The Penny Drops (rather late, but isn’t it great that life is full of surprises).

Remember this song, Possums? When it came out I was twenty-eight and I didn’t get it. On Tuesday I turned forty-four! I quite like the number for its symmetry. I told my children that I wanted to be asked questions on my birthday for which I could answer: four. For example: How old are you? Forty-four. How many children do you have? Four. What’s your favorite number? Four. When were you born? Sixty-four. How many lovers have you had? One hundred and four (just kidding).

I often look back and wonder where my thirties went. But being in my forties isn’t that bad. The best thing about it is: I get it! Now I do understand that song. Je comprend pas. Ich verstehe. Capiche? Confessing this to a friend recently she simply stated, “better late than never”. She was dead right.

‘Things Left Unsaid’ meme

Hello Possums. I have been thinking about things I have left unsaid ever since reading Charlotte’s post on the same topic. I have decided to write my own list:  

1. Its too late to tell me that you loved me then. But I wish I’d known. My life would have taken a completely different course. I still fantasise about it.  

2.  I loved you like a sister and grieved for two years when our friendship ended.  

3. I always wanted to be just like you, until I realised how painful it was to live your life. I’m much better off playing to my own strengths and making my own rules.  

4. Your effect on our working environment was toxic. Don’t ever presume that just because we were colleagues that we are friends.  
5. I misinterpreted you. I thought our communication was building a relationship.  

6. I have twice given life to you. Digging you out of that sand marked me as deeply emotionally as giving birth.  

7.  You are so hot. I don’t want a relationship but how about just one night together?  

8. Go die in a hole.  

9. Being your mother is the most important thing in my life.  

10. Thanks for coming along to help me reconnoitre the canoe trip. I’m really embarrassed about running out of petrol, especially now that I am a parent too. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there and it were just me, your son and the other student.  

11. I forgive you and I’m glad we have managed to redefine our relationship. My relationship with you is very important to me.

12. I lied to you to break contact and I’m very sorry. You deserved to be treated much better than that. I hope your life has worked out okay.  

13. I’m really sorry that I can’t be nicer to you, but you give me the shits. Perhaps we should just call it a day.

14. We were very young and I hope you have forgotten what I did to you at the blue light disco. I can’t explain my behavioiur to this day. I feel like a complete idiot.

15. Dancing with you was a major turn-on. I wish I could keep you as a pet.

[And that's my list. If you would like to have a go, please let me know in the comments. The challenge is to come up with fifteen!].

Free ticks

Hello Possums. Have you seen ‘Talk to Me’ yet? Its the best movie I have seen for ages. The dialogue is wonderful and the cinematography is really clever. On top of this, its a great story (and its true!). I laughed (a lot) and cried (in two places). The main actor is to die for and all of the other characters are played to perfection. The sound track is magnificent. Need I say more?

I had free tickets through my MTC subscription and took V along. She adored it too. Afterwards we went to her favorite Vietnamese restaurant on Victoria Street, were she knows the proprieters. There we drank three pots of Chinese tea and talked about her current love interest whilst we feasted upon rice paper rolls with peking duck, crispy chicken ribs and stir fried spinach.

V is a polo fan. I have never seen polo played live before. Her current love interest is one of the players who has been flirting with her from afar for at least six months. She has been in a state of excited suspense. Last week she received an invitation to a polo club luncheon out at one of the vinyards. She had invited me to accompany her but was yet to book the tickets.

Last night she deliberated as to whether she had the guts to go. “There are only twelve places for the dinner”, she exclaimed, “and I’m not even a member of the club!”. She was intrigued as to why she had received the invitation. “What if he’s there! I won’t be able to hide if there are only twelve of us!”. She was really nervous. “Don’t worry”, I said, “I’ll be there to support you. You won’t need to hide”. This afternoon I received a text from her: “We are on for the wine trip. Now I am really in trouble huh?” I texted back, “yeah”. I’ll let you know how it goes, Possums. Its in March.

‘Adrenalin City’ or ‘What Some Parents Go Through Whilst Supporting Their Children In Sports Of Their Choice’.

Hello Possums. I hope you had a good weekend.

I took my daughter Rosie up to a river in country Victoria for a slalom kayaking race. We both entered it. I had not paddled this river or anything like it for about twelve years. I have been training in slalom technique for a year now but I have never attempted to approach slalom gates on rapids before.

In a past life (before kids) I was a white water touring paddler. Slalom is very different to touring. In slalom much more precision and forward planning is required. The course was a difficult one because the Australian Institute of Sport were using it for national junior team selection. Competitors lined up from Victoria and interstate. The selectors sat on the banks filming contenders’ runs. There was quite an audience.

I wondered what on earth I was doing there. Had I been given a number greater than one hundred and thirty-one I would have chickened out for sure. As it was my number was one hundred and twenty-four. I was up before Rosie! I couldn’t chicken out. I did it for her. On my first run I missed a third of the gates (there were eighteen). But I got down the course and handled all the rapids okay. My second run was better. I still missed the hardest gate and I capsized on the second last gate and went through the last two upside down. But I rolled up and finished the course. I was thrilled. My time was way longer than any of the junior champs. And the competitors in my age group are all ex-olympians or world champs. But both of my runs were personal bests! (One because I’d never done it before, and one because I cut eighty points off my original time).

My friend Bree had come to watch. She was equally excited for me and super encouraging. She wondered if I would be awarded the gates that I went through upside down. Laughing, we went over to the score cards to check. One of Austrualia’s most famous olympians was there checking the junior contenders’ scores and he overheard our conversation. 

Bree: I think you deserve to get those gates because your boat went through it. Yeah sure it was upside down, but it still went through!

Me: Um, maybe not. Oh look here’s my card. I’ve been penalized for it. I suppose your body has to go between the gates.

Famous ex-olympian: Its your head.

The famous olympian may have had a wry smile. It was hard to tell. He is a bit of a remote character.

On the second day. Rosie and I arrived after a fun night and good night sleep at Bree’s. However, we were shocked to learn that the course had been changed. We ran to check it out. It was very different and equally as difficult, perhaps even more technical in places. I had pre-race heebie jeebies like you wouldn’t believe! The self talk went something like: What the f#*k am I doing here. Inside me I was feeling like the donkey who won’t even advance towards the carrot and has to be bodily pushed forwards with its hooves churning up the ground in protest. In the water, one of the junior girls from Victoria said to me: are you going to do it? Wow, I’m so proud of you! I did a quick warm up and launched myself at it. Had it not been for Rosie I would never have done it. As it was, someting akin to primal fear came to my aid. My concentration sharpened to a point never before during a slalom run. Usually I banter with the judges as I take the gates, but this time I was one hundred percent focussed on the course.  

At the end of the run I was overwhelmed. I took off my helmet and burst into tears. The women who paddled before me was very encouraging: You looked great. You’re paddling well. You can ferry glide, just get your angle right in the big rapid next time, ferry out to the first and back for the second. You’ll get those gates for sure next time.  Bree was ecstatic. I was a proud mess. I had only missed two gates and got through most of the others cleanly. I cut my previous best time in half – three personal bests in one weekend! 

I am the worst match-maker in history

Harry and I hit it off. We met through a mutual friend initially on a group skiing holiday. The ski holiday was an annual event with this particular friendship group. Harry joined us for at least three years in a row. In between ski holidays we caught up regularly at dinner parties and various functions. Once at a friend’s wedding Harry and I spent the whole night dancing with each other. The young man at the bar commented, “you two are the grooviest couple here tonight”. We laughed because we never were a couple, just good friends. We talked about anything and everything: our respective upbringings, our separate aspirations for life, past and present relationships, work, fitness, children, cooking etc etc. Harry was raised in the country with few resources. However, his high intelligence saw him excel at every thing he put his mind to. He was also a perfectionist. He was a triathlete. At the time he worked as a financier for merchant banks. When he asked me if I had any single friends that he might be interested in, I felt that I knew him well enough to give the match-making thing a go. I attempted it twice. Both attempts were dismal failures for completely different reasons. In the past I found that friends of mine from different aspects of my life, usually got along well when introduced. It made sense. If I like both of them, its likely they would have things in common.  The first attempt was his idea. He wanted to host a dinner party for me, the hub and my chosen single friend. Harry cooked his usual dinner party fare: bread to dip in olive oil and balsamic vinegar for starters, lentil soup, risotto with porchini mushrooms and pears poached in red wine syrup with low fat ice cream. The food was excellent. The conversation was mostly easy. My friend Judy and Harry found that they both went to Monash University at the same time (her to study maths education and him to study chemistry), they both were into the outdoors, he talked about trout fishing and she talked about bush walking holidays and skiing. Things were going fine until she found out he drove a Porche and he told her that he subscribed to The Australian Opera. She voiced her opinion against opera strongly. She believed opera was elitist and divided society into Haves and Have-not’s. After this we had dessert and the conversation returned to lighter topics. However, I felt that Judy’s socialist tendencies clashed so fiercely with Harry’s extravagant life style and liberal views that future dating between the two of them was unlikely. I was therefore not surprised the next day on the phone when Harry expressed to me that he would not be pursuing the friendship with Judy further. What I had not expected was the reason for his decision. “Bindi”, he said, “I’m sorry but I’m just not into pear-shaped women”. The second time I tried to match-make Harry. I decided a less confronting situation was in order. I invited a group of friends out to go clubbing: two girlfriends from play group along with Harry and Dana. I introduced Harry to Dana within the group and let them dance together or chat as they saw fit. Dana is a very attractive woman. She is lively and great fun to be with. I have often said that were I a man, I would be in love with Dana. I could not imagine a man who would not be interested in her. Dana was single after a heart breaking divorce. Like Harry, Dana was raised in country Victoria. She had left teaching (where I met mer) and was running her own printing business close to the town where she grew up. Although she was a self sufficient and successful business woman, she was looking for a man to look after her. In her words, she wanted to meet “a man in a suit”.  I thought Harry could be her guy. She arrived wearing a revealing outfit. She seemed subdued and slightly nervous. Dana and Harry found time to talk to each other. They danced for a short while. Neither of them looked relaxed. Dana had invited some of her friends from her home town to join us.  She became more animated and relaxed when they arrived but spent more time dancing with them than she did with us. Later she left us to kick on to another venue with these friends. Our remaining group of four opted for a quieter end to the night. We found a cafe and drank hot chocolate before heading home our separate ways. Harry seemed to get along better with my two married friends than he had with Dana. I held hopes that perhaps he may have been interested to see her again at least. However he was not interested in the slightest. His assessment of Dana: “she’s just too agricultural”.  Later I caught up with Dana. “No, not my type”, she told me, “too neat and tidy. He looks gay”. After that, I gave up! I have never and will never attempt match-making again.

Plans for the day go astray because of msn

I’ve been introduced to msn by a young acquaintance. To my delight a couple of my friends also use it. I have even had a heavy intellectual conversation via msn with one of my friends from our research group. That was a bit much actually. Its fun in short bursts. I can type sort of quickly. But I prefer to meet face to face and prefer to lie in bed reading or chatting on the phone to sitting at my computer, but for short conversations its handy. My friend Raya types slowly. I find I can keep working on my transcription while I wait for her response. The little icon jumps when she’s ready for me. “Hi”, she wrote Sunday night. “Hiya”. “Will you be dropping Kathleen off to school tomorrow? Do you want to meet for a walk and a coffee afterwards?”. I never drive Kathleen to school and I had intended to ride my bike into work and get heaps done. I was looking forward to it and I hesitated in my reply. But I hadn’t seen Raya for ages.  Finally I shot back an “ok”. (I can be flexible). We met in Hawthorn. We have done this many times before. We pound the streets walking and talking and relax over a cuppa at our favorite cafe afterwards. However, when I arrived I noticed Raya had not worn her walking clothes. She had already had a caffe latte. She looked frazzled. “Do you want to walk?” she asked. “Maybe I’ll have a cuppa first”, I replied, “are you up for another one?’. She was. We talked. We didn’t go walking. After our cuppa we went shopping. She bought some shoes to wear to a wedding next weekend. I tried some on just for fun. She came with me to a lighting shop in South Yarra. I chose a feature light for our entrance hall and put a deposit on it. She agreed with the choice. We wandered up Chapel street and tried on a few dresses.  We ate lunch in an Italian restaurant. We talked and talked. She let off steam. Her shoulders slowly became more relaxed as the day wore on. We laughed. We gave each other advice on each other’s lives. Laughed some more. I told her my five year plan and my intention to learn French after I finished my studies. “So you can do a Mary Moodie?” she asked. “Precisely” I replied. She confessed that she was feeling tense, “but I feel better after our wonderful spontaneous morning. I think this is just what I needed!”. Had I known we’d end up shopping in Hawthorn and South Yarra I would not have worn my tracky dacks and a singlet top, and I probably would have put on a bit of lippy too. Oh well. We parted and vowed to bring our daughters to that restaurant with us on a weekend soon (Kathleen’s eyes would pop when she saw the shopping in South Yarra). I left feeling as though I was back on holidays. I picked the kids up from school but felt out of whack. I almost forgot about Rosie’s and my kayaking session, I was slow on getting dinner ready and I stayed up late to catch up on a bit of work. It was worth it though. 

Stirring Risotto

Hello Possums. Being back with the program has multiple benefits. I now have the head space to contemplate hosting dinner parties again. I started with a small one. There was a lot of work to do. We don’t have a separate dining room. We have one large room, elevated on our sloping block, with floor-to-ceiling windows at one end overlooking the Yarra River. The kitchen is in a corner of this room separated by an L-shaped bench. Along the wall diagonally opposite the kitchen is our ten-seater table made of a big slab of red gum. It is at this table that we eat family meals and entertain guests. Opposite this, on the other side of the big space are two large brown leather couches and a coffee table. I often read at these couches because it is a light spot, I enjoy the view out of the windows and it is quiet. The TV is in another part of the house.  I refused to have the TV in the same room that I spend most of my time.  When the TV is on it distracts me from my thoughts. I prefer to have peace or listen to music.  Chapter by chapter I have read Harry Potter and the complete Deltora Series to my children sitting on these couches. Much of our family living is done in this room too. Homework is done at the table, craft is done at the bench, toys are played with on the coffee table and couches. Consequently, prior to hosting the dinner party the room was a shambles: books and papers in piles on the table; pokemon figurines all over the couches; window art on the bench; notices from school all over the bench too, etc, etc. The kitchen needed a bit of a clean as well. However, I was in a good mood. I hadn’t hosted a dinner party for at least a year (well, maybe eight months). I was relaxed and in the mood for cooking. I turned my ipod on and took my time. I tidied and cleaned and completed the scene with some yellow snap dragons. Earlier that day at our local butcher I had purchased a boned leg of lamb marinated in lemon and herbs. It had been a coolish day. I felt as though I hadn’t warmed up properly all day. This often happens in summer. We get out of practise of needing a jumper. In the butcher’s I noticed the smoked trout and remembered a lovely dill and trout risotto I used to often cook for dinner parties. Risotto to me is a warming comfort food. I almost regretted ordering the lamb when it occurred to me that I could cook a plain risotto to accompany it. I felt inspired. Our holiday to Tuscany came back to me. I purchased crusty bread and fresh salad greens. Back in my kitchen I hoped that I still had some arborio rice. I found a packet of Italian rice given to me by my friends we travelled with. Whilst the leg of lamb roasted in the oven, I invented my risotto. I was surprised to find I was out of brown onions. Luckily there was one red one. I fried it up with some extra virgin olive oil and added the rice. Next a quarter of a cup of unwooded chardonay. I sipped on the rest of the glass of chardonay whilst I stirred. I added the stock cup by cup, stirring all the while. One of my friends, Harry, used to always cook risotto at dinner parties he hosted. I often think of him whilst I’m stirring. He said it is the stirring that releases the glutin to give the risotto a creamy texture.  He usually cooked risotto with porchini mushrooms. I hadn’t decided exactly what I would do but deliberated over this whilst stirring. I decided not to add the cherry tomatoes or olives I had because I wanted the kids to eat it. It didn’t need to be terribly extravagant because it was accompanying the lamb rather than being the main deal. I added some basil pesto and a spoon of roasted eggplant paste, tasted it, added a pinch of salt, tasted it again. It tasted good, but was missing excitement. I grated a decent handful of fresh Australian parmesan and little lemon rind, stirred these flavours in and tasted it again. Perfect! The good thing about risotto is a large batch takes no extra time. I can cook enough to ensure a quantity of left overs. I ate it for lunch the following day. Without the lamb the subtle flavours were more easily discernable. The hint of lemon was magic. The Italian rice had perfectly held its texture. … In writing this post I have been reminded of not only the dinner parties my friend Harry has hosted, but also the times I have tried to match-make him with my single friends. Each time was a disaster in completely different ways, but equally hilarious in hind sight.  I promise to fill you in later.

Life as usual and how to get a word out of your 15 year old

Hello Possums. I’m back at work. I love it! My quiet, spacious office overlooks a park where students sit on the grass and laugh at lunchtimes. I had a morning cuppa with G (the mature and interesting young man I have written about, who has become a treasured coffee date friend). For lunch I have picked up a large mixed salad from the cafe next door and am eating it as I write. Work is quiet at the moment. I am focussing on transcription of interviews and classroom audio tapes – a time consuming exercise. It sounds boring but because I will be analysing these transcripts at a later date for my study, it is actually very interesting to me. I just wish my shoulders didn’t get sore holding the typing position for long spells. If it weren’t for this I would just plow through it. As it is, I need to take a break every hour at least. You may be surprised that blogging is a break under these conditions. But I sit differently whilst blogging, a relaxed posture possibly. This is my second day back. Yesterday I rode my bike in. Riding in after the holidays is always a good test of fitness. To my surprise I did the ride easily. The jogs along the beach and the occasional pump class at the local YMCA seem to have kept me strong. I tested out my new digital speedo thingy that I got for Christmas. I now know that the round trip is 29km and my maximum speed was 52 km/h. I used to say those digital speedo gadgets were not for me. I refused to install one on my bike. I used to say I didn’t get why people cared about their trip stats and emphasized that it was a boy thing to do. But I went on Around the Bay last year and was thrilled to hear the speeds we reached coming down off Mt Martha. And when the hub said, “what do you want for Christmas?”. I said, “one of those digital trip meter thingys for my bike”. Riding always puts me in a good mood. When I got home, I changed onto my bathers and tied two kayaks onto the roof of my car. My slalom lessons with Rosie had begun for the year as well. I was still hot from my ride, but both of us appreciated being on the water because it had been the hottest day in awhile and also quite humid. I had done a little paddling over summer and I was very pleased that my slalom technique was still okay. Our session with our new coach was fun. When I got home, after a quick shower to wash off the Yarra water I went straight into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Kathleen arrived home from karate. How was your first day at you new shool, I asked her. Okay, she replied. I thought that was all I was going to get out of her. She looked hot from karate, and she was probably too tired to recount her day. I left it at that. Later, when she had set herself up on the kitchen table to do some homework, and Sally was sitting at the bench doing a bit of window art, I felt a surge of happiness which came out of me like this: I stepped out from behind the bench, threw my hands in the air like a victory gesture (you know like the gymnasts do when they’ve done their routine) and said, “I’d just like to announce that I’ve had a really good day”. “Yeah, right”, said Kathleen only half raising her head. “Yep”, I continued, “I rode my bike in and blitzed it. Then canoeing was really fun. I haven’t slipped back on my technique at all and I reckon it was my best session ever”. Kathleen raised her head to look at me then and smiled, “I had a really good time in drama today”, she said. And this is how my conversation with her about her first day at her new school began. I am happy to report that she loves it. She even thinks her maths teacher is good! (If you know Kathleen you will know the significance of this!).

Art just is. (A bit of social planning too).

I have subscribed to the Melbourne Theater Company for the second year in a row. My first production for the year last night was The Season at Sarsaparilla by Patrick White. Dee and I arrived at Federation Square in time for a bite to eat for dinner before the show. It was a warm balmy night. We ate outside. My hot salami pizza was light and delicious with a very thin base, and Dee’s tandoori caesar salad looked mouth watering. Dee looked elegant in a flowing yellow wrap top given to her by her mother on her wedding day. This was the first time she had worn it! I teased her, “waiting for the right occasion were you?”. “No”, she replied,  ”the style just didn’t suit me when I was young”. The moral here – don’t throw anything beautiful out. I wore my orange shirt from Rome again with three quarter pants. Dee wore her three quarter pants as well and we hadn’t even intended to coordinate! There were a lot of people in the city last night. In the open spaces in Fed Square a crowd had gathered. People were sitting around watching the cricket on the big screen. Their ooohs in unison almost echoed around the square. If we weren’t due at the State Theatre in only five minutes we would have stopped for awhile to soak in the great atmosphere. We both enjoyed the play. She hadn’t been to the theatre for fifteen years and was enthusiastic about her reintroduction. The set was remarkable. One house occupied the stage within which the characters of three different households simultaneously performed their lives through a snapshot of their summer. It was nostalgic and contemporary, celebratory and critical. The acting was convincing and the dialogue multilayered, haunting, flippant, succinct, indulgent, knowing… Patrick White. He has the ability to somehow capture the essence of a being.  White’s created world performed by these skillful and intuitive actors resonated with the complexity of life. The best way to describe it really is to say that the overall effect was a piece of art. This year I have done something different with my subscription. Instead of booking all seven plays with Raya, I have booked double tickets to the plays by myself. With the extra ticket I have decided to take different friends along. Dee was great company last night. It was refreshing because we don’t ever get enough social time together. Usually when we spend time together our attention is split at least two ways. Raya still wants to come to three of the plays I’ve chosen. But she wanted to see a few more films this year rather than all seven plays. I know how she feels, actually. Already my list of films to see is growing out of control. Amongst recent releases are Once, Atonement, The Kite Runner, Juno and Sweeney Todd. Why does all the good stuff come out at once? Exciting though, isn’t it Possums? Now this reminds me: I will give Raya a call and organise a night at the movies. In fact I might even invite Dee as well. I have always thought the two of them would get along famously. I just haven’t got around to introducing them. In the past I would have had a dinner party. These days however, with my study and building our new place, dinner parties have been relgated to “after we move” status (like lots of other things)… I have wandered a bit off track with this post. I was intending to atriculate what it means to me to describe something as a piece of art. I will conclude now by just saying that in this context I do not use the word ‘art’ flippantly.

Rewriting The Plot

Hello Possums. What drew you to blogging? Did you just grow up with it, or have you found it later in life where it has served a purpose for you. I started blogging six months after my mid-life crisis began. As I have announced in an earlier post, the crisis is now over. It ended last November in fact. Like smokers that quit, believe they have found the light and take it as their responsibility to spread the word, I am experiencing the wisdom of hindsight. In short I am putting myself forward as an expert on mid life crises. Welcome to Mid Life Crises 101, lesson 1. The mid life crisis is a case of “losing the plot”, and coming out of a mid life crisis is a case of “getting with the program”.  Lets take each of these in turn.  

1. Losing the Plot. This occurs when something in your life changes. You might say it is when the rug is pulled out from under you. For my cousin’s wife it occurred when she got to the top of her profession, realised that it wasn’t what it was cracked up to be and that her children were growing up quickly. For one of my close friends it was having a baby for the first time in her forties and being thrown into the accompanying sex role with perceived lack of support from her partner. For me it was the simultaneous occurrance of meeting a person who I thought was the sexiest thing on two legs and finding out something about my husband that I hadn’t been aware of. Whatever the cause, losing the plot is a state where you question the boundaries within which you had been living your life. Prior to losing the plot, you wouldn’t have even been aware of the boundaries. In a crisis you feel hemmed in and begin to nudge them. This is the scariest part. Its like the person you thought you were slowly becomes your discarded skin. All shiney and new, you explore the life you have made for yourself from a different perspective and in the process reevaluate and reinvent boundaries. This takes a long time. It took about eighteen months for me.

2. Getting with the Program. This occurs when you have remade or reaffirmed your boundaries. In remaking, new boundaries will be established. In reaffirming you will accept old boundaries seemingly unchanged. However, because you have chosen your boundaries consciously you nolonger feel trapped by them. The boundaries return to being in the background of your life. Being back in the program means your mind is nolonger cluttered with boundary problematics. I have achieved this state by stepping over one boundary (twice), pushing two other boundaries as far as I could, and writing, talking to friends and reflecting.