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

It is “winter” here on the Sunshine Coast, and we are having an absolute ripper.  I may have mentioned whinged once or twice a billion times that the only thing I hate more than Winter is birds, but of course you can always shoot birds with a BB gun.  Winter just stays doesn’t it?  With the wind that stings, and cold that creeps into your marrow, so that you freeze from the inside out.  Well, right here, right now, none of those things are happening.  I am having my best winter ever.  Maybe it’s The Menopause, but I really don’t care.  I’m just so grateful.

Here are some of the reasons why:

The Maroochy River. What a spot to sit and, well, just sit.

A husband who will get me a cup-of-cino to sit with. Easily the best drink invented: a coffee and a dessert in one.

Looking at this river. Ahh, the beautiful Maroochy. I wish you could see the way the water was sparkling. All of those little ripples had shards of crystal bouncing and bopping on top of them.

Days long enough to make shadows with these gorgeous ones, who own my heart.

Coming up the stairs to our own afternoon view. The air gets crisp as the sun dips down, but the big blue makes it almost worth it.

A bottle of something fancy. I’ve decided that my life is better if I have a good drop in the fridge. I don’t have to drink it (yet), I just like knowing it’s there. It’s comforting.

This thing from Sol Republic. It might not be the prettiest speaker deck in the world, but it pumps out the sound, and lights up your own colour when you log your device in.. And so the DJ battle begins. I foresee silly times ahead.

A new record, of new music.
I just found my own nirvana at JB.
How good is a new album? Opening it up, reading the liner notes. It’s just so big and so real. Don’t get me wrong, I love iTunes, but this is something special.

The sunrise at Sunrise Beach this morning. It was cool out, and cool to see. I like a later start. Thanks Winter.

One of these to go with the sunrise. No art. No frills. Just a good old George Clooney to warm the cockles.  I said cockles.

Crazy times with the trees at Sunspace Cafe today: a Tropical with an Autumn one against the flawless Noosa Blue sky.

Summer in a tin.
I was gifted this today from a friend, and it is perfect for a sun worshipper like me. Smells like summers past. Makes my skin feel like it’s sixteen again (well, almost).

So there you have it.  All the reasons why, for once, I’m great.  And full.

Don’t tell Summer.

How is your Winter going?  What is great about your place right now?

And yes, Yanks and Canadians, I know you’re in Summer already.  No need to gloat.

…From The Ashers xx

Me, showing off Infinite Possibilities late in the evening..

I first met Ali when she was young, and blonde, and back on our soils with a hybrid American-Australian accent.  She was a tiny little poppet of sunshine and giggles and I thought her gorgeous, and funny when she stamped her foot when I called her Alison. “My name is Ali!” she said as I laughed and told her that Alison wasn’t that bad, thinking she would grow into the name like I did.

The next time I met Ali she was rebellious and blonde, and back on our soils with a hybrid English-Australian accent.  She was a ray of light and fun and she made me laugh, with her ripped, oversized jeans and bare feet.  I thought it was funny when she stamped her foot when I said she would probably be a great Chiropractor one day.  “I will NEVER be a chiro!” she said as I laughed and told her that it wasn’t that bad, and she would grow into the life like I did.

The next thing I knew, years had gone by and little Ali did all sorts of study and travel and stuff and somehow without me noticing, had gone from being my babysitter, to a grown up woman with a degree, and a shiny new office in a new country, and a fiancé.

I don’t know how or when it all happened, because I know she was only just looking after our kids a minute ago whilst we went out to Sabai Sabai for tea, but here she was in front of me, all grown up and with a ring on her finger.  Some events just jump in your face and force you to feel old, and this was one of them.

I was excited to trot down to the home of her parents and see who she had chosen to hold her hand and her heart, in this next part of the adventures.  This time when I saw Ali she was poised and beautiful without even a hint of a hybrid New Zealand-Australian accent.  We sat on the couch, and chatted about all of the things under the sky and she made me smile with her stories and insights, and this time I didn’t laugh at her at all.  I just sat with her and reflected on what a rare privilege it is to see someone grow into their skin, and become somehow more of themselves.  To observe the changes and the letting-go that happens as we become our true selves.  I listened to the man she has chosen to be the one she lets see all of her, both her fragility and her core of stubborn strength.  I watched him, watching her, and my heart smiled as I knew she has chosen well.

For she is still Ali.  Never Alison.  I suspect that she will still stamp her foot on occasion, but I love seeing that she will also listen carefully and consider deeply before rushing off to catch the next Piscean rainbow she sees.  She came from a home of Infinite Possibilites, which she has gracefully managed to distill down to the ones that speak to her best self most of all.  And that is a joy to see.

Congratulations on your betrothal, Ali.  MWAH.

…From The Ashers xxx

I love wedding photos.

Part of the reason I love them  is because I loved my own our own wedding so much that it is a reminder of our day; the planning, the lists, the creation, and the completion of a cycle- all things that I love.  Couple that with me us being the centre of attention for a whole day, and it’s a winning formula. But more than that, our wedding day was designed to be one of inclusion and fun and love and playfulness, and that is the feeling that stirs in me whenever I look at someone else’s wedding photos.

I love to look into the eyes of the bride, and see her happiness, as it always goes beyond the arc of her mouth: it permeates all of her.  In the curve of her neck, the glimmer of her skin, the gloss of her hair.  She carries a glow with her all day and into night, and the people who love her will come close to bask in it a while, and murmur sparkling diamonds in her ears of how breath-taking she looks, how joyful, how in love.  She will store up those diamonds for years to come, and perhaps they will give her confidence in things new.

The secret thing I love to do at weddings is to watch the groom.  In the moment when all are straining forward to catch the very first glimpse of the bride as she comes into view, I have my eye to the viewfinder, ready to snap the look on his face, when he sees his bride-to-be for the first time.  I am a spy, catching a moment of raw emotion.  A voyeur, watching a private moment, unmasked.  It is such a special thing, to see that look of pure love, laced with longing.

By far my favourite thing is the capturing all of the little moments: the groom with a wisp of a joke that makes her laugh and lean in to him, her best friends making a sparkling toast, the flower girl and page boy clasping chubby hands, a close up of the discarded bouquet.

So many signs of love.  So much hope.  So much promise.

What is your favourite wedding moment?

…From The Ashers xxx

I like us all to have new outfits on Christmas Day, or if not new, then at least Christmas themed, in that they have to be red, white or green, or a combination of all three. Silver and gold are also acceptable.  Many, many things in The Asher home are in the colours of Christmas during December.  Upstairs, the colours are red, white and gold.  I can also allow silver.  In my office it’s green and white all the way.  In Unit One’s bedroom: blue and red.  Unit Two has pink and white.  (Now I know pink and blue “are not Christmas colours”, but: boy and girl.  Plus, the ornaments for their little trees were too cute to pass by.)

But I’m meandering.

This year, as always I got my Christmas stuff done early (RRs may have noticed me gloating in a previous post or ten), except for MY outfit.  I just haven’t been able to find a thing to wear.  Not in the theme colours at least.  I have schlepped to The Plaza a couple of times, which, shockingly, involves me: 1. Leaving the compound,  2. Leaving The Shire,  3. Crossing the river.

Nothing.

I thought I was going to have to resort to one of the outfits I have worn over the last ten years or so.  First World Problems right here people.

And then there was today, when the first Christmas Magic occurred.

This morning we Ashers were well and truly out of bounds, all the way down there at the computer chop-shop in Mooloolaba.  When we saw this:

Josie Bird… So cute. Flamingos in the window too.

How’s a girl to resist?

We went in, the kids took their seat on the big hand chair, and I began.  I’m not shy to do a bit of shopping or a bit of trying on, so the kids got out their books and settled in for the long haul- they know how I roll.  I perused the area- not difficult, it’s not a huge shop, and it’s not annoyingly cluttered with so much stock you can’t see things properly, but I didn’t see too much in the good ole theme colours.

The chirpy little thing behind the counter, who I shall call Josie Bird, if only because I like the way it sounds, asked if I needed any help.  Now this is where I usually get a bit embarrassed during what I like to call The Season.  I want to ask if they have anything suitable for Christmas Day, but I have so many rules: it must be red, white or green, it must be comfortable enough to encase and erase my Chrissy Day abdominal distention, it must look cute with heels, but not so short that heels are required at all times, it must be cool enough so that I can be in the kitchen (if I can’t avoid it), but warm enough so I can sit on the Top Deck late into the evening, and it must be modest enough that I won’t be flashing my scanties once I’ve imbibed.  And this old girl must look at least vaguely hot.

So I can’t really ask.

Today, Josie Bird was so gosh-darn full of pep, I decided to ask for just one of the requirements: the colour.  Immediately she was up and passing me a filmy little thing, that had a bit of red, and felt lovely in the hand.  I rarely ask for advice in shops (it may surprise you to know I may be a little controlling and opinionated) as I know what I like, but Josie Bird was so sweet I popped out of the cubicle for her to have a squizz, already shaking my head, “No”.

Josie Bird took one look at the Old Bird in front of her and said, “Not Christmassy enough, you need some more red, here you go,” and handed me a necklace that I would never choose with my own mind, and there it was: Christmas had come to The Ashers, or at least to this fussy, grumpy, tired-from-kids-camping-and-not-sleeping-last-night,  Asher.

Thanks Josie Bird.  What a ray of sunshine you are.

And here’s the reveal:

The outfit: sorted

Close up: loving the red

Cue the soundtrack  (Clearly the old Styler doesn’t know the colour-code constraints)

Do you have a new outfit for Christmas Day?  What’s it like? 

PS Not a sponsored post… Just sharing the Christmas Magic with y’all.