A forgotten joy.

Fact you may not know about me; I only got my drivers licence when I was 28 after failing it badly as a 17 year old - there's a story, it involves a maths class laughing at me, a school fence pole, a nose of a car, some swearing and a policeman swapping seats with me after I made him.  It also involves an insurance issue, and my parents.

Anyhoo, after being that badly scarred, I took to my bike for the next 12 years.  I biked to uni, I biked to holiday jobs, I biked to friends houses, boyfriends houses.  I biked in the morning and at night.   And when I got myself a husband I also got myself a drivers licence and a mountain bike, and took to the tracks like a woman possessed, until I lost both my husband and my nerve for steep, rocky tracks.   A new life, a new husband, three kids and a big SUV, my old rusty mountain bike came along for the ride.  And when my husband discovered a passion for mountain biking, I sighed and gave it a short half hearted attempt, before I decided I would rather run the tracks than ride them.

Yet when a passion for mountain biking evolved to road riding for my husband, I signed up with him, imagining a retirement of biking holidays and a future "thing" that wasn't as sedentary as golf.  But I didn't feel quite as at home on skinny tyres and cleets and narrow handle bars, but I kept going, and discovered that once I got going, 200 metres up the road I was in love with the feel of riding again.  A marathon got in the way of any riding and my encouraging biking buddies stopped asking me out, because they'd heard the excuses.  Yes they knew I was nervous, yes they knew I didn't like the clip on shoe thingees, and yes they knew I was scared of the Wakehurst Parkway.  But surely I could just get over myself rather than making excuses.  My words, not theirs.

A revelation came unhappily to me recently - I have to learn how to ride my road bike again - shit happens.  I will do it.

But then I had a good revelation - you see, all I want to do is ride, I like riding, I feel fearless, and fast, and free, and young again.  So I've asked for a second bike for my birthday, one without clips, with slightly wider handle bars, slightly less skinny tyres.  And not one that will look fierce or that I can throw myself down mountains on...

....but one that I can do this on.

Because that's all I really want to do.

What have you stopped doing that you really want to do again?  It's not too late ....

Beautiful day

Another year new year has rolled over.  I hope you've enjoyed the end of yours and the start of the next.  I am thankful for what 2012 brought me.  And I am excited about what 2013 has in store.  Each year brings more focus for me - focus on the things that are important to me and focus on what I need to do to achieve them.  This last year didn't finish as well as I had hoped for reasons of no interest to anyone apart from me.  So I feel I'm starting this year on the back foot a little.  Which is a good thing.  Because it means I don't casually saunter into the new year, thinking "yeah, I'll do a bit of this and I'll do a bit of that", and vaguely get on my way.
Instead this year I am grabbing it, looking it dead in the eye and giving it the "game on" face.

I have goals, dull, specific but important to me.  I have priorities, I have simple needs.  I'm the kind of person who randomly lurches along from one thing to the next, I've always joked that this is how my creativity works, lurching and random.  Who am I kidding, it's just laziness (and I like to think something not quite wired right in my head).  My husband is the Ying to my Yang.  He writes lists, he has focus and plans in every area of his life, he writes them, reads them, actions them.  He is continually frustrated by my ability to live by vagueness.  I've always secretly believed that we get to the same place in the end, but I'm starting to doubt this is true.  He carries us, he carries me.  We have moments of clarity when I go "I want this and I want that!!!" and he goes "well write it down, make it happen", but I don't and then I forget, and then I lurch a little more.  I make excuses for myself - not enough time, too busy with the kids, the house is too messy, I'm on deadline -  but everyone, especially me knows this is bullocks.

Well that was then, and this is now.

And 7 days into the new year, I'm feeling the old routine starting to get in the way of my drive.  I faff around the kitchen, I empty beach bags, I fold clothes, I pick up stuff, when I should be writing, or planning, and with the Husband back at work today and a house full of kids, I can't see how this can change.  But it's going to.  Because 2013 doesn't start in January 30 when my kids head back to school and I have my friend Solitude back keeping me company.

2013 starts now.

Game on.

It wouldn't be Christmas....

As another Christmas rolls around, it's a good time to reflect on the year thats been.  And it's been a biggie for me,  professionally and personally, but I wouldn't have had it any other way.  You're either way too busy or too chilled to sit and read a long list of stuff, but I will crack out a couple of big milestones

I'm actually earning a (teeny-weeny-tiny) income from my writing and I have not submitted one piece of writing to an editor that I'm not proud of.  And I'm not saying that in a smug-tossy-bottom kind of way but I have been lucky enough to have such fabulous editors that have either asked me to write or let me write about inspirational topics.  And that is a gift.  The Husband can be extremely excited that I have probably earned enough money for pay for a few months worth of coffees for him (small cup size).

I ran a marathon.  And I did it joyously.  Not freaking out and losing the plot was my goal and I actually managed to achieved this. Highlight of my year hands down was the last 1km of that 42kms.  Many helped me there, you know who you all are.  I am very very grateful to you.

We moved into our own home.  Our own postage stamp of a property owned by us not some painful, money grubbing landlord.  The fact it took us two house moves this year, including 10 weeks in temporary accommodation, is immaterial.  Now.  It's ours.

We travelled to India.  And that first glimpse of the Taj Mahal, and seeing the explosion of colour and sound and emotion as Indians blessed themselves in the holy waters of the Ganges are images I will take with me to my grave.

Thank you to all you lovely folk who take the time to read my waffle.  I have tried to waffle with purpose, but sometimes life just gets in the way and all that comes out is a little nonsense.  Which you still read.  Thank you for reading my nonsense and waffle.  This post must have tugged at you a little because it was the one that you read the most.  And if you move on with a little more reflection because of it, then my job is done.  But please do come back in 2013 because  I am going to be writing like a woman possessed and I'd love if you kept me company.

And on Giving Back Girl, it's important to keep traditions alive.  You may remember how my friend Katie and I have been tormenting each other every Christmas since we were 18 and worked in a department store and listened to this on autorepeat for weeks on end. And even though as she reads this Katie is probably indignantly saying "You torment me Lisa, it's not a "we" thing" although you did this year and I call that a small victorious breakthrough.  It just wouldn't be Christmas without a wee dose of Jose Feliciano.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Can you feel it?

I generally start my blog posts in my head while hanging washing, emptying the dishwasher and all the other mundane tasks that consume the bulk of my day, and tonight I started one about how The Husband and I leave for India in 4 weeks and all we have managed to book so far is our international flights and nothing in between, including transport and accommodation, shots or visas.  We're squeezing in a maniacal amount of places inside India within a 16 day stay, but *imagine me writing blog post inside my head* this is a trip we'll probably only get one shot at.  In our lives.

I stopped dead in my tracks and thought "Fark, this is likely to be the only time IN WHATS LEFT OF MY LIFE that I'll get to India.".

Now in reality, there's simply too many other places I want to see in the world to warrant a repeat visit to, especially when India is going to be so ....colourful/traumatic/friggin filthy (select one).

But still, nothing disturbs me more than the thought of my own mortality.  The thought that this could be the last time I (insert anything).....I'm not sure if my rampant need to acknowledge my life and the fact that my life clock is ticking, is due to my Mum's early death at 56 with a life time of dreams unfulfilled.

I want to create dreams and live them, then talk and laugh about them, then go and create new dreams and go crazy living those ones as well.
There is nothing more confronting and stop-dead-in-your-track'ing than really, truly grasping the idea that this...is...it...

The Sister and I have battled with and accepted the way our dear dad lives his life, he lives with complacency and simplicity that we have unfairly labelled "apathy" even though simplicity and happiness is all he wants. We've accepted that he has no need to trek through streets thick with sewage so he can stand amongst the greatest mass of people on earth, nor to dip his toes in the southern most point on the African continent, nor to crawl through mud, nor to wake up to a daily sunrise.  He has no desire to dance drunkenly with old friends to old songs, to get a tattoo nor to hover over the edge of a live volcano.  His worst nightmare would be to arrive somewhere new not sure where to stay nor how to get there, he is happiest at home amongst what he knows and loves.

After years and much head bashing we've accepted this.  But I will never choose that for myself.  I need to know my highs will roll over from one adventure to the next, and that in between time, I will relish the simplicity, and happiness will be a constant in whatever I'm doing. I'm fighting complacency and mediocrity, not by being dramatically amazing, but just by the mere act of doing.

I may not ever return to India, or the last country I've been to, or the next one I visit.  I may not do many things again, but that's ok, because I'm 100% positive that will be because I'm doing something new that reinforces that I am alive, and I am living this life.
I am living this life.

What makes you feel alive?

Hand Holders

When you're out walking with your other half, do you naturally, without thought, hold each others hand, lovingly? Willingly?

Maybe it's my hand, or maybe it's the other halves I've chosen, but I can only get a hand hold if I've locked the other hand in a vice like grip, or if it's dark and noone can see us.  The total time of the hand hold is hmmm, maybe 15 seconds, and as my hand is released, I sense a gush of relief coming from The Husband as if "phew, that's done and dusted for another 3 weeks or until she remembers and whinges again".

Yesterday I saw an old couple walking ahead of me holding hands.  I think that one of my favourite sights (after my kids, storms coming, big waves.....) is seeing an old couple who are clearly adoring of each other, walking along holding hands.
I often whine in a irritating whiney voice at The Husband "I want us to be a couple who walk along the road holding hands when we're old, without thinking about it and with both of us wanting to be".  He always agrees, but what I really am meaning is "the start date is now Bucko, not like when we're "old", we have to practice this gig as CLEARLY it doesn't come naturally to us".

Because even though we may adore our partners and show our love in different less tactile ways, our ultimate goal is to grow old together right?  And I'm sure many of us said this in our wedding speeches.  But isn't there there something a little special about a relationship where you still need to touch each other and feel that connection through skin on skin, even when that skin is a little bit more wrinkly.

Are you a "hand holder"?

Just a little bit terrified

www.pacificjules.com.au

Have you done something recently that's scared your frickin' pants off and that's taken you above and beyond any acceptable fear factor level?  We don't often take ourselves out of our comfort zones, or if we do, it's within an acceptable parameter than we know isn't too far away from where we want to be.

I'm guilty of this.  Personally, I'm completely terrified of heights (you could fall off), or small enclosed spaces, I'm not going to begin trying to explain that one, lets just say, I'm flapping my hands wildly in front of my face.

So I'm doing an ocean swim event next weekend.  1km of sharky, blue bottlely water, and I'm not even exaggerating that.  This is fact, but apparently the sharks are harmless, and the blue bottles are just bad luck.
Lets just say I'm also a very, very, very bad swimmer, and even though I'm able to swim that distance, I tend to swim at the same pace as older swimmers who wear floral caps although even they burn me off sometimes.   But I still back myself that I can do it.  I have a mental image in my mind of running out of the water, looking like one of those Nutrigrain Ironwoman, shaking my hair in slow motion.

But reality hit last weekend when I swam in the ocean for the first time, and not in a clear blue pool with lines on the bottom.  It was terrifying, and that's not even taking into consideration the potential wildlife lurking below me.  What I hadn't factored in was how deep the water would be.  Like as in really, really deep.  Lets call it a novice's mistake.  In fact as I was swimming, I swam over a diver BELOW me, which of course, completely did my head in.  How deep am I?  I inhaled lots of ocean water, and lay on my back for a moment as another friend swimming asked if I was ok .  "Yeah, yeah, all good, just a small freak out, nothing serious", and continued on my way, to the shallower water.  Another revelation, if I have a freak out when I'm doing a running event, I just stop and do a pretend stretch, get my shiz together and get on my way.  But if I freak out in the water, there's no lamppost to lean against, instead you're in deep, sharky, blue bottley water, which is usually the cause of the freak out in the first place.  Bit of a dilemma right?

Tomorrow is Australia Day, there are a group of swimmers, the Bold and the Beautiful who swim this distance daily as a warm up in the sea  before heading off for more kilometres, they have an annual Australia Day swim, complete with the national anthem and a lovely sense of community.  I'm thinking about joining them, just me on my own.  Quietly tackling my fear.  I probably won't, and will head to the ocean pool instead, but I am thinking of it.  It's scaring the bejesus out of me.  Maybe that's why I should do it?

What terrifies you?
Should I do it?

Postscript: Even posting this photo has put the shits up

Holidays

I'm in the deep of the school holidays.  I'm at that stage where I need a little me time (and not the kind where I'm looking at the blue line at the bottom of the swimming pool as I escape for a 30 minute training swim, nor where I pound the pavements for an uncomfortable jog feeling unfit and dissatisfied.)
I need a bit of silence and isolation.  I need a bit of time being just me.
I'm writing this on a day when I have a house full of kids, all fun, all being kids, and all about what the holidays should be about.
But the reality for me is I put "me" on hold for the month of January, until school starts and I can start living my life as me, more meaningfully, rather than just my life as a mum/foodprovider/taxidriver/social events organiser.  I exercise sporadically and quickly, I write infrequently, but I plan voraciously.
And I cherish my kids being "off" and free to play without the constrains of school uniforms, school timetables and after school activities.  I love them being around me.  I love them and don't wish them anywhere other than here with me.

Conflicting huh?

I had lunch with a couple who spend a good chunk of summer in a beach house at a lovely spot with only a surf club kiosk as the only place for a coffee, yet a 20 minute walk along a stunning beach for more civilisation.  My friend says she loves being on her own at the house, her husband is heading overseas for a few weeks.  And in a small kitchen surrounded by salad makings and meat to barbecue, we had a lovely meeting of the minds, I would love the chance to be on my own for a bit, to be quiet, to be peaceful.
And as I write this, my time obsessed son puts an iPhone by me with a clock ticking loudly that he's found on it.  That I don't need.

And yet, I still think of how when I'm on my own and the days are mine, how I seem to squander time, how I'm not 100% purposeful, how I always feel time is racing.

So I will use this next few weeks not stressing about what I'm not doing but relishing what I am doing with my kids each day, and the kind of mum I'm being.  And I will plan how I will use my precious time alone more purposefully so time isn't lost but used.
Do you ever feel this conflict between what you want and what you do?

Day 74

Summer time in Australia is all about seafood and barbies, and outdoorsy eating.  One of the phenomenon I'm sure I'lln ever understand is prawns and mangoes.  Now I know that we get these in NZ but seriously in Australia the fish markets go NUTs before christmas with punters loading up on their seafood. We are talking about massive queues and parking traffic jams with the traffic situation updated on the radio traffic reports. And a couple of christmas's ago, my sister delegated to me the precious job of cutting up the mangoes for breakfast.  I'm always pretty stressed in her kitchen for fear I'll wash the lettuce the wrong way or stir the pot in the wrong direction, so when entrusted with a tray of mangoes and a table full of eager Aussie/kiwis, I was under the pump.  And made a hash of it.

But in my own home, I thought I'd dodged the prawn/mango bullets.

Until Smith asked me if he could have a mango the other day, and in the spirit of encouraging my children to eat as much fruit as possible, I brought one, and proceeded to destroy it as I attempted to cut it up.  The second mango was more successful as he decided that instead of eating it, it would now become his "new best friend", and he drew a face on it instead, slept with it that night and took it to kindy for Show and Tell (in a plastic bag by now as it had an ominous bulge out the side that sounded very slushy).
But the fact remains, I live in Australia and I need to embrace all things Australian.  Like cutting up mangoes the right way.  Although I absolutely draw the line at queuing at fish markets on Christmas Eve for overpriced prawns.  That will take a little longer to get used to.

So how do you cut a mango?

Watch this and find out, although promise me you won't hold the knife like the guy - I have a knife/blade  phobia.
You get it? It's all about the cheeks, slice off big fat cheeks, checker board them, then flip them inside out.  So simple!
I'd better order up a tray for christmas.

Day 73

The boys have to make quite a few speeches at school each year, which although I am traumatized by pain for them (especially for my quiet and shy one), I applaud the school as it helps breaks the cycle of being terrified of public speaking.  Maybe our children's generation will stand up and speak loudly and proudly at school speeches, in offices, in the board room, at weddings, at leaving drinks, unlike many of us crippled with anxiety at the thought of it.
Will's most recent one is a presentation about "Things That They Value".  It's assessment time, so I'm bleeting on my normal "go the extra effort on this one matey", and sure enough his initial list included "family, friends, Nintendo DS, lego, trumpet, hockey, umm, friends, sleepovers....".  So I'm like "great start bud, but what is the deeper stuff that you really care about, and maybe want to change?".

And my son would like to bring back extinct animals, like, you know, the dodo.....

So in respect to my son's wishes, lets find out a little more about the dodo?

The dodo (Raphus cucullatus) was a flightless bird endemic to the Indian Ocean island of Mauritius. Related to pigeons and doves, it stood about a meter (3.3 feet) tall, weighing about 20 kilograms, living on fruit, and nesting on the ground.
The dodo has been extinct since the mid-to-late 17th century. It is commonly used as the archetype of an extinct species because its extinction occurred during recorded human history and was directly attributable to human activity. When humans first arrived on Mauritius, they brought with them other animals that had not existed on the island before, including dogs, pigs, cats, rats, and Crab-eating Macaques, which plundered the dodo nests, while humans destroyed the forests where the birds made their homes.  In June 2007, adventurers exploring a cave in Mauritius discovered the most complete and well-preserved dodo skeleton ever.

And he also wants to stop crime and find a cure for sickness.  I chose the easy one right!

Day 72

This La Nina....what is this weather all about?  Blimmin cold and miserable here in Sydney.  So on a wet Saturday with cricket cancelled and a raging head cold, the boys and I settled in for a board game - a kind of a charades/challenge game.  And one of my challenges was to sing the national anthem.  Question is - which one?  New Zealand or Australia?  Not wanting to take the easy road, and because I do actually live here, I attempted the Australian national anthem.  I got stuck on line one.  And really after almost 4 years here, you'd think I could do better than that.

So (warning - this is probably of no interest to um, anyone) ...

What are the words to the Australian national anthem - Advance Australian Fair?

Australians all let us rejoice,
For we are young and free;
We’ve golden soil and wealth for toil;
Our home is girt by sea;
Our land abounds in nature’s gifts
Of beauty rich and rare;
In history’s page, let every stage Advance Australia Fair.
In joyful strains then let us sing, Advance Australia Fair.

Beneath our radiant Southern Cross
We’ll toil with hearts and hands;
To make this Commonwealth of ours Renowned of all the lands;
For those who’ve come across the seas We’ve boundless plains to share;
With courage let us all combine To Advance Australia Fair.
In joyful strains then let us sing, Advance Australia Fair.

Postscript: is there a subliminal reason why I still cling to the NZ anthem.  Nah, take a look at this and feel it folks!

Day 71

So today is Melbourne Cup day, and even though I've only been in Australia a few years, I've been lucky enough to get to the race twice.  In fact two years ago I did a down and back in a day which made me feel quite the celeb.  I don't know why I thought this because real celebs wouldn't have been slumming back to the airport at 6pm, they wouldn't have been walking through the semi deserted Qantas terminal in bare feet.  Then squishing swollen feet back into high heels to look slightly respectable when going into the Qantas Lounge.  Their champagne buzz wouldn't have worn off quietly on the flight back home to be replaced with a monster head ache.  And they wouldn't have got home to pay the babysitter (sitting watching the Simpson's at 9pm) an exorbitant price for the day's sitting.  Nope, not too much glamour in that scenario.

But in Sydney, the city is awash with parties, lunches, crowds going to the empty racecourse to watch the race on the tellie.  Hair dressers close, office sweeps are run, school mums do pickups in glam frocks with that extra half glass of champers glow to their cheeks.  Yessirree, it's Race Day in Australia.

And thanks to a child with a sore throat, I will not be having the lovely lunch that I was invited to, I will not be wearing a nice dress and my flowery fascinator, I will have no champagne glow.  I will be wearing my trackies to pick up my kids, I will (maybe) watch the race on the 6pm news at night. Do I sound a little bitter and twisted?

So what is the origins of the Melbourne Cup, what do we know about the race that stops a nation?


The Melbourne Cup is Australia's most famous horse race, and is truly the "race, that stops a nation".
It is now the richest handicap in the world, worth some $6 million and attracts in excess of 100,000 racegoers to the Flemington racecourse.   The race is for three-year-olds and over, and covers a distance of 3,200 metres. It is generally regarded as the most prestigious "two-mile" handicap in the world. The event is held on the first Tuesday in November by the Victoria Racing Club, on the Flemington Racecourse in Melbourne. This day is a public holiday in the state of Victoria and the ACT. Every year, Australia's major annual thoroughbred horse race brings vast crowds of spectators to the Flemington Racecourse and millions watch from home.
The first Melbourne Cup was run in 1861, with 17 horses competing. The prize was £170, and rather than a cup, the winner received a hand-beaten gold watch. The crowd that first year was around about 4,000 people and the winner was a Walking Horse from New South Wales known as Archer. As legend has it, Archer walked the 800 kilometers between Nowra (NSW) and Melbourne before the race.

Phar Lap would be considered one of the greatest winners of the Melbourne Cup (1930), along with Makybe Diva (2003, 2004, 2005) and Bart Cummings, the most successful trainer in the Cup's history.  Traditionally the Melbourne Cup has been almost as famous for the party atmosphere as it has the actual horse racing.  In fact back in 1895, American writer Mark Twain said of a visit to the Melbourne Cup
"Nowhere in the world have I encountered a festival of people that has such a magnificent appeal to the whole nation. The Cup astonishes me."

And we all know that ladies should keep their shoes on at all costs, nothing screams trampy more than barefeet at Flemington. I hope that rule doesn't extend to airports as well!
See, I'm too grumpy to even close  this off properly.


  

Day 70

Have you ever wondered about how high up it is to space - like as in where the blue sky ends and the black space stuff starts?  My kids did the other day and we had a range of guesses from "hmm, I'm pretty sure it's like about 2 km's" (mine) to "it's about a gazillion" (Smith's) - which got me thinking that I had to find this out.


How High is the Earth's Atmosphere?



The atmosphere of Earth is a layer of gases surrounding the planet Earth that is retained by Earth's gravity. The atmosphere protects life on Earth by absorbing ultraviolet solar radiation, warming the surface through heat retention and reducing temperature extremes between day and night. The atmosphere becomes thinner and thinner with increasing altitude, with no definite boundary between the atmosphere and outer space. An altitude of 120 km is where atmospheric effects become noticeable during atmospheric reentry of spacecraft. The Kármán line, at 100 km also is often regarded as the boundary between atmosphere and outer space.  On average, however, a good number to use for the true height of the atmosphere is about 122km. It is at this altitude that vehicles such as the Space Shuttle are said to make "atmospheric interface" when they re-enter the atmosphere prior to landing. Another "official" value you might consider is 80.5km. Anyone flying higher than this altitude is officially considered an astronaut by NASA and the US Air Force.  Just for comparison, controlled airspace, which is the portion of the atmosphere regulated by government agencies (ie where normal planes fly)  is only 18kms.
2km?  What was I thinking?  I think Smith was a little closer than me.

Interesting huh!

Day 69

Don't shoot me, but I haven't been living in Australia long enough to feel the full fury of a draught.  When we arrived from NZ, sure there were water restrictions but in all honesty, it took a good six months to turn the tap off when cleaning teeth and to be more water conscious.  I come from a land where water is plentiful, I've simply never had to be water savvy.  And I do love a long, hot, dry summer.  It's such a novelty.  And I actually do enjoy the 40+ days.  It's like one of my weather extremes, and I'm living it.

So you may understand (although not accept, especially our Country Australia folk) , my profound disappointment when I heard on the Weather Channel (geek right?) that we are in for a La Nina weather pattern this summer.  Farmers all around are breathing mass signs of relief. Me, I'm just a little disappointed.  I don't want summer to be cooler, more humid and with a significantly higher rainfall.  That's just not summer in my books.  I want to plan picnics/bbq's and beach trips safe in the knowledge that the weather will be predictably gorgeous.

So who actually knows what the difference is between La Nina and El Nino, and more to the point, how long is this La Nina going to last?

El Niño/La Niña Southern Oscillation, (or ENSO), is a climate pattern that occurs across the tropical Pacific Ocean on average every five years.  It is characterised by variations in the temperature of the surface of the tropical eastern Pacific Ocean.  The warm oceanic phase, El Niño, accompanies high air surface pressure in the west Pacific, while the cold phase, La Niña, accompanies low air surface pressure in the west Pacific. ENSO causes extreme weather such as floods, droughts and other weather disturbances in many regions of the world.  La Niña is the name for the cold phase of ENSO, during which the cold pool in the eastern Pacific intensifies and the trade winds strengthen.  In Australia changes to the atmosphere and ocean circulation during La Niña events include cooler than normal ocean temperatures, increased cloudiness over tropical Australia, and stronger than normal (easterly) trade winds across the Pacific Ocean.

In other words it is a see saw of the ocean temperature that constantly rocks back and forth across the equatorial Pacific. Normally the sea surface temperatures across the western equatorial Pacific Ocean are much warmer than those in the east because of prevailing winds and ocean currents. Currently La Niña conditions predominate and we have seen a persistence of well above average rainfall over much of inland Australia during the last six months.

At the moment we also have warmer than average sea surface temperatures to the northwest of Australia, and together with the prevailing La Nina conditions, this increases the possibility of above average rain over much of the continent during the remainder of spring.  So folks, when will we be done here?  March 2011 is the prediction.  Keep a brolly handy until then.
And that's you too my kiwi friends.

Day 68

The triathlon.  Well it's not next April which must mean I didn't completely humiliate myself.  Let me walk you through the 24 hours before my event started.  In the morning, when I should have been doing anything else but this, I was watching You Tube clips of "how to swim freestyle".  It's screams "desperate" right?  Interestingly enough, the guy who had the most insights for me, was a guy covered in tattoos in his home pool.  Never judge a book folks.
Next step, I headed to my local pool to practice what I'd just learnt.  This actually involved twisting my arm in a unique way that I have never, ever attempted before.  Needless to say, after a couple of hundred metres, I was feeling an ache in those dormant muscles that I thought couldn't be a good thing just before an event.
The day of, we are sitting waiting at the pool.  I am number 991, there are 981 girls ahead of me before I can even touch water.   And there are all shapes and sizes and abilities in the pool.  Some girls are breaststroking, some are back stroking and there are zillions in the pool.  We were chatting about techniques, when a woman we were sitting with, started giving some useful tips.  We laughed about how crazy we are leaving our swim training to the last minute.  My friend Mia was 700 and something, so she headed away before me, leaving me sitting on my own with my nerves and 500 other women for company.  Until, the winner of the event I hadn't even started yet, came and sat by me and started chatting.  She was recovering so she could do the event after the one she'd just won.  And I swear, just before my number was called, she gave me a wee last minute tip "just stay behind someone and you'll be in their draft, stay close to someone's toes".  "Well that's not going to be a problem", I thought.

And look I'm not going to bore you with the detail of how I "sliced not slapped" the water (although my slice was the wrong way), nor how I did stay on everyone's toes (for the first 25 metres until they blew me off and I was swimming alone again), but what I will say is that I actually swam.  I focused, I reminded myself stuff and I got to the end without completely humiliating myself.  Slow but respectable is my sum up.  And hell, after my last attempt, I'll bank that.

So what did I find out in my last minute training (and folks, these are my own words and interpretation so please don't (a) correct me or (b) follow this as gospel or (c) read this if you are a good swimmer and know you will see me in the school yard (and that's you Ashley ok?).

But who knows if you do, you too may have visions of being the first 40+ year old at London in 2012 winning gold in the 200 "fly"although I'll only go if I don't have to wear those boob flattening, butt enhancing one piece wetsuit things.

Slice don't slap the water - in other words, keep your palm  perpendicular to the water rather than slapping it with a flat palm.  And have your palm facing away from your body.  (so it can push the water away)
Stretch out your body when you're turning for a breath.
Swivel your body when breathing - as if it is attached to a pole and can only turn in either direction a little bit.
Little butterfly kicks - fast, strong but not big.

And even though I do have great faith in the learning powers of You Tube, I had my first stroke correction class at my local pool today.  More on this after my next triathlon in two weeks.  Or maybe not.

Day 67

Sometimes do you think of yourself at your kid's age, and think about how innocent/naive/childlike you were way (way, way) back then compared to what your kids are like today.  And my eldest is 10.  I can only imagine (shudder) teenagers.  Maybe my parents hit paydirt with me, I'm sure I was one of the most  geekiest, uncool 16 year olds out there. Thank god for my gorgeous cool friends with cars and boys hanging around (hello Katie/Ann/Becs/Sheree).  I still shudder about some of the a) outfits, b) hairstyles, c) boy experiences of my youth. I'm shuddering as I write this in fact.  Maybe one day I will subject you to an outing of my most horrific teenage moments.  In the mean time I will keep them in the Memory Bank of Shame.
So where is this going again?

So often when I'm driving I have lots of boys in the car.  And it tickles me pink how blimmin witty these kids are.  We had a hilarious game of "20 questions" the other day with Tony Abbott (Australian Leader of the Opposition for you non-Australian Peeps)  the person we needed to identify.  These kids are 10.  And fountains of knowledge too...I have my own Google, he is 10 and my baby.  When I get a sticky question from one of the others, I almost always say "ask Will, he'll know"  and he almost always does.   The other day I had two big kids in the car and it was poetry in motion.  They were having a serious discussion about polar bears and how all polar bears are left handed.  What the...?
It's a sad day, when I need to slink off to my blog to find out whether what my son says is true.  Actually make that a fabulous day when I need to do that!

So what do I know about polar bears (otherwise known as Ursus maritimus)?

The polar bear or the sea/ice bear are the world's largest land predators.  They can be found in the Artic, the U.S. (Alaska), Canada, Russia, Denmark (Greenland), and Norway.  Each of these countries either banned hunting or established rules for how many polar bears could be hunted within its own boundaries. These rules help keep polar bear populations stable. Today, 25,000 to 40,000 polar bears roam the Arctic.
They are very strong swimmers, and their large front paws, which they use to paddle, are slightly webbed. Some polar bears have been seen swimming hundreds of miles from land, though they probably cover most of that distance by floating on sheets of ice.
Polar bears live in one of the planet's coldest environments and depend on a thick coat of insulated fur, which covers a warming layer of fat. Fur even grows on the bottom of their paws, which protects against cold surfaces and provides a good grip on ice. The bear's stark white coat provides camouflage in surrounding snow and ice. But under their fur, polar bears have black skin—the better to soak in the sun's warming rays.

They are solitary animals, with bodies designed to handle the extremely cold weather. They evolved from brown bears more than 38 million years ago, and now there are 19 species of them known in the world.
Polar Bears give birth to their young on land, but then they spend most of their time in the water. Most people assume that they are mainly land animals but that isn’t true. It is due to the fact that they spend so much time in the water that they are classified as marine mammals.

Whether polar bears are all left handed is widely known and discussed but has not yet been proven by scientists.

But I think that with the electronic games, cartoon characters and other stuff competing for the attention of kid's today, the fact that my son and his friends know this, and are happy to innocently discuss this, is priceless.

Day 66

Driving home the other night, a massive harvest moon filled the sky. Now harvest moons have been the subject of songs (think Neil Young - I was going to put the sound clip on, but just about dozed off when listening to it - sorry all you Neil Young fans), fiction, artwork, festivals and even some sort of gaming kind of thing, but what actually IS a harvest moon?

So what is a harvest moon?
The harvest moon is the moon at or about the period of fullness that is nearest to the autumnal equinox (or for us in the summer hemisphere, the spring equinox!).  It signifies the southern hemisphere’s first full moon of spring.


Because Earth doesn’t orbit upright, but is instead tilted on its axis by 23-and-a-half degrees, Earth’s northern and southern hemispheres trade places in receiving the sun’s light and warmth most directly. We have an equinox twice a year – spring and autumn – when the tilt of the Earth’s axis and Earth’s orbit around the sun combine in such a way that the axis is inclined neither away from nor toward the sun.  It's almost an exact mirror image of each other, with Earth’s two hemispheres receiving the sun’s rays equally. Night and day are approximately equal in length. The name ‘equinox’ comes from the Latin aequus (equal) and nox (night). But, since Earth never stops moving around the sun, these days of equal sunlight and night will change quickly.
So the 2010 equinox – September 22 or 23 depending on the time zone, is a seasonal signpost in Earth’s orbit around the sun.

Often, the harvest moon seems to be bigger or brighter or more colorful than other full moons. The warm colour of the moon shortly after it rises is caused by light from the moon passing through a greater amount of atmospheric particles than when the moon is overhead. The atmosphere scatters the bluish component of moonlight (which is really reflected white light from the sun), but allows the reddish component of the light to travel a straighter path to one's eyes. Hence all celestial bodies look reddish when they are low in the sky.

The harvest moon I just saw was a significant one as it fell smack bang on the equinox.  In the Northern Hemisphere, this was known as the Super Harvest Moon, and was appearing for the first time in 20 years, and it won't happen again until 2029.

I'm guessing that the innocent question of my 10 year old "What's a harvest moon mum" as we  drove along looking at the moon together won't be repeated by my 29 year old when the next Super Harvest Moon appears.
Makes me feel a little sad.
And more than a little old!

Did you see the moon?

Day 65

I am always in search of that new miracle cure for my hair.  The one that will eliminate frizz and create that tousled beach hair look (now I actually sound like the blurb on the bottle of one of the miracle cures I regularly buy).  We always want what we haven't got, right?
I have simple needs -

no birdsnest,

just crisp defined curls.

I'd love that sleek kind of look with hair that shimmys as you move.  The kind of hair that you don't find stuff accidently in.  The kind of hair that can be brushed.

And you know what...I could get that with a chemical peel or chemical something, but if god gave me curls/birdsnest/frizz then that's what I should embrace.  I kind of believe that if you muck with nature then somewhere, someone with a big ledger will go "righto, she messed with her hair, time for us to teach her a lesson", and voila, next morning, hair is no longer on the head but instead all over the pillow.

So remember my incredibly traumatic/expensive hair experience, where my "colour consultant'ist" had raved about the virtues and potentially miracle qualities of a new super product.  Of course my interest was piqued, but by the time I had been hit with the final "invoice", there was no budget surplus for extra invoice items.

However three days later, when at the local tres basic salon, getting the three boys hair cut (ok, so you can see the salon now right?), on the counter beside the miniature water feature, was the very same wunder-product the other salon had tried to sell me.  And this no doubt was priced at tres basic salon prices.

So of course I brought some.  So what is it?

What's the buzz about Moroccanoil and is it as good as they say it is?

THE ORIGINAL MOROCCANOIL® OIL TREATMENT is 

an ultra-light formula which restores shine, strengthens the hair and conditions. (hmm, ok, so my Sunsilk conditioner rrp$3.75 promises that too)

So here's the scientificky reasons why Moroccan Oil is supposedly so good....

1. Argan oil (Moroccan Oil’s key ingredient) is a UV protector and powerful antioxidant.  Protection and hot hair?  Yes please!

2. It’s also rich in Vitamin F (Omega 6), Vitamin A (for more elasticity – less dry hair), Vitamin E to protect from free radicals and Phenols (shielding enviro stressors).

3. The results are lightweight and non-oily in texture.

4. The oil nourishes your scalp and promotes healing so it’s great for those with dandruff or flakey scalps.

5. You need the tiniest size to get max results.

6. It instantly dissolves into your hair without leaving residue.

7. Moroccan Oil cuts blow-dry time in half!

8. Argan oil is harvested under a fair-trade program, providing economic support to thousands of families in the Souss-Massa region of Morocco.

Moroccan oils have been produced for many centuries. Initially, its composition and ingredients were kept secret, and were passed from one generation to another. Back then, the distribution of the Moroccan oils was kept local, and very small quantities were left for exportation. Today Moroccan oil is a multinational trademark, and a leader in hair-care and styling products, given the scale of its benefits.

Also while I'm bleeting about fluff, here's some more positives about my Magic-Moroccan-Oil - it's in Tiffany blue packaging!


Tomorrow I PROMISE there will be a more challenging learning than um, hair products.  I'm a little ashamed!

Day 64

We had some friends around for dinner recently.  They hadn't been to our house before, and had bought a nice bottle of wine along.  Things were going swimmingly.
Until ...The Husband attempted to open their bottle of wine.
We had just poured bubbles and were waiting to do a toast, so the Husband thought he would quickly open the red and let it "breathe" while we drank our champers.  So with glasses waiting to clink, we waited.  And waited.  I popped my head out to see was taking so long, he'd gone to a more remote part of the kitchen..."We're waiting?!" I hissed.
His stricken face said it all.
As did the crumbled half of the cork that actually had come out.  The rest still intact in the bottle but with fault lines running through it.  It also was not going to make a clean exit.  Our stricken faces met.  "Do you need a strainer?"  I whispered.  He nodded furiously.  Problem was my "strainer" was actually a big old plastic colandar with holes the size of pencils.  It would have to do.
Meanwhile I carried on, chatting loudly and enthusiastically.  I glanced in his direction.  The colander idea was not a good one, as I saw (very good) red wine pouring over the floor.  Without missing a beat, I threw a tea towel at him and he threw it on the floor and started mopping with his foot, while still "straining" the wine into the waiting decanter.  In a flash he was gone.  I was the only one who saw a new bottle of our wine being smuggled inside under his shirt.
Which was duly corked, decanted and appreciated over dinner.  With the former bottle taking pride of place on our table alongside the decanter.

There's something to be said for screw tops!
We now own a lovely petite tea strainer with teeny weeny holes.  In case of emergencies.

So why do we decant red wine in a carafe?  I know it's because it helps it "open up", but what does that really mean?

Old wines that have been cellared properly will contain sediment due to the aging process. By properly decanting the wine, the sediment will remain in the bottle.  Wine is decanted so it can be aerated or allowed to "breathe". The decanter is meant to mimic the effects of swirling the wine glass to stimulate the movement of molecules in the wine and therefore trigger the release of more aroma compounds. In addition it is thought to benefit the wine by smoothing some of the harsher aspects of the wine (like tannins). 

For old wines with sediment you need to be very diligent about pouring the wine into a decanter. First, stand the bottle up for several hours to allow the sediment to settle at the bottom. Fine sediment will take longer to settle to the bottom of the bottle.

For young red wines, splash the wine into the decanter. The more it splashes into the decanter, the more it comes in contact with oxygen. Let the wine settle and rest for a short time.

Wow!  But I wonder what determines as old vs new wine?  Ah, another post!  Gawd won't we impress everyone next time a wine needs decanting!

Day 63

Gawd, not much self improvement going on here at the moment!  I apologise and be prepared for a burst, I've been stockpiling some topics!

So I like to exercise, I feel joyous if I've had a good run (especially in the bush), energised by a long bike ride and relieved that I can bust out a km in the pool, and managing to breathe on both sides!  I have a friend who is a Running Man.  Literally.  He's progressed from Iron Man's to Ultramarathons.  Which he does with as minimal impact as possible to the family, texting updates often along the way, and no doubt smiling for much of it as well.  We all just know that he does these runs and even though we're so incredibly proud of him, it's only when his wife shares with us that he drinks coke on the last 15kms or so of his these races which is his last caffeine/sugar hit,  and there is no turning back to water/goo's once he's on the coke, then the physical reality of what he's putting his body through becomes apparent.

I have other people in my world, who's partners have done or are about to do Ironman Hawaii.  I get teary just watching any footage on TV let alone supporting someone you love, as they put themself through such an emotional and physical challenge, especially if you're there and part of the buzz and hype of this incredible event.  So I thought I'd find a bit about it....

So what is the Ironman Hawaii?



On February 18, 1978, John and Judy Collins, triathletes from California, introduced triathlon to Hawaii by creating and staging the first endurance triathlon, the Hawaiian Ironman Triathlon, a swim/bike/run course that circled the island of Oahu. 


The event consists of a 2.4-mile (3.86 km) swim, a 112-mile (180.25 km) bike and a marathon (26 miles 385 yards, 42.195 km) run, raced in that order and without a break. Most Ironman events have a strict time limit of 17 hours to complete the race, where the Ironman race starts at 7 AM, the mandatory swim cut off for the 2.4 mile swim is 2 hours 20 minutes, the bike cut off time is 5:30 PM, and all finishers must complete their marathon by midnight.


The fastest time ever recorded for finishing the race was 8:04:08 1996 by Luc Van Lierde (Belgium).  That's just wrong isn't it!


The 2010 Ironman Hawaii Triathlon will take place October 9, 2010 and it will be 34th Ironman triathlon event held in Hawaii. It will also be the world championship competition for the International Ironman Triathlon Series. 


Amazing, huh!


Heaps of luck Matt!

Day 62

Do you sometimes feel that life's just cruising along tickety-boo, and then it's like a massive wind hurtles through your world and changes what you know as normal.  You know the times?  Like when there is a destructive flood/tsunami/earthquake happening in different parts of the world - are they connected in anyway?  What's coming next?
Or when everyone's been healthy, and then all your kids get sick at the same time, the car needs a new tyre and you lose your wallet....your status quo is jostled a bit.
Maybe it's meant to keep us in the game, keep us on our toes, not let complacency creep into our worlds.  I dunno....  but I know I'm indirectly in this space at the moment.  There is worry in my world, there is sickness, there are earthquakes...not directly affecting me, just my world.

I am on my toes.

What was the world's strongest recorded earthquake?


The strongest earthquake took place in Chile on May 22, 1960. It measured 9.5 on the Richter scale. In this earthquake, 2,000,000 people were left homeless, 5,000 were injured, and 2,000 more died. The quake caused tidal waves, which killed 61 people in Hawaii, 138 people in Japan, and 32 in the Philippines.

Thinking of our family in Christchurch, New Zealand today.