Capricorn: Loyal, career focussed, pragmatic, bloody minded and stubborn. Just climbing, climbing, climbing that craggy, stony mountainside. For ever.

And she hated mountains. There was something about the air up there, a heaviness that stopped her lungs from expanding properly. A constriction in her chest. Much the same as the density of her star-sign. She wanted to dismiss astrology completely, in order to be free of the shackles of a personality that she never wanted to have, but when she voiced her rejection, people would titter, “Oh, that’s such a Capricorn thing to say.” She could neither win, or be liberated.

After a time, the ideas and expectations of those around her became self-fulfilling- the pygmalion effect to the extreme- and she sat in her practical home, with her sensible things and smiled a wry smile of contented disgust. She was proud of the things: they were to be revered, weren’t they? They made sense. They were functional. Each thing served a purpose, and each one was precisely placed.

At various times, things and people that didn’t make sense would bubble into her life. They would arrive in a colourful flurry of noise and excitement and for a moment she would feel her tear ducts tingling with the pure beauty of the impractical and frivolous. And then the moment would skitter away on the 10am sea-breeze, like the dust-bunnies under the couch, and she would look at the person, the thing, the idea, and think it silly, and think herself foolish for entertaining the idea that such frothy nonsense was of any use in her life.

And she would dismiss it all.

Then one day something happened.

Someone secretly delivered a bag of illogical things to her front door. Worse, they were placed there in the moment between her husband taking out the rubbish and the children taking out the dogs for a walk. How did they not see the anonymous courier? Was it some puckish sprite, poking fun at her with the promise of self-centred time to bathe in exploding bath crystals, and slather her skin in thick lavender body butter? Surely they must know that baths were for babies and a waste of water to boot, and body butter? It would make her bed sheets oily and pungent, requiring extra washing. What nonsense.

So she planned on how she could give the pretty little things away to someone who would use them. Someone who would relish the nonsense of it all. Someone who valued such things. Someone who valued themselves.

Wait.

What?

All these years she had eschewed all of the fizzy, delightful things, convincing herself that they were dizty and wasteful, when perhaps she just didn’t feel worthy of receiving them. Could it be that she didn’t see herself as being deserving enough to warrant the waste-of-time that items such as this implied? Or did she (remember, she was a capricorn) simply not like things that made her soften? She didn’t know.

And in the unknowing, something magical uncoiled.

Perhaps it was the unfurling of her caprine horns. Or just some secluded desire that had been tucked away for forty-five years, too shy to show up, lest it be seen as daft.

She realised there are far worse things than a little frivolity.

In fact, one far worse thing might even be, the denial of self-nurturing and expression of private truth… One of the very things she was always banging on about.

So she set the floating candles free in a simple bowl of water, and instead of bobbing around with the gentle flickering worthy of a Vogue Living cover, they melted together like a blobby Mer-Angel. And that made her giggle. (She never giggled. Laugh perhaps, but not giggle.)

She lavished the body butter on her sun-kissed birthday skin, and yes, it did make her clothes feel a little sticky, in the muggy Queensland evening air, but beyond that, there was something delicious in the faint whisper of lavender, and the silken feeling on her skin.

Perhaps she was really a Cancerian.

…From The Ashers

Last week Coco received what truly is the gift of life.

If you could see the difference in her before and after a transfusion you would be like me, urging people to give blood, give blood, give blood whenever they can. Before, she is fractious and intolerant, prickly and itchy. She might cry if she drops a pencil, or doesn’t like the colour of her cup, her skin a pallid yellow. After, she is full of energy and cheeky fun. Our house zings with the sound of her deep belly laughs, and she is literally, in the pink of health.

Yesterday I went and gave some of my blood, and as always, my heart warmed, to see the number of people who, at this crazybusy time of year are willing to slow down in the sanctuary of the blood bank for an hour or so, and offer up their veins to share that bright red fluid that makes us all tick. And keep on ticking.

At the blood bank we smile at each other, little nods as we unite in our goal of saving anonymous lives. We sit in the cool, calm confines of that haven of life, protected from the jostling activity that seems to get everyone jangling at this time of year, and take some time out to reflect on how lucky we are. Lucky that, this day, we aren’t the ones needing blood, and in fact, we are healthy enough to have a surplus to share around. The efficient blood angels will drain about half a litre from our bodies, and our clever marrows will slmply pump out some more, with barely a blip. We reflect on the magnificence of the body.

Once when Liam was small he asked me how rainbows are made, and I gave him a long and fanciful answer involving paint and fairies. He didn’t believe it for a moment, and when I told him what it really was, describing white light and the dispersion effect of the light being seperated into its different wavelengths, he listened in rapt silence. He then asked me why I would make up a ‘weird story’ when the reality was so much more magical. I think of that often. I think of the wonderous abilities of nature, and clevernesss that resides within every single one of us. The way that yesterday, without any conscious effort from me, I was able to accomodate and create another half litre of those beautiful little biconcave discs that carry around our breath.

As I looked around the busy room at he blood bank, I was humbled at the number of lovely people who will stand up (lie down?!) to give Coco a gift so special, without even knowing her. A gift better than any trinket or shiny bauble, and one that allows the walls of our home to swell with fun and vitality and joy.

The true gift of Christmas.

If you would like to give blood, call the blood bank on 13 14 95 to book a bed. You won’t regret it.

…From The Ashers

A most wonderful thing has happened.

Thankfully I wasn’t writing this blog during my dalliance with Edward the Vampire, for it may have very embarrassing. All the swooning, all the gushing.

I will now freely admit that I was obsessed, for he was the love of my life. For a time at least.

Then by and by my love for Edward waned, and I thought it was because I no longer loved his immortal wisdom, his porcelain skin, his immeasurable strength.

ABC2 has a done something amazing: they are showing the Twilight movies every Wednesday.

And I have found my love for Edward was not a fleeting infatuation.

My love was true.

Hence. This blog. Can’t write. Watching.

…From The Ashers

Okay everyone, check this out: Mirabel is a cool charity that provides support for kids and families affected by parental substance abuse. So every year, they run a bit of a drive to collect cute handmade toys for those cool little kids to cuddle.

I know, I know, at this time of the year it can feel like everyone has their hand out asking for either your time or your money to help out someone who doesn’t have as much as you. And I know it’s difficult to know who to help, hell, sometimes the problems seem so big and so widespread that you can feel like you might be swamped by it all, so it’s easier to just bury your head under a sea of shiny plastic crap.

So I’ve found you a solution: Sewing for Softies.

Gorgeous Pip of Meet Me at Mikes has all the details on her blog right here.

Pesonally, I can’t sew for shit.

I once asked my family for a sewing machine for Christmas, so they pissed themselves all the way to the shops and got me one. For some inexplicable reason it came with a complimentary fondue machine, which incidentally has had quite a run. Here is a pic of my machine:

It makes a nice shelf, no?

It has ugg boots on top of it, which, quite frankly get more use all the way up here on the Sunny Coast.

So being a bit challenged in the manual arts, I have appointed myself CEO of Operations and Snacks, and have managed to get a whole lot of lovely fabric donated by Alisa from Plump, (a ripper of a local lady who is in the business of all things cushions you can see her stuff here or at the Eumundi Markets every Wednesday and Saturday), I’ve set up a venue for a sewing-bee and am in the process of recruiting a small army of sewing-ladies to do the actual work.

Easy.

Perhaps you might consider doing the same in your town? Maybe you have some crafty friends that you can bribe with the promise of sweet treats and crisp glass of bubbles for their troubles? And if you live on the Sunny Coast and would like to be involved in our night, then message me and I’ll send you the details.

Let’s see if we can make some little kids smile big toothy grins, with gifts made with love, this Christmas.

…From The Ashers

If you are a RR you would know one of the Geniuses wasn’t quite so evil this weekend just gone, and he planned and presided over a Golden Garage Sale, to raise money for charity. He did well.

Then today, as a result of that, something wonderful happened.

Liam received something in the mail from a beautiful lady who knew about the garage sale via my Facebook Super-Spamming on Sunday. She took the time out of her day to write Liam a lovely letter, and to make a donation to his cause. When he read it, he did a little fist pump. When I read it, I got all teary.

I tend to get a bit emotional about lots of things these days. I blame The Menopause, rather than admitting that I could be going a bit soft. But this action really touched my heart.

And it got me to thinking about how it is relatively easy to perform and act of kindness, and to change someone’s day. Liam is taking what he calls “the full-on letter” to school tomorrow to show his teacher, and then he wants it put in his memory box. I can tell by the way he proudly read it out to me that he has started to see himself in the way she described him. He is considering himself to be the type of guy who does good, who makes the world better. Psychologists have a term for it: The Pygmalian Effect. I have a term for it: A Bloody Grouse Way To Build A Kid’s Self Esteem.

So this letter? It changed Liam’s day today. But who knows what it has done to change his perceptions of himself in all of the tomorrows.

BJ Palmer once said, “We never know how far reaching something we may think, say, or do today will affect the lives of millions tomorrow.” Who knows what these little charges we have inherited will become; pilots, plumbers, painters, publicans, politicians? Regardless of what, experiences like these will define who. And most likely how.

I appreciate you, lovely lady.

What can you do to change a kid’s life for the better?

Or an adult, for that matter?

…From The Ashers

On one side of my family there is a pretty big age discrepancy between me (the oldest) and all the rest. They are all adults now, having their own kids and such, but I still think of them as little rugrats getting all liquored up on red lemonade and my Nan’s tooth-achingly sweet slices, every Christmas.

My Mum just sent me a link for my cousin Jarrod McShane’s website, and it turns out, that somewhere between sitting at the kiddie table at family dinners, travelling to The US with us in 2003, and now, he has become an extraordinary photographer.

Wonderful photography amazes me, in this digital age of fast, sharp cameras and accessible filters, where it seems everyone can take enough pictures to get something decent. But true photography is something else, isn’t it? Real photographers somehow manage to tell you a story, take you on a ride, urging you to leave the couch and step inside the frame with them. They make you experience the world in a new way, with eyes that don’t belong to you. I think that is a rare thing, something you can’t get with just a fancy camera. For that you need heart.

So when I went over to Jarrod’s, I guess I expected to see a couple of cute snaps of this or that (he’s just a kid remember), but instead he took me along with him to Alaska and Melbourne and Canada. Places I have been and places I haven’t, experiencing them all in the heartfelt way of my quiet, thoughtful cousin. Seeing details that my own eyes would have passed over, capturing moments that I would have rushed by.

The excursion made me smile, in a benevolent old-lady kind of way, proud of what my kid-cousin has grown up to be.

It also made my heart ache a little, as I know my Dad would have loved to see the art Jarrod has created, and I know he would have had thoughtful things to say about it. We would have sat together and looked through the gallery, recognising familiar places, and making up stories of the spots we didn’t.

I would have liked that.

So I did it by myself instead, imagining his voice in my head.

And I liked it anyway.

Thanks Jarrod, I think you have a gift. I appreciate you sharing it.

This might be my fave, but it’s hard. There are so many. It’s very Melbourne though, and I do love that old bird.            …This pier has a story or two to tell…

How about you, which pic is your favourite?

What does it say to you? Where does it take you?

…From The Ashers xx