Emily

You know who’s awesome? Emily is awesome.

“Who’s Emily?” You ask. Emily chopped off her hair to give it to sick kids who don’t have any. Emily is also three. Here, check her out:

See? Emily is awesome.

PS. Special mention to ‘Dolly’ for also getting her hair cut.

PPS. I would love Uncle Matthew to cut my hair! He looks like he gives good chop.

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Music Box: Pharrell Williams

Usually when I get a song stuck in my head I end up going mad within a couple hours, and try desperately to drown it out with something else. Usually the songs I get stuck in my head also really suck. I’m a Little Teapot is a regular, I have no idea why.

This song. This one can stay forever, and I’m sure I wouldn’t mind. It’s so…happy! In fact, it is exactly what I’m like when I’m having a good day—full of joie de vivre, jumping beans, bounce, etc. Whenever I hear it I can’t help but want to boogie….and clap along.

I think I’ve found my new anthem!

 
 

Resolute: March’s Two

Resolute - Mar Img

I was feeling mighty good tonight. I woke up early and ate my usual yummy poached eggs brekkie. I slaved over four job applications. I exercised, took a friend out for coffee, and made a delish veg dinner. Accomplishing multiple resolutions in one day had me on a high. Then I went on Facebook, and discovered I’d forgotten Shrove Tuesday—resolution fail! Bugger.

But! But, what if I was to have pancakes sometime early tomorrow? It’s still going to be Tuesday somewhere in the world until around lunchtime tomorrow here. So, technically, as long as I have pancakes sometime tomorrow morning, I’ve still remembered Shrove Tuesday. Right?

I’m going to pretend you all said yes, and move on to talking about March’s resolutions. I’ve only got ten left now, so from here on out there’s only two per month, and this month’s is particularly easy!

Remember Shrove Tuesday
When I was a kid my favourite part of Easter, even more than the copious amount of chocolate, was Shrove Tuesday. This magical day was the one day in  the year when dinner was swapped in favour of a decidedly sweeter affair. For those not familiar with this Christian observation, Shrove Tuesday is the considered the last Tuesday before Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. Traditionally, being that Lent is a time of giving up more worldly pleasures to look inwardly and repent for wrongs done, the Tuesday was a time of feasting, as a last opportunity to indulge and remove richer foods before the fasting began. As a kid though, it always just meant Pancakes for Dinner!

Pancakes! Almost everyone loves pancakes, right? As I’ve gotten older I’ve found I can take them or leave them for the most part. They can be too doughy, too heavy, or simply too sweet for me. Their French cousins, the crêpe, I find much more palatable. Thin and light, with just a touch of colour, the crêpe is my perfect version of the pancake.

I’d hoped to remember Shrove Tuesday this year, not just as a chance to indulge in a heavenly dessert, but as a start to Lent. While I don’t go to church regularly, and don’t pray as often as I should, I do consider myself a Christian, and try to act in a Christian manner in my daily life. For me, Lent has always been something that I try to abide, as it is a time to refocus not only my faith, but my beliefs and morals as a person. It is a time I can use to take stock of who I am becoming, and decide how I where I want to go in the future to improve myself.

As Lent starts tomorrow, I will be abstaining from midnight tonight for forty days. However, what I choose to give up isn’t edible, so I can still have my pancakes tomorrow, and still call it Shrove Tuesday if it’s in the morning. My mum will also be happy with this—as my love for pancakes has waned, hers as grown to rival even the most vehement pancake lover.

Take More Photos
I thought this would be hard for me. I’m one of those people who is really bad at remembering to take photos, even though I always have a camera on hand. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good photo, I just always seem to get lost in the moment.

Then this little guy came along:

HC

And now I can’t stop Snapping, no matter how hard I try. HC isn’t even two weeks old, and I’ve already taken over one hundred pictures of him. Not all of them are good, but they’re all still saved in my computer and on my phone, ready to pull out and brag about at a moment’s notice.

I’m also going to try to take more photos of everything else in my life. My friends, family, Bonnie the dog. I’m sure there’ll be hipster food shots, and a few cooking snaps. This is going to be a year of happy snaps, arty stills, and precious moments, for sure.

Needless to say. I’ve got this month’s resolutions in the bag already.

Why Love is Like Riding a Bike

Today, I had planned to post something about Valentine’s Day. I decided on a poem, because I didn’t feel like writing much myself. I waded through a list of my favourite love poems, looking for one that really represented what romantic love feels like to me. I was really struggling. There are a lot of lovely words about romance, plenty describing personality traits or perhaps physical attributes of lovers, but none really seemed to say what I was looking for this post to say.

Then I remembered a poem by Henry Charles Beeching. It was not written about love at all, rather the thrill of racing downhill on a bikeFunnily enough, though, it describes love perfectly. That moment of peace that fills your mind when you realise this person could be more than just another acquaintance. The quickening of your heartbeat as things build, and then the rush of breathlessness that comes with a first kiss or first “I love you”. That feeling of being as light as air whenever they look at you, or talk to you, or you simply just think of them out of the blue. And then the crashing disappointment that comes when/if it all ends. The sudden fall from on high, back to miserable nothingness, before dusting yourself off and trudging back up the relationship hill to do it all over again.

V-Day 2014 image

Love is just like riding a bike really fast down a hill. It’s moment’s of unimaginable triumph and bliss. It’s that which we all chase constantly—that breathless delight, that all-consuming giddiness. That’s why we get back up, even after we stacked it at the bottom. Because we know—we remember—that it’s all worth it to find someone who makes us feel like we can do anything…even fly.

So to all you lover’s our there, Happy Valentine’s Day! And to all you who, like me, are still on the way up the hill, hang in there—it’ll totally be worth the walk.

 

Disclaimer: I don’t know how to ride a bike (yet), but I have been down a hill really fast on one, and it was a blast! Even the scratches from crashing half-way down were worth it.

A Prickly Patch

A couple days ago, this little dude showed up on our doorstep:

Prickles

The picture isn’t great, because the crazy bugger just won’t sit still for even a second, but he was absolutely covered in prickles, and smelled pretty darn rank. He had no collar, and didn’t seem anxious to get home, so we gave him some water and tied him under a tree for a bit. When the day cooled off, we took him for a wander, knocking on doors and following any leads we could get to find his owner. No luck, and the day over, we left a note at the local store and set him up a bed for the night.

A trip to the vet the next morning was less than successful—he wasn’t micro-chipped, so tracking his owner that way wouldn’t work. We decided to try the old-fashioned way, plastering posters around the neighbourhood, and placing notices on a couple of local lost and found noticeboards.

Meanwhile, I was starting to feel really sorry for the poor little guy. Covered in so many prickles, and with a coat that had seen better days, I decided it was time he had a haircut.Two hours later, and with the help of my cousin, Chica, a pair of scissors, dog clippers, and lots of puppy treats, he had been bathed and given a very bad haircut. But at least there was no more prickles.

While I was cutting, I realised just how matted and shabby his coat was, and by the end it was clear he was also a lot skinnier than we’d first assumed. He also has a habit of flinching when we reach to pat him. I started to think either he’d been homeless for a while and got in some strife, or maybe he’d hit the road on purpose, searching for a better life. I don’t want to doubt his owner’s love, so I’m still hoping someone claims him. I also don’t want to have to take him to the pounds, as I know even the cutest dogs have a ticking clock next to their name.

He’s been temporarily christened Prickle, although I did put in a bid for Captain Humpalot, because he’s right at that age where everything is sexy, especially my poor Bonnie dog. She’s certainly not his biggest fan, but they are working out their issues…slowly. My dad, on the other hand, has taken a strange liking to him, and has decreed if his owner isn’t found, he’ll stay here. I’m not sure what I’m rooting for (no pun intended), but I do think he’s mighty cute, and I’d hate to see him on death row.

To be continued…

It’s Time!

Today the Australian Capital Territory (ACT) legalised same-sex marriage. The first state in Australia to do so, that it is the Nation’s capital is neither here nor there, but I’m hoping it will set about change within other states.

Now, I have a bunch of gay friends, all of whom I love dearly, so I’m so excited for them. But, as a future celebrant, I’m also really excited that this could soon see me participating in ceremonies that are all the more special.

Hurrah for the ACT! And here’s hoping all our other states follow its lead sooner rather than later. It’s about bloody time.

Endless Love: My Mum

My mother just informed me that my father’s snoring really bugs her some nights, but she has a grand solution:

“I just put my hand over his mouth, and block his nose and he stops!”

Ah, mum, I’m pretty sure that’s called suffocation! The thing is, my mother says things like that with such innocence, and excitement at her cleverness that you can’t help but love her for it. And laugh.

She is always making me laugh for absurd reasons. Like when we went to the tennis and, right before Venus Williams was to serve, everyone went quite and….she farted. Or how every time we go out for breakfast she gets all excited, because she can have pancakes and ice-cream for breakfast. Or the copious incorrect word choices she makes—advocado (avocado), squeeziness (queasiness), and prostrate cancer (prostate cancer).

That last one is always tinged with a hint of sadness, because many of her word issues are the result of surviving a near-fatal brain aneurysm 13 years ago. Post-operation the surgeons informed us her vocabulary may be reduced by as much as 40% due to the aneurysm’s location. But they hadn’t realised they were dealing with my mum—the woman who has survived death eight times, and is affectionately know as the family cat.

She’s tough. She’s funny. But most importantly she’s my best friend, and easily the best mum in the world. I love her to bits, and am forever thankful that on this day, seventy-one years ago, she came into this world and made it her own.

Happy Birthday, Daffers. Even though I’m sure I wasn’t always the best daughter (think high-school), I know I’ve definitely been privileged to have the very best mother. I hope you’re around for long enough to teach my kids a thing or two, and make them laugh a little too.