandah or snuggles up on the wicker sofa for a snooze.
The only time he has braved the big waters was when the Grippers had first arrived and we all traversed the river on the fox to go for a drive up to Comboyne.  Poor Phee must have thought that there was no way his newly rediscovered friends were going anywhere without him so as the last of us stepped off the fox I heard distant yelping and had horrific visions of Phee hurtling down the rapids at the end of the House Pool so I clambered down the rocks, screaming for him.  Only to hear Angus say ‘he’s here, Sophie’ and there was a small, bedraggled, black dog with wildly waving tail jumping all over his Gripper friends having swum the raging river and clambered (somehow!) up the sheer rock face.  He’s living proof that ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way!’
George has been in tears and sick with worry because Marcia woke up one morning unable to move and he had to carry her into the bathroom etc.  She was in so much pain and he was in a complete panic.  Ged rang me and told me he’d met George on the road and heard the sorry tale so I rang and said I would go up and massage her (she has arthritis in one hip and needs a replacement but apparently they won’t do replacements on Alzheimers patients because the anaesthetic adversely affects their brain).  When I got there Marcia was in tears of pain and frustration and Mavia who lives further up the road from us and who has been looking after Marcia a day or two a week while George works had got her washed and dressed etc.  We got her on a spare bed for a massage and eased up the cramping in her thigh and calf until she was walking normally again, but the next morning the same thing happened and every time George tried to move or touch her she just screamed with pain so he called the ambulance.  Marcia was admitted to Wauchope hospital for tests and condition assessment (ie was she able to live at home) while we all counselled George that the best thing that could happen was that the authorities make the decision that he simply didn’t have the wherewithall or facilities to care for her deteriorating condition at home.  Poor George, he was lost without her.  While caring for her had been exhausting and often demeaning, she was the axis on which his world turned, and now he had no focus, no point, no pole star to guide his way.  We took him food and had him here and rang the neighbours to rally him, but it was so sad to see him, who is so strong and sure, falter on his path.
As we predicted, the powers that be decided that Marcia must be cared for in a home and she was admitted to one in Laurieton and we are trying to pick up the pieces as George grieves his wife, their married life and the end of their time together.  It is worse than death to see someone you love so much and for so long, fall apart and lose sight of themselves and all normalcy as they disappear into a fog of endless forgetfulness.  Say a little prayer for a tough man who is cracking and a beautiful woman who should be spared the humiliation of a childlike dependence in an adult body and a slow demise into dementia.  Please God, there is a better end for us all.

The Rich Tapestry of Rural Life

by . Posted on
20 Aug
I have had this horrible cold which seems to be doing the rounds. I put mine down to the draughty floor and those freezing days and nights and the lack of insulation in the roof, rather than catching it, but I have been pretty miz (aka The Widow Cranky!) this week and had a couple of ‘home’ days. Monday I was burning up with fever and the urge for a big cleanup, so had a bonfire and set fire to my hair! Lordy, my eyelashes and fringe have only just recovered from when the gas hot water system exploded, and I had to go and singe away my crowning glory once more! I also got myself in a complete tangle trying to do everything myself, and being impatient and had to holler for help! I was moving a big pile of rusty old metal down to the tin skip (I was on a mission!) and managed a lot in the trailer but then had to do the bigger items one by one with the car and my trusty old tow rope (thank you Chichester Chandlery). I did the big iron bath ok but didn’t really think through the old farm thing with wheels (whoops!) Oh well, Ged to the rescue and no real harm done but I have to learn that there are some things I CAN’T do on my own and wait for someone to assist me!
I was also pulling up fireweed and pulling down a fence – it was a gorgeous day to be out and about and getting some annoying little tasks out of the way. Tuesday I was in the office all day and ploughing through work but after another night tossing and turning and having horrible nightmares I decided I was well and truly exhausted and needed a day in bed to try and shake this fluey cold thing off. There’s no rest for the wicked, though, and George turned up just after midday. Apparently one of the cows is dead in the river from ‘black leg’ and so he had to muster the herd into the yards and immunise them. He unloaded his patient grey mare from the back of the truck and rode down into the river bed to flush them out onto the flat. My two were more of a hindrance than a help, galloping around aimlessly and Tinkerbell bucking at all the excitement. I was driving the car to prevent the cows bolting up the gully so I didn’t get you a picture of George on his trusty steed, surrounded by his pack of proper working dogs, driving the mob towards me, but I did grab a quick pic after the work was done so you can see ‘the man from Ellenborough river’! for yourselves.

Man, cows are stupid creatures! My first experience of ‘cow work’ and we put them in the chute and crush ten at a time for George to stab them with the needle gun and they were jumping on top of each other and trying to turn around in the crush and I was sure one of them was going to break its neck! But they all survived and hopefully we won’t lose any more . . .

George will move the dead cow out of the river and take it up onto the high country and trap it for dingoes and I must get my tie rail in this week so I can start riding at last . . . I had the most alarming conversation with George the other day. Because he is a Seventh Day Adventist we have our vegetarianism in common so I said a while ago that I would cook up some extra for him and Marcia. Of course he protested but it’s no skin off my nose – I cook enough for the army anyway! So I gave him some of my famous chilli beans the other day and when he asked me what to do with them I said ‘add some water and simmer . . ‘ and he said ‘what’s simmer?’ so I explained . . . and when I gave him veggie curry this week he asked what to do with it, so I said the same and then suggested some rice to go with it . . . ‘I can only cook eggs and boil water’ he told me. My God, what have those two been surviving on for the four years since Marcia became ill?
My thermals have finally arrived from M&S just as spring awakens but I have to say I am loving being so snug and warm in my long johns and long sleeved vests – what is the slit at the front for???
Something strange is stirring in the heavens above and I can hear the patter of rain on the tin roof . . . thanks for your encouraging responses to ‘Mad Cow’ and it’s good to have this opportunity to log my misadventures and endeavours as well as the myriad people co-creating my dream. Last week my lovely Jehovah’s Witness neighbour, Chris Latimore, who has recently retired from running the sawmill on his property, delivered the wood he had kindly agreed to cut for my house. Beautiful Tallowood for the big upright beams and benchtops throughout, as well as hardwood beams and posts for the building work. Another neighbour who had heard me describe my dream and ‘got the picture’ and given me EXACTLY what I wanted and all done with true zen. He and his wife, Ruth, are very lovely gentle folk and it was a pleasure to do business with them and now to have the means to make my house dream come true (now for the builder to fall out of the sky . . . !)

GEORGE