I think I’m a bit of an ‘in the moment’ kinda gal. I love to dream, and in fact I set aside weekly daydreaming time in my diary to make sure I get my fill of fluffy future times, or as Joe Dispenza would say, “Creating a memory of the future” but outside of that, my family life and my work compels me to be all Fat Boy Slim. I simply can’t allow the past to determine my future, nor can I think too much about what may be. In the moment all the way, baby.

Which means once something is done, it’s done. I think about it a little, make some meaning from it, and then move along folks, nothing to see here.

So the idea of people having a heavenly birthday, although quite lovely in its intent, isn’t my jam. The age that someone “would’ve been” means very little to me. I’m a bit black and white. They aren’t here. So that’s that.

Yesterday was my Dad’s birthday.

And it kind of snuck up on me. I was busy trying to think of other things, and yet it came and went anyway. He’s been gone a good number of years now. More than a decade, less than a score. Long enough that I have been able to grow around the space he left in my heart, but not long enough that I’ve forgotten the way he cleared his throat before he spoke, the way he rested his hand on my mum’s shoulder when she needed his support, the way his eyes twinkled intelligently when he was patiently and carefully considering a new idea.

So many years, so many moments. And then time compresses down and it was yesterday that he was pushing our kids on the swing (way too high by the way) and saying, “Zoom zoom” whilst they squealed with pure terri-joy.

So what do you get a man who has everything is no longer here?

You get him a red wine emoji in the family chat and think of all the peppery-chocolate scented Henschke he tipped down the sink because it “tasted funny” when he was wracked with cancer cells. You get him some space in your thoughts as you sit on he couch and stare at his-now-your records, and think of how he taught you to slide them out of their crinkly sleeves and reverently place them on the turntable, closing your eyes as you wait through the first crackles to where the songs burst through. You give him your hairbrush so that he can gently brush the knots from your wet hair as you thaw out by the fire-at least it feels like you can do that, even though you can’t.  You give him immortality, by yet again mentioning his name.

Again and again.

Even on the days when it’s not his birthday and even when the people around you have grown tired of hearing about him.

Especially then.

Happy heavenly birthday Peter.

Happy Birthday Peter

Look, I know it’s the maximum in indulgence, but I guess this is my blog after all, and I really want to share some of the gorgeous pics that beautiful, patient and talented Mazzy Fine Photography took for us last week (you may recall it was our ten year anniversary…or not, it’s not like I’ve mentioned it very often.)

The Scene:

7am, hot, very bright and sunny, two* reluctant adults, two hungry kids who had been bribed with breakfast at their favourite restaurant (Bistro C) if only they would get “just one more photo, smiling at the camera, don’t do that silly arm movement thing, yes I know your eyes are burning, smile Liam and don’t hit your sister, look up Coco.”  Oh, and randoms who were just trying to get on with their day and didn’t want to be obstructed with people promenading and taking photos on the boardwalk.

So yeah, Mazzy is one patient lady.  In the short time available she managed to get some rippers, all actually better than our original wedding photos. Wish we had Mazzy back in the day, as the young people say.

Feast your peepers on these babies:

Then and now

Ten years later

All looking out, in the same direction…
Team Asher

Some children are just ratbags

Okay, that’ll do I guess. Let me know if you want Mazzy’s details (she is too slack to have a website yet).

Before I go, I want to share with you the best comment of the day, by a lady we haven’t seen in, well, about ten years (her husband worked with Nath way back then, and they came to our “Wedding After Party” which we had back up here on the coast after our honeymoon), she was walking past, saw us and exclaimed, “Nathan, Alison, oh my god I was just thinking it looked like you, I came to your wedding after-party, you both look exactly the same, well pretty much exactly the same, I haven’t got my glasses on, but pretty much the same, other than you Nath, you’ve just got a bit more snow on the roof.”

So, in this, the final anniversary post: Happy Anniversary Wrinkly, Happy Anniversary Snowy. I look forward to walking along the next ten years worth of beaches.

Maybe to this: Our Wedding Song  (We learnt a Foxtrot to it… I couldn’t do it then, and I can’t do it now, but bloody hell, that music makes my heart do a little dance.)

Where-ever the path may lead….

* That’s clearly a lie, only one was reluctant and I guess you know that was me, as I’m so shy are retiring, like.

Special thanks to Amber for all the pinterest-y research and sharing the of photo styling ideas. Mwah.

How good is Noosa Main Beach looking?

I may have mentioned once or twice that it was our ten year wedding anniversary on Friday.  When we got married (and were childless) we made a pact that we would go to Santorini for our ten years. We had visions of azure seas, stark white buildings, long days lazing on the beach, slowly merging into evenings of food and wine and timeless indolence.

That was before.

Now?  Well now we have two children. So our plans have become more, let us say, restrained.

Instead we were able to eek out two BLISSFUL BLOODY NIGHTS at The Emporium in Brisbane, which is IN THE SAME STATE as where we live.  Don’t get me wrong, our stay was amazing, and I am grateful to have a Mum who will babysit for us without complaint, or financial recompense.  I documented every last detail in photos, lest it be erased from our memories the second we picked up our little devil spawn cherubs.

I suspect a post on The Emporium will be coming your way soon, but I am too besotted with the idea of drinking this beer with my name on it (My Wife’s Bitter), and listening out for the storm that I hope is brewing, to get one together.  (Oh I do love a storm-beer).

Instead, I shall share with you this clip of Michael McIntyre, sent to me by Lauren (who is childless: if only you knew how funny this actually is Lauren), as I too was childless this weekend.  I walked out doors, I drank and ate and drove and swam and was pampered and swanned about without a care in the world. And now I’m home, and that sensation is fading already, and yet, strangely and funnily enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way*.

Photo by the gorgeous Mazzy Photography

How was your weekend? 

Did you have the kids?

* It is entirely possible that all the swanning about and celebrating has given me some sort of brain injury.

Ten years ago today this happened:

U.S. 2003 U.S.A. Cigarette Taxes Nov. 8th, 2003 : Native to non-native cigarette taxing was schedule to take place soon in the state of New York. However, a print announcement was made this day in 2003 regarding the delay of this decision, as discussed on the day before. 

WHAT?

Anyway, there was also a lunar eclipse.

The Bledisloe Cup was on in Melbourne.  Some chunky dudes ran around for a bit, and crashed into each other. Someone won.

Most importantly, this happened:

I let this guy come to my wedding:

That was a pretty good decision by me.

These fairies were there:

I rocked up in a mini-bus (as you do.)

And there was a fair bit of this:

At this:

Antoine de Saint-Exupery, apparently once said this, “Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.”  I like that, I like it a lot.

By the time you read this, The Ashers will be all frocked up, and promenading along Noosa Beach.  We might look a bit silly in our ten year old clobber.  My halo tiara might be a bit tarnished, my dress a bit worse for wear, and my veil pretty much shredded, but I guess that’s how things roll, ten years on.  Still, with a bit of spit and polish, we should scrub up okay.  Much like life really.  We’ve added a few wrinkles and a few scars and one or two grey hairs, but I suppose that means we are living a life.  And more than a few of those wrinkles are from laughter.

I love you Nath.  You make me want to be better.  And you’re more than this little black cloud deserves.

Here’s to putting a few scores on our board.