I don’t often do the re-post thing but when I stumbled across these I felt I just had to share them. Take a minute and read them. Really read them. They’ll make you smile… in gratitude, thanks, self love and respect. Thanks to Regina Brett who shared this list with us “to celebrate growing older” (Regina just turned 90!).
It’s so easy to neglect ourselves. Sometimes all we need to remind us of our value is something little like this.
Happy reading xx
1. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month. Continue reading
Yesterday I met Postman Pat’s wife. While writing away at my usual hideout, a middle aged lady walked in, sat down opposite me on the communal table, ordered a long black and then proceeded to work her way through the 5 inch (at least) wad of mail that was accompanying her. I kid you not. Plastic wrappings and envelopes strewn across three seats and all.
image by hellojenuine
Even more disruptive and un-communal-table-esque was this lady’s constant chattering – to her mail. No, I promise, I’m not having you on. She conversed with every single piece of paper / card / stamp that she came across – including the Myer catalogues. Ah, isn’t that lovely, Oh, how nice, Oh my God. Oh my God! (this was in response to what look like a cheque so I’m guessing her weekly lotto purchase paid off). My response to her was torn. I honestly didn’t know whether to wedge one of her catalogues up her ass or bless her dear little soul for reminding me of the forgotten joy of letter writing. Continue reading
Each morning I get out of bed and, after turning on the kettle, I start thinking about writing. What I’m going to write for the day, what other people have already written for the day (those studious bastards!) and – on an off, blocked up day – all the things that I just can’t seem to get onto that damned page. In a way, writing is like my baby – there all the time, sometimes whiney and annoying, mostly a pure joy. I actually can’t physically imagine my life without it (when I did and ‘abstained’ for a couple of years convinced that my writing was total and utter B.S. I fell into a huge depression, but more of that another time).
image by theloushe
Because I have this thing in my life – my thing – my reaction is always one of bewilderment when I hear the words, “I’m bored with my life,” and I don’t mean when I hear them from a child (although I still struggle to understand how a five year old can be ‘bored’ in today’s day and age). So, when I hear a grown adult who can do whatever they want, whenever they want say those words, my life dissatisfaction radar starts going into overdrive. Ding ding ding diiiiiing.
The term ‘hero’ today means something vastly different from what it meant back in the era of the Ancient Greeks (think Hercules) or – if you don’t fancy stretching your mind back that far – even not so long ago, in the era of my parents or grandparents. My grandmother’s hero was her mother; my grandfather’s his father; my aunty’s her father. In fact, even my hero growing up (and I think it’s safe to say my sister’s also) was my aunty. All a far cry from today’s Shane Warnes, Lady Gagas and Justin Biebers don’t you think?
image by Ben Northern
The values that ‘hero’ encompassed prior to the Facebook-Twitter-Myspace revolution were far more primitive and real than those that it encompasses today. Mobile phones were scarce or even non existent, and the internet was still a far off thought way, way, way in the back of someone’s mind (I know, can you imagine?). And so, all my grandmother’s and mother’s generations had to model themselves on and look up to, were the other people who they knew and saw frequently; the people who they were surrounded with. Their heroes were people of a similar calibre (and life form!) to them. Continue reading
A little over a month ago I went to a panel discussion at the Melbourne International Film Festival (MIFF) on adapting Christos Tsiolkas’ The Slap for television. The discussion was both fascinating and confusing with at least three or four clashing opinions on how best to adapt a written work for the screen. There came a point in the discussion though, when a member of the audience commented on one of Tsiolkas’ characters – Manolis – in relation to how The Slap presented what it means to be Australian. In response, Tsiolkas voiced some ideas that spoke to me on a very personal level.
image by armaggesin
Those of you who follow my blog will probably be wondering whether I’ve finished reading Franzen’s Freedom – and the answer is yes, I finished it last night. What did I think?
I was impressed without being blown away. The Corrections had set me up for another masterpiece and although Freedom probably is a masterpiece in comparison to the works of other similarly contemporary writers, compared to The Corrections, it fell just short for me. But, as my husband was ever so quick to remind me every time I opened my mouth to utter, “but it’s not The Corrections,” – I shouldn’t compare because no, it isn’t The Corrections, it’s Freedom. And the idea of freedom (whatever it means today), it most definitely explores. Continue reading
It’s so easy in this Facebook – Twitter – iPhone – Google+ – crazy world of ours to forget the simple things in life. More often than not I find myself too busy or just plain ol’ too apathetic and disinterested to take the time to appreciate those little gems that should make me go “ah”, like the tomatoes in my sandwich (handpicked by grandpa from his garden – YUM!), or the flowers that have just bloomed in my neighbours’ front gardens (magnolias). I seem to rush around my days wearing blinkers a good 70% of the time and then being too exhausted that other 30% to notice anything constructive to my wellbeing. What is this?
Whatever it is, it goes further than just not noticing flowers and not appreciating sandwich fillings. It’s something that’s taken over our lives (not just mine) and a teeny piece of me fears that it’s what others seem to (happily) call ‘progress’. Is it? It can’t be! Oh dear…it is… Continue reading