Saturday, March 4, 2017

Between cracks

With the passing of Leonard Cohen in late 2016 I saw this quote many times via social media.  A lyric from his song Anthem, 'There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in'.  I like this comment on things not being perfect.  I spent too much of my early life critically comparing myself to others.  I was, like most people, less than perfect by societies standards and hated myself for my flaws.  It was only later that I became comfortable with imperfection and learnt to embrace the cracks in myself.

But lately I've been thinking about life.  It too has cracks.  Imperfections. Problems. Crises. And what I am finding is that rather than shedding light, the cracks are something you can easily fall through. Driving to work a few weeks ago, I was stuck in traffic on a rainy morning. I looked out my side window and saw a homeless man sitting on a park bench.  The dark skies matched his overcoat and beanie. His hair, long and unkept, with a shaggy beard. His dirty face turned towards the traffic and I saw his eyes. Sadness and hopelessness. My own eyes welled with tears.  I was feeling a similar despair.

Life is hard. Sometimes it seems that no matter how hard you try to keep things together it's simply not enough. This is where I am at the moment. For quite some time I've been stressed about money.  It's not something that anyone likes to talk about.  The reality is that Peter had to leave a job that was breaking him.  It was for a charity so didn't pay that much.  But now he's a casual.  The only problem is you can't budget when your hours aren't regular, and especially when there's no work for around 3 months. Most people working part time or casual need multiple jobs to pay for basic things such a accommodation, food and bills.  But what happens when metal health issues get in the way of this?  I guess the burden to keep us going had nowhere to sit but my shoulders. And this, after many many months, has exhausted me.

My safety net is shrinking. So Peter and I (with mounting outstanding bills) have had to contemplate whether to sell our home. It's great to have an asset, but we still need somewhere to live.  I've been looking at real estate websites for both sales and rentals. If we sell, the road ahead will continue to be hard.  Selling in a strong market is great, but trying to buy back into it is...well, depressing.  Rents are as large as mortgage payments.  We need information before we can make a decision.  But there are times when it all seems too overwhelming, depressing and heartbreaking that all we feel is numbness.

People are lovely and have reached out to us, supporting us with kind words and suggestions.  We've seen financial counsellors who were great and have helped Peter get control over some things. But part of the problem is that society isn't set up to catch the people falling through the cracks. It needs you to hit rock bottom and lose everything.

I was speaking to someone this week, who's daughter was contacted by Centrelink recently. You only have to google 'centrelink robo debt' to read about the trauma and heartlessness currently faced by some people on welfare. Trying to sort things out for his daughter, this person rang Centrelink to explain she was in hospital (due to mental health issues).  Their response 'can't she read her mail in hospital?'

On the flip side I've also had to listen to a work colleague discuss his 8 week international holiday plans.  I see cafe's overflowing and the roads filled with expensive cars.  Is the gap just getting wider between people without a financial care in the world and people 'just barely getting by'?  Again, a quick internet search shows that 1 in 10 Australians are seeking assistance with food, while others go without meals every week.  1 in 200 people are homeless in Australia, and society sees them as a problem rather than trying to find solutions for keeping people safe.

There are times when I wonder why more people don't have the same look of hopelessness in their eyes as the homeless man I saw.  I also wonder why it's not mandatory for every single sitting politician to live off welfare for one month of the year. How easy is it to find somewhere affordable to live, a job or even food when you start with nothing?  How stretched are the services trying to keep people afloat? The best way to find out is for politicians to leave their harbour side mansion and try to survive without their sense of entitlement.

But back to us.  I'm not sure where the road ahead is taking us. All I can focus on is one day at a time and a plan of getting information to make a good decision in the coming months. I'm trying to find light in each day through the cracks in my life.  I'm also trying not to fall through them.

Thursday, January 26, 2017


Today has been a funny day.  Not funny ha-ha, but weird and thought provoking.  Somehow the randomness of life came together like puzzle pieces fitting together.  Let me explain.

Today is Australia Day.  It's a divisive day...for some. There was a huge rally in Melbourne led by our indigenous peoples, who refer to it as Invasion Day or Survival Day. It warms my heart to see the swell of people at the rally, or using the hashtag online #changethedate. Having your national day of celebration on the anniversary of white colonialization is hurtful, thoughtless and stupid.  It should be a day for everyone, including the traditional owners of this land.  But enough about that...for the moment.

This morning as I sat on the couch eating breakfast, I scrolled through Facebook. There was a post by Toby Halligan referring to recent footage of Richard Spencer (alt-right nazi) being punched in the face by a passer by.  Toby asked 'when, if ever, is it ok to use violence when you disagree with someone'? Now there was a number of opinions flying back and forth under this post.  It got me thinking.  Sure, we all relished at seeing Joffrey being poisoned and Ramsey Bolton having his face eaten off by his own dogs in Game of Thrones. Evil got it's comeuppance.  But what about in the real world?  Someone stated that there was no reasoning with Nazis such as Spencer. This conversation made me assess my own perspective.

I looked through Facebook memories. About six years ago I was at the zoo and took a photo of koalas - stating, 'well it is Australia Day after all'.  A few years on I posted a Paul Kelly song, saying that I (like Catherine Deveny) felt more Melbournian than Australian.  All the flag cape wearing racists had made me shudder at the sight of our own flag. I copped shit online for this from some people. Flash forward to last year. Peter and I were at the Invasion Day rally. I felt part of a crowd making a statement to support the traditional owners.  I met lovely people in the crowd and had a great day.  In a short scroll through my own history I saw how my thoughts had changed and developed.

I feel a bit like this about becoming vegan. I turned vegetarian at 14, much to may parents concern. About three years ago Peter suggested we go vegan. You see he had begun following animal rights sites online. It made me stop and consider many things I had never thought of before. Like how cows just don't keep producing milk by themselves (like all mammals it's tied up with feeding babies). As I read more I thought more. I opened my eyes to things previously never considered 'because that's how things have always been'. This was my moment of inconvenient truth.

A friend and I have chatted on and off for years about how you change people's perceptions. How do you stop the general population from believing the bile spewed by politicians, spreading fear and hate towards refugees, or opinion pieces about indigenous people's 'lifestyle choices' or not being black enough. How do you get people to think deeper about complex issues and change the way they see the world? Change the beliefs they have held for many years? Or get someone to open their eyes and see the world differently?

This afternoon we watched the movie Arrival. It is everything a sci-fi movie should be, if you want emotion rather than explosions. Twelve space ships arrive in various locations around the world. Amy Adams is a linguist charged with trying to decode the alien language. With the threat of these mysterious ships hanging over countries, humanity reacts for the most part how you expect - with fear and suspicion. But Amy communicates with the aliens and talks to the military about how words can be misinterpreted - a weapon can also mean a tool. The gift she receives is to understand. I'm trying not to give away spoilers, but lets just say we loved it.

On today of all days I took this as a sign.  A message. How do you change people's minds? By listening and trying to understand.  It may take time, but it is the only way to see something anew. Opening someone's eyes to compassion, empathy and understanding can be hard. You just have to hope that someone is willing to see.  Ten years ago there were many things I didn't give a second thought about. But a combination of friends, different media sources and critical thinking has taken the blinkers off. I have the gift of trying to understand and maybe as importantly...caring.

Would this work on a Nazi? Probably not.  But you do see stories occasionally of people doing a complete 180 degree turn around.  Skinheads who saw through differences, changing their mindset. Or dairy farmers who became vegans. This proves change in perception is possible.  You just need the gift of understanding.

Sunday, January 22, 2017

A series of unfortunate events

Happy 2017.  Well, that was the plan.  2016 was such a horrendous, hard clusterfuck of a year.  Everyone I have spoken to found it hard.  On new years eve we watched fireworks from our street and lit sparklers in the hope of warding off whatever crap-laden hoodoo was weighing over us like a shroud.  Clink went the champagne glasses and I awoke the next morning with a sense of hope.  It had felt like a long time since that had been the case.

The last 18 months have been filled with worry.  Peter found his workplace uncaring and bullying. This lead to a HR nightmare, complete with every trick in the book to break him (such as not paying him and hoping he would quit).  Then casual work proved sparse and irregular. Money became tight, and as the person with a regular income I began to feel the pressure of keeping us afloat.  My job was all consuming and stressful in it's own way.  2016 felt like a treadmill of work, sleep, repeat. Life got smaller as we tried to live off one wage...that actually doesn't cover all our bills. And then one of our dear cats, Bella, who had been with me for over 12 years died. It felt like the last straw.

Many of us, for whatever reason, spoke of 2017 being different.  Better. We had realised that  surviving through 2016 wasn't enough.  Things couldn't continue as they were.  We had to change.  I exhaled. Paused. And then I hurt my back. Talking to my lovely chiropractor he spoke of the connectedness of my back pain and subsequent tightness and spasming of my diaphragm and stomach. I said how stressful last year had been and I began to cry a little.  You see, I can cope for the most part except when someone digs a little deeper.  Asks me how I really am. My veneer shatters and I find my eyes welling with tears and a huge lump in my throat. He gave me a hug and said 'the sun will still come up tomorrow'. Prolonged stress was the cause of all of this.  My body was telling me that enough was enough.

Summer is kitten season and the hole in my heart left by Bella needed to be filled. Enter Pepper - a gorgeous weirdo black and tan tortie girl who is 12 weeks old.  Alas she came with cat flu and infected our other two cats.  In between vet visits and antibiotics for fevered and unhappy kittens, chiro visits for the torn muscle in my back and tender, upset stomach, Peter ended up in Emergency with an aggravated gall bladder and immense acute pain. Yes, all five of us were in the wars.  Hey, 2017...this wasn't the deal!

I have been wondering in the last couple of weeks how to make changes when you don't have money. This background stress doesn't seems to abate. I never feel like it's something I can put out of my mind 100%.  The other thing I've wondered is...who cares for the carers? I am not alone here.  Many of my friends have taken on similar roles for their partners or children. So how do you make sure that your wellness well doesn't run dry?

I'm trying small changes at the moment. Practical things like diet to help with my cranky stomach. Smiling at the antics of a new kitten helps too.  Talking to my friends who understand, emotionally support me and are free and flowing with hugs makes a huge difference to my own mental health. But I guess the reality is something has to change in my situation. So keep your fingers crossed that the pox on our house abates. That circumstances change and the pressure and load are lightened.  That perhaps just a little bit of luck comes our way.

And to any fellow carers...I salute you and hang in there.  I know how hard it is to put yourself first. Or even second.  In the meantime, here's photos of Pepper to help make us all smile.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

What the world needs now...

There has been a bit of controversy surrounding this exhibition.  I was in two minds about whether I should go.  How do I feel about something deemed 'unauthorised' by the artist you actually love and respect.  I had also read an interview with Steve Lazarides and felt even more torn.  He seemed a bit of a jerk.  I then heard him talking on RRR and he said a couple of things that turned me around.  So much street art is just  Beautiful. Imaginative. Interesting. Impressive.  But there are few people making the kind of political and social statements that Banksy does.  It's also unlikely I'm going to go overseas any time soon to be able to see Banksy's work so this really is a special opportunity.  Decision I went.

There are multiple versions of some works in this exhibition.  Some show development of ideas, such as Trolley Hunters, printed with and without background colours.  Other work saluted Warhol, like the Tesco Soup Tins  or the absolutely divine Kate Moss series (a homage to Warhol's Marilyn Monroe).  I smiled as he poked fun at society.  At all of us.

The further I went through the exhibition it moved from wry humour to the punch in the stomach I have come to expect from Banksy.  A quote by Banksy at the beginning of the exhibition really summed up how I felt. 'Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable'.  We need to be shaken up.  Stare uncomfortable truths in the face.  And this is where Banksy excels.

There were moments I just stood, thinking about the work and letting it hit me in the chest. Simple imagery saying so much. Making me sad, uncomfortable and distressed by the world.  But really, I was already in that headspace.  After the American election result I have been feeling unsettled.  Fearful that compassion has been lost on a world-wide scale.  Hate seemed to be winning.

Billy Bragg recently shared an article written by Tracey Thorn (of Everything but the Girl fame) asking 'What has happened to political pop music?'  The 70s and 80s saw many UK musicians writing songs and playing gigs as a statement against fascism and racism.  A couple of weeks ago we watched London Town a movie about teenagers and The Clash, being beaten up by nazis or the police or both!  So where has all this political fight gone in music?

When our politicians have lost the ability to say anything meaningful or speak for us, and when society is divided how do we stop feeling despondent?  I'm not alone is thinking that perhaps the only good thing to come out of these ultra conservative right-leaning times is that our artists and musicians will kick back.  A show I listen to on PBS, Fang it! had a post election playlist - Songs of discontent and anger  Driving home in my car after work it made me feel better.  It reminded me that I'm not alone.  There are lots of other people afraid and angry by the state of the world.

And this galvanised my thoughts after seeing the Art of Banksy exhibition .  Perhaps we need thought provoking work now more than ever.  Beautiful is great, music we can tap our toes to is fine.  But we need anthems to bring us together.  We should be waiving our fists in outrage.

As I left the exhibition I smiled.  In a post-ironic statement, I was forced to exit through the gift shop.  Touche Steve.  Nice touch.  There is an ongoing debate about the commodification of street art and in particular Banksy. As this is an unauthorised exhibition I'm sure the artist isn't getting his cut of tshirt sales.  But I surrendered and bought a fridge magnet and mug.  How could I pass up drinking coffee from a mug emblazoned with this image?

Fight the fighters. Not their wars.  Yes, Steve may have my $20 but Banksy has my heart and mind.  It will remind me that what the world needs now, more than ever is people taking a stand.  Pushing back. Saying no to hate, divisiveness and apathy.  Thanks Banksy.  I look forward to seeing what you do next.

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Something missing

There has been a shadow hanging over Peter and I for a while.  As great as our holiday was, it was almost like there was a **disclaimer notice on all our conversations.  'How are you?'   Fine**.  'How was your holiday?  It looked amazing and like you had a fun time'  Yes, we did thanks**.  The ** was our worry about Bella, one of our cats.

Bella has been part of my life since 2004.  After my first cat Scully (yes named after the Gillian Anderson character from the X Files) died my heart was broken.  I joked saying it would take 2 cats to replace her. And there one day in the local newspaper were Bella and Fin.  My (now Ex) partner brought the newspaper to me.  As soon as I saw Bella I knew she was the one.  As a bonus, we wanted to adopt her sister too.  My heart pounded as I couldn't wait to contact the vet where they were being held.  I had a sleepless night hoping that no-one else would adopt them first.

After hearing on the phone that a family were on their way to meet the girls I raced up in my car.  They lifted Fin out of the pen and placed her on my lap.  She was wide eyed and worried.  Bella couldn't be reached as she withdrew inside the enclosure.  I fell in love with both of them.  Luckily the vets were happy for them to be adopted together and to let me take them.  The vet thought they were approximately 2 years old.

The original photo in the local paper November 29th 2004

On bringing them home we put them in the spare room where it was quiet.  They hid on the couch, burrowing under cushions.  But eventually their curiosity got the better of them.  I sat on the floor as  they walked around surveying their new home.  I cried tears of joy watching their little fluffy pants walk around the house, sniffing everything.

Torties are known for being crazy or naughty - problem children basically.  But this is false.  They have big personalities and love people.  At least that's my experience.  Bella was tiny.  No matter how much we fed her she remained about 2 1/2 kgs.  Adult cats are usually between 3 1/2 to 4 1/2 kgs.  Age didn't make a difference either.  I was convinced that she was the runt of the litter.  One day while I was gardening in the front yard I heard a plaintiff meow.  I knew Bella's voice and called to her.  She kept meowing at me.  I couldn't see her anywhere.  Eventually I looked up to see her on the roof.  I ran to one side of the house coaxing her to follow.  She eventually figured out how to get down, clambering onto the fence near where I was standing.  I laughed thinking how tiny she was, that perhaps she'd been caught in an updraft!

Both cats had had most of their teeth removed before we adopted them.  They only had 3 canine teeth each.  One day I arrived home to see the only lower jaw tooth sticking out at right angles from Bella's mouth.  I screamed and dashed to the phone.  The vet suggested that as long as she wasn't in pain it would just probably fall out.  But if I was worried I could bring her up.  Later in the evening I noticed nature had taken it's course and she was completely toothless on that jaw.  She also eventually lost one of the top canines too, leaving her with only one mighty tooth left.  This garnered her the nickname Nibbler (from Futurama).  Her eyes were so large and she remained very kitten like in her appearance.  Her pupils were always dilated giving her the look of a manga cartoon character.

In 2009 I split from my partner.  What I worried about most was the cats.  While we sorted out what would happen I moved into the spare room and slept on a single inflatable mattress.  The cats loved this.  I was at ground level and they somehow managed to squeeze in under the covers of the narrow bed and curl up with me.  These things never go smoothly but I wanted to take the girls with me when I left.  I know this caused great pain.  I still feel terrible about that.

The girls moved with me into a flat.  They then met Peter.  Although not allergic to cats he proceeded to sneeze and have watery eyes for weeks.  There was a lot of antihistamine consumption going on.  Everything was new for them.  A new person, new home and new window views.  This was the beginning of their lives as indoor cats.  As I wrote Uni assignments and stared out the window at the west brunswick skyline, both Bella and Fin would curl up in an old cat bed I had bought Scully.  She never cared for it, but the girls enjoyed lounging while I wrote.  A couple of years later Peter and I bought our home - a townhouse.  They moved again, with more new views and windows made for sun baking.

Cats like being held in different ways.  Fin is only comfortable if you hold her like you're burping a baby.  Bella however, allowed me to cradle her in my arms.  This allowed me to kiss her on the head or belly (what we call playing the hairy harmonica) as I walked around.  She was such a smoocher that if she heard kisses she would come running, protesting that she was not being adored.  In the mornings she would jump up on the bed, walk towards your face meowing and proceed to rub her face (including the one mighty tooth) on your nose.  Other times I awoke to find her asleep on me, laid out along my hip and midriff.  If I made kissing sounds she would walk towards me letting me kiss her on the top of her head endlessly.  She would also happily put her head against mine.  We would put our foreheads together and sit connected quietly for a minute.  I used to say it was our 'mind meld' moment.  So many times I looked at her, contemplating how she was my heart in cat form.

What she lacked in size she made up for in personality.  Chatty, comic, loving, affectionate.  She was always my baby, but in recent times I became a little jealous of her adoration of Peter.  She would happily curl up on his tummy and rub her head on his spectacle frames.  I felt I had been forsaken.  In the mornings, as she was beginning to get a little slower I would scoop her up in my arms and carry her upstairs.  We often joked that she was the Queen of Sheba, and we were her happy and loving servants.

As both Bella and Fin were getting older we fretted at the thought of one of them dying and the other being left alone.  They had spent their whole lives together.  We made the decision to introduce a third cat to the house.  The internet suggested a kitten would be best as it was less threatening than a full grown cat.  When buying pet food we always went and played with the adoption kittens.  They were from the Second Chance Animal Rescue. But one day was different.  I had that same heart pounding feeling when I saw a kitten called Callie.  Peter fell in love with her too. After much council wrangling for permits, we brought her home.  We followed the suggestions we had researched but it was still a bumpy introduction.  Eventually something wonderful happened.  Fin found her inner kitten.  She would run around and play with Callie, they would gently touch noses and seemed happy to hang out together.  The ride was not so smooth with Bella.  As Callie quickly grew she dwarfed Bella before she turned one.  She wanted to play and would pounce on Bella.  From anywhere in the house you could hear Bella's hiss or angry howl. But eventually Callie calmed down.  She would approach Bella and gently sniff her, occasionally trying to lick her.  We reached a tolerance between the two of them.  Thank goodness.

Bella would periodically have stomach problems.  I was convinced this was related to her being the runt of the litter.  In March this year she stopped eating, withdrew. and was unsteady on her feet.  After countless tests, X-rays and scans we were relieved to hear it wasn't cancer, but a stomach inflammation.  We were sent home with tons of meds for her.  They also suggested buying tuna and a roast chicken to help entice her to eat.  So the squeamish vegan forked roast chicken into her bowl.  I lay on the kitchen floor, gently stroking her and wept as she ate.

In my 20s I got three tattoos.  They have faded badly and I am in the process of getting coverups.  My first was on my ankle.  I wanted a cat design and the tattooist used Fin's colourings as inspiration.  In April I organised for another coverup.  This time Bella would be my muse.  After 4 hours and much pain I have her as part of me.  It felt right.  She was someone I loved with all my heart.

Thanks Crispy Lennox for this wonderful tattoo

A couple of weeks ago I began my holidays.  I had worked really long hours and was thrilled to finally have a break.  On saturday night Bella was curled up on my lap.  As I was stroking her under the chin I felt a lump.  I don't know how we hadn't noticed earlier but it was hidden in her fur.  A trip to the vet on the following Monday made me worry as I heard the words lymphoma from the vets mouth.  But tests would need to be done to confirm this.  An anxious night and little sleep from either Peter or I.  The vet eventually rang saying the results didn't show signs of cancer, but all her tests indicated that something was going on with her.  More meds and a plan, as we were about to go on holiday for 6 days.

I watched Bella eat dinner that night, emitting her full body purr.  I still don't know how she ate and purred so loudly at the same time, or how such a loud sound came out of such a tiny body.  Anxiously we dropped her, Fin and Callie at the cattery.  Six days later we were back cradling them all, smothering them with kisses.  About to run out of meds I took Bella back to the vet on my last day of holidays, Wednesday  She suggested 3 options - more tests to get an official diagnosis and a course forward, try steroids as they would act as a pain killer and slow any tumour growth, or put her down.  I wasn't quite ready to hear those words and began to cry.  I picked the middle road of option 2.  I returned to work on Thursday.  Bella was swapping between meds and we gave her pain killers to help the transition.  As I left work on Friday I rang Peter.  I asked how Bella was and he said 'she's breaking my heart'.  Driving home I pictured having to put her down, but we would spend the weekend together and smother her with kisses and give her good food.  But when I got home I could see how unwell she was.  Laboured breathing, and trouble getting comfortable. Peter and I looked at each other and knew.  As the vet had closed we would have one last night with her.  But as the night progressed her pain increased and it was too much.  We rang the 24 hour emergency clinic and dashed at 9pm talking quietly and trying to comfort Bella all the way.  They wrapped her in a pink towel and let me hold her on my lap.  We stroked her and told her we loved her as the injection was given.  In less than 30 seconds she was gone and out of pain.

She was placed with care back in her cat cage.  We got into the car, Bella on Peter's lap and we both let out uncontrollable sobs. I couldn't believe she was gone.  We took her home as we didn't want to leave her somewhere she didn't know.  Cold, clinical, unfamiliar.  That may sound stupid but we wanted her with us.  I placed her in the study.  I opened the cage and stoked the soft fur just below her velvety ears.  She was still warm.

In the morning we organised for her to be cremated.  She was collected by Caroline who was respectful and gentle. We cried as she took Bella away.  The cremation will be on Monday and she will stay with Bella at all times, light a candle and return the ashes to us.  Urban living means we have nowhere to bury her, but we can take her ashes with us wherever we go.  Somehow this is comforting.  The little furry piece of my heart gets to stay with me.

I still expect to hear her meow somewhere in the house, or feel her walk up the bed towards me.  I still burst into tears if my mind lingers on the loss of her.  My friend Felicity shared something on Facebook yesterday.  A quote saying 'Grief, I've learned, is really just love.  It's all the love you want to give but cannot.  All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in the hollow part of your chest.  Grief is just love with no place to go.' Any animal lover knows this pain.  It's the deal with loving your pet.  I read an internet comment recently where a woman said she could no longer have cats as the pain of their loss was too much.  I find this so sad and as heartbreaking and devastating as the last few days has been I would not have missed Bella being part of my life for anything.  The pain is worth it.  But it hurts like hell right now.  There is something missing from our home.

This post is my attempt to document my time with Bella.  Little stories and memories of which there are hundreds more I could add.  It's also to salute the amazing little soul she was, filled with love and purrs and personality.  I miss you Bella but am glad that you are no longer in pain.  My heart in cat form.


Since writing this post I have remembered more things about Bella.  I just want to capture these little moments with her together in one place. So please indulge me...

Caroline returned Bella's ashes to us on the Monday after Bella died. She gave us a candle and had picked roses from a garden to hand to us.  We talked, she met Fin and Callie and we thanked her for her care and support during what was a simply awful time.  She was warm and lovely and said she hoped to not see us again for quite some time, looking at Fin and smiling.

Later that evening there was a knock at the door.  It was a bunch of flowers sent from our vet.  They had known Bella for 12 years as we had adopted both Bella and Fin from them.  I spoke to Bec (pictured at the top of this post) and she said she had cried when she heard the news. Bella had a way of capturing people's hearts.

I arrived at work on tuesday to find a posey of flowers on my desk from colleagues - who are clearly also lovely friends.  I got many hugs and looks of understanding at work.  It's nice to be surrounded by so many animal lovers.

In the weeks since, Peter and I looked through photos we had of Bella.  In this digital age you have lots of images but nothing is printed out.  So we picked a dozen of our favourite shots and had them printed.  It felt like our attempt to put Bella back in our home.  The tin with her ashes sits on a  bookshelf surrounded by these photos. It's nice to see her face out of the corner of my eye.

I've also remembered so many other little details about her. How regardless of whatever time of year, when you dug your face into her fur she always smelt the same.  The sweet smell of damp hay. I never understood it, but it was such a delightful scent.  I would fill my lungs with this smell and smile.

She was tiny, but a force of nature.  So determined. She would meow loudly while waiting for food, and purr equally as loudly.  Fin would sit back and let Bella do the hard yards. Fin's meows were so faint we laughed calling them 'silent meows', where her mouth opened but nothing could be heard.  Occasionally Bella would awake in the middle on the night, letting out these yearning, questioning and exceptionally loud cries.  I used to think she'd awoken to find herself alone while everyone else was in bed.  We'd call out in response 'we're over here Bell' and her paws could be heard travelling in our direction, followed by purrs upon finding us.  Since Bella has gone Fin is getting some volume behind her voice.  It's been interesting to see this change.

Bella's forcefulness garnered her the nickname the 'furry bulldozer'.  If she wanted to be somewhere or wanted something there was little that would stand in her way.  I would wake up during the night to find her in bed under the covers with me.  She must have pushed herself in, sliding down the gap between my back and the mattress.  Finding some way to push her face under the covers and crawl down the bed.  There were times when I feared she would suffocate as her head was way down under the covers.  Panicked I would check her breathing.  She was a sleepy, warm rag doll but happy in her toasty cocoon.  She would curl into the small of my back and I'd smile and go back to sleep with her beside me.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Haven't had a dream in a long time...

Life is hard.  This is not a revelation.  But sometimes when you stop for a moment you realise the impact of the hardship.  The stress of the last 12 months has made life small.  I just focussed on getting through the week to the weekend, or reaching the next pay day.   The weekends were for recovery and not a lot of money to go and do anything more than a coffee out.  In the midst of all this came two things - my tax return and the announcement that Morrissey was touring.

It lit a spark in both Peter and I.  And in the last 10 days life got big again.  Morrissey played Melbourne first - our home town. We queued up outside the venue at about 5pm, meeting up with other Morrissey fans we have come to know via Instagram.  Hugs exchanged and nervous and excited chatter began.  We also met other people while we tried to stay warm in the gusty, rainy afternoon., including the lovely Taylor (a young teenager who had flown down from QLD as this was the only show that didn't clash with his High School exams).  The doors opened and we headed for the front. We all scored front or second row. You could have fuelled a small village with our enthusiastic energy.  Then Moz and band appeared.  5000 people sang Suedehead and Everyday is like Sunday en masse.  It was a blast.

Waiting in the cold in Melbourne

Melbourne - 22nd October 2016

Melbourne - 22nd October 2016

A few days later we flew to Adelaide.  We were sharing accommodation with two of the Moz Army - Rae and Penny.  Beers, cider and drunken pool games celebrated our arrival in town. Penny handed me something - a beautiful hand made makeup bag with Morrissey emblazoned on the front.  Another of the Moz crew, Loreolei ordered some from the U.S.  We had planned to exchange them in Melbourne but I couldn't find her in the crowd.  Penny did, and it seems that Loreolei gifted them to us.  It is so lovely of her.  We headed out to see Morrissey in Adelaide.  Drinks were arranged at a pub near the venue.  Peter and I arrived a little later and started talking to someone at the bar. We invited him to come and sit with us.  It turns out Michael was following Morrissey around on this tour. Morrissey does invoke a certain level of super fan, and some people are lucky enough to travel country to country, gig to gig.  He had seen Morrissey over 100 times. The super fans are wrist banded and directed to the barrier.  We had heard that only the first 5 rows were going to be allowed to run to the front barrier.  The rest of us were restricted.  After only knowing us for about half an hour Michael offered to sneak his ticket to us after he'd been wrist banded so one of us could get closer.  Somehow we managed to pull this feat off.  I was amazed at the kindness and generosity shown by someone we had only just met.  It's lovely that the karmic good will shown to Michael somehow flowed to us.  We didn't quite get the opportunity to thank him properly.  With Peter down towards the front, I danced like a crazy person getting as close as security would allow.  This is the joy of being in a town where none knows you - dancing like an idiot will not haunt you.

Thank you Loreolei 

Adelaide - 26th October 2016

The following day we made the trek to Canberra (via Melbourne!).  We bid farewell to Penny who was regretfully heading home.  With delayed flights it took us all day. While collecting our luggage we saw in the distance Morrissey's band at a different luggage claim.  We smiled and gave the thumbs up to Boz one of his guitarists.  We found our airbnb apartment.  Rae arrived and we went for a drink.  It had been a long day.  The next day Simon arrived and we also bumped into Kelly, Susan and Casey.  As all these people live interstate it was lovely to chat over drinks.  Arriving at the show Peter and I finally got front row barrier.  I chatted to the girl next to me.  We joked while overhearing a really loud conversation between two people behind us. She apologised saying she was a magnet for annoying people.  I smiled.  Peter had someone trying to push through to the barrier.  But he and the girl next to him stood firm.  In these situations I often think of Daria Morgendorffer (my spirit animal) and her quote of 'Hell is other people'.  The curtain dropped and the show began.  It was amazing and I sang my heart out.

Canberra - 28th October 2016 

Canberra - 28th October 2016 

Canberra - 28th October 2016 

The others were off to a Smiths / Morrissey club, but Peter had caught a cold and just lasted through the show.  We headed back for a quiet drink and to trawl through our photos of the evening.  He told me he wanted to yell out at the gig 'Morrissey, come and touch my wife's hand'. I loved him a little bit more right at that moment.  The following morning the others took off for the next show but this is where our Morrissey Odyssey ended.  Three gigs in three states in seven days. Crazy.  We watched via social media as the others continued to the last two shows.  Simon posted saying that his psych had told him to do something 100% for himself.  It reminded me of the advice Peter got in 2012 about his depression and anxiety - 'go and do something fun' was part of the prescription.  Each October since we have celebrated Fun-fest.  A week (or two) of just doing crazy, fun things.  Usually it's Melbourne Festival's also the month of our wedding anniversary.  We never seem to have trouble finding some way of injecting something out of the ordinary into our lives. I'm so pleased that this year it got to be Morrissey.

As difficult as it can be with a combination of shyness and social anxiety between the two of us, Peter and I were lucky to share fun times with amazing people.  We were enveloped by people's generosity and kindness.  As hard as it is to come back to reality I am grateful for our adventure.  I hope we can have drinks with the Moz Army next time any of them are in Melbourne (we do better in small groups).

It has also made me realise that I need to start a 'fun fund'.  Even if it's only a few spare dollars each pay we should be planning more crazy adventures, more fun times... and remembering to dream.

Some of the merch I bought

Sunday, October 16, 2016


Today is Oscar Wilde's birthday.  I seem to forget every year, but am reminded as it's also our wedding anniversary.  It seems somewhat fitting that we randomly picked the date we now share with Oscar.  In the first days of meeting, Peter bought me a copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey.  We talked about Oscar and our love of words and word play has continued ever since.

This is also a day I sit and write.  To see where my life is and how each year affects our relationship. It will be interesting in years to come, to read back and note the changes and challenges of our life together.  Or to quote Oscar "I never travel without my diary.  One should always have something sensational to read in the train." 

In the lead up to our anniversary I was thinking about what a tough year it has been.  Peter's toxic workplace nearly broke us both.  Not the relationship, but the stress affected us both greatly individually.  Pile lot's of financial pressure on top of that and it doesn't make for the most riotous 12 months.  Somehow when I was younger I imagined life was to get easier the older you got.  Newsflash kids, it doesn't.

But a little while ago while filling out the census I was trying to figure out our old address.  I could remember the street, but not the flat number.  I trawled through old emails, positive the answer could be located.  It was.  But I also found a treasure trove of emails between Peter and myself.  As he lived over 3 hours away we mostly got to know each other through writing.  We explained things about ourselves (how Peter mixes his sarsaparilla, how I am stubborn because I don't like to admit I can't do things etc).  I couldn't believe how honest we both were.  We painted picture of ourselves that ring so true today.  Little details may have changed, but the essence of us were innocently and humorously exchanged.  We wrote about music, our pasts, our likes and dislikes, our view of the world, all wrapped up with humour and honesty.

Reading those messages I watched us fall in love.  Neither of us saw it coming, but the fascinating new friendship that developed after a chance meeting escalated before we knew what to do. Life is strange and ridiculous. After an hour or so of reading our old emails I looked up.  I saw Peter in front of me and smiled. I had been reminded of who he is and why I fell in love with him.  I wasn't focussed on the stress and hardship we were going through.  And perhaps this is an important lesson to learn.  It's easy to forget the little details.  The reasons you fell in love with someone.  The ache you feel seeing them after being separated for a time. The flip your heart does when you know this person loves you so completely.  Instead we fill our minds with worrying about money, paying bills, work, fretting about how the dishwasher is stacked etc.  And although these are the things that make up life, it is not what makes a relationship.

I feel lucky that I have a written record of the beginning of 'us'.  I also have this blog.  I will remind myself to look back and remember all the things that I adore about my lovely husband.  The bills will sort themselves out somehow.  Our bank accounts may argue differently, but to quote Oscar one last time 'Who, being loved, is poor?'.

Happy Anniversary Peter.  Now we are six.