Meanwhile, back at the Ranch....

This post has a point. A really important one. It's not lost on me that if I have come to the point of putting a disclaimer at the top because it's a really, really long wordy post, I ought to just shorten it instead of... writing more words in a pre-cursory warning-request note.


But then that wouldn't be me. I am Wordy. Kirrily Wordy Whatman. Deal.  And please read to the end, at least, of this post. It does have an important point. Not all about me this time....


When I was in Year 12, my best-best-best-of-the-best-bestie and I took Psychology together. Our teacher was the inimitable (well... that's not quite true, I used to do a cracking impersonation of her back in the day) Mrs McPherson. She would try and be all hip to the kids' jive and believe she was grabbing our attention. How did she do this? By attempting a good ol' bit of stereotypical reverse psychology - ironic, really.

If there was too much chatter amongst ourselves, she tried to regain our focus with a loudly interjected, "Meanwhile, back at the ranch...." from her position at the front of the classroom. She got our attention alright. We would smirk in her direction at the attempt as all lofty teens do. But damnit. It worked. Because it always stopped us in our tracks. Made us listen to what she had to say next, even if we were laughing at her only moments before.

I think about that teacher now and realise that the Mrs McPherson's of the world are the ones who stick their necks out to make change. Whether that change is on a world scale, or closer to home, or hey.... in a classroom of teenagers who just need to pull their heads in for two minutes so their teacher can hand out the course homework before the blessed bell goes.

So, without further ado, I want to direct you, dear reader, to focus your attention "back at the ranch" please.

Today, I have spent the most frustrating hours trying to make my new Wordpress site go live. Without complete control at the server side, at best this has been a stop-start affair. I am very keen to get it going, for several reasons.

Here they are, in no particular order:

1. At the recent Digital Parents conference (DPCON12) I committed myself to a long-held personal project. The stirrings of this began about twelve months ago, when I decided "I really need to make this happen."

And then I did that thing I do so well. I procrastinated the crap out of that idea and talked myself into all the reasons why it was a stupid dream.

But that all changed the moment Brenda Gaddi told me that for services rendered (ie. stacking piles of freebies into swag bags), I could slip my card in to the mix - effectively reaching approximately two hundred conference delegates and sponsor representatives. I gulped down hard on my nerves and dived in head-first. As each bag was handed out, my heart flipped. What were they going to do with that card? Bin it? Bother reading it first? Hand it on to someone who might want it? Store it away for future reference???

Here's the card they received:

2. It seems Sunny Side Up has received a few nominations for the latest big-deal Aussie Best Blogs competition. This is probably a good juncture to introduce you to the button I might plug a couple of times between now and May 9th (there are two streams to this competition if I understand correctly - the People's Choice vote and a panel-judged award).

You only get one chance to vote but can give the voting love to more than one blog. SO.... Look, it'd be great if you could use your voting power to check the box next to my little ol' blog title while you're in there. But I'm not expecting any great movement. Over 1,000 blogs have entered this year. I'm gasping in a sea of spectacular writing.

However, there is nothing that can take away the feeling of honour at receiving the recognition of nominations in the first place.

As an aside, I have never loved the word "multiple" more than when Rose from Sydney Writers' Centre used it to encourage me not to let a dicky website glitch turn me off completing the process. What's not to love about that, as a writer?!


Now.... this is where we come to the big stumbling block.

3. Deciding to ride the wave of this encouragement to make my blog the best it can possibly be, I worded Steve up and began to take the plunge into the world of WordPress.

Never before have I been so serious to move across. I have even bought the hosting this time. I have big plans. The biggest being, a dedicated stream to the stories of the babies in our families' past who never made it. There are SO MANY stories out there, layered by generations now. Women who still grieve, believing they have no right, no place to bring up their lost little loves.

Oh how I yearn to give them a place to have a mainstream voice.

WordPress is my go-to for that. I have it all set up. The pages are created! The categories are good to go. The import of this blog's posts is complete. It is all ready to be seen. But..... the server my new hosting is stored on has gone down over this weekend. Cue a slow-motion long-winded "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" escaping from me as I lunge forward at my computer.

Still no new WordPress version of Sunny Side Up. Will it affect the voting? Meh. It's out of my hands now and in the laps of the Internet Gods.



Never choosing to see obstacles in life as mere coincidences, this is where you guys come in. It's obvious to me that this is appropriate biding time. These stories, the ones buried by years of life, they are not easily extracted from the depths of minds and hearts. The soul searching and contemplation about whether or not the sharing of their family's (or baby/ies') story is a process that I realise will take some time.

In my contact with the few over-60's parents so far who have come forward from these older generations, the very idea that anyone would want to hear about their experience has been a surprise to these mothers whose children did not live. Just pause for a moment and contemplate that.... If you had a child about whom you were so pressed to tell someone, anyone, but you couldn't because you weren't allowed to for decades.... Sad doesn't begin to cover it.

While I'm stuck in this Blogger-WordPress-hosting hell, will you spread the word out there with me? That I am working hard to create the space for their stories to be told, shared, responded to in a supportive and uplifting online environment? That they can be shared anonymously if they wish?

I am starting to see that if it's just me on my own working one-on-one with those I contact - or who find the conference card and respond to me - this will be a very slow project. One I am prepared to stay with. But if any of you carry a similar passion to hear in the words of those women (and men) who have gone before us, I urge you to help me spread the word that they can submit their stories to Sunny Side Up - before these stories are lost back to the earth too, like my grandmother and so many others' grandmothers who have now passed on, leaving their younger generation relatives desperate to hear in their own words their feelings of the grief of losing their children.

It makes a difference. Believe me. It makes such a huge difference to hear it in the words of our forebears before it's too late. It causes me such distress to know that there are so many who think nobody cares or wants to listen because it happened so long ago.

If you can help, I am willing to post out some of the cards, anywhere in the world. Feel free to share this post, or retell in your own words and direct people to email or contact me via my blog, Twitter or Facebook. Everyone is different - I am happy to work in any way they are comfortable: interview style, written short story (maximum 1,000 words or spread over more than one post, etc., if it is longer), whatever they need.

If they have a compulsion from inside them, these mothers and fathers, then they deserve the space to say it.

So here it is. 

An open invitation to all older generation pregnancy, infertility, infant loss survivors: please feel free and safe to come forward.

Now, I have a ranch to get back to..... She's requesting dinner.

Keep going, keep going, keep going!

Internet, I need your help!

On the eve of the final week of this round of the 12-week body transformation I've been doing, I am ecstatic with what I have achieved.

I only made her walk down... Promise! This hill can only be walked up using your HANDS at one point.
Steep only just covers the word I'd use for the mother of all hills. Beautiful!

• I am arising before 6am five days out of seven to go for a gruelling walk-jog.
• If I don't get up, guaranteed, I get a 5:45am wake-up bark from Miss Jazz who checks her paw-time and lets me know. Uppy-uppy-uppy! NOW!!
• I jog. I am a person who jogs. I am one of those people I've always seen when I drive past them and think, "What possible enjoyment are you getting from running around like that?"
• I feel euphoric after I get home from burning 600-800 calories in around an hour. From jogging. Ahhh... I get it now.
• The mornings are MINE.
• My leafy community is simply stunning at about 6:15am, when the sun just spills over the furthermost mountain peak and splashes its weak rays onto the near hills and they all turn that amber colour. Just mesmerising. I almost feel cheated if I haven't got up there to the top of the opposite hill in time to witness it.
• The public access stairs around these hills are so challenging. They are actually exciting to conquer!
• I'm pushing myself further each week. In the past two months I have improved my 1.25km running speed by a little over one minute! Ya gotta be happy with that effort!
• I go to bed at night still feeling the deep-lung buzz in my body of the morning work-out. I feel more vital. More present in my body, physically, than I can remember ever feeling.

You want this. Buy it!

• Outdoor exercise: a first for me. And it's a definite keeper. On days when it rains, I have the most phenomenal trainer tucked away on my Wii..... my God, but I am grateful to her (Maya, I think her name is?) and actually find myself grateful to this computerised "person" for getting me through a strenuous 45-minute session and 400-500 calories burned. Truly. Amazing. When you think about it. It's a computer image. On the telly. How clever that it can make me sweat like I'm under a running shower!
• Jazz has lost weight. Yes, the dog is not so rotund any more. She is appreciating this health kick just as much as I am, I'm certain of it.





Okay, so that's my list. Not exhaustive but just what I can think of all at once right now.

What 8kg of weight loss looks like over 11 weeks

By far, I haven't lost as much weight as others doing this fitness training. I haven't even reached my main goal. Not by a long shot. BUT I have smashed two of my initial aims: 1) to go below a weight (and some) that has been taunting me and 2) to increase my fitness. Now that I have done this, and on the eve of truly being on my own with this without being on the program any more, it's time to continue with more specific goals.

• I want to get to 10kg lost before Christmas. That will make a 13kg loss for 2011.
• I want to lose another 10kg by the time Steve turns the Big 4-0 (in April). We'll see.

But please, a request of you, dear reader.....

Will you help hold me to it when I check in 

every so often with my progress? 

This isn't a weight loss journey blog by any means, but part of my overall path to wellness and completeness is how I feel about myself on the outside. It was obvious the timing to begin was perfect when I first came across that ad showing Michelle Bridges doing her Bee Gees hair-blown-by-a-fan thing (noice look!).

Now it's time to keep going.

Does anyone have pom-poms, by any chance? Care to give me an encouraging chant along the way until my end goal in April?

Only 99 to go.... Straight up. This is what 50 calories looks like at 6 in the morning

You wouldn't believe it but the fires on Black Saturday were ferocious through here in 2009

Hmmmmm shall we go left or right through the bush today, Jazzy?

Standing at the top looking down my 200-stair escape route after climbing 80m in just 100 steps...

Downward stretch towards home

To Chapter One or to Prologue: a call for help (and a couple of readers)

Okies, it's time. I have a few readers up *this* old sleeve, but none up *this* new sleeve and now I'm looking for a few more since I made a few changes to my draft.

My current dilemma: I have a good first chapter. BUT.... I also have a great Prologue. There are differing schools of thought as to whether a Prologue is necessary or, indeed, a good idea at all. Some call it a very old-fashioned way of starting a story. In other places where it is discussed online, it is deemed okay as long as there are clearly defined boundaries. See, for instance, here (source: here):


What Is A Prologue?

A prologue is used mainly for two reasons.

1. To outline the backstory quickly and economically, saving the author from having to resort to flashbacks or ruses such as conversations or memories to explain the background to the reader. This is commonly done in science fiction and fantasy to show why a certain quest is being undertaken or what will happen in the future. The prologue is a better option than a first chapter bogged down in detail.

2. To hook the reader and provide the story question right up front, giving them a reason to keep turning the pages to find out the answer. Quite often the prologue relates to a scene near the end of the story, and the story itself then shows what has led up to this moment. When is this justified? Perhaps when you want to introduce your characters in a more leisurely fashion, and your reader's experience with 'meeting' them will be enhanced by some sort of foreshadowing of what is to come.

Apart from these two reasons, a prologue can be used to introduce a certain character's viewpoint on one occasion only. The rest of the book may be told from just one other viewpoint, or from several different viewpoint characters that are in some way removed from the one you've used in the prologue. The prologue can bypass the danger of viewpoint violation.

So, with all that being said, I was wondering if there are any takers to put their hand up to read the first chapter (and Prologue) of my manuscript. What this will involve is reading approximately 7,000 words and giving your opinion, as the reader, on whether or not the two work together (for you personally). I guess, in a nutshell, I would like to hear from you how "hookie" it is. Does it hook you in? Are you compelled to turn the page?

If you are interested, please contact me via email - aussiejazz@gmail.com - and I'll just say it here... if I get a huge response, please do not be offended if I say 'thanks but no thanks'. There is only so much criticism, however constructive, that one can take at once. And it is with the utmost respect that I may politely decline your offer. Mind you..... if you are the only person who emails me, then consider yourself IN for a sneak peek preview!

*waiting with baited# breath and hitting Publish Post now........*




#Late edit: And this is why I love throwing the offer out there from time to time - I have been advised by someone in the know that the phrase is "bated" not "baited" breath. Thank you. You can read my extract, by all means!

Help me win $5000 and a New Ford Territory for a year

The official competition entry post as Round 1 of the Top 50 Bloggers sponsored by the New Ford Territory and Kidspot.com.au. If you like my blog, make it count and vote for me! 
Vote and share and Like and Tweet the crap out of it! There. I shan't ask again on here. Promise.

Otherwise titled..... Travel All Over The Countryside

I apologise in advance..... This is long. It's by me. You KNOW it's going to be long. But I have had an absolute BLAST reminiscing.

Not actual vehicle - ours was sky blue. With complementing dark blue curtains
made by Mum. And this one looks to have at least 2 more opening windows than we got.
Photo credit

When I was born, I arrived into a family with a Kombi van. To be exact, it was a Volkswagen Type 2b microbus - the model that was being built from 1971 to the late '70s. This was the model that had a fancy "face lifted" front which included a bull bar.... that was a menace to everything and everyone if they connected with it at speed. Ah! the good old days.

New Ford Territory Titanium RWD

Now, I met this new slick Ford Territory up close and personal. I can safely say, it honestly caught my breath. I was expecting it to look like the first generation style of the car which I've seen everywhere for a few years now. But it didn't. This one was sleeker. Pretty, even. Less petrol-hungry looking. And I admit to feeling a pang of envy that someone is going to get to drive it.

"Push the button, pull the choke,
Off we go in a cloud of smoke"
Photo credit

But after I came home and my post-Sydney high wore off, I thought about it. Do we reeeeeally need two handbag storage compartments? Ten cup holders? Wine bottle hol.... well, okay, we could do with those. But as to the rest, can this new Territory really take us places that we couldn't get in our old car? Hence, my tour of the only car I grew up with - the Volkswagen 8-seater Kombi - and an inadvertent trip down memory lane I took with my old Dad that ended with him coming over all nostalgic for the gas-guzzler and wanting to go and buy one.

Once I had furnished my mind with long-forgotten memories of our beloved Kombi, I have to admit... the Territory looked even better. But that's not much of a compliment, frankly. Here, let's browse through the list of top features and take a comparative look at why that might be:

Oozes comfort, no?
Photo credit

Ford says:

• Driver's knee airbag, lockable security drawer under driver's seat - Well, I don't know about you but the interior shot here says it all. Who needs a security drawer and airbags when surely, first and foremost, some suspension might be nice? Let's not get all fancy ahead of the basics.

Priorities, people.

The seats are sitting directly on top of the wheel arches. No fancy-shmancy padded upholstery. Plush is for wimps!

Ford says:

Fancy: Individual cigarette
ashtrays. The height of luxury...
Photo credit

• Removable rear rubbish bin - What's wrong with what our mother fitted the car with? Little plastic bags we had to all ensure we had in front of us for any long trips, tucked in to the cigarette ash trays (yes, there was one in the back of each seat... those meticulous, comfort-seeking, chain-smoking Germans, they thought of everything).

Ford says:

• The New Ford Territory is able to expand to a 7-seater if needed" - Oh, come on, guys. You're not even trying to compete with our old Kombi now. It was an 8-seater ALL the time. Without even trying. 

Granted, the middle seat of the centre bench seat had no seatbelt which meant - if we had to use it  - the kid in the middle had to be ready with their feet if they wanted to resist the inertia created during any sudden braking. Because if they didn't, they'd end up garotted by the automatic transmission T-bar (there was a galley between the two front seats, like a proper bus, which was great in wet weather but not good if you were supposed to be in the back and you suddenly found yourself in the front during a braking 'incident'). The trajectory of the sudden stop happened to me more than once and no doubt to my siblings as well. But we learned to brace the emergency crash landing position. And my thigh muscles ended up like a Russian gymnast, let me tell you. 

Not only was it an 8-seater (in your face, Ford Territory), the bus was a mobile motel. Oh yeah. Totally. Dad told me he and Mum rigged up a bed by way of a severed table tennis table with space for all four of us to sleep while they hurtled across the Plains of outback South Australia. No corners, therefore no pesky rolling. No worries! 

Bed On Wheels!
Photo credit

But I also have vague memories of being put into the boot of the car to sleep while they partied in later years. I'd wake on the drive home from the motion, where there were corners - I'll bet my parents probably assumed would lull me and my kid brother into a deeper sleep but did the opposite, because they'd put us to rest on top of the motor. See, there was none of this too-clever engine in the front close to where it's most needed business.  Pah! Noooh, much better to have it tucked away in the back of the car and run all the workings from the back along the undercarriage to the front of the vehicle. Genius engineering. They really thought their way out of anything, didn't they?

Ford says:

• 8" colour touch screen, rear DVD player, iPod, USB and Bluetooth mobile integration - I have to admit, this was hard to look past. 

Volkswagen was all over the 8" screen decades ago.
Photo credit

When Kevin Rose, co-host of one of my favourite web shows - Diggnation - was given a Ford Focus to drive around for a few weeks and the spots they filmed showing the car's connectivity, he managed to make me very jealous. I made a mental note at the time to go and see what Ford were doing when next we had the need for a new car.

So, the best I can come up with to pit the Kombi against such feats of modern technology is..... the story of when my family drove across the Nullarbor to Perth. And back again. 

Six people, five days of straight driving. Well, er, not so straight all the time - my Road Safety Expert, doctorate-qualified father has told me stories of nodding off and taking out a roadside guide post or several.... hmmm, a cautionary tale, I'm sure. 

Now, the technology part is this: the mono AM radio wasn't going to cut it for a long 7,000km+ round trip across the Nullabor-ing desert, was it?*  So what did my older brother do? Why, convince Dad to help him rig up a power source by way of a cable from the cigarette lighter to his tape deck (in itself a very basic 1970's-standard, single speaker outfit). And then he subjected us, his siblings, to a repetitive play list worthy of any 10 year-old in 1979. It included such memorable hits as Money (Flying Lizards version), Escape (the Pina Colada song), I Don't Like Mondays and I also remember - too much - Driver's Seat (Sniff 'N' The Tears) and Dream Police (Cheap Trick).

And Ford are really just rubbing it in by stating "Cars are just mobile play centres." Okay, answer me this then: Who needed a rear DVD player when we had such fine compilations to keep us occupied hour after endless, tear-inducing, mind-numbing, sibling-fighting, fart-smelling hour? I ask you. And just once more: *

We all survived. But we heard Girls Talk by Dave Edmunds several dozen times too many. By the time we got back to Melbourne, I loved the song. And I was only four. I still remember most of the words and I haven't heard since... 1979.

Ford says:

• 8.2L/100km on diesel, emergency brake assist... - blah blah blah. Listen, I'm all for a bit of adventure in car transport, actually. I clearly remember willing the car up any slightly inclined hill around town because, guaranteed, we'd start going backwards before we reached the top if Mum hadn't judged the external temperature:incline, distance:velocity ratio's. What excitement in a kid's day! Will the car make it up the Brysons Road hill or won't it? Not only that, the sliding door of our bus never actually closed properly - they bought it that way - and if it wasn't closed properly, the thing would slide open alarmingly while we were driving along. How none of us ever fell out, I don't know. Perish the thought....

Regardless, what's with all the safety features in cars these days? In my day, Mum and Dad had to adapt to the needs of the vehicle to keep it on the road, not the other way around. Dad proudly told me, when I was picking his brains for this trip down memory lane post, that once he had been given the tip by a mechanic to bash a particular spot of the undercarriage of the bus with a heavy spanner, its intermittent stalling became a thing of the past - unless someone was willing to get under the car and give it a bang.

I still recall sitting under the shade of the only stick that used to be a tree as far as the eye could see on the Nullabor - in unrelenting midday sun - waiting for the car to play fair. And it was one memorable stop. Dad had done what any father worth his Clarke Griswold Award would do and had taken us miles out of nowhere to see the world's largest ball of mud (Wave Rock, to be exact) and on the way back, the car carked it. So Mum did what any good mother of young children would do: she made "fairy-dells" with us and we gathered stones and rocks and made little circles in the desert dirt for the fairies in case any were going to happen past anytime soon. They would've been poor, shrivelled up, barbecued fairies if they did, I tell you. Still, it was fun.

And all this isn't even to mention the height of Summer days when the breath would literally get knocked out of us from the heat of the seats and the metal belt buckles, if they touched our skin, would actually scald. The patterning in the seats was terrifyingly painful - I fast learned to peel myself slowwwwwwly from a hot vinyl seat. The massive steering wheel that seemed like so much effort. My brother running the car through our fence when he mistook the accelerator for the brake (hey, easy to do...) when he was practicing pre-Learner plates. In fact, I remember more than once Mum stopping the car at the end of our drive and letting us drive the car up to the house. Problem: tight curved driveway, hill, kid barely able to reach pedals... Result: more than one near miss. 

Enough from me. Plenty, more than enough. I've said TOO much. My god, I think that's the first time ever that I've said that on this blog! My point is, that car served us extremely well. For a large family and the amount of trips it made each year, it was a bloody good (if not reliable) car that features prominently - and fondly - in my the memories of my childhood, not that it necessarily went to any great lengths to help me survive it.

********* chirping lone cricket **********

I want to hear from you now:

What great memories do you have of your family's first car? 

Did you take it on big adventures across country? Was it a death trap like ours?

* (Aside: What the HELL were my parents thinking, going all that way with four kids aged ten to two?? It's kinda no wonder they divorced, huh?)

This time I'm playing to (not) win

I met a pretty car on Monday night. No, really. I'm not just saying that for obvious reasons.

The Kidspot Top 50 Bloggers launch party was a hoot. And I'm not just saying that either. My favourite part of the night was probably watching Doug from Ford Australia change tactics during his plug of the car when he heard the whoop go up from the crowd about its wine bottle holders (it was hurriedly pointed out these were not to be used on the school run). So he deftly skipped the technology aspects - not that they aren't fantastic - and went on to mention the car's 30 storage spaces. Ooh-err. What a smooth operator.

It's official.

My wrap-up is going to be shite, so I shan't attempt one. But here's a real good'un from Danimezza (and her photos are brill)! Or you could laugh your patooty off like I just did over with Bianca at Bigwords - her description of the hotel (and champagne on-tap) was SPOT. ON. I'm going to blame a head cold, lack of photo taking to remember, a bottomless champagne glass and sheer work/sick overload since coming home. Sorry for not getting my act together.

Suffice to say, I had a brilliant time and was glad of Farmer's Wifey's hand to hold to and from the airport/hotel. Although, I could have done without seeing her snog this taxidermied bull/cow/moose/thing:

Pucker up, Buttercup

WHY it was there (at the after party-pub-shady-pines-place) I have no idea. But there it was. In the corner, next to us. It's been trying to pick up for months, the poor thing. I'm sure Michelle will make him very happy. She is a farmer's wife, after all..... Too far? (Michelle, you know I love you!)

I had the pleasantly good fortune to meet two of my personal favourite bloggers - Maxabella and Caitlyn Nicholas - you know those blogs you have a soft spot for because you have fun every time you go there? No matter what the subject of the latest post? And not necessarily even because they have written them for entertainment value or with a target hit count in mind (although I find both thoroughly entertaining and usually giggle at least once before leaving), but just because they speak through so much other bullshit and just get right to my heart. Love. Them.

I also met two new people (amongst others, of course) who I'm keen to get to know better via their excellent looking blogs - Claire from Checks and Spots and Andrea from Fox In Flats. What women! Cool, cool chicks. Easy to talk to, interesting and interested. Real.

*  *  *  *  *

Look, I'm going to come clean right now. I don't have a hope in Haiti (....too soon?) of winning any Top 50/Top 20/Top X Factor/Blog Diddly darn top gong. Ever. Er... Well, technically, that's exactly what I said to myself when I entered the Best Blog Post of the Year at Kleenex Mums, and we all know how that ended...... 

Annnywho, I need to set something straight here at the get-go of the competition.

I made a decision on the plane ride home from Sydney yesterday. I'm not going to pimp my blog for votes. There I was, Jetstarring it south, homeward bound, head full of cold being kept at bay by my nifty pill-popping efforts. My manuscript was on my lap. The flight attendant - the most normal, human, friendly, not up herself loveliest one I've met in a long while - motioned towards my scribblings and said, "Wow, you're hard at work already!" and that began a brief conversation whereby I told her it was my book I was working on. Her face lit up and she said, "Oh, how exciting!" Just two words. How. Exciting.

She was right. I was (am) excited. I am propelling myself to finish this book and make it the best I know how. Then make it even better. Then pay someone to make it even bettererer. What did I think I was doing, distracting myself like this?

And I thought, What am I doing here? How did I get on a plane to Sydney? I am "just" a writer. Of a blog. That is kinda in a niche market given the usual subject matter on it. I'm a mere speck in the blogosphere. Why did I accept this nomination? What would I do with a massive car that'd just remind me I only have one child to fill it?

Blurg.

But then I remembered:  I'm doing it because I'm reaching out. I am seeking. Til the day I die, I shall seek. Connection. Camaraderie. You know? Good fellowship. And I can tell you, I increased the fold again on Monday night. I entered a room of people only half of whom I had ever heard of and/or met before. Not an easy feat to meet new people when your ears are half clogged and you're hoping like hell that those Codrals you took are going to keep your dewey bits in check/inside your nose/eyes/head long enough, at least, that you won't start coming apart like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight.

Now, a good-fellow doesn't stretch the friendship by nagging for votes. I trust that those will happen - or they won't - on the basis of how moved people are to do so. And if I am getting back to reality, the vote part is not why I accepted the nomination to this competition in the first place. The exposure part was. The connection part was.  And although I may just go to hell in a glovebox for saying so, but Ford Australia wouldn't find me a terribly wide-reaching good ambassador anyway.

Ha-HA! In your face, bloggers! (not very likely)
Image source

If a miracle happens and all the other blogs trip over and I do a Steve Bradbury at the finish line, well, you can bet your kids(pot) you guys will get the scoop on the New Generation Ford Territory in my own inimitable (thank god for that) entertaining and fact-filled-fun way.

So it's win-win, really. They get the plug by proxy. I get my name included somewhere in the honour role. But apart from that, I'm not going there. I think I always knew it. My human nature just distracted me with thoughts of desperately wanting to compete.

Damn human nature.

Can you help? Toiletries and underwear drive for Queensland flood victims

A short and sweet one.....

I'm calling on all the regular readers - and new passers by - of this blog who normally read, then click away without commenting! There are many, many of you who visit here daily without so much as leaving a cheerio. This time, I'm asking you to have a heart and setting you a challenge (and hey, you still get to retain your anonymity!). What could be fairer than that?

A trusted long-time blogging friend has done a very good turn and posted some information on her website. Clarinda at L-Plate Greenie In The Making is calling for any and all help in the form of new (not used) items for the relief of Queensland residents who have lost everything. This is a legitimate and trustworthy drop off point! So rest assured anything you donate will reach flood victims.

A copy of Clarinda's post is below (or you can view the post here on her blog):

Flood Drive
Donate underwear & toothbrushes to help those who have lost their homes in the QLD floods.
Due to many families being devastated by the floods in QLD, getting basic items such as underwear and personal hygiene items will be difficult. Roads are still cut and shops are closed.
By donating men’s, women’s and children’s underwear, singlets, toothbrushes and other small personal hygiene items we can help the flood victims immediately.

You can post any donated items to:
Flood Drive
PO Box 469
SINGLETON NSW 2330

By Feb 10th

You can watch the progress of this drive right here

For any queries contact Clarinda at
Gigglensqueak@gmail.com
**items must be new**

Please share this on your blog, twitter and facebook. 
Lets do something proactive.

I'm published!

Okay, so it's one chapter in an anthology.... but still! Urged by Tim to do so, I entered one piece for consideration in this project. I'd like to imagine my little excerpt from my book, 'Into The Bliss' (it's a memoir, about... moi... and my journey, with a difference, through the grief of child loss and out the other side) had a David and Goliath battle on its hands to struggle its way to the fore amidst the other submissions.  And it must have done, in its own way, because it made it in. I am stoked. And shocked. But mostly, stoked.

You may realise you know some of the bloggers if you read the book.

If it remains the only thing that ever gets published of mine, then I am right proud about it. Proceeds are going to a UK charity, Children In Need, and the book was published on the 19th of this month with much fanfare (and not a little trumpeting being done by its very proud and esteemed editor and publisher, Tim Atkins, of Dotterel Press/Bringing Up Charlie fame). Cor. I feel a bit like a link farm for him after all that lot!

So anyway, if you see fit to purchasing one (or more!) 'Tiny Acorns', just know you are contributing to a very worthy cause.

Here is the official press release:

PRESS RELEASE

--- TINY ACORNS ----

Dotterel Press has launched a charity anthology featuring the work of several regional writers -and raising money for this year's Children in Need appeal.

All the items were inspired by a free on-line Creative Writing e-course run earlier this year by Tim Atkinson. The course itself was inspired by one of the students who - having signed up for an evening class in writing - was disappointed to find that the course was cancelled at the last minute due to lack of interest.

The ten-week replacement on-line course, by contrast, attracted a huge national following. Well over 100 people registered in the first few days and many thousands more followed the lessons informally week-by-week, downloading them from the website.

Inspired by some of the exercises they completed, the budding authors wrote and submitted pieces for an end-of-course charity anthology. The best were selected for publication. And last Friday Tiny Acorns was launched to great acclaim, to coincide with the BBC's annual Children in Need charity telethon.

The genres covered in the book range from flash-fiction to more traditional short-stories, life-writing, humour, poetry and autobiography. There's something in it for everyone. And if people are inspired by what they read, they can have a go for themselves as the entire creative writing course has been reprinted in the book's appendix.

Tiny Acorns was published last Friday (ISBN 978-0-9562869-1-8) and is available direct for just £8.99 from the Dotterel Press Online store. 

Fancy a Friday flogging?

The end of the first chapter

I am all written out. We're well into the job of editing now, Dad and I. Working to my direction, he has taken on the first 6,000 words (or three chapters) and I am mindful of not over-burdening him. This is sensitive subject matter for a father to read, let alone dissect to the enth degree.

I remain so grateful and respectful of this time he is giving the 'project'. He has been under the pump with other work, as well as the gruelling task of putting his property on the market now that they are settled in the new place - a whole lot of elbow grease has had to go into the old place and I am relieved he is finally past that now. He looks so old these days! And I can see now (during a rare, impromptu visit he made by train last Friday - he lives a couple of hours away) that he has become invested in this book. It honestly takes a lot to impress my father.... where words formed into a story are concerned, amongst other studious things. So I am a little humbled by that, if nothing else.

Before I step away from the computer and leave this manuscript in peace for another few days, I want to share the final paragraph of the first chapter. Without giving too much away, the book begins in a crisis moment and provides a chance for a bit of reflection of my journey to parenthood.

This is the end of that chapter. I'd be grateful to know what you think - whether it would entice you to turn the page, whether it's too cryptic, what feelings it conjures... I realise it's a bit difficult to do without having the whole chapter to read, but hopefully you'll catch its drift.

For better or worse (it's the unedited version!), here it is:

   Over the next several days, I cried, I ate and drank a bit too much, I mothered myself the only way I knew how. But I felt different. So much had changed since the last time I had been given pathology results for a baby of Steve’s and mine that would never come into existence. The experience this time allowed me to retrospectively look at my internal reasoning and reactions, using them as a chance to learn even more about myself and noting the difference in sympathy we received now from those around us when they learned of our latest loss. I was also surprised by how much more it seemed to physically take out of my body – as if I was at a critical mass point of succumbing to the toll these miscarriages were really taking on me. I could not bounce back like I once used to and this time, I was forced into bed for a spell. After all, almost a decade had passed since our first loss. I was neither as young nor as healthy as I had been in my twenties.
   It used to be so different. Was I relieved now that the emotions a miscarriage evoked in me were less extreme, perhaps not quite so raw or crucial because I didn’t have every hope pinned on this tiny life? Did I have anything left in me to try and bring another child into existence one day? Had this, therefore, been Steve’s and my last remaining chance to bring another baby into the world? I didn’t know. But I wondered where I found all my resilience.

   The answer was actually to be found in a number of different places, including from deep within. And as I recounted my child-bearing life’s journey, I found with great relief that I was thankful for every single, solitary, sad and sorry, warm and fuzzy one of them.

Help spread the word

Okay, so it may not be important to some of you, but to me (and, I'm sure, many others) this is of critical importance.

I speak of those fellow human beans who HAVE TO HAVE the expensive car but CAN'T DRIVE THE FECKING THING.

I implore you to get the word out there:  If you are going to buy your Beemer or Merc or Audi, please ensure you are going to then be willing and able to keep to the speed limit. For let's face it, if you're over 70* and your eyesight is failing and the distance of that dashboard past the top of your head is much higher than it used to be and you're struggling to look past your bonnet (of your car, that is, not the optional one on your HEAD), then it might be that the 'able' part of keeping to the speed limit is beyond you.

When these expensive and/or high performance vehicles leave the dealership, you would think there was a duty of care (other than the care factor of their commission off the sale) by the salespeople that obliges them to think of us. The other road users.

I am sick to tears of negotiating my way to the front of dual-lane carriageways full of slow cars, only to find that the culprits have been a white Honda and a gold Mercedes keeping speed with each other and "driving carefully to avoid any bumps or scrapes."

I cannot tell you the number of times I have felt like I am doing warp speed on a highway with a designated speed limit of 80km/h, only to glance down and see I am doing *GASP* 75km/h!

Look, I am all for safe driving. My father is an international expert in the field, heavens above. But I draw the line at people who seem too timid or otherwise unable to get behind the wheel and drive properly. They are just as dangerous as the hoon!

The problem with safe drivers who drive 20-under the speed limit is.... THEY MAKE THE REST OF US DRIVE CRAZY!




* To be fair, of course it's not always and only elderly people. Many older drivers are the safest on the road and I'd prefer to drive alongside them any day to some other distracted drivers who perhaps haven't been around long enough to negotiate their car through every sort of road condition. BUT it remains that most drivers of these higher end vehicles are in the middle-older age bracket.

Tweet-Tweet

Quite a bit longer than a tweet, this one.... There is a new post up at the private blog. And it's a bit of a doozy too, just quietly.

Bit o' housekeeping:

Have had several people tell me new posts on the private blog don't come up in their readers. Huh? I know. They've made it a bit hard, haven't they? *angry eyes at blogger... although, it is a free service soooo... y'know* I think that's a private blog thang, peeps, sorry. What I have done, with the 10 email addresses I'm allowed, is set up an auto email to go out to those of you who I know generally don't check in on this blog here... the rest of you who do check in here at each post and are also viewing the private one will, I trust, find your way over there if/when you're so inclined.

Hope that is a good arrangement for everyone? Let me know if you got an email about the private blog post and DON'T want any more! :) Someone else will no doubt want your spot.

Request for a chapter read and comments

Anyone who's interested in reading a very short chapter of the book, could you contact me? (Comment here or email is best)

I have something of a pivotal chapter here and would really appreciate some feedback. As it's longer than one of the usual excerpts I've put up here occasionally, I thought it best/easier to just send it to a few of you, rather than post it up on the blog. That and, as a rather important turning-point chapter, it wouldn't be a good idea to leave it wide open to the www now, would it? ;)

I have no idea what sort of response I am going to receive, so can't say how many I will send out. I would need you to read and comment by the end of this coming week (Friday 30th July).

Well, ummm.... so.... thanks in advance! *cap in hand* 


Email:  kirrily(at) geneticfactor(dot) com, or if you have an email address of mine already, feel free to use that. Ta.

I came to read this blog and all I got....

....was a lousy, whining post.

To top off my birthday yesterday, someone decided to un-Follow me! WAHHHH!! I don't think I've ever stopped following someone in all the time (a year? two? more??) the feature has been around. It's not the first follower that's dropped off my count, but it's the first one in a long while.

Mind you, I don't use my Blogs Following list the way I used to. These days, many of the blogs I don't like missing posts on come crawling through my Top 10 feed. There are still quite a few I've yet to add in there, though, and I still do miss many of the posts from people I like to keep loose track of. Gulp. Maybe the un-Follower (sounds a bit like the undead) had a keen eye on my favourite blogs and noticed his/hers didn't ever come up in it. If it was you.... ummmmmmm *small voice* Sorry!

It's got me thinking, though. How do you really see this Followers thing? I'm more appreciative when I come across blogs that have a link to mine down the side - when you're a follower, your little picture comes and goes (moreso if the blog has heaps of followers and you're just one of many). While the number of followers might indicate how many people have had a passing - or longer - appreciation of what one writes about, I think the longevity of that interest in a blog is more indicative of where your blog is 'advertised' on other blogs.

What do you think? Have you ever lost a follower (or more)?

If it looks like a present...

It's my birthday today.

I've been given a two-pack of frypans by the husband. Oh, and a thermal mug (love those).

That's it.

I'm very easy to please, and always accept presents graciously. Usually. But I've gotta say.... I am getting pretty ticked off with the lack of thought that goes into my presents the past several years by my partner. No, wait.. that's not quite correct. I'm actually quite gracious about that as well. I don't CARE how much money is spent on me, I don't mind that sometimes I get a bogus gift - I'm not saying that. And I don't want to come off sounding unkind or ungrateful that there was any present at all.

But ... come on. Really? A two-pack of frypans?! They weren't even wrapped. They were given to me in the plastic bag they were shoved in by the checkout operator. It seems my significant other is stuck in a present rut. These are the sorts of gifts I have been getting - ones for the home, nay, for me to use on the family in the home, no less - for the past several years. If it is totally acceptable and I am just being very ungracious, do tell. Help a guy out!

Tell me: am I being a princess here? Do I really have to suck it up? Is it the lot of being a parent/mother/significant other for almost two decades? Could he REALLY have run out of ideas already?

Do you happily accept gifts for general/family/home use? Have you ever regularly received one for your birthday? If you have, tell me what kinds of things your family buy you, in the name of a present.

Oh dear, a cyclamen. You shouldn't have...

Oh, how you very shouldn't have.

Steve knows (or he should by now, but sometimes he forgets) that I kill cyclamen. Not that it's something I'm necessarily pathological about. I don't plan it. I don't deliberately treat them poorly. I don't overwater them, I twist the stems of spent flowers carefully so as not to harm the mother plant. I do all of that.

And still....I kill every single cyclamen that's ever been given to me. How can it be, that I am most often given the plant that meets its demise in my care? Why am I never gifted a lovely maidenhair or a daisy or, better yet, a native of some sort? Nope, 'tis always these poor little blighters, so perky and upright with their beautiful leaves all nice and stiff and healthy looking.

I'm looking right now at the gorgeous white cyclamen I was given last night at my birthday dinner (hold your wishes, peeps, it's actually this Sunday ;). I know it's probably not going to see out the winter.

I always get so nervous when people give me potted plants to care for. Just about the only one that has ever survived has been Ella's rose - thank goodness, oh I wouldn't have been able to bear losing that one - and it was given to us by an old friend who never comes over so doesn't see the plant in its thriving glory.

The friend who gave me this cyclamen visits our home quite regularly, though. This puts added pressure on me to keep it alive! Unless anyone knows of a fake cyclamen shop where I can get a decoy (preferably dish washer safe, that'd be handy).

Either that, or...... any green thumbs particularly versed in the best care for these sensitive little beasts?? I'd be ever so grateful to learn what I'm doing wrong.

In the meantime, there is a paper on Cyclamen, I'm sure of it. I'm going to go dig it out now. What's the bet, the Plant Wisdom in this is something I need to really listen to? Crap. Forgot about all that...

What IF: Creating a positive force for change?

I was deeply moved by this video. In the online world, "IF" stands for "Infertility." I found that out the hard, smack-in-the-kisser way. Oh, didn't you know? We are technically infertile. It was a hard thing to admit at the time. A strange thing to wrap our heads around, particularly after we gave birth to our first (and then second) child, unaided by the medical profession. But, be that as it may, our recurrent miscarriage "efforts" afford us that branding. And on paper, yes, we are indeed... IF.

This is a courageous video, made by a woman on a mission named Keiko Zoll. I love her work:

What IF? A Portrait of Infertility from Keiko Zoll on Vimeo.

Read the full description here: hannahweptsarahlaughed.blogspot.com/2010/04/what-if.html

IF. A word of possibilities, choices, paths. IF, the acronym in the blogging community for infertility, a world full of choices, paths, possibilities... IFs.

This video is a response to RESOLVE and Melissa Ford's #ProjectIF, as part of National Infertility Awareness Week 2010. As a member and blogger of the ALI (Adoption/Loss/Infertility) Community, this project is so important this year to bring real stories, real faces to the issue of infertility. My hope is that this video illustrates the "everydayness" of coping with infertility.

I'm known on the internet as Miriam, writing for my IF blog, "Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed." It is my hope that by publicly "outing" myself and my struggle with infertility that I can help erase some of the stigma surrounding the subject. I hope I can be a voice for those women and couples who can't speak up or speak out for themselves. I hope that my legislators can see that yes, infertility IS a disease, and that healthcare coverage of infertility treatment is a worthwhile cause to the health and welfare of their constituents.

When infertility takes so much of your sense of control away from you, it's advocacy projects like these that allow us to take charge again.

What IF we no longer remain silent about our infertility?

What IF we give infertility a face, a name, a story?

What IF we can become a positive force for change?

Opinions please: Metal or tile roof?

Time for your good self to weigh in!

It's crunch time. Steve and I have to replace our tired old "biscuit" tiles with.... something. We are undecided as to precisely what. The choice is down to either a concrete roof tile OR a coloured metal roof and we are decided on one thing so far: We are going to get a dark charcoal colour, either way.

As you may have read in this post earlier in March, we got hit with a doozy of a hailstorm, which has completely annihilated our already disabled original old roof to the point of needing to be removed.

Now, a bit about aesthetics:

We live in an old suburb. Yes, yes, overseas readers can chortle into their cuffs at this point. "Old" to us here is late 1800's. Still, that's pretty old anyway, I suppose. This is an area of national heritage significance. Many new, young families have been moving in over recent years and are lovingly tending the old residences, retaining their character and charm [at least, on the outside... I am certain that past occupants of our house alone would be baffled to learn it could probably get to the moon and back if it weren't tethered to the ground, given the wiring and technology Steve has injected into the place with the help of our electrician mate].

We have an old weatherboard. Our extension out the back is a mixture of continuing this weatherboard and features of rendered flat wall. It's all very noice and luffley so far. Now, we have an opportunity to introduce the new external colours we have used at the back of the house and get away from the *cringe* overly-done heritage green and burgundy of its current facade. We want to get it back to more green-creams and deep charcoal tonings, with a sort of eucalypt shade of mid grey-green as an accent.

So.... with all that information (and it may not sway you at all, especially not without sample pictures - which I will get to in a later post, promise, but there is at least one here in this post).... can you please share:

• Have you lived in a house with a metal roof? (We haven't)
• Is there much of a difference, rain-noise wise? (we're thinking there must be) I must admit, I loooove the sound of rain falling onto a tiled roof, I find it so soothing....
• Would you sacrifice inside noise aesthetics for external profile?

And the all important one, which I am most interested in:

Which look do you prefer, given that this is an old house (early '40s)? Your opinions would be really appreciated. Do you need photos? Do you need to see what you're opinionating on? Or do you know, hands down, what you'd go for, regardless of brick or weatherboard?

Who is Nokia kidding?

When I use my "intelligent" text, my intuitive speller, my whatever you want to call it (the feature that guesses what you're typing on your phone when you're sending a text), I think Nokia knows damn well that when I hit "7448", I am spelling out "SHIT".

Not SHIV, Nokia.

Nobody has a SHIV day. Nobody doesn't give a SHIV.

Who do they think they are preventing from sending a "rude word" to? Don't they know there are lots of frustrated adults out there needing to type "shit" in a hurry!????

They are just wasting 18 more seconds of my day by making me have to turn off the spell intuition to hit the 7 four times, then the 4 twice, then another time for the 'i'... you get my drift.

Pains in the ass! GAHD..dsdhfhkl;sdaf;jjfhhlggggnnnnngggh *struggles, with closed fists clenched around phone's neck*

Now I'm no expert...

...but I'm guessing that sickeningly loud cracking noises emanating from one's ceiling/cornice area are NOT anything to laugh about, considering the amount of water that got in the roof and onto the ceiling this past weekend.

Add to that a bowed ceiling now in the kitchen that you swore wasn't there a couple of days ago AND a new damp patch appearing in a different corner of your bedroom alongside a cracked cornice...... and uh, I'm feeling rather like a sitting duck here.

Jumping at every shadow I see this week. I seem to be waiting for a groaning, giving way. I sooooo don't have the time or nerves for this! Not right now!

Please bear with me. We seem to be having the dwelling equivalent of major technical difficulties. Consider this the white noise or test pattern you are possibly about to receive from my blog for a while, as I have no further pre-scheduled posts. But lots I wish I had the time and energy to say!

More soon...

Exhibit A: More crap than action

Well, if you ever wanted to know for sure just how long you were sitting in front of the teev in order to catch the action (and why it feels like you have to sit through all the talk and the ad's just to get to the reason why the Games are on in the first place.... oh yeah! That's right! The actual sports!), here we have a screen shot of the digital file we recorded using EyeTV.

After all the commercials and all of the mlah-mlah-mlahhhh's of Eddie & CO. have been removed, we discovered that Channel 9, on this particular evening at least, were giving us a Grand Total Viewing Time of 1 hour and 25 minutes.

Huzzah! How very generous of them.

The striped red/grey sections = Eddie, interviews and commercials (ie. not sports coverage). The blue sections (and the three in black at the right) is where they have actually shown footage of events. Pitiful, I would say.

That means, if we had sat on our butts for that entire 3.5 hours, we would have been gnashing our teeth on our cushions in exasperation at why it was taking so damn long to get to the curling. Which is a whole other post.

If you can't already tell, I'm not a fan of this network ballsing up the 'lympics. Bring back Sandy Roberts, Bruce Macavaney and channel 7's team! I'd even rather sit through the perpetually perky Johanna Griggs (Seven's version of the ever-present-everywhere Eddie McGuire) than ever endure channel 9 doing it again.

Harumph.

Somebody help me PLEASE!!

I have this stuck in my head. WHY?? I haven't watched it, haven't thought about it, in yonks.

But no. Today, I am being haunted by the Lollipop freakin Guild. For no good reason! Over and over and over, I'm doing that high-pitched "LEEEEEEEEEAGUE" bit. And when I cave, every few rounds I join in with half my mouth shut and sing out the corner of one side of my mouth... "WEEEEEE wish-oo-we'come you TO mu'shkin layyyyynd."

I obviously have a problem here. Intervention requests are being sought by Steve. You can contact him on 1-800-GET-ME-OUT-OF-HERE-SHE'S-NUTS.


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