Simply The Blessed: (A gift of gratitude on the husband's birthday)

Yesterday the lovely Husband celebrated clocking over another year, and to honour his birthday, I wanted to share a little insight with the world about the man Master H is blessed to call his Daddy… 

Tony has always been a keeper, I knew that early on…  But, 3 years ago, after the birth of Harrison, I suddenly realised I had hit the paternal jackpot.  As an expectant mother, you always hope your partner will be able to assimilate with ease into parenthood. You never expect that they might outshine you in these stakes, but that was the case with we…

Suffering post labour complications, as well as all the ugly emotional baggage you’d imagine comes with a traumatic birth, Tony shone through as our saviour.   It was he who selflessly picked up the reins and rode us all onto safer grounds, never once wavering in his unconditional love and support for his little family.  While I struggled to adjust to “the new normal”, he basked in the glow of it all. 

It’s no wonder that Harrison is such a “Daddy’s boy”; his earliest days were a montage of deeply besotted Daddy memories, as Tony was never far from his little man's side, ready, willing and able to tackle any parental duty he could… I often used to think, with guilt coloured relief, “Thank God he has such a fantastic Father”, because while I felt like I was floundering in my new role, and at war with a fear of failure, Tony was the essence of adoration and calm.

I’ve never been able to articulate how truly grateful I was (and, years later still am!) for his selflessness and support in those earliest days.  Had I not held tight to his nurturing hands and heart, I’d have slipped into a black abyss.  He saved me, because of how deeply he adored us both. 

Even now, though we’ve since righted the once rickety ship and become a formidable little trio, Tony is still the axis on which our world spins.  His love thwarts every obstacle; his hope nourishes my soul and everything he does is with us at the forefront of his mind.  His optimism buoys all that are near him, and he approaches every aspect of life with his heart open.  Tony teaches us that we should embrace life, to LIVE, not merely exist.  And as far as role models go, my son could ask for none better. 

What a lucky woman I am to have been blessed with such a devoted, dependable husband, who morphed seamlessly into a dedicated and adoring dad.  

Happy birthday Babe, Harrison & I can never thank you enough for making our hearts smile all these years and for the eternal embrace of your love.... 

Europe Encountered - Italia Forever!

Contiki "family photo": Florence

Part three of the Contiki walk down memory lane starts off in the city that was once the proud epicentre of the world: Roma! 

Struggling, thanks to succumbing to the dreaded “Contiki cough”, I managed to make it through the bus trip by dosing up on any cold and flu tablet I could get my hands on, so as to be able to at least partially enjoy the majesty of a city such as Rome. We went on a walking tour that evening, taking in sights such The Spanish Steps, Pantheon and the stunning Trevi Fountain, which was a favourite of mine. I sat on the edge and threw my two coins over my left shoulder and made the obligatory wish and cemented my eventual return to the Eternal City. (FYI, that then-Lira deposit has not paid off yet but I remain hopeful!)  As darkness descended, we ate a scrumptious Italian Meal in the Piazza Navona, all the while shielding ourselves from the none too subtle (but oh so ego boosting) Italian men.

Standing in St. Peters Square

Hotter than hell would perhaps come close to describing the temperatures we encountered in Rome that next day. But even the relentless heat was not enough to dampen my absolute awe as we strolled through the city that was once the centre of the world. I was overcome by the magnitude of actually being in places such as The Vatican City, The Sistine Chapel, St Peter's Basilica and St Peter's Square, all of which were uniquely staggering to this naive mind! And when you walk in to the Sistine Chapel for the very first time and witness Michelangelo’s brilliance nothing you have ever seen in any book or on any television show will prepare you for actually seeing it up close and for real, as it literally took my breath away.

Meanwhile it became clear my conservative attire, chosen specifically to honour the sacred visit to Sistine chapel was about to make me melt.  I then became one of the few people possibly to make an emergency wardrobe change in St.Peters Square…

Shez amongst the ancient ruins of Rome

Catching a metro across town, I happened to be in deep conversation with one of the girls from tour and was not paying attention to the shadow I was standing in as we embarked from the station. A good three minutes later it finally dawned on me just where exactly I was.... Alongside the Colloseum! A local guide led us through the astounding crumbled ruins of the Colloseum and Ancient Rome. It was then time for a select group to break away in search of something truly unique - The House of the Cappucin Monks.

After dragging our feet for an hour, thanks to disagreements about whether we were heading in the right direction and stopping for a divine chocolate Gelati break, we finally arrived to behold one of the strangest sights I have ever seen. The tiny church was decorated ornately by the bones of the thousands of deceased Cappucin monks. It was really quite an eerie feeling as we stood in mutual silence surveying the scene noting with interest the statement from The Cappucin Monks 'What you are now, we were; What we are now, you will be' as we left.

The House of the Cappucin Monks - fascinating!

Florence was to be our final Italian city, and once again, its history left me in awe. Visits to the Duomo, Piazza della Signoria, Basilica of Santa Croce were undertaken, and we were also guided through some famous Renaissance Art Works such as the world renowned statue of David, and saw the resting place of Michelangelo.

But it was Friday night in Florence that really shone through for the Contiki crew. La Shatoza is a cabaret restaurant that has been aptly described as attending "an Italian Wedding without the Bride and Groom", and we certainly made sure we made the most of it! There were five bus loads of Contikians there, and our group set the partying stakes high! Dragged from the dance floor when our scheduled departure time arrived, we kept the party going, as we danced in our seats, Pete, our bus driver pumping the breaks to the beat of the music as we headed towards the Florentine nightlife.

If you are familiar with Contiki, you will know that after dark festivities on Florence are synonymous with one infamous nightclub. Space Electronic!

It was here the creature native to Italian nightclubs – the super sleazy man – showed its face.  All through our Italian adventure there was a charm offensive at play like nothing I had ever known (great for the ego though) but it goes to a whole new seedy level in a darkened bar.  It was an eye opening experience, yet still one of the best nights out on tour!

Obligatory Pisa pose

The final farewell to the boot shaped country came via the structurally challenged icon that is the Leaning Tower of Pisa.  Perhaps I was just too hungover to appreciate it, as I distinctly recall being rather underwhelmed… While it was an interesting sight to behold, I of course was sure to take the obligatory “look at me, I’m propping this ruin up single-handedly” photo (along with every single other person there….)

Saying arrivederci to Italia, as the rainbow bus pulled away, anticipation slowly started to simmer away.  It was if we could smell the tantalising Mediterranean Ocean beckoning us over...... Fun in France was on its way!

Wanna ease your washing woes? Your chance to win!

Once upon a time I’d have been stunned with incredulous wonder if someone suggested I’d one day dedicate a post to washing powder – yet it would appear that Day Of Reckoning has arrived!  That in itself shows you how much this stuff is the shizzle…

Granted, I don’t get out much these days.  And since becoming an official domestic goodness (ie stay at home mum/wannabe writer) its more of life mundane moments – like crisp & clean washing - that leave me with a satisfied glow at days end.  A personal KPI if you will…

So when I was given a free sample of OMO’s newest washing powder to hit the supermarket shelves, OMO Ultimate, I wasn’t overly enthused.  We were after all, talking laundry products.  What wondrous qualities could it house to spark my enthusiasm? When it came to Master H’s clothes, as long as they smelt clean that was a victory within itself.  Because whatever nuclear worthy stains he was cultivating on his clothes often wouldn’t budge for all the soaking and scrubbing in the world!

But here was the extraordinary thing – clothes that had marks left to languish on them for 48 hours were suddenly being removed from my washing machine squeaky clean! And thus I began to bow down to the altar of OMO Ultimate- and now you can too!

 

Three lucky readers will have the chance to win for themselves a carton of OMO Ultimate.  All you need to do leave me a comment below telling how this might rock your laundry loving world – and whether you require top or front loader powder.  Entries close 5pm Friday July 29 and winners will be drawn by random.org thereafter.

For obvious reasons, NappyDaze family members are not permitted to enter (sorry Mum, I’ve no doubt you wanted to, being an aficionado on all things laundry related!) but for everyone else (in Australia) feel free to enter for your chance to ease your washing woes with OMO Ultimate!

FYI – all opinions are my own and while I was not paid to promote this, they did kindly present me with OMO Ultimate to trial. Happy Days! 




********


WINNERS ARE: 
5 - Pam
12 - Marita
4 - Cathy
Congratulations ladies, your washing world will never be the same again :)

Chivalry in a Car Park (Lady from Bank West - you are the best!)

Today a little something happened that restored my faith in humanity, and the kindness of strangers.  And while it was no mammoth act of extreme munificence worthy of making the six o’clock news, still it has stayed with me all day and made me smile.

Picture this if you will: it's an hour before midday, and under blackened skies, I prepare to leave my local shopping centre. I'd been forced to make a mad mercy dash to replenish our supply of red apples to avoid my son having a meltdown if he discovered we were out of his choice of "crack".   

I cast a dubious glance at the unappealing scene beckoning beyond the exit doors.  Sheets of rain are pounding into the uncovered car park; winds whistle and whip flimsy foliage to the ground while puddles morph into pools all over the bitumen.  And here am I, umbrella-less and about to push myself, my overladen pram with my son, out into the uninviting elements.

I contemplated waiting it out, but it may have required me filling our mail redirection forms: the deluge had settled in, with no chance of easing any time soon.  Then there was the fact my son was getting particular antsy, and I’d already promised him, in the last shop we’d been in, that the next stop was home.  And if I didn’t make a speedy exit I’d be forced to part with my collection of $2 coins on the carousel ride he’d just spotted.  Knowing the scene that awaited me if I’d given in to that demand, I decided to brave the elements instead.

With all the speed of Mark Webber (but alas none of the racing grace) I hurtled through the downpour to the car, silently cursing not only the Weather Gods, but the architects of my local shopping centre and their oversight at ample undercover parking.  

My mind sprinted in unison with my feet, working out the best action plan that would involve the least amount of drenching to Master H. I’d decided to bundle him straight into the car first so at least one of us would be relatively dry and less likely to have the cold we'd just gotten over come back to haunt us.    

What I didn’t plan on however, was the laws of gravity taking place, after I'd freed him from his watery seat.

Crash went my pram, toppling backwards into a puddle, my shopping and handbags still strapped to it, now that the counter weight that was my son had been removed. Cue: me letting loose with some choice cursing (of which Master H only mimicked one word, thankfully) and a mad scramble by me to restore the now sopping shopping.

And that is when my faith in the kindness of strangers was restored.  From nowhere came running a lovely lady, with a large umbrella.  She kindly stood over me as I righted the pram, stowed my shopping and handbag, as well wrestled with the fun task of putting down the pram, which of course on this occasion decided to get stuck.  (I swear you need a university degree some days to dismantle them).

While I remembered to offer her a harried but heartfelt thanks, unfortunately during the entire drenching melee, I never asked for her name. But I do happen to know where she works, as she was wearing the distinctive Bank West uniform, and once this God-awful Noah’s Ark weather abates, I am going to make a trip to her branch and thank her properly.  

I know many will say it was only a small act of chivalry but in my opinion still so worthy of a proper acknowledgement.  Because not only did it make my life easier in those few frantic minutes, but the thought of such random kindness really has stayed with me all day.  And in a day which we have largely spent cooped up in doors because of the dreadful weather, after another sleepless night, as well as the fact my son decided to accidentally smear poo on to the carpet and one of his books, while I assumed he was having his day-sleep, you can see while I am clinging to this ray of sunshine in my day. 

So, Bateau Bay Bank West, this employee of yours is the best and you should be justifiably proud to have a such kind, caring employee.  In these times of backlash against banks and consumer choice, this unprovoked act of charity is positive publicity money cannot buy. I'll certainly never forget...  

Crossroads and A Crisis Of Confidence

Here’s the difference between having a dream and following a dream – when you actively begin to hunt it down, its damn hard work to stay positive during the whole drawn out, rollercoaster of an experience.

For as long as I can recall, I have wanted to be a writer.  As a child I loved losing myself in the written word, painting a picture via paragraphs and sentences and letting my imagination happily drift along were the things I treasured most.

I remember once telling my beloved Pop, when I was about 8, that I was going to be an author when I grew up.  He scoffed, “You’ll never make any money doing that.  You don’t want to be broke the rest of your life do you?” Harsh as that sounds, I know it was coming from a place of love.  You see my hard-working Pop started with nothing, living in a mud-thatched hut, only to have five houses to his name by the time he lost his battle with skin cancer in 2005. He knew the value of money, because he understood too well the bitterness of being broke. 

Recently it’s become clear to me that my current hiatus from the paid working world is going to have to come to a halt. Sure, people throw in their well-paid gigs in order to go realise their greatest employment goals all the time.  But the reality is when you are jointly responsible for having a family to feed, bills to pay and a roof to keep over your head, suddenly the six months of “finding my writing voice” feels like a luxury I can no longer afford to grant myself.

But, as the husband was quick to point out, all is not lost on this front.  Not only will I have to be more creative about how I go about the process, but also a bit more structured and determined too. Alongside my roles of wife, mother and seemingly single-handedly running every facet of this house if I am serious about this dream, then I should still be able to see it come to fruition.

This is where the crisis of confidence crossroads kicks in.  Am I kidding myself that I am actually cut out for this quest? My husband, who has accomplished great things in the career I covet most, is quick to tell me it’s a cut-throat industry, the paid writing world.  You need a thick skin to survive it. And sadly, more often than not my skin is paper thin.

The doubts are creeping in faster than the complaints on carbon tax. “Maybe you aren’t as special as you think… maybe you have been kidding yourself all these years that you have something to offer to the world in this field”.  And I don’t say these things with the intention or hook of fishing for compliments.  They are very real concerns of mine as I wrestle with the reality of trying to achieve this dream.

Confronting these demons the past few days has left me reeling – for so long I have nurtured the knowledge close to my heart that writing is my gift.  It’s the one thing I can stand back and be proud of.  The one thing that I can wrap my arms around and be secure in the knowledge it’s what can set me apart.

Now I fear that because I am leaving this run towards my ultimate career goal so late, perhaps the train to triumph has long ago left town. Have I blown my chance?  Is there such a thing as a second shot at your dream later in life?  Oh how I sometimes want to slap that 17-year-old self, so homesick, so lovesick, so naïve that she stepped away from the cusp of a dream.  She made her life so much harder, career-wise, 15 years on. The only blessing I can comfort myself with is that without that massive mistake it may not have led her, years later, to The Husband. And hands down he is worth making that error in judgement.

As Oprah wisely orates, if you don’t do something that you love, a little part of you dies every day. And I am scared as hell that will ring true for yours truly.  She also acknowledges it is the courageous ones who fought to realise their dreams who enjoy the tastiest success. At my core, I know it’s what matters to me. To be a writer. To see my name emblazoned on to a book that is of my own making, or attached to the by-line of an article I’ve painstakingly researched and written.

And with that in mind I shall soldier on with the battle that has been both the bane and beauty of my existence for many years now.  Some days I’ll approach it with my sword held high and on others be found cowering behind my shield. No doubt chasing down this dream will at times challenge, frustrate, demoralise and deplete me.  But I assume (I HOPE!) that if I persevere with the process of pursuing it, with whatever snippets of time I can dedicate to it, it will be much more worthwhile once realised.

So if you could kindly pass me my armour, I’ll ready myself for war once more.

Europe Encountered - An Assault on Austria & The Eerie Presence In Venice

Shez & I workin' it in our sexy
whitewater rafting ensemble

 In case you missed my first installment of my Contiki trip down memory lane, I’m commiserating celebrating the fact its been 10 years since this most magical travel time, and reliving my memoirs through my blog… Time for the Assault on Austria and an eerie presence in Venice…

A chilly Monday morning greeted us as we departed Lucerne, bound for Innsbruck, Austria. And the chill did not lie in the weather alone - for many the cold was heightened with the gnawing feeling of dread that stirred uncomfortably in the respective stomachs of some. Ah, yes. The day for White Water Rafting had arrived...

Wrestling the waterways with my fellow gal pals

Unfavourable weather conditions had as well done nothing to placate the nervous few who had unwillingly singed up either out of some false sense of bravery, or askew responsibility (yes, big sister, that means you!) but I can tell you that from Day One I knew I was going to be on that raft with or without Sheree.

And I was not to be disappointed! It was the most thrilling experience as we crashed through tumultuous rapids at high speed, the sounds of eight girls petrified shrieks and screams of sheer joy echoing around us as we conquered swell after swell without the loss of even one person overboard!! Not bad when you consider we were the only all girl raft out there tackling the swells, and I must say that this watery adventure was indeed one of the main highlights of Contiki for me.

To counteract the cold conditions of rafting in Austria, the consumption of a few local drops of Schnapps was in order to warm the ice from our bones that evening. And if you are ever in the Innsbruck vicinity, may I suggest you do not mix combinations of Pear & Apple Schnapps, Baileys, with a dash of Lemonade as you will find yourself with one horrendous hangover if you are lucky enough to be able to pry your eyes open the next morning! I should have taken it as a sign when I clumsily dropped my freshly purchased bottle of said Schnapps, wanting to weep as it smashed to smithereens while awkwardly trying to grasp it and manoeuvre my oversized backpack into place. If only others had so generously offered to share their wares…

Shez's "shot" shot - hers far more glam than mine!

Alternatively, I can vouch that vanilla schnapps was divine, as was the Glacier shot concoction (while not sure exactly what it entailed) but the feeling of it practically burning all the way down my throat certainly went well in adjusting my body temperature!

Tuesday was soon upon us, and myself and fellow under the weather Contiki pals farewelled the Germanic countries en route for our five days and four nights assault on Italy. Venice was our first stop and blissfully, for the first time since we had left London, the brilliant sunshine had decided to make a belated appearance. We witnessed a glass blowing demonstration and then found ourselves let loose amongst the winding and often confusing little lanes that combine to be Venice.

The breathtaking St Marks Basilica

St Marks Basilica was truly amazing and once inside I was overcome with the most bizarre feeling of peace, like nothing I can accurately explain.  Strange as it sounds, I felt as if a familiar presence of a loved one lost years before had settled on my shoulder… As if my Uncle Trevor, who passed away when I was seven, had hovered amongst the masses, waiting for me to visit this holy spot.  I lit a candle for him, and began a tradition that I’d then carry out in every sacred Basilica or Chapel I crossed paths with in my entire travels.

We also wandered through St Marks Square, fending of the masses of pigeons who call this place home, and along the waterfront, often ducking out of the grasp of the many rip off merchants who attempted to lure unsuspecting tourists into parting with their cash for imitation Pradas.

Cruising the Venetian canals

And what trip to Venice would be complete without indulging in a Gondola ride through the canals?  I am sure this experience would have been truly romantic if I was with the right person, but it was still amazing to experience something so unusual for me, that to them is just a way of life.

Exhausted, and still slightly hungover (or still VERY hungover if you were Sheree) we headed home late that evening, just as St Marks Square was beginning to flood, (something we were told it was prone to do, approximately 70 times a year) with the thought that all roads lead to Rome lulling us to sleep.

We Are Family...

Having fate force my hand in the form of an early retirement from my job of the last six years has made for a massive upheaval in our world.  While I am honestly struggling still a little with the notion that a huge chapter of my life has been closed, on the positive side there’s been the long overdue re-acquaintance with my little family. 

Sure, the husband and I still feel a little like ships in the night the first half of the week, and the past two months have been hit and miss when it comes to rebuilding some semblance of normal family life.  But we’re slowly getting a groove back into our world that’s been missing for some time and glimpses of a normal family (like where the mummy, daddy and child all eat dinner together and not at three separate sitting) are starting to make a re-appearance in our lives.  We’ve managed to sneak in our first trip to the cinema in 6 months and even shelled out for a babysitter one night – for no other reason than we knew some adult conversation over a lovely dinner would do us the world of good!

Then there is Master H, who suddenly has oodles more of his mummy’s undivided time to occupy.  And our relationship has never been better.

Truth be told, there has been a part of me that was always a bit terrified of him.  His behaviour can be so unpredictable, he craves my constant and unyielding attention, I’m yet to unearth his off switch, he is no longer a fan of day sleeps, and at night cannot seem to cobble together a full stretch of sleep without stopping by our bed at numerous intervals– but suddenly we seem to have gotten on the same wave length.  And he who has never been one to be effusive with his affections (unless directed to his daddy dearest) is suddenly prone to showering me with love.  At any given time I can hear him state, for no significant reason (other than to fill a silence perhaps, as he does seem to dislike those) “Mummy, I love you so much” or “I need a cuddle with you on the lounge” where as before I was lucky to get a mere glance of approval cast my way.  It is as if we have just been on a bad blind date for a few years and now are suddenly seeing each other through renewed eyes.

During this bitter stretch of winter I also count my lucky stars that I am no longer being subjected to standing on an open-to-the-elements train platform at 7am when its 1 degree out, or spending 4 hours of my day subject to the joys of travelling via public transport.  But I counter it by cursing the fact there is often only me around to take charge of such unfortunate parenting tasks as cleaning Master H’s teeth.  On most occasions I am certain DOCS are going to be called, such are the screams of indignation this simple act causes him…

So while I’ll continue miss the people from my past corporate life, and now wield our family budget with an iron fist, what I have gotten back from this whole experience is starting to reveal it as far more precious.  I can breathe again; the foggy fear of forgetfulness, because of juggling too many balls is fading; a connection with my new community keeps growing - dinner with new mummy friends, playdates at the park with other families and a sense I might finally be starting to belong…Throw into the mix the fact I am able to dedicate some long overdue time into working on my own dreams and goals and the upheaval is now starting to look more like a blessing in disguise.   

Licensed to Drive

Harrison looking right at home behind the wheel
of Grandpa's prized possession: The Charger

 This weekend past, I made good with my 2011 motto of getting comfortable with being uncomfortable, and tackled one of my long held fears face on: driving a long distance - solo. (Unless the cranky kid in the back seat counts as a passenger.  Unfortunately though he was anything but helpful).

Okay, yes I will admit it was only a two hour stretch but if you know me you are aware it’s the equivalent of driving Sydney to Melbourne non stop.  Because it was enough to engulf me with night terrors in the lead up to it taking place, not to mention heart palpitations at the thought of all the things that might go wrong – because when the F3 is involved, its anyone’s guess how long a trip may take or what sort of obstacles might occur!

You see, I Do Not Like Driving.  I’m a purebred passenger, happily oblivious to all that goes on about me as we get from A to B. For instance, if I had the choice between driving in the Sydney CBD, or stapling my eyes closed with an industrial sized staple gun, I am the person who’d eagerly put their hand up for the latter.

I Loathe It.

Driving is a skill that just does not come naturally, not to mention scares the bejesus outa me! I am an anxious person at the best of times; why on earth would I want to exacerbate this by putting myself behind the wheel of two tonnes of lethal metal and possibly endanger myself and my loved ones?   

The most ironic things is I have held a license since I was 17 – yet there was a period between 2001 and 2007 where I barely put the pedal to the metal.  After living in London for 18months, with a plethora of public transport on offer, I fell out of the driving habit.  And readily replaced it with fear.

I know it was amusing, if not incredibly irritating, for those who knew me, and who were at the mercy of my constant need to be picked up and dropped off, as if I was 15 years old again!  But after discovering I was pregnant, it became clear driving was going to be a necessary evil.  So I made my convinced my husband to sell his beloved (manual) car in exchange for an automatic one.  And thus this pedigreed passenger began to reacquaint herself with the art of driving.

I can only imagine my husband’s frustrations, both at the thought of always having to be the long suffering designated driver and then at being the poor sod who had to re-teach me to drive again!  Even as a teen, it was a tough gig.  My endlessly patient Dad, with scores of driving experience had to admit defeat and hand me over to a professional instructor.

  

He realised early on I might be tricky to train. Growing up, it was somewhat of a tradition that the grandkids would all learn to drive the tractor on Nan & Pop’s farm.  Not I.  A combination of me having a fear the size of Western Australia, as well as the fact my Dad had no desire to see his beloved big red tractor smashed and crashed, meant I was one of the few who never got behind its beastly wheel.  It may have also had something to do with the time I almost collected the horse corral en route to our home while I was practising steering, sitting on dad’s lap as a young girl…

While I am aware I have improved 1000% on even this time last year, I am still subject to my critics.  Namely Master H, who has become somewhat of a backseat driver.  I’m not sure if he has picked up on my deep seated fear of being behind the wheel, or whether the fact he is more so than anyone else subjected to my driving skills, that perched up from on high in his car seat, he has begun to question me.  Last week, when I was reversing out of a car space and was yet to fully correct the car and return to the right side of the road (or left, but you know what I mean…) he announced, “Mummy, you need to watch out for that car that’s coming close”. Or, when I braked a little heavily once and my bag hurtled from the front seat to floor the Ms Daisy in the back seat shouts, “Mummy, you need to be more careful”!  He’s also been quick to question some of the colourful verbs that Mummy utters (obviously not so quietly) when cars pull out in front of you and then proceeds to drive 15kms under the speed limit…

Next challenge - Dad's motorbike???

But what I have learned from this personally momentous automobile achievement this weekend is that I am actually capable of much more than I give myself credit for.  And that parenting essentially makes you well prepared to be an excellent driver.  They are so similar in execution – so many things to concentrate on at once, eyes constantly in roaming mode, not able to miss a single thing.  So while I am not sticking my hand in the air to volunteer to do it again anytime soon, at least I’ll sleep a little easier in the lead up next time around - as long as Ms Daisy seated behind me sees fit to stop his backseat driving…   

Memories of a European Encounter – a decade on

Obligatory windmill photo in Amsterdam

 “We can dance if we want to

We can leave your friends behind

'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance

Well they're no friends of mineI say, 
We can go where we want to

A place where they will never find

And we can act like we come from out of this world

Leave the real one far behind
And we can dance”

And dance we did, just like our Contiki theme song “Safety Dance” stated, 10 years ago today, when my sister and I made our whirlwind way around Western Europe in July 2001.  Whether up on stage, like in Lucerne, upon a platform in Florence, down the aisles of the bus, or in any make shift dance floor we could find (in between the plastic table & chairs whilst on an afternoon cruise if you will) our hearts beat in tune with any groove on offer.

I still cannot comprehend a decade has passed since our youth “rite of passage” travel experience, Contiki.  To commemorate this I’ve been reflecting back on the brilliant “time of our lives” memories from way back then, as recorded in my emails I forwarded back home to brag let mum and dad know I was alive honour the occasion.  And thank God I did because it has ensured I have an indelible record of my trip; despite the copious amounts on alcohol consumed on tour which have no doubt contributed to the loss of some brain cells since…

So indulge me, if you will, while I reflect back in a series of blogs, dedicated to my decade old Europe Encounter, and sun myself in the afterglow of what was a most magical 16 days in my life.

Leaving our “home” of London, on Day One, with my must have travel accessory (my beloved, ultra organised and all round travel guru big sister Sheree!) we commenced our European escapade very much in sussing out mode. It was quite intimidating being confined to a bus with 50 other total strangers, ten of which were a huge group of rowdy Greek Australians who were already fast friends from home, and seemed to have taken control of the bus in no time. Shez passed me a look with a knowing glint in her eyes. Yep - these were the ones we wanted to get to know if we wanted to have a bloody good time. And surely enough, they would turn out to be some of the most fantastic people we’d meet, some to this day we still call friends!  

Most of this first day was spent travelling from London to Amsterdam via the White Cliffs of Dover. The English Channel greeted us menacingly, rocking us backwards and forwards on an interminably long sailing trip, delayed due to the precarious conditions. Not much else was on the agenda for Day One, as we made our way from Calais, through Belgium and finally to our first Contiki destination - Amsterdam......  

Cycling through the picturesque streets of Edam was first item on the agenda for Day Two. Feeling somewhat nervous that I may have misplaced the knowledge to be still able to successfully negotiate the handling of a two-wheeled apparatus, I gingerly raised myself up on to its seat. A few mere precursory wobbles later, and the old adage about "just like riding a bike" was thankfully ringing true - piece of cake! And yes, they had bikes of all shapes and sizes, so I was not disadvantaged by having to mastermind some ungodly huge machine!  

We began to glide along narrow cobbled roads lined with rich greenery, and soothing streams and the first heady feeling of "Ahhhh holidaying in Europe......" was upon me. I suddenly felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders (ie. the smog of London!) and I began to truly relax into the groove of Contiki.  

We also witnessed the requisite cheese and clog making demonstration before being set free to roam the streets of Amsterdam for the afternoon. It’s quite a beautiful city, much more so than I imagined it to be. Of course, it has its Red Light District that is an eye opener within itself, especially when you still considered yourself but a small town country gal, even if you have been living in London for a few months before this!   Later, we set off for a "Cultural Evening" - those of you who know anything at all about Amsterdam, will work out for yourselves what went on.  Later  we hit the bar for the first time in a big way, and by morning I found myself with about 15 new friends whom I felt as if I had known for a lifetime.  

Cruising the Rhine River with fab new friends

Friday, Day Three, dawned as the date we’d embark for the stunning Rhine Valley taking in a spectacular river boat cruise along The Rhine upon our arrival.

An example of the castles that dotted the
countryside - think I'd be quite comfortable living there!

Magnificent castles towered from cliff faces to our left and right and dotted along the hillsides in each quaint community were gorgeous little towns as if straight from the pages from your favourite childhood fairytale. I suddenly became aware how someone such as Hans Christian Andersen gained inspiration as I gazed at my mesmerizing surroundings in childlike wonder.   Each time we passed another castle I was in awe. My previous experience with creations of this nature were linked to that of the failed theme park Magic Mountain - ie. not real! It was hard to actually fathom that people resided in such historic splendour.  

Night-time found us amusing ourselves at our hotel bar, of which not much was happening when a group of us arrived. Rosa and I decided to fix that, and once we conned the DJ into playing the exact music we wanted to hear, we set the dance floor on fire baby!

We were greeted on Saturday morning with only slightly aching heads, yet persistently grey skies much to the dismay of the Aussie contingent we were travelling with who had wrongly assumed what summer entailed in this hemisphere, and boarded the bus bound for Lucerne.   Again we were treated to majestic rolling green mountains with meandering riverways sluicing delicately through the idyllic landscape. The beauty of this undoubtedly proud nation, Switzerland kept us entranced. We were informed that it is near impossible for just anyone to gained residency here, such is its exclusivity, and their defiance not to tarnish their strong reputation, not to mention exacerbate their huge paranoia! Even marriage to a local could not guarantee one a Swiss passport - which was a shame to we women who definitely found the Swiss men to be possibly the most attractive race to inhabit the earth! 

Lordy, how I was convinced to travel on this
unsafe looking contraption I'll never know. Lucky
the killer views on Mt Pilatus made it worthwhile

Mt Pilatus was soon upon us that afternoon, and wow…. I cannot even begin to find the right words to depict the breathtaking magnificence of the view we were entertained with. A cog railway ride was needed to take us on our ascent 2100 metres above sea level with the panoramic Swiss Alps to our right, and the striking Lakeland region below. We were even towering above low lying clouds – my amusement of which helped me forget the little fact I am actually afraid of heights…

Looking out from the medieval, majestic
Chapel Bridge, Lucerne

Lucerne on a Saturday night was on the cards next, and we were not to be disappointed! A large group of my fellow Contikians made our way into the fray downtown, struggling to keep our mouths from hitting the pavement too often as the handsome Swiss men strolled nonchalantly by. We were off clubbing after a short stint in a local bar near the famous Chapel Bridge, and then proceeded to dance the night away until doors closed sometime after 4am.  Six of us were left by the end, scoring ourselves a ride back to our rooms in brand new stretch black Mercedes Limousine no less.

Creeping back in to our hotel room, past the staff who were dutifully laying the table for breakfast as we skulked by, we witnessed a massive electrical storm over Lake Lucerne in the early hours of Sunday.  Not quite a spectacular sunrise, but such an amazing sight nonetheless… 

One of the many beverages consumed en route
 through Western Europe with my sis - and yes,
I had the double chins to prove it!

Lucerne also boasts the finest Swiss Chocolate of all time, so to coax our many weary heads back to health, the day was consumed largely by committing to Hot Chocolate breaks every so often to keep up our sightseeing strength. It was a cold and wet day too, which of course did nothing beneficial to our lack of enthusiasm, yet, once we boarded another sea faring vessel cruise the Lake, and they began pumping out the House Music, and by serving us Hot Chocolates laced with Baileys (mmmm) all throes of misery were dashed.  Our makeshift dance floor down the narrow aisle of the boat was quite a unique way (or was that ironic way…?) to soak in the serene beauty of Lake Lucerne. 

The day rounded out with a lights out early policy (a rarity!) because we knew we a huge day loomed ahead - wrestling with the angry Austrian waterways, swollen by a recent flood, lay in tantalising wait...... 

An Ode to Adam, on the eve of what should have been his 34th birthday...

The downside to having a memory-bank that makes an elephant look forgetful, (such as I do) is that certain dates and events stay frozen forever more, and always within your subconscious reach. For me, one of these is the day I would last speak to a dear friend of mine, Adam, who the world was robbed of far too soon, when he was just 24 years old.  While the date of death is of course indelibly etched into my mind, it also translates that I carry with me the date we were to have our last ever conversation. 

I can still picture the scene clearly: It was a Saturday (therefore I was hungover)and  was heading out bleary eyed and early to a Travel Writing seminar in south London.  It had been an emotional week with some strange events from home sending me reeling.  As much as I was loving this new chapter in my life, on that particular day I was homesick.  I had arrived early to the course, and spying a landmark red London telephone booth, I suddenly craved a connection with “home”.. .  

Even now I am not quite sure what made me ring Adam, of all people. Perhaps it was my intuition, perhaps it was just pure luck the eve of his 24^th his birthday was approaching and I decided to surprise him with a phone call.  I was living on the other side of the world and gearing up for my European backpacking adventure, watching every penny I was spending.  So considering how expensive it was to even ring home to my parents to let them know I was alive and well, it had to be a force stronger than I can explain that lead me towards that trademark telephone booth and dial his digits. 

All I can say now is that I am eternally grateful that I did… Because it would be the last time we spoke, and the memory of that phone call, his voice, his surprise, his happiness still burns brightly in my mind.  I still have the email he sent me days after, thanking me for being one of the only people who actually remembered it was his special day…

Since replaying those events in my mind the last few days,  I suddenly found there a poem tumbling forth from within.  Poetry is so not my prose forte, yet the words just seemed to flow.  So “Shaggy”, as we look towards what would have been your 34^th birthday in a few day’s time, this one is for you… 

It’s been 10 years since we’ve spoken

And there’s simply so much yet to tell

Our hearts remain hollow and broken

Our tears still fill an endless well

The decade has been dotted with events

Welcoming births and witnessing weddings all around

Mine especially were heaven sent:

Without losing you, my beautiful son and my one true love, would not have been found

I suppose I shouldn’t be sad

At all the milestones you’ve missed

What a view you must have had

From where you sit high above in heaven to bear witness

Despite this, there’s still no denying

Losing you was a hurt I’d never known before

It will leave you reeling: a simple thought, a memory, a feeling

Crushing you with heartache, pain, and so much more.

Yet you have granted me gifts for which I remain truly grateful

A husband and child who I so adore,

Playing cupid from beyond has made my life wonderful

With them I could want for nothing more…

So, despite our sadness we will toast this next birthday of yours,

And savor the remembrances of your cheeky smile and wit

I will find a quiet moment to pause

And seek comfort from the flames of memories that remain freshly lit

The "Peace Be With Us" Weekend

Yes, I realise this isnt a recent photo of my
Sis & I - but it's still my all time favourite one! 

I’ve a new social event to look forward to on the annual calendar  – the freshly anointed “Peace Be With Us” weekend whereby my lovely Sister and I indulge in a slice of some well-deserved serenity (and stave off insanity) by spending the weekend sans family (and sans responsibility!).

Quite conveniently, I was in possession of day spa voucher that was about to expire, and which needed to be used at a swanky Sydney CBD salon.  After making casual mention of this to the lovely husband he put forward the suggestion that I make a weekend out of it and book a room to stay overnight.  He proceeded to point out my sister is often at the wrong end of the waving goodbye spectrum, and hinted there’d be a good chance she was owed a well earned leave pass as well.

So within the space of a week all was arranged. 2.5hours of pampering was quite the lavish way to herald in the Peace Be With Us Weekend – except for one small fact.  Is it just me or does having an overly chatty beauty therapist who wants to know your personal history in between working the knots out of your seen-better-days back put something of a dampener on this rare moment to relish quiet tranquillity? If was during the manicure, sure, I am happy to hear all about your wide array of friends on facebook, but if there is relaxation music playing, then I’d like to listen to it… I wonder why the forms you fill out to divulge your every skin and body foible ever ask if you would like (A) small talk during your massage or (B) blissful, golden silence…? But I digress – and overall it was a heavenly way to spend part of the day!!

Pampering complete, it was then time for my long overdue chance to revel in the company of my sister (who is undoubtedly one of the people I cherish most in the world) uninterrupted for 24 hours!

Why on earth we have never done anything like this before now is a mystery to me. Sure, we spent oodles of time in each other’s company growing up, as well as living and travelling abroad together.  But since children came along and clogged up our calendars with round the clock responsibilities, we’ve not dared to indulge in anything like this.

The aim was to savour the sounds of silence, but we soon realised there was not much chance for quiet when you consider opportunities to have a decent conversation without the constant interruptions of the children hardly ever happen.  So we made the most of it and crammed five year’s worth of chatting in, enjoying the good fortune to not have to finish every sentence with a “Don't you dare hit/kick/push/snatch that one single toy you all want to play with simultaneously (insert most appropriate) from Logan/Harrison/Mason (insert relevant child name)” …

As if uneasy with wasting a precious minute, we soon set off for our date with the city.  Considering neither of us had witnessed Pitt St Mall sheathed in all its newly refurbished glory, both were eager to reacquaint ourselves without our old shopping stomping ground. A few purchases later in our possession and we were (literally!) spent.

Naturally there was a need for a quick chocolate fix before dinner (we are the Cassidy girls after all!), but soon after savoured a sumptuous dinner on King Street Wharf. In between gorging ourselves on the tasty Thai cuisine, we reminisced about the last 30 odd eventful years and all that has gone on in between, polishing off a nice drop of wine as we winced at some memories, and hooted with laughter at others…

However, the old adage “age shall not weary them” unfortunately no longer applies to us: because we both agreed that while the opportunity presented itself to get blind rolling drunk at any of the numerous raucous night spots we passed by on our walk back from dinner, we opted for a movie instead (Josh Duhamel, you did not disappoint!).  Nope, hangovers were not going to fit in to the festivities this particular weekend.

Perhaps most glorious of all in this self-imposed interlude of parenting was the UNINTERRUPTED OPPORTUNITY TO SLEEP! Before lights out, (and because old habits die hard) I made mention to Sheree that she was to stay in her bed at all times, not to creep up on me in the middle of the night and cry that she didn’t want to be in her bed alone, and offered her a reward if she managed to sleep past 6am.  Despite looking at me strangely, she happily complied. (FYI: I rewarded her with a sleep in of her own).

(Twisted irony would have it that my son too chose this night not to entertain his usually nocturnal wandering antics in the household I'm usually found in)…

Before long the next day was upon us and despite lazing about in our room before brunch, the clock was guiltily beckoning us home. We bade our bittersweet farewells but promised this would just be a first of many.  The concierge must have sensed this, so quick was he to inquire when we'd be back and offering a discount for good measure!

My cocoon of sweet silence was soon replaced on my 2hr commute home with a child with a hacking cough, and an old couple who decided to dine out on a smelly Chinese food feast directly behind my seat. Reality, my old friend, did you have to greet me again so soon?

Happily I was welcomed home with open arms, told by my son “Mummy, I missed you SO MUCH!” and greeted by the husband with the news he was rounding out my weekend of fabulous indulgence by cooking me one of my favourite meals.  It was a little reminder that while it’s wonderful to revel in a weekend escape from the clutches of our time consuming offspring and hand the reign of terror over to the spouses to instate responsibilities, there is much happiness to be found on the home front as well.

All hail the “Peace Be With Us Weekend”, soon to be seen again on screen in a July 2012 weekend near you!