And now he is 12

Twelve, 12, douze, dodici....TWELVE!  No matter how many times I say it, it still sounds like big kid numbers and I can’t quite believe it.  I could divide it another way – 2 precious years in Canada, 5 idyllic years in Switzerland, and 5 growing-up-fast years in Australia, but I’m not sure that makes this number any easier to swallow.

Next year J will be a teenager, and he may devolve into a grunting, testosterone-fueled, hairy man-boy but for the moment, for this very last minute, and by the tips of his fingernails, he is hanging on to boy.  Boy who still loves to spend most of his time with us, who loves his stuffed animals, and is sufficiently afraid of Velociraptors that two Disney “Perry the Platapus” stand guard at his bedroom door, and a stuffed police dog, my brother gave him, stands guard on his bed.  This after a day alone at the skatepark and strolling to the shops with his mates…..fingernails I tell you.

It's a "12" and an "!"-  not too obvious from this angle

No party was the rule this year, but we had a handful of his closest mates join us for a “It’s not a party”.  The loose plan, though, was all “big kid”: an afternoon at the awesome Esplanade Youth Park skatepark in Fremantle with as many chips and soft drinks as they could consume from my endless supply, then home for a viewing of “Fast and Furious 6”.  That few of them had seen “Fast and Furious 1 through 5” was a non-issue as each is apparently sufficiently derivative of the last.  Easy on the wallet, and easy on the parental patience.

  

I love this kid, I don’t really expect him to turn into a grunting teenage monster.  He has made a good solid group of friends, he’s performing well in school, beginning to excel in tennis, and looking forward to starting middle school with a core group of really good boys in six months.  I know there are curves ahead, temptations to be weathered, and bad decisions to live with, but I’m looking forward to every jolt in the road, and reminding him how very special he is and how very much we love him, this leggy, lanky, shaggy-headed man-boy, hair and all.

Game of Whaaaat?

C2 and I have been feeling like we really need to connect with this pop culture obsession with Game of Thrones, so some weeks back, we started watching it.  After a slow start for both of us, we really started getting it and into it.  It is, at its core, a medieval adventure tale of a group of pretenders to a throne and their respective journeys toward it.  Family intricacies, multiple generations, a frequently-referenced history, madness, dragons and zombies - seriously who wouldn't love it?

As for family intrigue and complex family trees, well with a University degree in history that focused on 16th to 18th century England, I could teach a master class in family intrigue and complex family trees, so following the players, and the circuitous drama between pretenders and their progeny in Game of Thrones is easy for me.  C2, however, is increasingly having this reaction:

Which is only made worse by his habit of nodding off half-way through an episode for about 15 minutes (he is perpetually sleep-deprived).  For reference, the main players, among several, are the Lannisters (the bad guys), the Starks (the good guys), the Targaryens  (awesome), and a cast of about a thousand others.

The following exchange is an example of what is increasingly occuring between us, now that we are close to the the end of Season 3.

Scene:  Arya, Ned Stark's daughter is asking whether magic could bring back someone who had their head cut off  *****SPOILER ALERT**** The headless one being her father, and his losing his head was kind of a MAJOR story arc in Season 1.

C2:  Watching Arya's monologue, turns to me and says "Who is she talking about, who lost their head?"

Scene: Sansa, Ned Stark's other daughter and a major character through all 3 seasons is being discussed as marriage fodder by the evil Lord Tywin Lannister.  His plan to marry her off to his son Tyrion is building toward a tension-filled but clear outcome.

I pause the scene and say to C2 "You see what's coming right?"

C2:  "Who's Sansa?  Is he the King's brother?"  In fairness, the (former) King's brother is named Stannis, close but still....









Scene:  Loras Tyrell, the brother of ambitious Marjorie, and who has featured prominently in Season 3 is also being discussed as marriage fodder by the Lannisters

C2:  "Which sister is Loras?"

Scene:  The consequences to Robb Stark are being discussed around his decision to marry the girl he loves instead of the daughter of Lord Walder Frey to whom he is strategically betrothed (I love that word).  Said betrothal has been referenced extensively in Season 3 though we have not met the betrothed.  The scene quickly changes to one with Marjorie Tyrell, former wife of slain King Renly.  Marjorie is clearly manipulating reigning King Joffrey to marry her.

C2:  "Oh Robb was engaged to Marjorie right?"

me:  Eyeroll

Scene:  I pause the episode during a critical moment to ensure that C2 understands that Daenerys Targaryen is the daughter of the Mad King who has been referenced frequently throughout and whose death launched the war of the pretenders to the throne, including our awesome Daenerys.

Scene:  Catelyn Stark is talking frantically about having to get back to Bran (her young son).  Bran has been featured prominently since Season 1.

C2:  "Who's Bran again?"  shortly followed a few minutes later by "Daenerys is the daughter of the Mad King? Wait who was the Mad King again?"


I can assure you that with nearly every secondary character discussed, when trying to clarify a story arc for C2, is usually followed by:  "Who is Davos?", "Who is Little Finger?", "Who is Osha?".

I think my absolute favorite commentary, however, was following an intimate scene between Jon Snow and Ygritte, in a cave filled with hot pools and steam and firelight.  These "free people" who live north of the Wall  are able to rip off their fur clothing clearly designed for those who live north of the Arctic Circle (it's very cold north of the Wall).

C2:  "You would think that if the free people had caves with hot pools and steam baths, they might have considered living there instead of 3 feet away in bloody snow tents or trudging through blizzards like bloody penguins".

Point taken.

Balance are you out there?

I am sitting in my usual blogging place, the middle seat of the library table at the Alliance Française in Perth while J does his 90-minute language class.  It's a typical late Perth afternoon, about 40c and a little sweltering, and as I've been straining to hear my boss on my mobile phone as she wanders in and out of traffic, there may be sweat droplets dripping down the side of my face and my silk dress feels a little sticky.  Yep, just another glamorous day in the life.

Monday through Friday has been pretty full-on.  It's the first time in a decade that I've been back to near full-time work.  However, I have been incredibly lucky to have a supervisor who walks the walk about having a work/life balance, so this balance thing isn't feeling too elusive, it's just requiring mixing things up a little, some fine-tuning, and trying not to assume the worst when J doesn't answer his phone after 12 attempts.

The mixing it up a little has meant that my usual post school drop-off hour-long beach runs twice a week are now two 5:30 am fast jogs around the neighbourhood.  Well, that hasn't been quite working physically or mentally so I decided to add a couple of early Saturday morning Attack classes with a friend two days ago, and today I could just about walk down the stairs without wincing.  I'm thinking that I may try to fit in a spinning class while J is at his tennis lesson on Tuesdays, I'll see how that goes.  It's that or give in to gravity for good and I'm not ready for that.

The mixing it up a little has also meant that I found myself mopping the kitchen floor at 6:00 am one day last week just because there was no other time when it was going to happen.  The mixing it up also means that J is getting himself to and from school now (see above: not assuming the worst when he hasn't answered his phone after 12 attempts).

The mixing it up has also meant that a really fantastic way to start every Sunday is with a quick morning swim/float in the ocean before breakfast.  Thankfully C2 and J think that's a grand idea too.  Truth be told, C2 has been doing that for a while now.  It also means squeezing in a glass of wine with a friend on a Friday night while our boys are playing tennis and having a sausage sizzle, but still getting home in time to watch the last hour of "Better Homes and Gardens".

Mixing it up has also meant missing Skype calls with my mum and best friend in London because the timing keeps failing us.  That part is not so good.  Neither is realizing how long it's been since I did my roots, or blogged, or dusted.

But I am confident that somewhere in the middle of all of the above is balance, and I think I'm getting close to it.

A New Year

It's been over a month since I last posted, so much for good intentions.  It was a full-on end of year, thick with friends, end-of-year school activities, and Christmas celebrations.  That was followed by 8 flights, 5 households, and over 25,000km of travel as we embarked on our annual return to Canada, the U.S., before returning to Perth via 6 days in Melbourne.  It was all great, and I should have blogged shorter and more frequently but I didn't, mea culpa.

This Christmas was joyful but tinged with tragedy as well.  Not entirely unexpected but shocking nonetheless, and processing it has been a sad journey.  Harder yet for a darling friend who is living the tragedy.  In the yin and yang that is life, I filled my soul to the top with time spent in the company of family and dearest of friends.  It was so good to reconnect, and I am enriched.

Whistler Wonderland

It the taxi to the airport on the night of December 13, it felt like had just done this but it really was 12 months earlier.  Is the world spinning faster, causing time to compress?  We have been amazingly fortunate on our expat journey to have forced as much extended family time as we have, but now it feels like everyone is on their own new journeys.  After several years where we were all moving the same direction, now I feel a little off-balanced, as if all of our lives are moving forward and in seemingly disparate directions. The 20-somethings are busy building their lives and spreading their wings, family are consumed with new phases and passions as their lives become more liberated and children grow up, and I worry about my mum who will be 80 this year.

I look sideways at J, and wonder who this creature with the long limbs, sassy backtalk, and nose deep in The Maze Runner young adult novel is?  In my mind's eye, he is always that rambunctious pre-schooler with white-blond hair, a lisp, and never-ending need for cuddles.  He is beginning his final year of primary school in two weeks, and I am mourning his fading childhood.  It is a very big year for him and he will need much of me.

At the Seattle Space Needle with our great friends from Geneva

Then I glance down at this Saturday afternoon activity of sifting through a manual on mental health state specifications, data collection and reporting requirements, and recognize that I am on a new journey too.  For the first time in over a decade, I have returned to full-time work.  Well for six months anyways before I ease back a little.  Welcome to the juggling act, a couple of girlfriends have advised wryly.

On a different subject, back in November, I had said that I hoped to watch a few good films before the end of the year.   Well, I've tried but so far I've only seen one really good one ('Begin Again' - Keira Knightley and Mark Ruffalo) and one pretty good one ('Magic in the Moonlight' - Colin Firth and Emma Stone).  I've also seen a really good 7-part TV series (Jane Campion's 'Top of the Lake'). Any recommendations would still be appreciated.

Happy New Year all!

Finding Happiness

Well, I could describe it as having internet again after almost 2 weeks of not, but that would be shallow as would be sitting outside in a warm breeze with a glass of wine at 5:44 on a Monday night because J is at school camp, but let's just say I am profitez-ing (there is no perfect translation but you get the idea).

A few weeks ago, I attended a workshop called 'The Theory of the Compass and Map of Loss", a somewhat esoteric theory applicable to all but from an Aboriginal healing and connection perspective, which embraces the idea of moving through life's challenges to a place of healing and happiness.  It was illuminating as has much of the Aboriginal learning and cultural corridors I have been treading to better understand and perform my job.  I won't try to explain the theory and I'm not even sure I could, however, it, and several experiences in the last several months have put me on a path toward finding happiness and not in the places I necessarily expected.

Ayn Rand used the term 'objectivism', that the proper moral purpose of one's life is the pursuit of one's own happiness (rational self-interest), and that the only social system consistent with this morality is one that displays full respect for individual rights embodied in laissez-faire capitalism.  I don't disagree with this principle, except for the laissez-faire capitalism part, as I believe that capitalism and wealth have a role to play in bettering the community in which we live and thrive.  I have often wrestled with the idea that our moral purpose is to make ourselves happy.  Is it "moral" for a person to accumulate wealth and/or experience and keep it entirely unto them without assisting those in-need, without paying it forward?  Or does happiness grow from community service, from helping those who are vulnerable and legitimately in need?  I lean toward a hand-up not a hand-out approach and, increasingly, the idea that for those who have much, much is expected.  Think Bill and Melinda Gates, or here in Australia, think Andrew Forrest.  Learning about their apolitical, non-dogmatic approaches to community have begun informing my own approaches to life and my community.

The life that C2 and I have built is a many-chaptered story; when some chapters closed, new ones began, and each contributed to our wealth of knowledge and experience.  None of it was forgotten, suppressed or ignored but all of it, the good and the bad, have shaped the people we have become, the choices we have made, and the life we are living.  My work in the not-for-profit world has exposed me to horror, haunting injustice, healing, and hope.  I have found that opening myself to all of it has put me on the path to happiness by bearing witness, by being part of the healing, part of a community dedicated to righting wrongs, and bringing balance to bear by our actions, no matter how small.

My current work with the Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities has been such a learning experience, such an education, and I understand only a fraction of their 60,000 year-old story.  But it has resonated profoundly with me, and I now see the world through a different lens.  This new lens is causing me to become more open-eyed, open-minded, and open-hearted.  I have been participating in Aboriginal cultural evenings where we sit around a fire, surrounded by spiritual grass trees and healing smoke, and led by a revered Elder, are taken on a journey, where there is joy and acceptance and balance.

We live in a world where the 6:00 news is endlessly depressing, and it can be overwhelming.   We can't change everything, but in each of our little corners of the world, there is a place where we can make a difference, and I think that is where the beginning of happiness may lie.  I am discovering balance between what I have and what I can do.  I hope C2s and my influence will inspire J to be aware that everything he does in his life matters; that everything he will do, every fork in the road, will impact on someone else.  

I think two qualities need to be nurtured for balance and happiness to be achieved, (1) thirst, a thirst for knowledge, and experience; and (2) curiosity, to be open and respectful of new ideas, new places, and new experiences. 

 I'm working on both.


 

About Films, Deli Counters, and Bugs

About Films:
I've been thinking about films lately.  If I try to recall a list of the good ones I've seen in the recent past, between, 'Godzilla', 'Pacific Rim', and 'The Lego Movie', all I can reach for is 'Midnight in Paris' or 'A Good Year', both of which I've recently re-watched for about the 10th time.  We used to watch a lot of films, good ones, I don't know why we've stopped but I suspect it has something to do with our 11-year old now assuming the same bedtime hour as us on weekends.

Consequently, I am going to challenge myself to see 3 good films before the end of the year.  I'm hoping to see 'Two Days One Night".  If you've noticed that this is the 3rd time I've referenced a Marion Cotillard film, you're right and that would be because when I grow up, I want to be her.  I also want to see 'My Old Lady', and to humour C2, I'll go to 'Interstellar', but only because it was filmed outside of Calgary and because Christopher Nolan rented my nephew's friends' house.  Watch this space, I suspect, all I'll actually see will be 'Night at the Museum 2'.....for the 4th time.

Still, at the very least, I am assembling a list of those films worth my time so if you have any suggestions, throw them my way.  Maybe some of them can keep me company on our long flight back to Canada at Christmas.

About Deli Counters:
How many of you have been intimidated to approach the deli counter at your local grocery store?  At my local Woolies, the deli counter is frequently manned by a very grumpy deli guy.  So fierce is this fellow, that I have started referring to him as 'Grumpy Deli Guy' and my heart sinks if I see him as I approach the counter.  Here are a couple of typical exchanges:

Note for ease of translation, Grumpy Deli Guy will be referred to as GDG:

Exchange Example #1
GDG: Scowl
me:  "Um, can I have a medium container of pitted Kalamata olives please"
GDG: Heavy sigh....reaches for a small container and before I can say anything fills it.
me:  "Oh sorry, I guess I didn't make that clear, can I  have a medium container please?"
GDG: Eye roll, reaches for the medium container and dumps contents of small container into it.  "Is that good enough?"
me:  Thinking "if that was all I wanted I would have asked for the small container" but instead I meekly reply "Um no, can you fill it please?"
GDG: Heavy sigh, fills it part-way to the top, slaps a cover on it, hands it to me and turns away.
me:  I resist urge to apologize for ruining his day, and decide to leave the feta cheese for another time.

Exchange Example #2
GDG: Scowl
me: "Um can I have two thick slices of spicy pancetta, about this big"  I demonstrate far too cheerfully with my fingers the size of the thickness I want.
GDG: Heavy sigh, reaches for the mild pancetta and turns away
me: "Um excuse me, I think that is the mild pancetta"
GDG: "AND???"
me: "Er I'd like the spicy pancetta please"
GDG: "We don't have any!"
me: "Er um, yes you do right beside the mild pancetta"
GDG: Eye roll, scowl,  he cuts me two slices of pancetta half the size I wanted and then looks at me to see if I would dare comment.  I didn't.

Seriously!  Is it normal to experience heart palpatations when one enters their grocery store?  Do I have to give up my deli order, or save it for a different shop?  C2 has a somewhat different suggestion but I suspect that it may get me removed from my favorite Woolies, so won't pursue his strategy.

About Bugs:
We are approaching our first summer in Perth and have begun spending a lot of time indoor/outdoor living which has been great.  We love to sit outside in the evenings and listen to the cicadas.  However, indoor/outdoor living comes at a price.  We first recognized that we might have a problem a couple of weeks ago whilst eating dinner outdoors with all the doors flung open, and the lights inside left on...they cast such a nice ambient glow outside.  When we finally returned indoors, our ceiling looked like something out of Wild Kingdom.  Fortunately, most of them lay dead on our floor the next morning, so that was nice.

Then, of course, there are the cockroaches, which J loves to pick up and stalk me with, that's nice too.  There are moths the size of my hand, and huge spiders that have almost become pets (Norman and Warner so far that we were/are rather attached to).  We mourned Norman's passing when he was stung by his lunch (a bee).  There are crickets who you really don't want inside the house if you care to hear anything else besides their chirp, and there are stink bugs (don't ask).  Last night, I noticed a rather large black helicopter roaming around the ceiling.  When we finally trapped and released it (yes we still do that), it turned out to be a giant flying beetle, so that's nice too.

I guess, we'll have to forego that nice ambient glow until Fall.

Things I have Decided Not To Dwell On This Week:
In no particular order:
1.  ISIS, ISIL or whatever that band of sociopaths want to call themselves
2.  Vladimir Putin
3.  The empty corner in my living room where Murphy used to sleep
4.  That the Republicans now rule Congress
5.  That the pair of grey Converse's I would like is 100% more expensive in Australia than in the U.S.
6.  That I still don't understand the game of Cricket despite living in a Cricket-mad country
7.  That the new version of "Do They Know it's Christmas' is really bad
8.  That my Christmas shopping is going no-where fast
9.  That Benedict Cumberbatch is engaged....not that I would have left C2 for him....still...
10.  That my hamstring tendonitis is managed but not gone and I will probably never run a marathon....not that I was planning to....just saying.

A Death in the Family

Sixteen years and one month.  One month.  One month since I last blogged about her, 2 days since her wellness check at the Vet gave her an all-clear.  One month since it seemed, however improbable, that she would live forever.  She didn’t.

Murphy passed away very early Friday morning with our hands and our voices her last experience.  I had at least wanted that much.  I am grateful that it didn’t happen while C2 was travelling, or at the office.  I am grateful that it didn’t happen while I was at work and she would have been alone.  I am grateful it didn’t happen while we were in Canada at Christmas.  I am grateful but I am grieving.  We three are.

I am grieving her presence, which is so familiar to me; our house is loud with her absence.  When C2 comes downstairs in the morning, he looks at the corner of the living room to her bed, “to make sure she’s still breathing” he used to joke.  That corner is conspicuously empty now.  When I come into the house, I open my mouth to holler “hi Murph” then stop.  I still think to her schedule and automatically open my mouth to ask C2 “have you let her out to pee” at night before I stop.  I look to my feet as I’m cooking or preparing food where she would always be and her absence takes my breath away.

I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach…repeatedly.  We three do.  I’m sorry if you cannot relate to the grief of losing a much-loved animal but she was so much more than that for us.  She has been our constant companion through time and place, our touchstone.   After 16 years, we should have been ready.  We were prepared but we weren’t ready.

J stayed home from school on Friday and we went for a long walk by the river and talked and remembered and cried, and then did it again.  It helped, especially him.  C2 came home early since he couldn’t keep it together at work.  We went to Ikea and bought bookshelves, came home, and redecorated a room from top to bottom.  That got us through that day.

The next day, we spent the afternoon at the Perth Diwali festival, the Indian Festival of Lights, which spiritually signifies the victory of light over darkness, knowledge over ignorance, good over evil, and hope over despair.  Seemed the right thing to do.  The Masala Dosa temporarily filled the hole in our stomachs.

Yesterday, we went for a long beach walk, collected shells, and talked more.  I know that in a few weeks, this feeling of being kicked in the stomach will shift away from sadness and towards recalling happy memories with a smile in my heart.  I wish I could fast-forward to that place.

It was love at first sight for both of them

The last thing I said to her before she died was to “go find Sam”, her beloved Golden Retriever friend, and equally loved dog of our friends Marc and Nathalie.  I choose to believe that after leaving us, her indomitable spirit found his, and that they are together in Fish Creek Park in Calgary playing and chasing each other as they once did.  That's where she walked with me every day the summer J was born, sitting at my feet at Annie's  Cafe sharing my muffin, and whimpering at the mocking squeaks of the Prairie Dogs.  That's where she swam in the river, climbed hills, played in the snow, and mountain-biked with us.  That’s where we’ll spread her ashes so that’s where she can stay.

Sixteen

I 'm unsure what more I can say about my darling 16-year old creaky girl, now in the twilight of her doggy life.  I have blogged about her and our relationship with her several times.  She is a special girl but a very old one now having turned 16 this past weekend.

Dogs have been treated very differently in all of the places we have lived.  In Canada, they are typically kept indoors because of the cold climate, and generally considered part of the family.  As Murphy was young whilst there, her preferred place was on the corner of our green sofa prior to retiring to our bed at night.

Christmas 2003, J was 6-months old and Murphy was 5 years old

Murphy's green sofa

In Geneva, dogs are revered and accepted in cafes, restaurants, and (gasp) high end shops.  Still it was rare that we took Murphy to a restaurant because she has always been ruled by her nose and she would consequently visit other tables when our attention was elsewhere.  In her middle age, her preferred place was on our white sofa prior to retiring to our bed at night.

Murphy's white sofa

Young Murphy

Now we are in Australia, where dogs are expected to remain outdoors, where finding holiday accommodation that accept dogs (of course she comes with us, why would you even ask???) is a challenge, and it's generally considered cruel to keep a dog in the city (seriously???).  In her old age, her preferred place is on her doggy bed and it's where she stays at night too  since arthritis has halted her stair-climbing, and age-induced night terrors have made her prefer the kitchen with several lights left on to the dark of our bedroom.

12-year old Murphy at Apollo Bay

14-year old Murphy in Melbourne

It has been heart-wrenching stewarding her through this part of her life.  She is not the same dog she was either physically or emotionally.  Her bones ache, her knees hurt, and her snout is completely white.  She has experienced a handful of age-related seizures that shake her confidence.  She is nearly blind and deaf, her eyes weep (we've nicknamed her Alice Cooper), and her teeth are ground low.  She no longer cares to cuddle as it is hurts her bones and skin.  She is too weak to jump on the sofa or to walk very far or very fast.

15-year old Murphy last month in Margaret River

So....you ask why?  Because, she still finds joy in greeting us every morning with a whack of her tail.  Because, she still thrills to the myriad of smells her Labrador nose unfailing leads her to.  Because, she loves to eat and spins in circles of excitement before every meal.  Because she stares expectantly at me until I give her a cookie after every short walk.   Because she still remembers when we eat Salmon that she gets the Salmon skins, or Grandma's apple core, or the odd watermelon rind.  Because she couldn't get to her birthday pancake fast enough yesterday.  Because she is still happy to be near wherever we are.  Because neither of us are letting go yet.

Bonjour Full Circle!

I speak French, did I ever mention that?  The Bienvenue in the blog header might have been a hint.  I think I speak French pretty well although there is puh-lenty of room for improvement.  I grew up in Quebec, the French-speaking province of Canada, with a father who's first language was French.  But here's the thing, he never spoke to me in French and I was educated entirely in English.  A most unfortunate decision.

Culturally, my youth was representative of Canada's two solitudes.  I learned basic French at school, however, all of my social experience was again entirely in English.  At the time, it was unclear to me what an incredible gift bilingualism is, and it was only when I went to a bilingual College (in Quebec, we attend College or CEGEP for 2-3 years prior to entry into University) that I began regretting the lack of attention to my second language.

The subsequent years were spent studying and working in an English-language University, and with the exception of a handful of friends and acquaintances, interacting entirely in English.  The language wars raged in Quebec during those years, with Bill 101 and Bill 22 the rights of the English language diminished, and society fractured through separation referendums.  While I fully believed, and continue to believe to this day, in the distinct character of the province and the imperative of protecting the French language in a sea of English, I could never understand separation as a means of achieving those goals.   Ultimately, fatigued by the language wars, and its economic and social cost, we decamped to  Alberta.  During our 8 years in Calgary, my French language skills were rarely exercised.

But here is where things get interesting.  When we moved to Geneva in 2005,  J was 2.  Geneva is in the French-speaking part of Switzerland and C2 and I were delighted to settle into this culturally and linguistically-rich part of Europe.  We resisted connecting with other Canadian or American groups deciding instead to integrate as much as possible with our neighbours and fellow villagers.  We sent J to the local French school where for the first year, all he said was "oui" (yes) and "regard-moi" (look at me), and we seized the opportunity to become as bilingual as possible.

My language skills with the help of tutoring improved dramatically and rapidly.  Within a couple of years both J and I were functionally bilingual.  By the time we left Geneva for Melbourne in 2010, I was determined that neither of us would lose our skills.   There was one primary school in Melbourne that offered an innovative bilingual French program for native speakers.  I stalked stayed in regular contact with the principal in the weeks before our move, and we ultimately received acceptance for J.  The next 3 years were amazing.  J's language acquisition and cultural appreciation for the language never flagged despite only speaking English outside of school.  Our entire social network was Franco-Australian so we were never very far away from anything French.

We resisted moving to Perth, even though it was clear that we should have been here from the beginning, in large part because of our commitment to J's language acquisition.  He worked hard to earn those skills and they remain a high family priority.  However, we did come to Perth four months ago.  Where am I writing this epistle to bilingualism?  At the Alliance Française de Perth, the language and cultural epicentre of all things French in most major cities around the world.

In English-speaking Perth, J goes to after-school French school once a week, just like my Hebrew-, Greek-, and Italian-speaking friends did when I was a child.  I come once a week to a conversation class, and we all speak exclusively French at home on Mondays.  It's not perfect but I hope it will suffice.  I remind J every Monday as we walk into the Alliance, that one day he will thank me for insisting he speak French.  Maybe then we will move back to Quebec.

Namaste

I'm on a bit of a fitness kick these days.  The move from Melbourne to Perth was consuming and emotional and there might have been a few too many Tim-Tams eaten for comfort.  I've always exercised regularly but in the last year or so I've been battling injuries, time, and Tim-Tams.

Anyway...since arriving in Perth, I have been running regularly taking advantage of the cool Western Australian winter.  People tell me that once the long summer arrives, it is too hot to run, even in the mornings.  However, as my injuries are still nagging, I'm only running twice a week.  To fill the gaps, and to complement running, I decided to try Bikram Yoga.

Now a couple of qualifiers.  I've done yoga regularly for two years.  First, I practiced Ashtanga, the cardio-intensive yoga and really enjoyed it.  For the last 6 months or so before leaving Melbourne, I moved to Vinyasa Flow yoga which focused on strength and completely hated it.  Flow's intensity wasn't great for my injuries plus it was stinking hard!

So now Bikram.  Let me describe Bikram: it is hot yoga, 26 poses plus two breathing exercises always performed in exactly the same order over 90 minutes in a hot room heated to 40c with 40% humidity.  Yup, you read that right.  My only intimate knowledge with the practice was through my sister-in-law who tried it once and is still traumatized.   However, there was an elegant Bikram studio close to my house in Perth and they were offering a one-month special so I decided to try.  I was warned upon arrival that I would be miserable uncomfortable for the first 4-5 sessions, would likely feel light-headed, dizzy, and/or nauseated and that I should pace myself carefully.  Wow, where do I sign up!   I've now been practicing for over two months.

This is what Bikram feels like to me.

1.   An utterly non-relaxing form of yoga since it is practiced in intense heat and under intense lighting.  There are no flickering candles nor soft chanting.  The teacher talks non-stop describing every pose in great detail, and not in a gentle, soothing voice.  Throughout the first two sessions, the running soundtrack in my head was "shut up shut up shut up shut up", but apparently it's the Bikram way.

2.  Bikram smells.  Depending on the size of the hot box, there can be 40-50 very sweaty bodies and feet, dong very strenuous exercise.  The smells, can be, upon occasion, overwhelming, especially if a glass or two too many were consumed the night before.

3.  Bikram is hot, like crazy hot.  This morning, for example, I was lying on my mat for the 10 minutes or so that we acclimatise before beginning, and all I could think was "if I was lying on a beach, this would be the time I'd think it was time to jump in the water since I'm overheating".  The practice hadn't even started yet.

4.  Bikram is counter-intuitive.  Every other form of yoga I have ever practiced has counselled "soft knees, soft knees".  Bikram insists on locked knees.  The goal for everyone of the 26 poses is to complete it with locked knees, like concrete-locked.

5.  You have no idea how much the human body can sweat until you do Bikram, seriously NO IDEA.

Given all of the above, you'd think Bikram would be awful, but here's the thing; it's awesome, and  inspiring, and requires such intense focus to keep everything together: mind, balance, form, breath,  that the 90 minutes is over almost before I realize it.    I have never felt more flexible or strong, I am able to bend and move in ways I haven't been able to in years.  My injuries, while not healed, are managed and not bothering me during my runs.  I have lost weight, and the bits around my middle that I've been eying suspiciously are disappearing fast.  That being said, I can't say that I love the whole experience while I'm in the middle of it but, wow, the post-practice endorphin high is amazing and seductive.

Don't judge it till you try it....4 or 5 times.  Namaste

A Milestone Birthday

Hiding in denial has done little to change the fact that I had a milestone birthday yesterday, a big one….a really, really big one.  I am of two minds about it.  In one way, I feel heartache that the best of my youth and vigour are apparently behind me.  This feels particularly true when I look too closely in the mirror or lament the southerly movement of a few body parts.  On the other hand, as my darling husband tells me, “it’s better than the alternative”….you know being dead.  Yes, he is pragmatic, my husband.

I thought long and hard about how to mark this milestone.  A family trip to Bali? (too politically unstable at the moment), a big bash? (anyone who knows me knows I HATE being center of attention so definitely not),  a small bash? (well we’re still working on building a new social network in Perth, and I cried my way through the last one in Melbourne, so no), dinner at a fancy, expensive restaurant? (nah).

Then a couple of weeks ago, Child Wise invited me to give a talk at a fundraiser/awareness-raising event on the issue of child sexual abuse and child trafficking, hosted by a small NGO in Perth called ‘Bird on a Wire” on my actual birthday day.    In the end, this seemed a more fitting way to remember this personal milestone whilst at the same time bringing attention to an issue close to my heart in this place I now call home.

After the event yesterday afternoon, I came home to a bottle of Moet & Chandon on ice.  J was out for a walk with neighbours so C2 and I just sat, talked, sipped our champagne and reflected on the life we have had together.  He followed this up with an amazing dinner of grilled Swordfish, Caponata, grilled Asparagus, and grilled bread, all my favorite foods.  That husband of mine is one fine cook!

J took this one and though blurry I think it captures the spirit of my birthday evening

Today, I have found myself continuing to reflect on my life,  I count myself remarkably fortunate that while there have been challenges along the way and my  choices have not been without cost, I have had, to put it simply, a bloody brilliant life and I am so grateful. 

A walk on the doggie beach the day before

J and Murphy

More at the dog beach down the road from our house

It has been a soulful, stimulating, enriching journey; a life populated by a beloved cast of characters some who have accompanied me for only a season, but all of whom in a million ways, contributed to my experience,.  It has been a kaleidoscope of colour, of taste, of language, and of new and different horizons.  It has been a book of many chapters, each shifting and stretching me into the person I am now. 

I intentionally use the word stretch because I hope that as a result of my life experience, I possess the qualities I have learned to admire most in others.

·      To have strong opinions provided they are informed ones, it is important that truths be founded in reason and careful consideration but then they should be sung.;

·      To stay informed in order to contribute to the social conversation; to consider the rationale of others but to critically discern;

·      To be tolerant but only when it is predicated upon personal freedoms and reason, not dogma or undue influence. 

·      To have passions regardless of what they are and to pursue them with abandon without fear of judgment;

·      To be compassionate and to empathize with the broken, the disadvantaged, and the vulnerable;

·      To engage in something, anything; but once engaged, pursue it with honour and commitment for as long as possible;

·      To live life purposefully; open-eyed, open-minded, and open-hearted; to push the limits of your courage particularly when it’s easier to do the easy thing.

Oh and finally, and this one is really, really important: remember to drink more water and the occasional glass of good Champagne with a good friend.

Bruce and Me

It's no secret that I harbour a passion nay a near-obsession with Bruce Springsteen.  I know his struggles, his histories, and his poetry.  He is a troubador who sings straight to my heart.  Always has.  I love how he tells a story with every record, commercial success be-damned.  Every word, every note, every melody speaks to me; I get him.

I never, however, had the pleasure of seeing him and the incomparable E-Street Band live; not ever.  Somehow the planets just never aligned.  But is has happened now; twice in 8 months in Melbourne.  Last May's event began for me with a shortness of breath in anticipation and I think I only remembered to breathe 3 and a half hours later.  That concert resonated with me for days.

Bruce returned to Melbourne this month and I was first in line with fingers over the SUBMIT button the moment tickets went on sale.  Oh man, the concert this past weekend...

I can only describe it as the closest thing to an ecstatic religious experience that I suspect I will ever have.  I sang every word, swayed to every beat, hollered till I was hoarse, wished for more.  Another 3 and a half hours of pure musical joy, stories sung, emotions wrung; every moment was pure magic.

Here are a couple clips of the two songs that bring me to my knees (or dancing on my seat):

"Ghost of Tom Joad" with newest E-Street Band member, the completely brilliant Tom Morello - together absolute musical genius

Rosalita - best Springsteen EVER and with the Big Man, Clarence Clemens, circa 1988 really does Rock and Roll get any purer?

It's Been Some Couple of Weeks

We were on school holidays again, between Terms 3 and 4.  Somehow, we are rushing with the speed of a runaway train toward the end of another school year.  J is about to finish Year 4.  That means he starts Year 5 in January.  Let me repeat that last part for effect, YEAR 5!!!!  How the heck did that happen?  I do know when a local news show recently had a special on how to handle the empty nest years, I tuned in, sigh.

We staycationed again at home.  It was ok but J was unwell through much of it.  We did fit in a fair bit of training for our 5k (see sidebar) run next month.  I am fairly confident that J will not only beat me in this fun run but will do so convincingly.  The fact that I arrive the morning of the race after flying all night from Hong Kong may have something to do with it.

His victory may also be aided by the fact that I keep forgetting I am a 40-ahem-something and have been running for weeks through a persistent hamstring strain.  Guess what?  I am now hamstrung with my hamstring.  Popping NSAIDs like an addict, I  returned to swimming, especially as we finally seem to be limping towards summer down under.  Guess what?  Are you familiar with the medial deltoid muscle of your shoulder?  I am now also hamstrung with my medial deltoid muscle, double sigh.  Ouch it just hurt to move my mouse to fix a typo.

However, it's all better than the alternative which was never made more sickeningly clear than when my second oldest friend in the world passed away last week at the ripe old age of 47.  Life sucks sometimes.  He leaves behind two extraordinary boys who were fortunate to know their remarkable father for more than 20 years.  Though we have been expecting it, his was not a easy death; cancer rarely bestows that gift.  He did, however, demonstrate more grace and humour than I would have thought humanly possible under the circumstances; cancer did not strip him of that.

On a more positive note, I am awaiting with much anticipation a week away in Hong Kong with a girlfriend from Canada in a few weeks.   A month later, we fly to Canada for the Christmas holidays, let me repeat that last part for effect, THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS, oy, that means we will be decorating for the holidays within weeks.  I dodged my promise to J to host a Hallowe'en party this year.  J has never lost his love for Hallowe'en and it really isn't done here, nor was it done much in Switzerland.  HOWEVER, a kindly mansion in our neighbourhood is hosting a haunted house, tickets only $5.00/kid.  I logged into their site faster than you can say 'boo' and secured tickets for J and two mates -  bah da bing!

Now I just have to get my hamstring and shoulder healthy again, or skiing, a few short weeks from now, won't be pretty.

Distracted

Yes, it has been a while since I last posted.  I occasionally disappear, as regular readers will have observed, and express my creative energies elsewhere.  Or maybe that’s just another way of saying, I’ve been distracted.  Did you know that you can begin a sentence with “Or”?  I was told this during a Plain Language Writing workshop this week.  You can also begin sentences with “But” and “And” and “Because”.  Interesting no?

I have been distracted/occupied/engaged elsewhere for the last few weeks.  And (are you noting the use of “And” at the start of this sentence) lacking a desire to write, I am, instead, composing a list of where I’ve been.

WHERE MY ENERGY HAS BEEN DIRECTED

1.   Supporting and encouraging a heartbroken 20-something,

2.   Grieving an old friend in a battle he is losing,

3.   Editing a friend's second novel; I do love the editing process,

4.   Convincing J of the relevance of fractions, long-division, and conjugation of the imparfait tense,

5.   Prevailing upon C2 to see a doctor; being validated when C2 was diagnosed with Shingles,

6.   Re-applying for my Canadian passport.  Examining my new passport photo and wondering why my cheeks seem to have moved south when compared with the photo from five years ago,

7.   Working an extra day a week for the last two weeks at Child Wise,

8.   Wondering why in spite of all of my exercise and healthy eating, I am looking less like Carmela and more like Janice,

9.   Binge-watching Breaking Bad.  First half of season five done and awaiting the last six episodes with much impatience,

10. Mourning the all-too-fast passing of time as I look sideways at J, when yesterday I looked down and knowing tomorrow I will look up,

11. My new iPhone, au revoir Blackberry.

WHERE MY ENERGY CLEARLY HAS NOT BEEN DIRECTED

1.  Blog,

2.  At the tumbleweeds of Labrador hair rampaging through my house,

3.  Blog,

4.  Resisting TimTams,

5.  Blog,

6.  Demonstrating patience whilst convincing J of the relevance of fractions, long-division, and conjugation of the imparfait tense,

7.  Blog,

8.  Ignoring the all-too-fast-passing of time as I look sideways at J, when yesterday I looked down and knowing tomorrow I will look up.  Because (I started a sentence with“Because”!) it’s better than the alternative,

9.   Blog,

10. Any writing of my own,

11. Blog,

12. My to-do-list,

13. Blog,

14. Planning….anything.

I will aim to do better.