We Have Sheep!

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Posted on June 21, 2013

If you’ve been reading my blog you may remember that around the end of May I wrote ‘Thank God for the Firies’ about the rather dramatic grass fire we had in our paddock.

Well the outcome was that a neighbour from up the road, let’s call him Sheep Man, knocked on our door the next morning ~ yes, the very next morning because the grapevine in the country is lightning fast ~ and offered his sheep to keep the grass down. And we now have sheep!

It’s taken longer than expected to get them here as Sheep Man had to erect an inner wire fence around our four-acre paddock boundary to protect the 200 trees, and as we’ve had a lot of rain, he hasn’t been able to do it as quickly as he hoped. However today, was the day! The weather was magnificent and they are in!

So we have 26 African Merinos, and very good looking sheep they are too! Apparently they are very docile and we won’t even notice them. That’s probably true because the paddock has lots of little hills and valleys and it won’t be that easy to see them. Sheep Man says it will take them a couple of days to find their camp, which will be either near the water troughs under the trees or on the very top of the paddock, but the very first thing they will do is check the boundaries to get to know the area.

When they arrived it took them some time to sort themselves out. They huddled together for about 30 minutes, until suddenly there was a leader and they took off! And as Sheep Man said, they went straight to the boundary and started walking around it. Merinos are excellent foragers and very adaptable. Because they love clover they’ll find that first, usually where tyre tracks have pushed down the long grass, and only then will they start eating out the rest of the paddock. By the picture above you can see they have a big job ahead of them!

Our little flock are about 2 years old, and as most of you would know, Merinos are bred predominantly for their wool, which is very fine and soft. Sheep Man has about 800 head spread around the area, and he and his father do all the shearing themselves every year about late November, which in Australia, is coming into summer. He will be checking on them every few days, and as there won’t be any lambs ~ he keeps those on his property to protect them from dogs ~ it will be an easy job. And it will be nice for us as well to not only learn more about sheep, but to have someone drop in a couple of times a week.

So now it’s all done! I’ve painted a ‘sheep’ sign for the gate, and hubby and I are both very happy to have a ‘living’ paddock on our property again. Apart from kangaroos, the last time we had animals on a property was twenty ago when we lived on acres in Sydney and our paddock was used by the local riding school to rest their horses.

When Sheep Man was finally satisfied that the herd was happy, he hopped into his truck and with a thumbs up and a wink, left us with these parting words, “It’ll look like a park in here next year!” … and I believe it will!

A Next Morning P.S. ~ I think I’m turning into a sheep watcher! 🙂

Happy Birthday Dad

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Posted on June 16, 2013

Dad, today is your birthday. You would have been 90 years old, so this morning I toasted you with my first cup of tea. And because you have been on my mind all day, these words are for you.

Life with you was never dull, and being the happy-go-lucky person that you were, you swept us all along on that roller coaster ride of yours. You may not be in your earthly body anymore but your energy and lust for life is still here as strong as ever. How could anyone not have noticed you. So sure of yourself that you told your bride she would be your wife the very first time you met her. So affable, fun-loving and irresistibly charming that she couldn’t resist. And such a good dancer, that you waltzed around the dance floor with commanding ease.

Mum called you a hero Dad for the way in which you fought till the end, and when I was a child, you were certainly my hero. To me you seemed invincible. So big and strong. As far as I was concerned you could do anything, and you did! You saved my life when I stopped breathing as a baby, you got your family safely to a free country and you did extraordinary things for us like the time you rode 12kms on a pushbike with a huge glass window strapped to your back so we could have light in our meagre garage lodgings. Dad, you were amazing!

And you were such a doer too ~ always committed to doing your best and getting the job done. If something needed doing, from organising a function to moving house, you were the man. You were the ultimate wheeler-dealer ~ smart and sharp. You always found a way, and you did it the quickest and the best way without any fuss. Over the years we all witnessed your incredible determination, will and drive. Growing up we were inevitably caught up in what you were doing, and whatever it was, it always involved people and action.

You worked very hard for us Dad. You saw that as your duty, but you also played hard as well, especially in your hey days. Having come through a horrific war, like most, you refused to discuss it and instead you lived in the moment, took chances and loved a gamble. You locked away the demons and focused on the pleasure. You saw yourself as a winner, and when that winning moment came you revelled in it, often throwing caution to the wind. And oh how you loved those impulsive breezes and where they took you.

A free-spirited farm boy and a believer in ‘live and let live’, there was no hiding behind a bush for you. You did your own thing, secure within yourself, never feeling the need to impress anyone. Your only sadness, and it never left you, was the heartbreak of having to leave Latvia and your family behind. In later years, as you worked in your garden, I know you often thought of your father and mother, and never once did you fall asleep without closing your eyes and walking through your childhood home first.

Dancing with my Dad

So you see Dad, we all understood you very well through all the ups and downs. We felt your sadness and your joy, and we loved and accepted you just the way you were. Strong of mind, body and will. Anyone who shook your hand felt your strength and assuredness. Your ideals were simple: family, hard work, friends, good food and fun. You lived your life exactly as you wanted, and you enjoyed it. And isn’t that what it’s all about?

Dad you may have been a man of few words, but you left us with so many memories and so much love. I am a better person for having you as a father. So thank you… for saving me, for being my hero, for teaching me how to dance, for instilling in me your work ethic, for letting me be me, for being proud of me, and for the times you made me feel like a princess. But most of all, thank you for showing me how to celebrate life, live in the moment and in-joy it.

When Fishing Becomes A Feast

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Posted on June 11, 2013

My father loved fishing. He was brought up by a river and I can’t remember a time during my childhood when fishing was not part of our life. We went fishing every single weekend ~ Dad, Mum my younger brother and me.

In the early days we had no car nor did we have the money to hire a motorboat. You see we were refugees, part of the intake by the Australian government after the Second World War to populate the country, and life was tough. Not only did we have no money, my parents were trying to fit into a country which at the time was very xenophobic. It was during this time that fishing became a crucial part of our life for it was what provided us with most of our food. There were many times when the fish we caught that day was our evening meal. So while fishing was Dad’s great love, it was also what sustained us.

Every Saturday Mum would pack the lunch, Dad, the bait and lines, and we’d head off to One Point at Georges River in Sydney. We’d then pile into our hired dinghy and Dad would row us out to the deep part of the river and let the boat slowly drift. He fished all day ~ from morning till sunset. To keep the fish fresh and alive, Dad hung a mesh bag over the side of the boat. In those days there was no law about throwing back the little ones so we kept and ate everything we caught. And if I remember rightly, the little ones were the most delicious!

Sometimes we pulled into a sandy inlet for lunch, but mostly we spent the day on the water. My brother and I sat in the open boat with wide brimmed hats, our fingers rippling through the shiny dark green water. They were quiet peaceful days, moving with the rise and fall of river as it gently lapped the side of the boat. Occasionally the silence was broken by the plopping sound of a leaping fish, and at other times we gazed in amazement as the river filled with jellyfish and surrounded our boat. When we got older my brother and I also fished. I caught a few, and my brother, two years younger, caught a few less than me. We really weren’t fisherman material. It was my sister, born some years later, who turned out to be a match for Dad.

Of course, the best part of the day was the delicious feast back home, which my mother managed to produce with expert ease at the end of a long day of fishing. Dad did the scaling and gutting, and then Mum crumbed and fried our bounty on an old gas stove just the way Dad liked it. Then, as with everything she cooked, she served it on a big platter in the middle of the table. It was wonderful, and the fish were scrumptious! I can still taste the buttery sweet flakes. It truly was finger licking good!

While this may seem to be a simple story about fishing, it really is far from it. Fishing allowed us to experience the joy of a table laden with food. And food was very much part of celebrating life in our family. As I grew older I understood that these feasts symbolised a celebration of survival and freedom ~ they were the antithesis to the insanity of war, deprivation, fear and loss which my parents experienced. While life was not easy in a new country, we never took our circumstances or our new life for granted. Our bountiful table was a representation of all the good things we valued, and for us, every feast was without doubt a fortunate one.

Don’t Waste Your Joy Worrying

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Posted on June 10, 2013

‘Worrying is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do, but it gets you nowhere’ ~ Glenn Turner

Worrying is such a nowhere place, but for those who are perpetual worriers it’s a hard habit to break. Afraid of being taken by surprise, perpetual worriers are hyper-vigilant, always on the look out for the next thing that might go wrong. For them, it’s akin to a duty which holds their world together, but the price is high ~ anxiety, stress, insomnia, rapid heart beat and even digestive problems ~ all unwanted things which create more worry. And sadly, for those who can’t stop worrying it never goes away!

Anyone who is or has a perpetual worrier in their family knows exactly what I’m talking about. My sweet, caring, loving little mother is a worrier. She instantly sees the worst in any situation and no matter how hard she tries, she just can’t stop. It’s her first response to almost everything, and because she keeps thinking about the bad bits, she creates more of the same. It often keeps her awake at night and also creates an enormous amount of stress. And even though she is aware that she is creating more of what she doesn’t want she remains trapped ~ stuck and unable to move beyond it. Now in her 90^th year it’s unlikely she’ll change a habit of a lifetime, so I wrap her in love and do my best to ease her worries by telling her that everything will be just fine.

Now I’m the opposite, which is interesting given I grew up surrounded by so much worry energy ~ I’m always focusing on the good bits. And I guess I can thank my happy-go-lucky Dad for that! So, all of this leads me to a conversation which I had with a friend yesterday. She is a very caring concerned person ~ so concerned in fact, that she was in worry mode … worried about all the ‘bad’ things happening to the planet, and those on the planet. Of course I am aware of all of these things, but because I am always focused on the possibilities, I can’t bring myself to worry about any of it or be negative. When concern becomes a passion for positive change, that’s great, provided it stays focused on the positive. To paraphrase Mother Teresa, ‘ask me to an anti-war rally and I won’t be part of it, but ask me to a pro-peace rally and I’m there’. It’s my belief that when you shine a spotlight on positive thought, action or improvement the world is a better place.

So, there is awareness ~ very important for solving the problem and creating positive change, there is concern ~ equally important as it’s very clarifying and also part of our survival instinct, and then there is negativity and worry ~ that’s not so important and bad for your health. For me it’s a choice, and I choose to focus on the good and to feel good. When it feels bad, and for me worrying and negativity feels really bad, it’s not helpful.

Sitting there with my friend, if I’d had a wand I would have whipped it out and become the happy fairy. Instead, I said that I preferred to focus on the positive aspects of all her concerns. And when it was obvious that I wasn’t prepared to wave the worry banner she looked at me and said, ‘Well, at least you’re happy’. And that is the whole point. I am because I choose it. We all live and learn in our own way, and for me, this is the most important thing. I choose to focus on the positive, the expansion and the joy. I choose to allow wellbeing … and I am grateful.

Dancing Amongst The Stars

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Posted on June 5, 2013

Have you ever felt like you were dancing amongst the stars? I mean really dancing amongst the stars? I have, and I did for most of my childhood.

I spent hours twirling, arms outstretched, floating about in fantasy land under the soft billowing branches of our willow tree. It was a place where the seeds of my dreams were planted, and as I danced in my world of make believe, my mother watched. And what she saw was a ballerina.

She was not mistaken for I loved to dance, and so, the dream began. Ballet became part of my world. By the time I was nine, I was a seasoned performer, dancing in operettas and even television. I was good at it and I liked it, but if you asked me whether there was an element of pressure, I would have to say that there was. It was after all, at its inception, my mother’s dream for me.

And she had a big vision. My talents were not to be wasted. Wanting the very best I started at a prestigious ballet school run by Mrs. George in the Sydney Tivoli Theatre. Twice a week Mum and I hopped on a train after school and rushed into the city. We had to walk through Belmore Park ~ perfectly fine in daylight, but on the way back in pitch black darkness we were terrified, and tore through it like lightening singing at the top of our lungs!

Within a few years I was being privately tutored by a Latvian prima ballerina. Eventually I joined her weekly classes and life centred around lessons, practice, and working towards performances ~ that’s me below on the far right in an operetta. My mother, a skilled seamstress made all my costumes, and together, immersed in the world of ballet her vision for me became mine. I dreamt of becoming a ballerina.

But that however, was to change much sooner than I imagined. My last performance, a valiant swansong, was at the tender age of eleven. Looking back now, I have the strong feeling it was all predetermined. By that time I was dancing on points, stuffing cotton wool into my ballet slippers to help with painful toes and pirouetting across the stage with great skill and flare.

That evening I had two dances. The first was a solo and the second, a duet with the principal male dancer, the prima ballerina’s husband. I remember desperately wanting a nervous pee while waiting in the wings for my solo. But when it was time to launch myself on stage, for some unknown reason, I missed my music. Another would-be ballerina standing beside me panicked and gave me a big push, and before I knew it, I was out there. Disorientated, I completely lost the thread of the dance. So, with a pounding heart, I made it up. I thought I had saved the day, but by the time the duet came around I had completely lost the plot. When he lifted, my feet were firmly planted on the floor and when I jumped he wasn’t lifting. It was a disaster, but it was about to get a whole lot worse!

After the bows were taken and the flowers given, all hell broke loose backstage. In a blistering outburst, the prima ballerina tore me to shreds. Now as bad as this may seem, sometimes the worst things turn out to be the best.

In one stroke of the tongue my desire to be a prima ballerina was over, and in my eleven year old heart I knew it was absolutely the right decision for me. Today, I have a wonderful appreciation for the fine art of ballet, but from that day on I danced without pressure and without sore toes. I was free to twirl, float and dream once again in the place where it all began… under the willow tree dancing amongst the stars.

Sunday Pleasures

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Posted on June 3, 2013

There are some days which are special, and Sunday is one of them, especially in our house. Late brunch, the papers, music, reading, an afternoon movie perhaps ~ all usually in a very lived-in looking house because it is Sunday. It’s kind of sacrosanct and definitely not to be messed with, but then, the unexpected happens!

Today, just as I was about to take the first mouthful of my leisurely brunch, we had a phone call announcing a visit. Family we hadn’t seen for a very long time were passing through our little town and did exactly what we always ask people to do ~ pop in and say hello! Now I, nor the house, were exactly at our Sunday best so suddenly my leisurely brunch turned into a mental plan of action: wolf down large plate of food, leave coffee for later, wash dishes, pots and pans, make cake, sweep floor, tidy slightly dishevelled lounge room, set table, change clothes, comb hair … all in the space of 40 minutes!

There are those in this world who are happy to say, “Take me as you find me”, and then there are the rest of us! I am part of the ‘rest of us’. My welcome, while totally open-hearted, also extends to the state of my house. Now fortunately I am reasonably organised so it wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounds, but I must say I felt pretty good when I mentally did the ‘tick, tick, tick’ thing and it was all done!

There was a time when I wouldn’t have had to do any of those things at the last minute ~ I was always ready! Everything was in order by bedtime the night before. Not because of the need to be ready, but because I liked it that way. It made me feel happy, and it still does. I love taking care of my space, making it beautiful, putting love into every corner and then in-joying what I’ve created. But these days I’m a little more relaxed about routines. In fact, we now have a saying in our house ~ TAD ~ ‘Tomorrow’s Another Day’. So if you called at my house unexpectedly it would more than likely have the lived-in look. But if you rang ahead to say you were coming I know that I could get myself together in under an hour … and I love that ~ it’s all part of the fun of what the day brings.

Over the years there’s been many a time I’ve been in the middle of something that’s turned the house upside down and there’s been a knock on the door … like the time I hung all my washing from the rafters of a screened area at the front of the house and an unexpected visitor had to pick their way through sheets and towels to get to my door. A comment was made but so what! It went right over my head. I’d much rather focus on in-joying time with my visitor than the washing! What others think of me and what I do is really of no concern. What does matter to me is that I have enough respect for myself to care about my space and enough respect for those I’ve invited into my home to make them feel comfortable and welcome.

So if you let me know you’re coming I’ll do my absolute best, pop in unannounced and we’ll both get pot luck ~ either way it’s all good! So with a shipshape house and the smell of a freshly baked cake wafting from the kitchen ready to welcome and make my unexpected guests feel very special, I stood at the door with a huge smile on my face.

Thank God for the Firies!

3 Comments

Posted on May 26, 2013

In all the years we’ve lived in the country we’ve never had an emergency, that is, until one night a few weeks back when we looked out the kitchen window and saw a raging fire in the back paddock. Fortunately it was an empty paddock, unfortunately there’d been no stock on it for two years and as a consequence the grass was long, dry and ripe for any spark or lightning strike. The flames were totally out of control! I can tell you there is nothing more dramatic than flames leaping up towards the heavens against a pitch black sky!

Hubby took immediate charge, rang the local brigade, then grabbed what he could to fight the flames and was out there within minutes. I on the other hand started panicking ~ I was in complete shock! I did have the presence of mind though to turn on all the outside lights so the fire trucks would have no trouble finding us. It took about 20 minutes for the brigades to arrive ~ three huge tankers tore up the drive, crashed through the fence and up into the paddock. And I can tell you 20 minutes is a bloody long time when there’s an out of control fire raging on your property. Every second seems like forever! The relief though, when they got here was unbelievable! You just know it’ll all be OK when the fire brigade arrives. There wouldn’t be anyone in Australia who isn’t aware of how amazing these guys are, giving of their time, energy and expertise to ensure the community remains safe, but we don’t really realise how much we rely on them until something like this happens.

You might ask, why three tankers? We have no town water and they had to be sure they had enough on hand to do the job quickly, and that they did. As luck would have it there was no wind that night and the fire was out within half an hour. Then afterwards we enjoyed what is typical of all rural volunteer fire brigade get-togethers ~ a good catch up. They all stood around in the paddock for the better part of an hour, and had a good old chin-wag and told a few yarns. It was all so friendly and I was so thankful, I felt like putting on a few snags and cup of tea! One of the volunteers was a new recruit and this was apparently his first fire. In typical Aussie style, when the fire was out they rolled him in the black ashes to initiate his uniform! Why miss an opportunity to have a bit of fun?

During the friendly chat we discovered the real sequence of events that night. As it goes when you live in the country, everyone looks out for everyone else, especially when it comes to fires. Apparently a neighbour saw the flames long before we did and called it in, as did one of the firies who left his uncooked dinner of chicken fillets on the kitchen bench hoping his cat wouldn’t devour them before he got back! Unbeknown to us he rushed over, banged on both the front and back doors, but as we were closeted in the warmth of the lounge with everything closed up he couldn’t raise us. Thinking we weren’t home, he got on with the job, organised two local brigades, fetched his gear from the fire shed and then it was back to our place.

Of course when it was all over they wanted to know how it started, and that was the worst bit ~ it was all, our fault! Ashes from the fireplace, which hubby thought were dead, were in fact still hot. When you live in the country, at some time or other you come into contact with your local volunteer brigade. We were no exception. Hubby was in fact the Vice President of the local brigade at our previous residence so he felt like a right git having inadvertently started the fire, particularly as he was the one who trained the locals for years about fire safety! The end result though was not nearly as dramatic as it could have been. The fire only burned out 1000 square metres of grass ~ about the size of two or three house blocks in today’s residential subdivisions, took out a small part of the back fence plus some of the above ground bore water pipes.
Later that night when we rang the plumber, who lives 20 kilometres up the road, the first thing he said was, “So you’re the ones responsible for all the smoke!” There’s no such thing as mincing words when it comes to country folk! And then there’s the grapevine, which not only works incredibly fast in a small country town, it can also work its magic. As I said, country folk always lend a hand and there’s nothing like a fire in an empty paddock to get things moving. The next morning we had a neighbour on our doorstep offering his sheep to sort out the long grass. The following day our ‘friendly sheep farmer’ delivered the fencing wire, and today he’s installing it … should be all sorted by next weekend.

We’re fairly new to the area in which we now live, and really hadn’t met many people apart from a neighbour or two and the owners of the local stores. Accidently starting a fire is not the best way to meet the locals, but certainly the best way to feel part of the community spirit of what living in the country is all about. The firies did what they do best, we had the opportunity to feel immense gratitude, the local brigades received a decent donation, and our paddock will be getting organically fertilized and mowed.

Don’t Take It Personally

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Posted on May 20, 2013

‘Be careful what you identify yourself with for you may well misinterpret it for who you really are, and then feel injured by something that should not matter’.

That’s a comment I recently made on a social media site after someone took exception to a well-intentioned comment, an honest observation which was completely in context with the conversation and meant to be of assistance ~ one that indeed could have been appreciated for its value if it hadn’t been taken personally. The drama resulting from that knee jerk reaction, and there is always an element of drama whether it be big or small, just wasn’t worth it. There was no value or lesson in it ~ it was wasted energy, and achieved nothing beyond creating negative feelings. All that could then be done was to draw a line under it with goodwill, and then, let it go with a great big blessing ~ you can’t beat yourself up about good intentions that went astray.

Now there’s a big difference between a well-intentioned observation and an opinion or judgement that is meant to harm. Many years ago when I was prac teaching I was at the receiving end of daily assessment and judgement. Being inexperienced in the classroom, much of what was obvious to the person doing the assessing and judging was not so obvious to me. While I may not have agreed with all of it ~ some of it was very subjective, even picky ~ I took every word on board, and examined and considered it because I wanted to improve. I didn’t take exception to any of it because it had nothing to do with my worthiness. It did however have everything to do with my desire to do better. And nothing has really changed. While I will never need anyone’s approval ~ as Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission”, I still have the desire to improve … in all areas of my life. So sometimes it’s worth listening ~ I would much rather be open to a well-intentioned honest observation than dismiss the opportunity to do better. Sometimes, you’ve just got to say, “Yeah you’re right, and I’m willing to work on that”. After all, when we know better, we do better.

When we are young and inexperienced knee jerk reactions are understandable ~ we’ve all had them! It’s part of the process of learning and growing. However when we understand growth on the highest level it’s easy, and in fact a true blessing, to embrace self-improvement no matter where the motivation comes from. A wise friend, T.W. Smith, recently coined these most beautiful words ~ ‘I embrace correction for it nourishes my soul peacefully while allowing me to be in tune with my destiny’. I could not have chosen more perfect words!

In fact, when you feel secure within yourself and know who you truly are, you start to view yourself so differently you begin to see that there is indeed more value and clarity in a considered response rather than a knee jerk reaction. And you will not only be able to release any feelings of negativity, you will even be thankful for a comment that may once have upset you. As Don Miguel Ruiz, author of The Four Agreements says: ‘There is a huge amount of freedom that comes to you when you don’t take anything personally’.

I have a dear friend who is very spontaneously direct. She’s so straightforward and honest it never occurs to her not to say what she thinks. We have been good friends for over 30 years and not once have I taken anything personally, and neither does she. It’s just not worth it. I know her intentions are pure, and I appreciate her honesty. After all, isn’t it better when we can all be honest with each other? I’m certainly honest and I’d much rather have honest friends. It’s a long time since I’ve been sensitive about anything and tiptoeing around on eggshells is not my thing, especially when I know my intentions come from the heart. The bottom line is I’m much happier when everyone around me is straight up … I learn a lot more that way!

So if you know who you truly are and what you offer comes from a loving caring heart, then identify with that and let go of the need to feel injured, or to justify or defend yourself for it serves no purpose. Spend your energy loving and improving every bit of the real you instead, and you will see the value of what comes to you! Oh, and one more thing … lighten up!

Sunday Musings

A Blog about Life, Living, and Learning