The Writing Instinct

Across the seas...

2011-12-01T12:29:00.001+11:00

...and back! I absolutely love to travel, I especially love flying and everything associated with it...but it's good to be home...for now anyway ;)

Next stop: visiting all the wonderful blogs I have missed.

See you soon
xo

Mr. 18, a high school graduate

2011-10-13T17:53:00.001+11:00

As hard as it is to believe, our Mr 18 has graduated from high school. On the day of graduation the school also held the Year 12 Valedictory Dinner. But he is yet to sit his final exams. These start next Tuesday 18th October. I'd like to share with you some pictures from the day, as well as from the evening events.

Pride is the only word that comes to mind when I remember that emotion-packed day.

M 16 leading in his year to the tune of Party Rock Anthem

Rocking on with class mate

An image from Year 7 at 13 years of age

At Year 12 and 18 years old

Cousin Miss 3, a quiet attendee

Each Year 12 student was presented, one after the other, with a flower from a child in kindergarten

Younger brother Mr 9 in the audience

Mr 18 and the boy who presented Mr 18 with his gerbera

Father and son embrace

Mr 18 with his (maternal) grandparents

My family

With proud & loving aunt

Mr 18, Miss 14 and Mr 9

Boys will be boys :)

On our way to the evening celebrations...guess who drove?

A dapper Mr 18

Posing...

Mr 18 with darling cousins x

Hubby, me and The Graduate...

Love


My beautiful sister with her gorgeous children xo

My boy

The Mo Pose

Anyone need special security? He's your man!

Check out Mr 18 in top left hand corner!

So pretty

So pretty...again!

As our son was receiving his certificate and awards

Going up to the stage...

I present to you our Valedictorian xo

Now kick your shoes off and let the party begin!

My new old gadget, LOL

2011-10-06T21:46:00.000+11:00

A few months ago I spotted a dusty and very old typewriter sitting just behind a dripping gutter at a garage sale. After making a few enquiries to the owner, I found out that it was bought it in the 1970s. Twenty-five dollars later (and feeling like it weighed 25 kilos!) I carried my purchase home. Let me introduce you...

We later worked out that this Underwood typewriter is from 1904, before the birth of any of my grandparents. Miss 14 was so taken that she took picture after picture of this beautiful piece of technology that was the earliest precursor to whatever device you are using to read this post. We then realised that there was still an ink-roll inside the typewriter and so we inserted a piece of paper. The creak creak as we turned the round handle was almost eerie. The oily scent of the ink and tiny clouds of dust that puffed up as each letter hit the ink-roll were surreal and completely out of this world. The sound of these letters pounding the paper...inexplicably satisfying!

Now what would a 14-year old in the year 2011 type, using a 107-year old gadget?

'OMG, Mum this is sooo cool, LOL! '

Ah, the irony of technology!

Sadly I post this on the day that Steve Jobs, an innovator, leader and undeniable force in the information and technology industry, passed away.

Suko's Book Blog Contest

2011-10-05T08:35:00.000+11:00

Book Giveaway

Please visit Suko's Notebook to enter this fantastic giveaway!

The Doctor...and an 18 year old.

2011-09-29T11:32:00.000+10:00

Late in October 1992 I visited my family doctor, The Doctor, telling him excitedly that, after having conducted a urine pregnancy test, I believed I was pregnant. I remember smiling so much my facial muscles were twitching. The Doctor looked at me quizzically and asked me how old I was; I told him (I was a month younger than 22, bless me!). He then stroked his chin, nodded his head and said that he would like to do blood tests as he did not have much confidence in urine tests. Now, even though the main hormone of pregnancy, BHCG is the only hormone that urine pregnancy tests look for, he still doubted the result. So, I obliged him and had a blood test. Afterwards I went home, feeling completely deflated and convinced that I would NEVER fall pregnant. At the time I still had another six months of university. However, darling Hubby and I had planned this pregnancy down to the last month, where, I would finish my final exams in June that year and have the baby by the end of July. Things are supposed to work out the way you plan them aren't they?...

A few days later I received a phone call from The Doctor's secretary asking me to go in as The Doctor was very concerned about my blood test results. Hubby and I left our apartment so quickly we forgot to lock the front door.

Sitting in the waiting room, our legs kept bumping into each other we shook so much. I felt so sick. What if I am not pregnant? What if I can never fall pregnant (for some reason I always thought I would be sterile)...'see, we should have started trying for a baby a year ago, as soon as we were married', I kept repeating to myself 'I am barren!'. As these thoughts became deeper my resentment towards poor hubby escalated and I can only imagine the distraught look on my face decline further with each worsening thought...

'Mervat'...The Doctor called as I was stunned back to reality.

Seating himself behind a big mahogany desk he looked at me over his octagonally-shaped glasses.

'Mervat, we received your blood test results and not only is there (the pregnancy hormone) BHCG...'

'Whooohooooo' I screamed in my mind, 'I'm pregnant!'. My body language though was at a complete contrast, as I sat hands in my lap, my feet flat on the floor, my shoulders slumped forward...I could sense a big BUT coming up...

'...BUT, there is too much BHCG' said The Doctor...'There is so much in fact I think you have a tumour, and...' remember dear reader, that this was one single blood test, no physical examination, no history, no biopsy of said tumour... 'I believe it is malignant'. The only thing to do from here' he continued telling a desperate-to-fall-pregnant 22 year-old 'would be a hysterectomy'.

This was when his royal highness, The Doctor, sat back in his high-backed leather chair, interlaced his fingers over that big scratched ugly table and breathed down through his nostrils.

Darling hubby grabbed my hand, we stood up and we left the building! Stat!

Even a third year medical student, as my dear hubby was at the time, worked out that this idiot Had No Idea!

We went and found the nearest medical centre, saw someone who was on duty who repeated the urine BHCG test and were promptly told our baby's due date (31st July 1993). We were booked in to our local hospital for regular check-ups immediately. And no talk of any type of tumour.

After an ice-cream, we made our way back home and walked in through the unlocked front door without batting an eyelid.

****18 years and nine and a half months later*****

I still walk past The Doctor's surgery regularly. In fact, one day, I would like to introduce him to my 18 year old provisional driver tumour...and what a handsome tumour he is!

So, this was going to be a gratuitous post all about my Mr 17-recently-turned-18 year old. Yes, we are now parents to an 18 year old. He is 18..and I can't get my mind around that. Of course we are proud of him and the young man he has become etc, etc...but I can't grasp the fact that he is that age. So much has happened in the last 18 years that if I stop to rewind my mind becomes a blur. And yet, it seems like only months ago I found out I was pregnant...and you now know how that went!

Swift Kick!

2011-09-21T12:35:00.000+10:00

To my dear Readers, but especially to Anonymous (xo) who recently commented on my last post,

I have been slack. Terribly slack. Thank you to anon. for your comment that made me smile but also to be ashamed all at the same time. I promise be a better blogger from now on.

Please forgive me,
Mervat
xo

Stalemate

2011-07-20T10:04:00.001+10:00

I have written over 42,000 words of my Present Book. And I have reached somewhat of a stalemate. I have so many ideas about ways I want to approach the structure of my book but I don't know which way to turn. Right now the easiest thing to do would be to leave it for a time and maybe just check in on it once in a while. Gosh, I have even considered a Fantastic New Book Idea (and, I admit, I've written around 150 words towards it...and I've collected some pictures...and I think about it often, too often). But, as Andrea of www.acatofimpossiblecolour.blogspot.com once noted, another new book idea in the midst of a present book is like having an affair. And I do feel bad, I really do, but I really am desperate. In the end though, sense will prevail. I know I can't leave Present Book in limbo. So, I have printed out all that I have written so far. And it sort of feels like I have reached a milestone; that is, I have a thick-ish wad of paper. But where to next?

Fancy a Thai resort...

2011-07-08T15:15:00.005+10:00

...or a cold Sydney winter?

The air is so fresh.

Standing on the crispy grass with the sun on your back.

It doesn't get much better than this (for me!).

I love Sydney in the winter.

100 minus your age

2011-06-27T13:11:00.001+10:00

For me, one of the best places to be is in a comfy chair and a new book. The anticipation of a new book can be so overwhelming that I start reading as soon as I have a moment to myself. When the book takes off there is nothing in the world that can compare. But then some books can be such a let down even in the first few pages. Trying again and again, and again and still it goes nowhere. So, when do you stop? When is it okay to decide that a book just does not deserve our hard-earned, eagerly awaited Spare Mental Moments? According to a reviewer on our local radio station, if you subtract your age from 100 then the remaining numeral is the number of pages that you should read of a book before giving up on it.

Clearly then, the older we get the less time we have for suffering foolish words. Or is it a case of decreased attention span? I guess it's a bit of both...

So, to one of the books above: I have read 64 of your pages and that is 4 more pages than I needed to read...out you go!

Can you guess which book it is from the pile above that I have had to let go? One of these is also one of the most memorable books I have ever read.

P.S. Sorry Pat (who kindly commented) but here are the titles:

Hotel of the Saints by Ursula Hegi

Will you be there? by Guillaume Musso

The Embers of Heaven by Alma Alexander

The Moneypenny Diaries by Kate Westbrook

The Lighted Rooms by Richard Mason

Like Heaven by Nial Maharaj

Bubbles in Trouble Sarah Strohmeyer

Words...for words

2011-06-22T13:09:00.001+10:00

I hope the following quote helps you as it helps me...daily. I have this as my wallpaper on my phone, on my desktop and I can even imagine it as actual wallpaper...okay, time for my OCD tendencies to settle down. Here it is:

'Writing inspires inspiration.

Keep writing.

If you succeed,

keep writing.

If you fail,

keep writing.

If you're bored,

keep writing."

MICHAEL CRICHTON

Keep writing,

Mervat

Missing writing...

2011-06-21T12:29:00.001+10:00

A quick check in as I type single-handedly and recover from an operation to my left arm. Through the haze of pain-killers I realize how long it has been since I wrote anything. I miss writing and I miss blogging, particularly visiting my favorite blogs. I have even let my own deadline for finishing my first draft, fall by the wayside. I miss my characters and where their life was heading. Time to get them back on track...

Beautiful Malice

2011-04-25T13:10:00.002+10:00

A few months ago I purchased a young adult thriller titled Beautiful Malice by Rebecca James. I enjoyed reading it so much that I just had to find out about the author, who I am proud to say, is a fellow Aussie. I discovered that Rebecca also has a blog.

A few weeks ago my daughter and I entered a competition, held by Rebecca to celebrate the newest cover of her book. However, we did not realise that the competition had closed (in fact she had also announced the winners but we were so excited to enter we negelcted to check her blog properly!). Rebecca still kindly sent Jena a copy of Beautiful Malice. Jena was so excited she read it during the school holidays in two days. In three words, Jena's response was: "Oh. My. God!" She thoroughly enjoyed it and asked me if there was a sequel. While I don't know the answer to her question, what I do know is that Rebecca was generous enough to still consider Jena.

Thank you Rebecca. You absolutely made her day!

I died last night

2011-03-04T11:50:00.002+11:00

I died last night.

I was driving in the left lane on an Australian road, minding my own business, when a car came screaming at me from the opposite lane. I swerved, missed it and felt very fortunate that it did not hit me. I then approached the object that was causing the oncoming traffic to drive into my lane. Just ahead of me I saw a small trophy. I could not believe it was this trophy, so insignificant, that was reaping so much havoc. And then as I passed the trophy, car after car unknowingly crashed into me. I saw the drivers’ faces, aghast and in disbelief. I realised then the inevitability of the moment: that I was going to die. And when the cars crashed into me, one after the other, after the other, I expected to hear a deafening crush, but there was none. I expected pain, but there was none. Looking up I felt myself floating above my vehicle and ahead of me were those who had died just before me, but by other means. I saw them moving forward and upward with their beautiful multicoloured gowns trailing behind them. I momentarily thought of my family whom I had just left behind. And I though to myself, it’s okay. It’s okay. They’ll be fine. My heart leaped and I moved forward to join the colourful angels. I felt so content.

Interpreting this, I know that this dream is not about me dying, per se. It is about some part of my behaviour that is dying. And that is a good thing. I am changing the behaviour that ties me down, that makes me beholden to others. I realise that there are things I can let go of, things that are as insignificant as that trophy. I can cut back on these insignificances. It's okay. I don't have to always be running everything so tightly and on schedule. It's okay. I can trust my family to do things for themselves sometimes. They'll be fine. I need to trust in myself and follow that which makes me happy, makes me content. And then I will join the happy angels, in all their glory, that have come before me. I know I will.

Okay, so, with the extra time, I will get on with my heaven: my writing. My aim is to be a published angel.

My book is at 28,000 words, and counting. I have even put together a first draft of a querie letter for potential agents. So far so good.

Until next time,
Mervat
x

Window shopping in Paris

2011-02-22T12:27:00.000+11:00

At times, when I need inspiration (such as now when I have to crunch numbers for our business!) I look back at some of the pictures I took while in Paris, last May.

Our time there was such a mix of weather patterns and emotion. Regardless, I remember those short nine days with warmth and fondness.

Please, let me share some of my Parisian window shopping adventures with you.

Florists...

So tastefully detailed...

Baccarat chrystal...

Exotic teas...

Vintage Madeleine Shop...where the owner sources pre-loved high-end fashion and accessories

Ahhh, vintage Chanel...just three (thousand) euros...

Until next time...

From me to you...

2011-02-16T14:42:00.001+11:00

My husband and I usually don't pay much attention to Valentine's Day.

This year though, it was such a wonderful surprise to receive a dozen red roses from my darling husband.

They were spectacular.

I'd like to share the above rose with you.

@>--}--}---

Happy Valentine's Day.

Maximum Temp: 46.6 C / 116 F

2011-01-31T18:52:00.001+11:00

Winter, winter, oh where for art thou winter?

The maximum temperature recorded on our weather station today was: 46.6 degrees celsius. This was only rivaled by my eight-year old son's fever.

Need (glug, glug, water) I (fan, fan) say (collapse in a heap!) more?

Cosiness

2011-01-19T09:09:00.003+11:00

From the inside-out.

What feelings does this image inspire in you?

Happy New 2011

2011-01-12T12:28:00.000+11:00

Wishing everyone a peaceful and productive year ahead.

Speaking of productive times, I am writing. Actually writing. This is thanks to many writing websites and novels I have read during the recent holiday period. Mostly though it is the result of having access to a guide called "The Nighttime Novelist - Finish Your Novel in Your Spare Time" by Joseph Bates. Although I don't know anyone who has 'spare time', for anyone who is hopeful of writing a book, I thoroughly recommend it.

This spiral bound book has come in handy for details on how to help prompt an idea, how to massage that idea into plots and characters and among other pointers, how to plan your novel. As I have enjoyed perusing through this book I have gained motivation to keep at 'it'.

In keeping my story idea alive and asking myself more questions about it, I have inadvertently dedicated some time each day (even as little as 5 minutes, sometimes) to my novel. And, I have also accepted (contrary to earlier self-convincing) that I need to write, literally, with pen and paper first, for a long time, before I can step up to the keyboard (you may notice that my word counter will stay the same for the time being even though the words are a-coming). And, in being motivated, I have 'created' spare time (it might be at 7:30 am, 11pm or 3am). And I am making progress.

Discalimer: I have not been asked to review this book and I am certainly not advertising it. This is a genuine recommendation from someone who has purchased the book and found it very helpful.

Wishing you wonderfully creative times ahead.

My Brains and Bitch-hour

2010-11-05T10:02:00.009+11:00

My main concern when signing up for NaNoWriMo (and NaNoWriMo-Lame-oh) was quarterly tax time which has to be finalised in the next two weeks. So, I am in the midst of getting dozens and dozens of receipts (ranging from those tiny shreds of curled, faded paper eagerly-torn from an original roll, to A3 size) in chronological order. The receipts also have to be sorted and then manually entered into an accounting program.

While my poor, numbed-with-boredom left (analytical) brain is churning through each and every bit of paper laboriously, my right (creative) brain is resting. It is taking it easy, stretching out on a hammock, and sipping a chai-latte. Hours later (usually when I am home and tearing myself between my 8 year-old's homework and cooking dinner) left brain snatches the latte-glass out of right brain's hand and bumps him out of the hammock. Bad luck, year 2 maths!

Right brain is then in full gear. You see, I write best when I am standing at my laptop, between chopping vegetables, checking on the boiling pasta and supervising said homework. I call this bitch-hour. Also, by depriving myself of the joy of writing for a large chunk of the day, my sub-conscience somehow builds up the main parts of the story that I want to tell. These 'main parts' are what I hungrily type up in bits and pieces during bitch-hour. And then in the evening, when life has quietened substantially, I can then immerse myself and write between the lines, adding the cushioning, if you will. This is how I roll with my writing.

Now, you are probably thinking how presumptuous of her, thinking she has two brains? Well, scientifically, and anatomically, I do. In fact, we all have two brains, the left and right hemispheres, that are joined only by a bundle of nerves (the corpus callosum). For thought processes our two brains can function independently of each other. And, as you may be aware, we are usually functionally dominant in one or the other.

Ever wondered which of your brain hemispheres is the dominant one? Well, here's your chance to check. If you see the dancer below moving clockwise then your left brain is dominant and you are more analytical in your approach to thought processes. If you see the dancer moving anti-clockwise then you tend to see 'the bigger picture', you are more philosophical in your thoughts and can present multiple possibilities to a situation.

http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/wacky/the-right-brain-vs-left-brain/story-e6frev20-1111114577583

I am definitely right-brained and that suits my writing and me just fine.

What are you? Let me know in the comments section and what your thoughts are on this.

NaNoWriMo words so far: 4167

NaNoWriMo: Day 3 (Bad, bad day)

2010-11-03T18:00:00.001+11:00

Migraines: 1 (big fat mumma of a headache!)

Analgesia: (almost) anything that came to hand

Daily word count: zero

Total word count: 3167 :((

NaNoWriMo: Day 2

2010-11-02T17:46:00.001+11:00

Image courtesy: http://www.lilsugar.com/Help-Im-All-Alone-1107741

Crazy Mum: 1

Coffee: 2 mugs

Tea: 2 cups

Coke Zero: 1/2 can

Baskets of washing on line: 3

Baskets of washing brought in: 2 1/2

Lunches packed: 4

Daily word Count: 1626

Total Word Count: 3167

Day two writing frenzy over with.

See you tomorrow...

NaNoWriMo: Day 1

2010-11-01T10:05:00.001+11:00

Daily word Count: 1541

Total Word Count: 1541

Day one writing frenzy over with.

See you tomorrow...

Ouch!

2010-10-29T10:10:00.003+11:00

Source: bashingperfect.blogspot.com

I like dental visits. Usually. Except for yesterday's visit. As a result of breaking a molar tooth late last week I was booked in to see an oral surgeon. He recommended extraction. Thirty minutes and three stitches later, I walked out, my mouth packed with gauze. Bless pain killers!

I am spending today on the couch, sipping luke-warm tea, coffee and soup from a straw. Writing this through a haze of codeine-induced stupor. I hope I will be okay by the time Nanowrimo and Nanowrimo-Lame-Oh (as hosted by the inspirational Andrea from acatofimpossiblecolour) starts.

Now though, back to sleep.

Until next time...

The Aphrodite of Milos

2010-10-20T09:57:00.005+11:00

You have seen her many times before, to be sure, but, to see her in person (in the marble :)) was unforgettable. I went there twice in one day and then the following day to absorb the beauty that was hand-crafted by an Ancient Greek sculptor named Alexandros of Antioch.

I finally scored a headset recording on the second visit and learned that this goddess of love and beauty is almost seven feet tall.

She was found by a peasant in the ancient city of Milos in the Aegean Islands in 1820. A French officer figured she would be an important work of art and started to organise her removal. But the peasant refused and wanted money, so he sold her to a priest who wanted to gift her to someone in Constantinople. She was eventually given to King Henry XVIII who handed her over to the Louvre museum, where she resides today.

Her arms, which were found and verified as original, could have been reattached but they deliberately weren't. This was to keep the public interested in the mystery they had formulated about her.

Also, as she was never meant to be viewed from the back, she was never given detail seen on the rest of her. However, she would have been fully decked out in jewellery (which was likely to have been stolen) and she was possibly painted as well.

Her left arm was probably raised at eye level holding an apple and her right arm curved loosely around her waist holding up her drapery.

Beautiful indeed.

Like Kindy All Over Again.

2010-10-18T13:07:00.000+11:00

Mr 17 in kindergarten:

My Mr 17 is back at school today. Although I am a little anxious I think he'll be okay. I keep looking at the phone expecting him to call me to pick him up. But it has not rang yet. After six weeks of spending almost every waking moment together, I miss him. It is quiet. Very quiet. And I miss him. Like kindergarten all over again.

Start them young!

2010-10-11T09:03:00.003+11:00

This is my darling Mr 8 using a knife and chopping board for the first time (not that he has used either at any other time, mind you). He really wanted to help and I could not deny him the chance of chopping up some green capsicum.

The finished product ready to use in a tomato reduction:

Although he is not very fond of this vegetable, it is his favourite colour!

And that is a good enough reason to handle it, don't you think?

Missing my Sydney winter...

2010-10-06T09:06:00.000+11:00

My roma tomato plant sprinkled with frost.

Hubby's mallet was not spared either

Yard and neighbouring house

Roses rising up from the frost

Sparkly roses

More tenacious roses

Frost-blanketed grass

Oh how I love our winters,

Only two seasons to go!

Having been under the weather (sorry, bad, bad pun!) myself, I have been going over some pictures from a few months ago.

I hope you enjoy them.

Mervat

No denyin' it's Spring-time

2010-09-22T11:07:00.002+10:00

My backyard, full of wisteria,

daisies,

roses

and plum blossoms...

Spring and a smile

2010-09-20T10:10:00.003+10:00

We are home and it feels so good. Although it has been a difficult couple of weeks our darling, patient and brave Mr 17 is recovering slowly. Thank you for all of your thoughts, prayers and good wishes. They are very much appreciated.

In the preceding days, and even though we had a huge hospital window overlooking trees and a park, I did not see a single bud. These days were dim and cloud-filled. On the morning drive home from hospital, our son safely bundled beside us, I could not help but notice an overnight explosion of all varieties of flora creating spectacular arrays of textures and colours.

It is Spring.

Blossoms, birds and butterflies in abundance. Our son is smiling.

What a beautiful, beautiful day.

Mervat.
xo

Revision Surgery

2010-08-31T09:05:00.004+10:00

As some of you may remember, our darling son, Mr 17 had scoliosis correction surgery exactly 3 years ago. His two major curves covering 11 segments in his spine, were corrected with rods, screws and bone grafts. Yesterday his annual X-ray showed that the bone grafts in his lower back have not grown to form a single bony structure. This structure is supposed to stop the curve from reforming. His back muscles that support the spine are pulling in one direction and the instrumentation is tugging in the opposite direction. No bone mass to stabilise his spine. I can only imagine the pain he has been living with, day after night. Our son needs revision surgery involving more instrumentation and more bone grafts. And soon. Next week soon. Too soon.

Your thoughts and prayers will be much appreciated.

The following posts (in chronological order) refer to our scoliosis surgery experiences I wrote about when I first started this blog:

Your typical Saturday...not so
Coffee?? Maybe not.
Anterior, Posterior.
Professor of Fashion, Form and Fit.
A joke and a prayer.
His shoes are bigger than you!
Change and New Heights.
Khazakstan and Lebanese Food
Exposed on all levels
It's still me.

Story Competition: Matching Velvet

2010-08-25T11:00:00.010+10:00

Image from: http://treasureupwisdom.blogspot.com/2009/10/since-you-went-away-wwii-letters-from.html

She sat in the cafe feeling very self conscious as she wrote the last few words of a sentence she had been struggling with. That will do, she thought to herself. She looked the part but did not feel it. Her coffee had become cold. She did not know why she had ordered it. All she felt like doing was lying down and placing a pillow over her head. Deciding to leave she secured her hat and uncrossed her legs, her suede pumps brushing against one another. Her left hand caressed the lush velvet of her skirt. She stood up and, walking into the crisp Autumn air, she saw his eyes. He was alone. He looked a little scruffy yet appealingly handsome. She pictured him in a vest matching her skirt. Silly thought, she cursed herself, but, cute all the same. She slowly walked over to him, fearing he would turn away, her heart beating in her ears. His eyes pierced hers. She paused. Could she? Would she? If the most outrageous thing she had ever done was team a leather jacket with leopard print then this would be worth it. Yes, she would do it. She picked up that handsome puppy and took him home with her!

Have you written a story about a particularly interesting picture you've seen?

Celebrating: (almost) 10% of my book, Draft 1.

2010-08-17T22:07:00.007+10:00

I have written almost 10% of my book (1st draft) and I would like to celebrate by devouring these Parisian delicacies and drinking the best coffee.

But, considering that the cafe where I had these last is a little out of my way

(oh, about 20,000 km), I guess I will have to settle for...

Image from www.ohhowposh.com

The Day Our Life Changed, Forever

2010-08-13T08:11:00.005+10:00

When the sun is high

Not a cloud in the sky

A breeze on our cheek,

On a late winter's day

We remember the year,

the day,

the moment,

That our life changed forever.

Friday 13th August 1993.

This day greeted the entry of our first-born. This calm, intelligent, sensitive and responsible young man has placed in our hearts an indescribable happiness.

The image you see above is of Mr 17. He is carrying his cousin who is 15 years his junior and virtually the exact image of him at that age.

Happy 17th birthday to you our son, our friend.

A New Chapter

2010-08-10T09:27:00.013+10:00

Source: www.googlethis.blogs.linbucks.com

I have been a pretty unreliable blogger (both visiting your blogs and posting on mine) for quite some time now. I will not go into the reasons for my absence. However, I have some wonderful news to share. My darling hubby and I have now completed our new surgery/business premises. Leaving work commitments aside, I now have some mental space (!) to do what I set out to at the inception of this blog in July 2008. That is to satisfy a niggling, ever-increasingly reddening, drive-me-mad-if-I-don't-scratch-it ITCH to write my first novel. This annoying itch will continue unless I make a major commitment to my book, hence this announcement. I owe it to myself and even to my darling Mr 8 who asked me recently: 'Mum, when are you going to publish your book?' (...aarm, it has to at least be written dear!). Most importantly though, I owe it to the characters whom I have developed to such an extent that they really do exist for me. I love them, each in their own way.

So the next step: just write. This blog will be my monitor for the book. I will place a word counter in my side-bar to track my progress. My deadline for a first draft is April 1st 2011 (no significance other than the joke being on me if I do not comply). And as presumptuous and arrogant as this may sound, I have never missed a deadline.

Have you made any commitments/resolutions of late?

The Windows and Doors of Versailles

2010-06-13T14:40:00.019+10:00

A small part of Le Chateau de Versailles - an external view:

Letting in the cool breeze:

La Grille D'Honneur as the King and Queen would have seen it, from the inside:

Marie Antoinette's route of escape out of her chamber:

A reflection, in the Hall of Mirrors:

Oh, to greet this window and its view every morning:

Light plays upon dark:

Archways that lead to...

The King's Chamber lies behind these oversized doors:

Still on the grounds of Le Chateau de Versailles, not the King's chamber...and richer, somehow: Our trip to Le Chateau de Versailles was without a doubt one of the most memorable parts of our trip.

Until next time...

Mervat

Good News For Kayleigh

2010-06-03T09:05:00.005+10:00

These flowers are for my dear friend Kayleigh (from Fashionably Later). This woman, wife and mother of two gorgeous children is an absolute inspiration.

Kayleigh, may you continue to receive positive news and may this saga, that started over 12 months ago, be behind you soon, and left, only to reflect upon.

With love,
Mervat
xo

An eye for style: Parisian window dressings

2010-05-31T03:24:00.012+10:00

I hope you enjoyed viewing these. I certainly enjoyed taking them.

Until next time...

Mervat.

Paris, Family, Macarons and More

2010-05-26T00:59:00.020+10:00

The absolute highlight of our trip would have to be meeting family and friends. We travelled three hours south-east of Paris by TGV to meet extended family. They were beautiful, welcoming and kind. It was an absolute honour to meet them.

I also met my blogger friend the lovely Leesa (from News in France blog) and her friend Barbara who is also a blogger:

No visit to Paris would be complete without a tinsy-winsy trip to this French institute:

What beauties hide in this I wonder...

La voila!

Just for my niece...so pretty:

The foyer of our hotel:

On our way south-west of Paris:

from the TGV:

Paris: More photos...

2010-05-25T14:41:00.016+10:00

Voila! The Eiffel and I:

For my boys:

The view I wake up to every morning inside. The mural is on the ceiling:

Above image of hubby and I inside the Arc de Triomphe.

I just love this:

I read recently that the flame below (a replica of the one the Statue of Liberty holds) is situated nearby to a tunnel where Princess Dianna was killed:

Images on a hot Spring day...

For my sis...

For my Nina:

Mervat

Paris Day 1: through my eyes

2010-05-22T12:16:00.010+10:00

The best way to deal with jet-lag? Blog.

A first sighting:

By day:

A close-up:

Cliched? So what...

Cafe, waffle & macarons:

Welcoming melt-in-the-mouth caramels:

By night and as if rising from the heavens:

C'est magnifique!

Today it is my hubby's birthday and we are off to Versailles, Giverny and maybe even a trip up the Eiffel Tower.

Au Revoir!

Mervat

Lift Off!

2010-05-20T13:31:00.004+10:00

Just quickly updating all my readers, especially my dear family. Hubby and I are waiting in the lounge. I just had a strong coffee. A very strong coffee. Playing in the background is Halleluja by KD Lang and memories of being pregnant with my darling third child, and watching the movie Shreck, come flooding back. I cried my heart out when I heard this version sung as Princess Fiona's eyes welled up. And I have tears in my eyes now. I already miss my babies but, I WILL BE BACK.

Thank you again to my super special family for your support. My presents list is ver present in my pocket.

Just had the call to board.

Love,

Mervat

May I pick your brain?

2010-05-05T13:49:00.010+10:00

Image courtesy of: www.farm3.static.flickr.com

I have an intense fear of birds (I blame Alfred Hitchcock). I have therefore always hated the phrase 'pick your brain'. Please, let me explain. Whenever I hear this phrase I imagine an exposed portion of my brain being relentlessly pecked at by the long yellow beak of a heavy, black, shiny-feathered crow. The thought makes me shudder. Now that I have ruined this phrase for all, I might as well use it. And so, may I pick your brain?

I will be visiting Paris in a few of week's time and have just started to plan my daily itinerary. One place I would love to go to is a vintage store (or many for that matter). In all the books I have about Paris there is not one that mentions vintage shops. I wish to ask anyone familiar with the city (or not) whether there are any vintage stores there and, if so, where. If I am successful in finding one, my aim is to bring back something special from a Parisian vintage/second hand shop and to host a special giveaway. If you can help me I would love to hear from you. My email is mervat@swiftdsl.com.au or, just leave a comment.

Thank you, from the deepest recesses of my (brain) heart :)

Mervat

Here's to you Mrs Springer

2010-04-28T09:32:00.012+10:00

We have been renovating this suburban roomy four-bedroom house for conversion into office space (hence my lack of blogging). The house was built in 1955 and is on a rectangular quarter-acre block. It is surrounded by a towering jacaranda tree in whose breast sits a crepe myrtle, shading the sunny backyard. Inside the house has 10 foot ceilings, decorative cornices, original stackable wooden window frames and, now that the smelly carpet has long gone, loads of character.

On Monday, as I was painting the scratched and dented back door frame I contemplated how many children had passed through this door, how many times cricket bats, washing baskets and soccer boots had hit into it and left their mark. Brush stroke after brush stroke (try and say that out loud, I dare you) my thoughts were immersed in an image of a mother standing at the back verandah calling out to her children to come inside for their baths and dinner. Looking up to refresh my paint brush I saw a shadow standing at the front door (which is directly visible from the back door and about 15 metres away). The shadow was of a person hunched over their walking stick, the late afternoon light illuminating their outline. I could not help but walk toward the shadow. As I got nearer I realised it was an elderly lady. She introduced herself as Mrs Springer.

After an old neighbour had informed Mrs Springer that 'her house' looked like it was going to be demolished, she realised she had to come and have one last look at the place that was home to her for 50 years. Her husband, who built it, passed away 16 years ago and her six children grew up here until they left home.

If only I could express to you her absolute delight when she realised that we were not knocking it down but indeed fixing what was broken and keeping as much of its original features as possible. She told me why the windows were situated as they were, how many times they had extended the house and where her family had sat for dinner, where her reading nook was and where quiet evenings in front of the television were spent. This was achingly nostalgic.

I immediately thought of my family and how quickly these days are passing, rushing to get out of the house in time for school and activities, glancing at the clock, planning today, tomorrow and days and weeks ahead. Yet, how often do I stop and think that this day will never come again. My children, as they are today, me, as I am, my husband as he is now, all will eventually be forgotten, wiped away forever. And there is not a damn thing I can do to slow life down. One day all that we have built will be demolished, and not just the bricks and mortar.

But thoughts have to turn to the positive as the inevitable is just that.

What I can do is to continue to live, to plan, to prepare but also to remember to absorb as much of whatever situation I am in and to realise that what I have is not forever, but for now. I must accept that.

I invited Mrs Springer to come to the house, her house, any time she wished.

Please note that Mrs Springer is a modified version of her name to protect her privacy.

My Neighbours!

2010-03-30T08:52:00.009+11:00

They are loud.

And yes, they are smelly.

Think they rule the roost.

They mope around their garden in a huddled group.

They chew and are nosey, always contemplating passers-by.

I thought about taking a photo of them to show you.

And I did,

- without their permission.

Here they are:

The Head Honcho was not impressed:

In their full glory, for you to see, they are my neighbours, the cows.

And I wouldn't have them any other way :)

Where will you be in 2020?

2010-03-23T09:00:00.001+11:00

'Young, oh so young 16 year olds, their lives ahead of them, their choices so many and the unknown of what lies ahead of them.'

This is the dialogue that went on inside my head as I perused through my 16 year old son's year book. As is typical of such publications, students were asked to write where they want to be in 2020. Here is a sample of their responses:

* To have a job and travel.

* To be living in a beach house and just enjoying living.

* To be alive and well, happy and fit.

* Not living with mum and dad!

* To be a specialist doctor; to have a family with children.

* Travelling the world.

* Be in the Olympics for dressage.

* Leave it to the night before I have to decide.

* At the beach!

* Living in a house with my best friend getting fat eating nachos, lamingtons and mango juice; rocking out!

* In Hollywood, starting my acting career.

* An accountant with a great personality!

*Wherever my feet take me.

Where will you be in 2020?

Aspiration

2010-03-09T12:56:00.006+11:00

Image courtesy of www.truewhisper.com

The (slightly modified) inscription (to include the other 50% of the population) is as follows:

A successful individual typically sets their next goal somewhat but not too much above their last achievement. In this way they steadily raise their level of aspiration.

Kurt Lewin

2010-03-01T08:21:00.010+11:00

Image from: http://th00.deviantart.net

My good friend, mentor and Brilliant Blogging Yogini Braja has asked that we list 20 things that nurture us. Initially I thought this would be a simple task as I could easily rattle of half a dozen aids that nurture me. As I started to make the list, the more I thought about these things the more I realised that it is the simple things that I really need in my life that truly nurture me. Here they are, in no particular order:

1. Writing: The mose effective way I can express myself (and make corrections to those inevitable mistakes, unlike the spoken word).

2. Tucking my children in to bed: especially the teenagers, for who knows how much longer my husband and I will be sharing the same roof with them.

3. Reading: Letting my mind and imagination weave and wonder.

4. My husband: Especially when we walk hand in hand; it feels like we can take anything or anyone on.

5. Memories of my paternal grandmother: A widow in the prime of her years, she sacrificed but persevered to bring up a family of six children in the years of the Great Depression and beyond.

6. Stretching and Yoga: To keep my body (and mind) mobile and flexible.

7. Dinner: Sharing that last meal of the day with those I love most.

8. Conversations: In particular one-on-one 'deep and meaningfuls' or the 'shallow and mindless' kind with each of my children.

9. My mother: and chatting with her about everything from the intricacies of a traditional Lebanese dish, to her experiences leaving her family and emigrating to a strange country, which she now calls home.

10. My relationship with my Dad: We laugh 'til we cry and we cry 'til we laugh and I wouldn't have it any other way.

11. Photography: Snapping those moments which I would otherwise forget in an instant.

12. Cooking: I love to cook and thoroughly enjoy my efforts, but mostly I love to feed others.

13. My home: My sanctuary, my joy.

14. Art Galleries: Creativity, quietness and beauty all in one package.

15. Travelling: Seeing and learning about other places, other cultures.

16. Solitude: I love/need time to myself to contemplate the big matters in life or just the breeze on my cheek.

17. Security of Seasons: The predictable regularity that Autumn follows Summer and Spring follows Winter.

18. Libraries: All those books, so much choice and not a cent spent.

19. Self-care: Looking after myself be it the way I dress or taking time out for a quiet bath.

20. My mum's cooking: Nurturing my belly and my soul.

Why don't you do a 20 things that nurture me post and report back here to let me know? I would love to read your responses.

Crystal Clear

2010-02-25T08:33:00.005+11:00

Tranquility

Harmony

Purity

This image is of the water in our recently finished pool. The adjectives used are in complete contrast to the emotions experienced whilst installing the pool. But this process is now finished, and at dusk this is what the water looks like.

Click on the image to fill your screen and your eyes...

What feelings does this image evoke in you?

Coffee on your face...

2010-02-23T13:55:00.005+11:00

A close-up, if you don't believe me:

Both images: http://www.thegrafikmuseum.com/the-blog/2009/08/06/mona-lisa-out-of-coffee-sydney-aroma-festival/

This perfectly aromatic image was created at the Sydney Aroma Festival from full and empty coffee cups.

Credits go to my lovely sister Mon who brought it to my attention.

Looking closely you can make out the flat white from the espresso.

Brilliant!

So, share and share alike. Have a cup, on me!

So, what kept you?

2010-02-17T11:08:00.006+11:00

Image courtesy of: www.ungerman.smugmug.com

Rusty nails, dried paint, dust

Cooking and preparing

Readying clothes for the next day

Telephones, faxes, meetings

More nails, wet paint

Heat, humidity, Summer rain

Day after day

Week after week,

And another month has passed.

My sole salvation is that the Southern Hemisphere is nearing the (hopefully abrupt) end of these thirst-inducing, life-sapping, skin-scorching summer days, irritatingly interspersed with the ooze of sticky rain forcing us to inhale its heavy, clammy, steamy air...

Cool, southerly Autumn breeze, I patiently await you.

Graduation

2009-12-14T08:11:00.000+11:00

Mr. 16 graduated from Year 10 last week. The photo above was taken at The Nepean River just before his celebratory formal dinner. All of his classmates were out of their usual head-to-toe school uniform. I hardly recognised any of them. The girls looked a little older than usual, the boys a little younger; all looked beautiful, innocent.

Mr. 16. driving to the venue (with Learner's plates firmly attached to the car!):

Beneath the cool exterior he was cooking: it was 38 degrees celcius!:

Mr. 16 strikes a 1940's-style pose:

Proud sister and brother:

A group shot:

Loving Aunty:

Proud Dad:

Doting Mum:

One of Mr 16's best mates ended the night singing That's Amore and all joined in with a sing-along:

I wish every one of these lovely people all the very best in their chosen path, be it a further two years of senior school study (as in Mr. 16's case) or a new start in their future career.

Bless you all, Class of 2009.

Karim

2009-11-26T16:18:00.010+11:00

My baby brother and his beautiful wife now have their own baby, a handsome little boy whom they named Karim, after our Dad (whose 69th Birthday was yesterday).

Below is a little poem I wrote and have dedicated to the newest member of our extended family, baby Karim.

Karim

The world is your oyster
You are so young, so new,
You will have much to offer it,
And the world, you.

I see you traversing
Its extraordinary lands,
Countries and cities,
Farms and fields.

I see you climbing
Its dizzying heights,
Mountains and valleys
Plateaus and alps.

I see you sailing
Its vast, great seas
Rivers and oceans,
Antarctic to the Nile.

But most of all,
May you grow to be,

Like your namesake,
So generous, so skillful
Fun-loving and kind.

Job colours

2009-11-24T17:15:00.015+11:00

Prison greens:

Hospital Blues - maybe this Doctor can cure your blues (or rather, freak you out):

Surgical greens:

Chef Whites:

What next...

Bank 0fficer's Beige?

Teacher's Tartans?

How about Secretary's Scarlet?

Can you make any suggestions?

Will a brick wall work magic?

2009-11-20T12:18:00.011+11:00

Do you hit one of these often? No, not head-on, smack-bang-into-the-middle-of-a-brick-wall-leaving-you-with-a-bleeding-forehead sort of hit (tempting as that may sound) but, metaphorically speaking.

I feel like I have.

My words are all clogged up, rammed into the backs of each other, in the deep chasm that is my mind. I have paper, I have pen, I have laptop. But nothing gels no matter how hard I try. Somewhat ironic that my jumbled-mind has hit an ordered and neatly structured object. Maybe the force of the impact will somehow throw all the words, that are waiting to be written, into the air where they will miraculously work themselves out and settle into perfectly structured sentences one after the other, waiting to exit via the conveyer belts that are my hands and the motor that is my mind?

On the other hand, perhaps a bout of cake baking and house cleaning (in that order, please) are the solution?

We'll see.

Honest Scrap about Me

2009-11-20T00:08:00.006+11:00

Tell 10 honest things about myself.

Pick 10 honest bloggers to pass it on to.

Boots from two cats in the yard, was the lovely blogger who chose to share this with me! I will break one little itty bitty rule and that is rather than choosing 10 bloggers, I ask you to please copy and paste the details if you would like to participate.

10 Honest Things about me (in no particular order):

1. I am ambidextrous, a trait which a year 10 teacher told me is shared by dyslexics; I have since then always wondered if I am one but am hesitant to get it checked out, not that it would make any difference.

2. My paternal grandmother taught me to crochet and knit when I was three; I still remember how to do both.

3. I have never had a manicure or a pedicure and I am often reminded by those who have them what a great thing it is I am missing out on.

4. I love to cook but can get a little obsessed with one recipe if it proves popular...and then it isn't so popular!

5. I cherish time I can spend on my own thinking/making notes about all the books/plots I want to write...

6. I am woman enough to admit that I can get very passionate (bordering on the visceral) about the things that I deeply believe in.

7. I love Spring cleaning...(sick mind = sick habits!)

8. I have an obsessive compulsive streak and have been known to return home to check that the oven is off and that the doors are locked and to check that the oven is off, again...
9. My dear hubby and I never really had a honeymoon but plan to change this next year...Paris, here we come!

10. I love dunking my biscuits into my coffee, and then spooning up the soggy remains at the bottom of the cup - only if I am alone of course! And, you will definitely not be seeing me do this at the bottom of Le Tour Eiffel!

Thank you Boots and to You for reading.

Return

2009-11-10T12:11:00.007+11:00

Like a spider weaving its glistening web

In preparation for what is to come,

Like an excited couple

In anticipation of their special day,

Like a patient mother-to-be

Counting down to the day of birth,

Like a naive child

On Christmas eve,

Like a potential author with a deadline in their hand...

I am jittery, I consider, I start to type...

I log on to my blog.

Why is it that the longer away I am from my blog, the more difficult it is to start again?

I wait for my friends for I have missed them. I long to visit their blogs too, and will.

Can't wait!

The photo above was taken by me on the morning after my husband went away for a few days with our youngest son, Mr. 7 . This is a habit we started with our eldest son where we each spend one-on-one time away with one of our children at some stage of their development (admittedly it has only happened a couple of times so far with Mr. 16 and only once with Miss 12., but they remember these breaks away so distinctly). It is a little hard for the parent not away, but well worth it in the long term, we believe.

Do you do something similar with your loved ones?

Dedication to you

2009-10-14T08:21:00.005+11:00

This short post is dedicated to all of my dear readers. Thank you again, for your support. I recently told my mum of all the wonderful well-wishers, some of whom are across the other side of the world, and she smiled brilliantly. A smile I do not remember seeing in a long, long time. And furthermore the elimination of her back and leg pain has made her absolutely radiant.

As a result of me doing all I can to help her, I have less time to post and to visit your blogs, so I apologise.

See you soon.

Absentee Note...

2009-09-08T09:07:00.015+10:00

Dear Sir/Madame,

I hope this note finds you in the best of health. I miss posting regularly and really miss visiting all of the lovely blogs I have grown to love. I have had the busiest month in a long time. Our renovations are coming along (although there was a bit of a lull there for a while). As Project Manager (I truly believe this title deserves capitalisation) for our built-in pool and attached cabbana/pool-house, I have been busier than a bee on the first day of Spring (which, incidently has come and gone for us in the southern hemisphere). However we are now booking tradespeople (and paying tradespeople), booking supplies (and paying for supplies) as well as making last minute decisions about things I had not even considered. And I thought I was so, so organised! I have also had to make many decisions on my own as my darling hubby had two overseas conferences in a row (poor sweety had to go to Singapore one week and then Spain the next). Consequently, he underwent many sessions of therapy...retail therapy that is, to allay his feelings of guilt, of course. Admittedly however, the results worked like a charm. He has excellent taste and brought back some lovely goodies for me.

I have uploaded some images of our project, below, for your perusal.

Yours sincerely,

Mervat
Project Manager extraordinaire!

Concrete jungle:

The pool-house aka lego:
Lego in motion:
One door-frame successfully erected:
Working, working (my wonderful brother aka Head Foreman!)
Thinking, thinking...
After a few weekends, walls and roof come together (lots and lots of family help: thank you to each and every one of you)

The windows go in: NB: The half-head (!) and gloved hand on the left in this last image are mine...

See you on your blogs soon, I promise!

Some Science: A Plastic Brain

2009-08-26T03:51:00.006+10:00

Image courtesy of http://www.sciencecentric.com/images/news/plastic_brain_300_400.jpg

Background: Brain plasticity (also referred to as neuroplasticity, cortical plasticity or cortical re-mapping) is the changing of our brain cells (neurons) and their organization. Our brains ability to be altered in this way by environmental stimulation is at its strongest during infancy. Prior to the 20th century, it was thought that most areas of the adult brain were fixed and incapable of change.

How: In the 1990's researchers from the University of Kansas demonstrated that spider monkeys, who had suffered a stroke (and resultant death of a cluster of brain cells and partial loss of body function) could be made to repeatedly extract food from a small container using their non-functioning hand. This showed that even adult brains were capable of re-wiring themselves. In other words healthy brain cells could bypass the dead cells and make new connections with other healthy neurons. That is, brain plasticity, which could be physically proven by brain dissection after death of the animal.

More info: Proving this same level of brain plasticity in humans has been difficult as you can't exactly dissect a living human. However, recent advances in brain imaging has meant that there is mounting evidence for human brain plasticity. Intensive, repetitive exercise to the non-functioning body part is accompanied by brain re-mapping.

In a recent study seven patients, blind in part of their visual field as a result of stroke, were asked to guess the direction in which a small dot was moving with an accompanying chime if they guessed correctly. The patients guessed that they had seen the dot all the while convinced that they indeed did not see it. Initially they guessed correctly 50% of the time but after weeks of training this increased to 80-90%. The signals reaching the brain are possibly bypassing the damaged brain cells and taking visual information to higher visual centres in the brain. Intensive training would be aimed at expanding and stimulating the re-routing of brain pathways.

This is such exciting news considering how devastating stroke is on the sufferer and their families. Let us hope that this research continues so that all stroke patients can have a chance of recovery.

References:
Science 1996; 272:1791-94.
Journal of Neuroscience 2009; 29:3981-91.

My Mr Almost-16 is now 16!

2009-08-21T08:53:00.016+10:00

Our darling eldest son is now officially 16. Sixteen. And 16 years ago like many other expectant mothers in my situation, I imagined what the end of my pregnancy and labour would be like.

I had visions of my water breaking. I had images of my husband rushing because I was getting one contraction after the other and delivery would be imminent. I would then be whisked off into the delivery room, and a couple (maybe three, at most) pushes later, there my baby would be, clean, smooth-skinned, bright eyed and cooing, with maybe a squeal of delight to meet his dad and I.

But no. At 42 weeks and counting, it felt like I was going to be pregnant for a whole year, or even forever. You see three months out from my delivery date (which, by 42 weeks had been and gone as quickly as a Ferrari on a racing track, ruffling my hair as it went by!) I had decided that I wanted a 'natural' deliver. Minimal drugs, homely surroundings and an absolutely spontaneous labour, no medical intervention whatsoever.

But at 42 weeks and one day my baby was still sitting snuggly inside. He even decided (in the last week no less!) that he was going to be breech. No amount of cajoling (ie resting on my shoulders while my legs were up against a wall...hang on a minute please while I wipe a tear or two of regret and loss as I consider that I was more flexible whilst heavily pregnant at the age of 22 than now, non-pregnant and 38!). My hubby and I tried everything to kick-start those contractions (and I mean everything), but to no avail. And on he held while I told people who asked how far along I was, that I was getting onto 43 weeks of pregnancy, and how their response was that this really suited the gestation period of an elephant. Ha ha.

On Friday 13th August at 1am, I woke up from a dream where I was screaming in pain in a way depicted in labour scenes in 1970's Egyptian Soap Operas. Just to give you an idea, the labouring woman would be on her bed (head on a flat pillow!) holding onto the bed rails, screaming in agony, head moving left to right and back again repeatedly, whilst supporting women (everyone from her sister and mother-in-law to the neighbour down the street) would be there looking on in her 'delivery room' (aka her bedroom) drinking thick, heavily brewed coffee, gossiping, singing and belly-dancing awaiting the child-in-utero to appear...

With a nasty jolt, I woke up to an empty room (my hubby was watching cricket in the lounge room). I soon realised that my two contractions had been 15 minutes apart. I yelled out to hubby who (not realising what the fuss was about...he had obviously become quite used to me being pregnant) casually helped me out of bed and called the midwife at our hospital's birthing centre. The third contraction came 20 minutes later. No none of that rushing, whisking, edge-of-your-seat stuff! Oh how unbaby-like, how undramatic! We casually walked out of our second floor unit. As I loudly contemplated my overly swollen being finally coming to an end, my darling hubby looked at me and said that because he didn't remember what I looked like before pregnancy it didn't matter what I look like after and anyway "it'll be smaller than this" gesticulating with his hands almost one metre apart. My only thought, through gritted teeth and sharp eyes, was: I love you too darling!

After a calm labour (except for the odd comment or two to my hubby whilst I was in transition...ie close to delivery which equals maximum pain!) and on all fours, I delivered our eldest son. He was born at 4:40 pm and was 4.4 kilograms (9.7 lbs) and 56 cm (22.4 in) long. He was wrinkly, dry-skinned, puffy-eyed and his fingernails were so overgrown they curved down the tips of his fingers. He was perfect.

Happy Birthday our sweet (and he really is sweet) 16.
Postscript: Darling hubby and I are still married!

I don't want you anymore

2009-08-11T08:00:00.010+10:00

Photo courtesy of: http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b837d-CnIoQ/SZnzlOTfw7I/AAAAAAAAACI/TaHP24FQzA4/s320/take_my_broken_heart.jpg

We had a passion like no other,
You were my first
And could have been my last,
But alas, that was not to be.

Your scent once sent me wild with desire
Now off-putting, nay revolting even
Your sweet tenderness overflowed from your oh so soft heart,
Now all I feel is gut-wrenching pain, misery

Early on in our relationship,
I needed from you only the very basic and simple
Pure white sweet nourishment, love
Oh you gave that to me, more.

As the years went on
Our love progressed
To something so sophisticated
So deep, rich.

To think that you were there
So early and for so long
I would not admit the pain you caused
I could not deny myself the pleasure, of you.

But now after years,
I know and accept
I cannot let myself be tortured
I release myself of all the hurt, deception.

I can live without you,
I have moved on
There are others although not you,
Valid replacements, acceptable, they will have to do.

You have just read about my love and loss with all things containing lactose: milk and every single variety of cheese and their by-products.

Forgive me, dear friend, if I led you to believe otherwise... ;)

Some Science: Lycopene

2009-08-05T09:09:00.014+10:00

Photo courtesy of : http://mudhaa.com/catalog/images/tomatoes.jpg

Background: I was recently asked to write an article about lycopene. I knew lycopene was found in tomatoes but that was pretty much the extent of my knowledge on it. My search for the topic has taught me that lycopene can be found in any red fruit (watermelon, beetroot, even apricots, peaches and guava). However, lycopene is at its highest concentration in tomatoes (the riper the tomato the higher its lycopene content).

Why: General scientific belief is that lycopene (directly ingested as opposed to taken as a supplement) has anti-cancer properties particularly against prostate cancer.

More info please: Lycopenes are the strongest known ingestible anti-oxidants with a superior 0xygen-binding capability. This means that the DNA in our cells is protected from oxygen damage and possibly cancerous changes. Processed tomatoes (such as canned tomatoes, tomato juice, tomato purees even tomato sauce/ketchup) have the greatest concentration of lycopenes. The effect of lycopene is enhanced with heating and is more easily absorbed when a fat is ingested with it (e.g. olive oil).

Now, I think lasagne, pizza or even a hearty vegetable bake might be on the menu tonight!

NB: If 'Some Science' is an interesting segment to you, please let me know and I will make it regular.

A trip to the snow: Part 2

2009-07-21T08:51:00.008+10:00

Some more photos from our trip to the snow:

The snow beneath this tree was extremely soft and shortly after this photo was taken I got that sinking feeling and ended up thigh-deep in snow:

The village from a distance:

Mr. Almost-16 being rescued by Dad:

Me playing around whilst the kids were at their lessons:

Thanks for viewing!

A trip to the snow: Part 1

2009-07-13T10:04:00.025+10:00

Last week we drove to the Snowy Mountains in southern New South Wales to spend a few days in the snow. The night before we left I slept like a babe, believing I had conquered the art of packing. Well, of course I had. I had made lists and even lists of all the various lists (hubby's stuff, my stuff, each of the children's stuff, a list of the snacks along the way to keep the troops as happy as can be for the five hour trip etc). It was all perfectly planned. And after having been on the road for a good hour and a half, we saw the landscape of our great southern land, the resistance of evergeens with their leaves intact versus the grey trunks and naked limbs of the deciduous ones. I had better get my camera out, I thought to myself. That was when I realised I had done what no self-respecting blogger could do...I forgot my camera! After what felt like an aeon of panicking, Mr Almost-16 quickly reminded me that I did indeed have a camera on me, the one on my mobile phone.

I'd like to share some of these with you. Just click on photo of choice to enlarge.

On our way to Canberra, our nation's capital which is in the Australian Capital Territory:

Poplars as we approach Canberra:

Views from Telstra Tower, overlooking Canberra:

Lake Burley Griffin, named after Canberra's designer:

On our way to the Snowy Mountains:

Approaching Bredbo, the village of Poplars:

Grey gums, some dead and some alive:

Rock- and boulder-covered landscape:

Our first glimpse of the snow-sprinkled mountains:

A light covering of snow at Thredbo:

Keeping busy at Thredbo:

Hey, this is Australia, it's not that cold:
Sure!

And all from a mobile phone camera!

There will be another part to this series.

Beautiful inside and out

2009-06-29T19:27:00.014+10:00

I have mentioned our son's (Mr. Almost-16's) scoliosis and subsequent surgeries several times on this blog. In fact, the reason behind this blog was for me to write about our experience from the time just before diagnosis, the diagnosis itself, the surgeons, the surgeries and recovery. There are other entries in between these so I have chosen only a few. At the time, the more I wrote the more difficult it became to continue writing. I was a little disappointed because I expected the opposite.

Anyway, a few months ago my son had more X-rays done to see how healing has progressed in his spine.

This is an image of the X-ray at diagnosis (he is standing up straight) that shocked us to the core:

After his first surgery where T10 to L3 (five vertebraes) were fixed together with titanium rods and screws. His intervertebral discs were removed completely. He also had two ribs removed and 'chipped' over the instrumentation. The chips eventually grow and mould to create one solid fixture eliminating the chance of any further curvature of the spine.

Six weeks later he underwent further surgery where T5 to T12 (a further seven levels) fixed in a similar way to the first operation. Again, all intervertebral discs were removed. This time five ribs were removed and chipped over the instrumentation. This is the end result:

He does have limited movement but never once has he complained or questioned 'why me?'. After his second surgery his chest filled with 1.5 litres of blood and he almost had to be intubated for respiratory distress had it not been for pure luck. He even had a chest drain inserted to drain the fluid, no anaesthesia. This was the worst for him (and certainly us; we could hear his cries of agony 60 metres away down a long corridor).

He recently expressed to me that the main concern for him was worrying about us and how we were going to be disrupted with his hospitalisation, such is his selflessness. As you can imagine, he also has numerous huge scars on his chest and back and, on a recent beach holiday, commented that he needed his singlet to cover his hairy chest. He didn't make mention of the scars. He never makes mention of the scars. I wish he did, sometimes. But this is his way of dealing with 'it'.

Our wonderful son is as happy today as he looks in the first photo. He is the comedian of the family and his class, and an absolute car enthusiast. He is also academic and applies himself to his schoolwork like a mature-age student. He wants to study medicine to become a surgeon. He wants to be like his surgeon, one who talks with patients; a surgeon who asks his patients how they are before he sees them on the inside. I think he'll get there.

The power of punctuation!

2009-06-22T10:13:00.005+10:00

A highschool teacher wrote the following on a blackboard to demonstrate to her students the power of punctuation:

Woman without man would be nothing

She asked the class to punctuate this sentence as they saw fit. The majority of the class punctuated the sentence as they saw fit:

Woman, without man, would be nothing.

Others corrected it accordingly:

Woman: without, man would be nothing.

The power of punctuation, indeed!

Things that make you go AARRGHHH!

2009-06-18T13:06:00.007+10:00

Whilst walking down the toiletries isle in our local supermarket, I looked from right to left, left to right searching for sensitive-teeth toothpaste for my daughter. In the background I could hear a mother chatting with her young son of about three years of age. She was asking him what sort of toothbrush he wanted. I thought how lovely it was she was seeking his opinion. Initially she asked him if he wanted a sparky blue one. The boy responded with "Yes Mummy". Then she asked him if he wanted the green one that feels like jelly instead. The boy again responded with "Yes Mummy". She then proceeded to ask him if he wanted one that glows in the dark. The poor boy again answered with "Yes Mummy". She again asked him if he wanted the one that glows in the dark. By the time I reached the end of the isle she had asked him at least five times (I stopped counting after that!).

It was enough to test the patience of a saint. I kept walking down the isle and finally reached its end and went on to collect the rest of my shopping. About ten minutes later I realised that I had forgotten the toothpaste. I quickly pulled (and pushed and tugged!) the trolley back to the toiletries isle once again. You would never guess who was still standing there asking her tired and now half-asleep son if he was sure about the glow-in-the-dark toothbrush. It was enough to make me want to scream! And definitely no comment here on my aspirations to be a clinical psychologist...

Photo is of my 9 months old niece, Sara (or, whom we lovingly refer to as Miss Peaches!).

Don't cry over spilt...paint.

2009-06-15T13:48:00.014+10:00

In a cupboard in our laundry I keep a bag of old clothes to use as rags. Today I needed one of those rags and as I grabbed hold of the bag's handles I came away with something I hadn't quite bargained for...a dull thump. And with the realisation of what the thump was caused by, a painful screech emanated from my throat. Looking down I saw an ever expanding, viscous puddle of paint. Yes, paint. In our laundry. MY laundry! The girth of this shiny, terracotta puddle was fingering its way to the nearby white fridge and had already seeped under the cupboard in which the bucket of paint had been stored.

I certainly was in no state of mind to take a photo of the disaster immediately, but this is how it looked after about 15 minutes of dabbing and wiping:

Initially I grabbed the closest thing next to me (no, not the bag of rags!), but a pair of my husband's navy trousers which had needed a zipper replaced. I also managed to get my hands on some paper towelettes, which proved quite handy. A sponge and a bucket of water came next. What I am amazed at (and rather bemused!) is that it did not even occur to me to use the bag of rags at any time during the clean-up!

Hubby's trousers:
Newly moist towelettes:

Watered down paint and sponge:

As I write this the paint continues to seep (as I almost weep!):

For about a month now I have been trying to think of something in me, in my reaction to an event, that would demonstrate an ability to stay calm. In my mind this would be a small (very small) indication that I may be suited to Clinical Psychology. This is a career path that has been weighing on my mind more and more lately. I was first introduced to psychology in my PhD studies when I analysed asthmatics' perception of their own asthma. But I really hadn't given it much thought until I started working from home, which has been very slow since November 2008 (thank you Global Credit Crisis). Thinking about how I can extend myself academically to increase my skills whilst still looking after my family, a change in career path came to mind.

With this mini disaster, in amongst all of the paint, ruined trousers and my terracotta-stained fingerprints all throughout the laundry, I was trying to think of some positives, even a single positive. I actually came up with four:

1) I hated those navy trousers anyway, especially because the zipper needed replacement.
2) The colour of the tiles and paint are almost identical.
3) I was calm enough (in the end anyway) to take some photos.
4) And most importantly, I did not go off at my husband for placing the paint tin there in the first place...at all. Disaster truly averted!

Do you think the ability to view this situation the way I did, in some way indicates that I am suited for a career in clinical psychology?

And yes, it did not escape me that a possible explanation for my being so calm (nothing to do with my career prospects of course!) was because I used hubby's trousers to clean up the huge mess. Oh, the psychology of marriage!

Vicious Cycle

2009-06-13T21:29:00.021+10:00

The first day of school
Neat hair, shiny shoes,
Your uniform, crisp and new
Bag on your back, not quite moulded to you.

The days they became
So routine, so planned,
Week after month after year
Time indeed does pass, back then it was so unclear.

In school you moved forward
Study and adolescence,
Trademarks of those years
So too your teachers, your surroundings, your peers.

My child, my heart
You are etched into my soul,
You learned and moved away in order to succeed
And in the place of my heart now a dry, brittle seed.

There were tears
There was laughter,
Every moment honest and true
To have you back for one moment, oh what I would do.

Today, tommorrow
Whether you reach your goals, or not,
You are loved, you are complete

Now, expecting to see you, is my raison d'etre, my treat.

And as these days pass

You too will patiently wait,
For your own child, to reward you

With a fine sliver of their life, just a moment or two.

Photo courtesy of: http://breathewithme.files.wordpress.com/2008/06/walking_away_from_everything_by_vampire_zombie.jpg

Words and Imagery: 1

2009-06-12T11:07:00.007+10:00

This photo was taken by my husband during his visit to Paris for a conference in 2006. Looking at this the following words come to mind.

Anticipation, Expectation, Time.

What comes to your mind when you see this image?

Surrender

2009-06-09T17:26:00.005+10:00

Surrender,
Imagine your arms up in the air
You will not resist, you will not argue
Let the processes surrounding you carve your day
Surrender.

Surrender,
Let your mind be free
Let what is to be, be
No worries, no opinions, no concerns
Surrender.

Surrender,
And feel your tense nerves unravel
To not be in control
Not even for a little while
Surrender.

Surrender,
Listen to nothing
See everything
Taste that sweet freedom
of Surrender.

Copyright: Mervat @ The Writing Instinct

'Hey Mum, Guess What?'

2009-06-04T11:05:00.009+10:00

Photo courtesy of http://www.cigarettesreviews.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/brad-pitt.jpg

Photo courtesy: http://www.csmngt.com/smokers%20lung.jpg

My children love trivia, especially Mr Almost-16. He greeted me this morning with 'Hey Mum, guess what?'. And of course, before I could even respond the next words fell out of his mouth:

'Did you know that Brad Pitt has been smoking since the age of
16. He's not so pretty on the inside, then is he?'

I laughed. Thinking back, maybe my reaction should have been to reaffirm what Mr Almost-16 already knows, according to the judgement he had just made about Mr Pitt's internal aesthetics. But, I just laughed. No, not a giggle, but a good old belly laugh. If you know anything about Mr Almost-16 he is usually cracking a joke, and always trying to make light of almost any situation he finds himself in. However, this morning his response was to look at me inquiringly, probably wondering what on earth had possessed his mother to respond in this way. He gave me a side-ways smile and got on with his morning preparations. I felt quite embarrassed. Maybe I have such confidence that they will never smoke as I know they are frightened by the potential harm it could do to them? Maybe I genuinly found his comment about Pretty-Mr-Pitt's-not-so-pretty-insides ironic in a humorous way?

I know my children are baffled as to why people smoke when all the warning signs are there (Mr 6 regularly asks me why his grandparents (my parents and mother-in-law) still smoke if smoking 'causes the brain to bleed'). Mr 6's response is the legacy of a rigorous Australian Cancer Institute's anti-smoking campaign in which Leonard Cohen sings 'Everybody Knows'.

In remembering this eerie add (and having just seen it for probably for the 100th time) the smile is wiped off my face completely. Indeed, why won't my parents, and all of those I love and are dear to me, stop smoking? I can only hope and pray that one day they will have the strength and courage to stop smoking and that my confidence, in my own children never smoking, holds true.

Premios Dardo Award from Kelly

2009-06-03T16:43:00.004+10:00

I would like to thank the talented, passionate and articulate Kelly from My Voice, My View for nominating me for this wonderful award. Kelly is married and is not only a busy mother to four children but also manages to find time to be a perceptive and insightful poet and writer. She has kindly honoured me with the "Premios Dardo" award, which she says roughly translates to "Top Dart". Thank you so much for this award, Kelly. I don't know whether I deserve it but I gratefully accept it and appreciate this recognition.

This award acknowledges the values that every blogger shows in his or her effort to transmit cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values everyday.

Here are the rules for this award:

Accept and post the award on your blog.
Link to the person from whom you received it.
Pass the award to 15 other blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgment.
Let them know they’ve been chosen for this award.

Blogging encourages self-expression through writing and imagery. I believe that all bloggers deserve praise for opening up to the world, enabling strangers to see into their lives, their thoughts and experiences. We are all truly fortunate to live in an age where we can express ourselves in this way but are still able to maintain any level of anonymity that we choose. As I really do not wish to burden anyone directly, I would like to pass this award onto anyone who reads this post. Please copy and paste the icon and display proudly on your blog.

Thank you again, Kelly.

A Meme from the letter M

2009-06-01T10:34:00.008+10:00

Photo courtesy of: http://squathole.files.wordpress.com/2008/04/marmoset2.jpg

I have taken up an invitation to copy the Meme below from the

just loverly Natalie at Musings from the Deep.

The answers have to be real...nothing made up!
If the person before you had the same first initial, you must use different answers.
You cannot use any word twice and you can't use your name for the boy/girl name question.

Have Fun!!

lll

1. What is your name: Mervat

2. A four Letter Word: Muck

3. A boy's Name: Miguel

4. A girl's Name: Mirelle

5. An occupation: Musician

6. A color: Magenta

7. Something you wear: Maxi dress

8. A food: Moussaka

9. Something found in the bathroom: Modelling clay (left on taps and sink by an arty six year old!)

10. A place: Myanmar

11. A reason for being late: Munching on lactose-laden macaroni cheese (please see 14 below!)

12. Something you shout: Mo! (Mr. Almost-16’s nick name! It usually ends with ‘…stop picking on your brother!’)

13. A movie title: My Fair Lady

14. Something you drink: lactose-free Milk

15. A musical group: Meatloaf

16. An animal: Marmoset Monkey (and aren't they just so cute!)

17. Street name: Mulgoa

18. A type of car: Murcielago

19. A song title: Mamma Mia

20. A verb: Mimic

If anybody would like to play then please feel free copy and paste.

Thanks for reading!

Wise words

2009-05-26T09:47:00.009+10:00

Image courtesy of: http://www.geekologie.com/2007/09/18/magical-weave-mirror.jpg

In response to my last post, the wonderful and wise Braja left this comment:

"Our perception of how we look is mostly driven by our false ego; we therefore have a false concept of how we look, whether we think it's good or bad. "

These are profound words and worthy of a mention here. I also believe these words are applicable to a popular phobia:

Glossophobia

(Not a fear of shiny magazines or lip gloss...)

I recently read an article about recent research into Glossophobia, or the fear of public speaking. It is the number one fear in humans and rivaling death (which is the second greatest fear). And (as with most things!), it is believed that glossophobia stems from childhood. Apparently, the worst thing a parent could ask their child after their child has given a presentation, is if they were nervous. Children do not have a sense of understanding of what nervousness is. Parents should encourage and reward their child for their efforts and avoid the word 'nervous'. By directly using that word parents may be providing an affirmation to their child's mind that they felt was nervousness, rather than say excitedness or interest.

When we do experience concern over speaking publicly the most important thing to do is to breathe calmly and deeply. When we are nervous our breathing becomes irreglular and shallow impacting on the amount of carbon dioxide released from our body. This results in the tingling sensation around our lips, even in our hands sometimes. Another important thing to remember to do days before the presentation, is to create a mental image that the presentation is over, people are applauding, that you have responded to the questions and you are finished. When we focus on the positive then there is less chance that 'bad' things will happen, we cut out the bad thoughts and the negativity we force on oursleves, casting self-doubt aside.

I believe we can apply this behaviour to many aspects of our life to positively influence our sense of self (or, ego) and being a model to those around us, especially our children, to enable them to possess self-worth and self-esteem their whole lives. This I believe, will assist us in having a 'true ego' enabling us to be true to ourselves, as per Braja's wise words.

Thank you Braja.

Perspectives

2009-05-24T21:02:00.012+10:00

Image courtesy of: http://www.katebloom.co.uk/images/pageimages/curly_hair.jpg

A few months ago my sweet Hubby was putting together photos to display in a multiple picture frame. Every photo he chose was perfect. Each photo, that is, except the one he chose of me. It is the last one I would have chosen to display of myself. Yet, of the almost 900 images he had to choose from, he chose this particular one. I don't think I have self-loathing issues (well, none that I know of - if you are a psychoanalyst and reading this, please enlighten me!). And, after a fair amount of consideration, self-analysis and confirmation of family support, I don't mind having pictures of me displayed on my fashion blog. However, I chose these pictures, crop them and display them from my perspective. In my mind they are reasonable and my blog moves on.

However, getting back to the picture my Hubby chose of me. My hair is back in something akin to a ponytail and I have what I call the 'sunrise frizz' happening all over the crown of my head. And, as we had travelled 20,000 km two days prior, I was bloated and wearing some pretty run-of-the-mill attire. Mind you there are photos from a wedding where I was wearing a stylish outfit and my hair was coiffed etc, etc (in my minds eye, anyway!). And still darling Hubby chooses that particular picture of me to display.

When I considered taking this photo out he told me that he thinks it is one of the most beautiful photos he has seen of me and that is why he chose it. The photo still sits where his obliging hands placed it but I am still a little bothered by it. However, I don't have the heart to remove it.

What is it that he sees that I do not?

Moreover, what is it that I see that he doesn't?

And, how does this apply to others whether they are near or far?

A big wet hole in our back yard!!

2009-05-22T08:53:00.027+10:00

Three weeks ago this is what our back yard looked like, washing line and all. Even Mr 6, doned in his school uniform, is looking on. You can enlarge any picture by clicking on it.

Then the big bull dozer arrived...

...and took its first bite:

And, after several mouthfulls:

My darling brother, his work cut out for him!!

Some flattening:

And even bigger bites:

A different view; and in the foreground a tree stump discovered within that ground in the first two pictures:

Deeper...

The cutest and most hard-working little piece of machinery to exist, a bobcat:

And after three days of excavating, flattening out and shifting dirt and rock, me 9.5 feet under!

Mr Almost-16 by the scaffolding-clad hole:

AND after three days and nights of endless rain, these are the footings for the future retaining wall:

We didn't really want a lane pool in the beginning, but whether we like it or not, we have one now!

And more water; this is after draining and clearing some of the collapsed walls the last two days:

Despite what the tradespeople are saying, I don't think this will be concreted-in any time soon...

If you enlarge this last image you will see a big bucket and a shovel used to remove collapsed mud. Those tired and wet tradespeople gave up after a while.

And as I write this post there is an absolute down-pour outside. I am having to think bigger and deeper about our predicament. Is this payback for disturbing Mother Nature, by excavating out so much earth? I promise to plant many trees, bushes, shrubs, whatever it takes, just Please Stop Raining! And yes, the drought in our neck of the woods has broken and the nearby dam that provides half of Sydney with its water supply is at almost 75% capacity. So, Please Stop Raining, I pray, I beg, I plead...

I will keep you posted.

Fabulous!

2009-05-21T10:09:00.007+10:00

I have been lucky enough to be nominated for another award. This time it is the 'Your Blog is Fabulous Award' and it has been bestowed upon me by the Fabulous , Talented and Witty notSupermum.

The etiquette of this award states that I must list my 5 least favourite things before passing it on to some of my favourite blogs. These are as follows:

1) Being late for an appointment, meeting, (and, on the odd occasion) party, anything that is dictated by the dreaded clock.

2) The fact that I plan to blog for twenty minutes and then an hour (or more!) later, I am running late for an appointment, meeting (and on the odd occasion) party!

3) Getting food (especially leafy greens!) caught in my braces. I am usually quite meticulous after eating. Even then, if I talk with someone and they happen to look towards my mouth (as people do when they speak with you!) I get very paranoid and impatient to get to a mirror (and then I'm most definitely late for an appointment, meeting (on the odd occasion) party!).

4) The weather at the moment. It is cold and very, very wet (unlike our usually sunny, cool Autumns). Usually this would not be a problem, however when you have a 10 metre x 5 metre hole that up to 2.5 metres deep in your backyard and filling up at a rate of 10 or more cm per day, then the weather really gets to be a problem. I guess we'll get our pool a little earlier than expected and a little murkier as well...tears well up in my eyes as I write!

5) The tradespeople who are trying to convince us that they can pump the ever-increasing water out of the 10m x 5m hole, and try to convince us it is okay to concrete over rusty scaffolding and mud. Yes, these people are really starting to be my least favourite 'thing' already.

To shed a little happiness (and I need all the happiness I can get right now!) and blog cheer, I would like to award the following blogs with this Fabulous award:

The Child

Frugalious Living

Absolute Vanilla (and Atyllah)

Lilly's Life

The Clever Pup

Don't forget to list your 5 least favourite things when you pick up!

Have a great day everyone, while I check how much more rainwater we have in the earth-shell of our pool!

Brave & Generous Kayleigh

2009-05-19T08:56:00.004+10:00

This post is dedicated to a brave, strong woman, Kayleigh, who has taken us with her on her journey: discovering she has breast cancer. From the moment she had her mammogram until recently finding out she needs to have a mastectomy, and possibly chemotherapy and radiation therapy, she has unselfishly and generously kept us updated on her blog Fashionably Later.

On top of having to deal with learning, in less than a month, that she has cancer, requires surgery and treatment, as a nursing mother, Kayleigh is also faced with having to wean her young son, Daniel. In learning of her pain and torment, I could only offer her my words so, I wrote the following poem:

Still your Mama

From the moment of conception
They prepare for you
They tingled, they ached
Readied to nurture you

Thick pearl-like colostrum
Rich in nutrients, high in energy
More suckling, more milk
Before long there was plenty

I fed you, you suckled
I nurtured you dear
You were near to me
Close to me
Over twelve months and a year

And, after all this is done
Please rest assured, that
I’m your Mama, Meggie’s Mama
Not one who is new

Our routine will continue
Your place near my heart
Lay your head on my arm
Touch my hair, close your eyes.

Kayleigh is not only a beautiful, stylish lady, she is also a talented writer and has two other blogs: 1000 words each day and Miscellaneous Brain Music.

Please pray, meditate or offer what words you can at this time to Kayleigh and her family.

Copyright: Mervat @ The Writing Instinct

Stay

2009-05-15T13:24:00.014+10:00

A character well known,
he'd shake your hand, have a laugh
quiet man, thinking man,
he didn't do things by half.

Wonderful children and a wife
he truly was blessed,
but then his pain came
with all its wickedness.

His smile it shone
through thick and thin,
he picked at his food
'til he had no energy.

And when they sat with him
noon and night,
they stroked his forehead
held his hand tight.

His daughter beside him,
she recited a prayer
with her heart, with her head,
she willed him, please stay.

His breathing was laboured
his body limp,
these were his last moments
a final glimpse.

One last goodbye,
he took his last breath
he gave his last smile
and she bowed her head.

Copyright: Mervat @ The Writing Instinct

Lovely Blog Award

2009-05-13T10:05:00.002+10:00

I am thrilled that the lovely Amy has nominated me for an award.

The One Lovely Blog Award, says that I have to pass this onto 15 new blogs. I don't usually follow blog award rules, but a change is as nice as a holiday and I will stick to the rules (yes, I am still hyperventilating at the thought!). I would like to nominate the following blogs who make the blogosphere that much more interesting and special. In no particular order, they are:

Bay side to mountain side

Transcript of a Significant Life

Musings from the Deep

Okay, okay, I cheated and nominated an extra few...couldn't help myself!

Now, please take (cut and paste) this lovely award and disperse it further into the blogosphere, spreading flowers and cheer to all the new blogs that come across your path. Don't forget to link back to The Writing Instinct when you do - it's all part of blogging fun and games.

Happy Mother's Day

2009-05-11T10:07:00.011+10:00

My mother's day started out with breakfast in bed (notice the heart shaped mandarine wedges by my daughter!) and the most thoughtful and lovely gifts from my children and hubby, plateaued out to include me cooking lentil curry, rice and making naan bread for my wonderful family and ended with me doing the ironing! And I wouldn't have wanted it any other way (except for maybe getting a magic ironing lady whom I could summon any time I pleased!).

My beautiful gifts (including my favourite perfume line):

(Mr.6 purchased the blue box with candles and incense, using his pocket money, from his school's mother's day stall).

My hand-made treats:

To all my lovely friends, whether or not you are a mum, I hope you had a day filled with love, a peaceful moment and a cup of your favourite brew!

My Words

2009-05-08T10:23:00.011+10:00

Photo courtesy of: http://media.photobucket.com/image/art%20words/jim131314/words-1.jpg

I recently read a newspaper article about Betty Churcher, previous Director of Australia's National Art Gallery in Canberra. She is a 78 year old woman who, after being diagnosed with melanoma of the optic nerve six years ago, is blind in her right eye and has deteriorating vision in her left eye. She is losing the very thing which allows her to live her passion and focus in life: Art. Her way of coping and keeping her art alive is to draw her favourite works of art. In this way she learns the intricate details of a piece of art, becomes familiar with its brush strokes, its depth of colour and may even experience a part of the art work she may have previously missed. And, when she does become blind, she will have a mental image of what that piece of art was like visually. She will cherish this and relive her art work in her mind.

Words are so much a part of my life. I have thought about losing the ability to use words (cognitive function), the ability to write (hand function), the ability to read (eye function). I would be truly devastated. For me, losing the ability to read would be worse than not seeing colour, a sunset or a rainbow anymore. And, although I would be able to memorise a few more poems, how could I memorise my favourite books? And after a while, would I really be able to remember the shape of the 26 letters I hold so dear? Would I remember what a sentence looked like, let alone a word?

What is it you hold most dear? Imagine losing the function of that part of your body which allows you to enjoy what is most dear to you. Could you cope, and if so how?

Waiter, there's a fly in my soup!

2009-05-06T09:42:00.007+10:00

Disclaimer: This is NOT a dream/nightmare. Please read on...

Image courtesy of: http://i222.photobucket.com/albums/dd99/ryan-sam/hi5.jpg

Picture waking up on a crisp Autumn morning, a pot of tea brewing, your favourite spread is out, toaster is ready and as you prepare to toast your eagerly-awaited slice of bread you find an unwelcomed surprise...a cockroach! This was what a Sydney-sider experienced earlier this week.

I am reminded of a popular waiter's joke:

'Waiter, there's a fly in my soup!!'
"No Sir, that's a cockroach, the fly is on your steak!"

My worst dining-out experience (thankfully, I suppose!) has been finding a hair (which I imagine fell of the back of the chef's hand, or even eyelash) on my plate. Now that I think of the eyelack, I also imagine the millions of bacteria which exist at the base of our eyelashes. Mmmm, maybe I shouldn't be so thankful after all...

What inedible thing have you found on your plate in the past?

A Baby?

2009-05-01T16:55:00.006+10:00

Photo courtesy of http://www.carmelbabyboutique.com/images/baby_clothes.jpg

Whilst waiting at the Roads and Traffic Authority office to pay my car registration, I noticed there was rack after rack of babys' and childrens' clothes beside me. Inquisitive, I took a closer look. I started to choose a couple of outfits with my seven-month old niece and my sister-in-law's unborn baby in mind. The closer and more involved I got the more excited I became. I could even feel a tremor of excitement in my hands. Pink overalls, yellow frilly tops, tiny blue velvet jackets and petite pistachio pants. My arms were almost overwhelmed when I noticed a little wriggle appear from a striped blue jumpsuit. I looked again and there was another movement and a jerk of a tiny arm. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw a baby, yes, a newborn baby boy! I couldn't hold back any longer. I threw aside what clothes were still in my arms and reached for this adorable infant. I held him and smelled him and felt his velvety soft skin against my cheek. I couldn't just stand there so I approached the desk and caught the attention of the service person standing behind it. I told her of my find. She asked me if I was the baby's mother. Of course, I answered no. She then stated that she needed proof that I was not the mother of the baby and that I had not abandoned the baby in the first place. One way she could get her proof before calling authorities was to check to see if I was wearing a nursing bra! About to pull the neck of my top to the side to prove that I indeed was not wearing a bursing bra, I was disturbed by an almighty sound.

My husband's snoring!

Observing

2009-04-29T12:55:00.004+10:00

Mr 6 sitting, observing casually at La Roche, Beirut, Lebanon.
Date: 16th July 2008.

Wouldn't you just love to sit and watch the world go by?

Sometimes.

To be an observer.

For once.

Not a participant.

Just once.

To sit and watch the world go by.

Recovery & Thanks

2009-04-27T08:56:00.006+10:00

Late last week I underwent a surgical procedure which I had been avoiding for almost a year. I would like to thank my family, friends and blogger friends who have sent me good wishes. You are all very kind. I also appreciate everything that my family have done for me. All the love that they have shown me, the flowers and books they have showered me with and a lovely fish and rice dinner and that apple streudel. Thank you for all those cups of coffee you have made for me, which have usually gone cold as a result of me dozing off without notice, due to various analgesics (and thank goodness for them!).

I would like to say a special thank you to Kayleigh and Valerie for their wonderful stories which kept me occupied while I waited to be 'wheeled in' for surgery. My mind was pleasantly occupied as I tried to ward off my hunger and anxiety.

You see, I underwent my first general anaesthesia ever (yes, I used my resources to look up the data on risks associated with the anaesthesia and I was quite concerned to say the least, as rare as the risks are). I almost completely forgot the reason I was there in the first place and just focussed on the anaesthesia and its possible side-effects. But it was unavoidable. Much to my surprise however, it was actually quite pleasant to 'go under' . My surgeon was the sweetest. He held my right hand with both his hands (which I squeezed very tightly) and he told me all would be okay, that he would see me that evening, that I was beautiful, and I would have his ugly face to look forward to seeing (which, of course, made me giggle). I know this is what he says to all his patients but his words put me at such ease that, when the anaesthetist placed a mask over my mouth and nose, I felt more relaxed than I had been all week.

And, yes, I am still here!

With my love and best wishes to you all.

Mervat.

P.S. If I have commented on your blog recently and my words do not quite make sense you now know why...but nothing, not even high grade pain killers, could keep me away from my laptop (despite letters and words running into eachother and my head falling towards the keyboard!)!

P.P.S If I have made any errors in this post then, please forgive me (she says with a slurred speech!).

Age in Beauty and Beauty in Age

2009-04-22T22:36:00.006+10:00

Is a wilting, dying flower any less beautiful than a new bloom?

In the dying flower, colours (such as the hot pink specks above), that are not there in its youth, become apparent and vibrant as it ages, as the petals wilt and wrinkle. There is a beauty in its ageing that is not visible in its youth. I think this is the same for humans. In the ageing human, there are features and attributes that become alive, despite the greying hair and wrinkles. More so than anything, a person's eyes, their smile and zest for life, and the memories they hold so dear are the beauties that are less visible in a human's youth. Let us appreciate and Rejoice.

Sweet, sweet Samar

2009-04-17T23:11:00.009+10:00

We have just returned from a wonderful, memorable holiday. And as lovely as this break was, I will never remember Nelson Bay without remembering my cousin Samar, four years my senior. You see, whilst we were away we learnt of Samar's death.

The last time I saw her was January 1991. At that time, her silky, chestnut-brown hair fell down to her slender waist, which was only just betraying an early second pregnancy. She was wearing an emerald green jumper she had recently, quietly, patiently knitted. I remember her proudly threading identically-coloured ribbon at the ruffled neckline she had created, her eighteen-months old son playing quietly at her feet. She had the demenour and quietness of a shy twelve year old girl, yet a tranquility, apparent in her person, was missing in her eyes.

And whilst I was away, on holiday, pleasurably spending time with my family, she was being taken away from hers. But in life she never knew joy. She never knew peace. Maybe in death she may at least know the latter. However, as a result of her death and her finally knowing peace, her loved ones will be deeply burdened by her loss.

Samar, your name, meaning beauty in darkness, was so apt, for you truely were beauty in your dark, uncertain world. Samar. Your name cannot be forgotten. Samar. From my heavy heart I can only offer you a rose in your loving memory. Samar, may you finally, eternally, rest in peace.

My tender child

2009-04-09T10:16:00.007+10:00

We spent hours walking from one hospital wing to another, lost souls, waiting and gazing at artworks by school children from all over the country. I remembered, with guilt, throwing away my son’s similar 'artworks' in the previous house move. My son, whose tender skin was being deliberately sliced, whose spine was being deliberately exposed. These kids' artworks on the hospital's walls were a bitter reminder that some of my own child's 'moments in time' were languishing into the earth. Wasn't there a blank wall in this hospital, anywhere, where I could stare blankly, no thoughts, no guilt, nothing?

This was my entry into a recent 100 word writing competition. Although I don't know if I will hear from the organisers, I would like to share it with you. Whenever I write, and as therapeutic and thrilling writing is to me, I remind myself that it is the opinion of the reader that matters most. After all you chose to take the time to read my work. I appreciate any questions or comments as it is your feedback that improves my writing .

Anatomy Summer Special

2009-04-03T20:40:00.015+11:00

Image courtesy of http://www.tokiococo.com/gallery/lifedrawing/portfolio_arm&hand.jpg

Please let me know if these posts, about my years studying anatomy, are inappropriate or too detailed. I know that in the general/lay public there may be a clinical, non-human view of research. In writing these posts I hope to give you an insight into the student and researcher's viewpoint, and to remind ourselves that we are all human, and that the human body, in all its various forms is special, if not sacred.

Since studying anatomy, I've never looked at margarine or butter in the same way again. Read on and you'll learn why.

As a third year anatomy student I was asked to participate in a summer dissection class. Only invited students, that is, those who received the highest marks in their end-of-year exams, were given a part of a person to dissect, a person who had kindly, unselfishly recently donated their body for study and research. In making my decision about what part of the human form I wished to study closely, I definitely did not want the head (if you read my recent post on this, you will understand why). The lower limbs would have been too cumbersome to manouvre; I thought the rowers of our study group would manage these better than I. So, the upper limb it was for me.

In preparation for the day, we were asked to bring in gloves (not our usual surgical gloves, but the thick dishwashing variety that have extra grip) and lots and lots of absorbent towels. Of course from previous tutorials where we studied various parts of a cadaver there was absolutely no blood. I wondered what the thick towels would be for and figured that they may be for drying our hands post-dissection. Was I in for a shock.

That morning I was quite nervous. I tried to imagine having somebody's arm, from armpit to fingertip, in front of me, this arm that was with this person their whole life. It fed them, brushed their hair, held their children, embraced and caressed its loved ones, it signed mortagage papers, and of course, signed its own destiny to our anatomy lab.

I finally entered the cool lab and sat in my usual place at the stainless steel, raised-edge table in which a V-shape formed at its centre. I kept asking myself why I had agreed to this? I had studied pre-dissected limbs, and yes they were maybe a decade old and overly dry, and discoloured, and probably inaccurate with overuse rendering a few nerves loose. And, they no longer resembled a human form. I tried to convince myself that in doing this dissection I would see accurate blood and nerve supply. But, I still questioned what I was doing there. It was too late to back out, however.

Looking at a left arm before me, starting at its finger tips, I noticed a groove in the fourth finger that for years must have housed a wedding ring. This groove was whiter and narrower than the surrounding skin. The colourless, lifeless nails were long and had been carfully manicured into an almond-shape. I guessed this must have been the arm of a woman. Moving up to the back of a plump, freckled hand I noticed that she must have been quite a large lady. Further inspection of the upper arm and my suspicion was confirmed. She was a really large lady.

We were then instructed to start at the excision surface (that is, near where the breast would have started, called the mammary tail) and to work our way through to the nerves that lay beneath. I was specifically informed that the Anatomy Museum was short of a specimen of the nerves that supply the whole arm. This not only meant I had to start the dissection through the skin directly in the arm pit to ensure as little cutting action as possible, but I had to be extra vigilant not to make the slightest mistake. There was a donor, maybe, every one or two years and I was not about to stuff this up.

Upon turning the limb I noticed a five o'clock shadow where the armpit must have been shaven, and also, a mole as big as a lentil on the outer edge of this shadow. I imagined how many times the lady must have nicked herself shaving as a result of this mole. This made the whole task even more poignant and I knew I had to take care, to respect, regardless of whether or not I was going to have my name displayed on the front of a perspex jar that would hold this specimen.

Whilst trying to expose the nerves I had to hold back the protective flaps of skin and excess fat that had formed a roof over these nerves. This was when the thick, ribbed, rubber gloves had to be used. In pulling those very thick, taute flaps of skin back, what I can only describe as a bubbly butter-like liquid oozed through my gloved fingers. Sensing a rising nausea, I just told myself to focus on the cells, the cells and to forget the whole picture. I kept thinking about the cells and how the cell membranes must have broken down sufficiently to allow this fat to escape. I then realised what the thick disposable towels were for and quickly made use of them to absorb the yellow liquid.

The rest of the dissection flowed smoothly and took me nearly a week to finish. By the end, I was glad and proud to have taken on this task despite my initial misgivings. We discovered that this person's forearm revealed some very unusual anatomy near the wrist- an artery had pierced a major nerve to the extent that the lecturer questioned its function in life. Did this person experience incessant pain, discomfort or weakness? Did they notice anything unusual about their arm at all? Further, how was this person to know that their arm would be examined and studied by generations of doctors, surgeons and anatomists for decades to come?

Sometimes, when I get a flick of discomfort or an odd sudden burst of pain, I wonder whether that part of my anatomy is atypical, an anomaly, and I wonder what someone someday may discover.

* * * * * * * * *

Doing easy things the hard way

2009-04-02T16:47:00.006+11:00

Image courtesy of: http://cache.eb.com/eb/image?id=93820&rendTypeId=4

For the life of me I cannot seem to hard-boil an egg, no matter how, ahem, 'hard' I try. I have used timers, checked for how quickly the shell dries on exposure to air, I've even left the egg in boiling water over the set time and still, there is a runny centre in the middle.

I know sometimes people find usually 'easy' things the most difficult to do and I tried to think of other examples. I came up with making toast without burning it (and trying to get it all golden, crumbly and crunchy on the outside, moist and soft on the inside!), cooking fluffy rice that also separates (this still has me stumped!), and of course the old addage of not knowing how to fry an egg or boil water. Even some restaurants cannot cook pasta to be al dente , and this is probably the only difficult/easy thing I can get right!

And, as far as keeping indoor plants alive, a huge 'you have got to be kidding' races out of my mouth before you or I blink. I even managed to destroy artificial lush green leaves. How you ask? They went mouldy after a particularly humid end of summer and had to be disposed of. Sad, really.

What are the 'expected' easy things that you find near impossible to perfect (and they can be outside the kitchen, of course)?

PEACHES!!

2009-04-01T08:48:00.016+11:00

Last weekend my gorgeous family came to our house for lunch. I love having them over and it had been way too long since we had had our once typical family gatherings that did not involve a birthday. You know, a 'just for the sake of it' get together. To my darling family members, I love each and every one of you.

One of the highlights (and when my lot gets together, believe me there are a highlight or two!) was watching my 6 month old angel of a niece dig, head first, into a peach which was almost as big as her head. I'll let the pictures do the talking:

Peach, Pre-Baby:

Peach Post Baby:

When was the last time you got together with your extended family and were there any highlights that you'd care to share?

Anatomy Museum

2009-03-26T22:06:00.006+11:00

After I wrote my post about the beret-wearing gentleman, my thoughts took me back to those quite stressful years as an anatomy student. I remembered a particular incident one early evening in the anatomy museum. Now, usually, students gathered on and off throughout the week to revise action, nerve supply and blood supply of muscles and organs. During exams though the museum would be extremely busy and bursting with loud, boisterous students.

Whilst waiting back for my hubby (fiance at the time) to finish with his lab, I thought I would get a bit of extra study done in the anatomy museum, especially considering it would be quiet and I would be able to get my hands on any encased organ I needed.

Approaching the well lit corridor, the place felt eerily quiet. I just pushed all silly thoughts to the back of my mind and thought about the Circle of Willis, the brain's source of blood supply which I planned to revise. I immediately walked in and found the 'popular' desk (so named as you were within arm's reach of the 'popular' head and neck specimens encased in glass jars).

In these jars, the faces were also intact, as were the ears, eyes, nose and you could even make out that little indentation at the base of the neck. As I sat in an old, marked leather chair I pulled my textbook and lecture notes out of my bag. For some reason after placing each item on the desk, my eyes moved about the room, but my feet did not budge. Again, I forced my thoughts back to the task at hand. But, again, my eyes walked about the room and landed on one of the heads encased before me. I noticed that extra bit of hair that had emerged from the shaven scalp of one particular specimen before me. The preserving liquid tends to dehydrate the tissues it surrounds and so it looked as if the hair, freshly shaven after death had grown, but infact the shrinking scalp had enabled the hair to come through.

My eyes moved from the stubbly head to the eyebrows and down to this specimen's eyes, this person's eyes. They were symmetrical and were not at all dehydrated. As I forced myself to look away, I sensed that the eyes were looking back at me. Not blankly, but truely looking at me, quizzing me. I looked down trying to ignore my thoughts, but it truely felt as if I was being watched. And not only by this person, but by the others along side of him. I think it was a him. Suddenly the room felt as if I was surrounded by people. And I literally was, but it was as if I could hear them, feel them breathing, piercing me with their eyes, cursing me in their thoughts.

I don't remember walking out of that museum, but I never went in there alone again.

You know you're middleaged when...

2009-03-26T08:23:00.011+11:00

I recently had to see a podiatrist for a sharp pain in my heel that has been bothering me for about six months. Within minutes of telling her of my complaint, she opened her mouth and her voice, like a load roar from the heavens, uttered the dreaded words "You Need Orthotics"...

I suddenly felt like I had aged well beyond my years. This was especially hurtful as I am excited about the prospect of getting older, watching my children grow up, achieving their aims in life and my husband and I fulfilling our dream of travelling near and far. But, despite my sentiments about growing older, all I pictured upon hearing the word ORTHOTICS was a walking stick and my croaking voice calling all the young folk, well, young folk and dearies! And, to add insult to injury these shoe inserts would have to be custom made and fitted into 'comfortable' shoes. Immediately my thoughts turned to my shoes and boots most of which are uncomfortable (some as soon as I put them on) but look oh so good. I have even managed to convince myself that the most uncomfortable of shoes will eventually mould to my feet (but usually the reverse happens...ouch!).

Later that day, after a chat about my predicament with friends (younger and older), I was quickly informed that my situation could be a lot worse. Orthotics, at least, cannot be seen and can be made to fit any style of shoe. We then got to laughing about ways we knew that we'd hit middle-age. I'd like to share some of these with you.

1. Listening to the radio station thought to be reserved for "the oldies"!

2. Looking to see if there is anything else to be done whilst bending over to tie up your shoe- laces...you might as well make the most of the effort that got you down there!

3. Needing to carry a cardigan with you everywhere you go.

4. Saying things like "in my day"...

5. When you and your teeth don't sleep together anymore.

6. Telling your children how you toilet-trained them when they were only months of age and yet they can't train their kids before the age of three or four!

7. Not being able to tolerate that deafening "doov doov" music in teeny fashion shops.

8. Saying other things like "this should see me out!".

9. When you have to hold a newspaper out at arms length to read it...even with reading glasses!

10. When happy hour is a nap on the couch!

How do you know you've hit middle-age?

To the beret-wearing gentleman...

2009-03-24T11:12:00.015+11:00

I started this post with something as trivial as me wanting to inform you that I am in the process of applying for a new job and that I am quite nervous etc, etc. I then thought about what picture to post and in searching for an image for this post on my imminent job interview, I came across this one...

Upon seeing this image (of the central nervous system (CNS) which includes the brain and extension of the brain, the spinal cord and all its extending nerves) thoughts immediately took me to the corridors of my university's School of Anatomy and my anatomy practicals there. One interesting fact I remember learning about the CNS was that the brain has its grey tissue (or grey matter) on the outside with the yellow central fibres on the inside, but the spinal cord is the reverse. If you were to slice the cord transversly (right across) what you will see is a butterfly-like shape, made of the grey tissue with the light yellow colour surrounding it. Just perfect. The last 10 or 15 centimetres is called the cauda equina or horse tail, as that is exactly what it looks like.

One day, whilst putting on my white lab coat, before entering the cool, aluminium lined anatomy lab, I was approached by an elderly gentleman wearing a woollen houndstooth beret. He asked me to direct him to the place where he could sign up to 'give his body to research' . I was completely taken aback. Bringing my thoughts back to his smiling, wrinkly face I walked with him to the school's office where he was greeted with a cup of tea and a wad of papers to fill in. He thanked me with a nod of his head as I walked away.

These days, I still remember the smell of the cholorform, my eyes stinging from its fumes , the leathery touch of human tissue long since detached from its soulful owner but labelled to be reunited and eventually buried with the rest of the body. Out of respect to its owner I have posted this image, in all its perfect beauty. Thank you to this person who so kindly and so generously gave their body to be studied by students and teachers. And, thank you to so many others like this human being for their unselfish and considerate act. Most of all, thank you to the beret-wearing gentleman, as in my mind you are the face of all those years I studied anatomy and my love of research.

Disgustingly Delicious Rocky Road

2009-03-23T13:16:00.014+11:00

This has got to be the most delectable, more-ish dishes I have had the pleasure of making (and the guilt of eating!). In all its gooey, sticky mess, it is incredibly yummy when warm (ie straight out of the mixing bowl!) and if you can wait long enough, is crunchy and soft all at the same time. The proof is in the following pics!

And, I will admit to not being a chocoholic, and just not understanding what it is about chocolate that makes people tick. However this may truely make me a convert!

Recipe (add or remove what you like/don't like):

400 grams of dark chocolate (not cooking chocolate)

400 grams of milk chocolate (again, not cooking chocolate)

150 grams brazil nuts, each chopped in half

1/2 cup desiccated cocount

100 grams roasted chopped peanuts

250 grams glace cherries (this really makes it!)

2 handfuls of squishy marshmallows

Line a rectagular tray with silicon paper. Melt the chocolate in the microwave (do this in 30 second bouts and stir in between until melted). Then add the nuts, coconut, peanuts and cherries and mix these through, Then add the marshmallows (add these last so they don't melt with the warmth of the chocolate and to allow them to keep their shape). Then after trying just a little bit (or alot!!) pour into the try and spread. Keep at room temperature to cool as this results in a smoother chocolate (may need to be refrigerated if you are making this in 37 celcius-degree heat like I did!). Then, tip out onto chopping board (not one you use to chop onion and carlic on!!) and slice into slabs or squares. Devour before anyone else does!!

Bon appetite!

What's in a voice?

2009-03-19T12:31:00.012+11:00

As an avid reader I always imagine the voice of the person almost before I have read what they have to say. At the risk of sounding like I am of an unhealthy mind, the voices inside my head have accents, huskiness and habits such as vocal pauses and even throat clearing!

Now, when I am reading a post on your blog I also imagine what your voice sounds like. I don't hear my voice, I hear your voice. For example for some bloggers, I can almost hear proper English accents, and very calm but reassuring voices. I picture another blogger's voice to have a bit of huskiness and a full American accent with a bit of speed to her words. I imagine another of my favourite bloggers to be precise with her words, albeit a little cheeky! A special lady blogger, in my mind, has a softly spoken and kind voice. I think of one particular blogger as having a voice that is subtley high pitched with a mix of accents from both her native and new countries.

One blogger-friend has one of my favourite accents (the New Zealand accent) and I imagine her to speak in a very matter of fact but friendly way. For some bloggers I can hear a genteel southern American accent, with a bit of sarcasm thrown in for fun. I especially love the wonderfully round Canadian accent which I think is one of the easiest accents to hear. I even add a bit of an assertive manner to some bloggers' voices. Then there are those bloggers who I imagine to have a youthful and cute voice with words coming out at a 100 miles per hour! Other bloggers' voices have accents from their countries of origin (be it China, Greece, Italy, Russia, Germany, France, Egypt, South Africa, Japan, Spain, South America, oh and the list goes on!). There is one blog I frequent which places me almost in a trance as soon as I imagine the blogger's voice, with its calm nature carrying a wisdom as well. I think she has the sort of voice I could listen to for a while.

And, how could I not love a good Australian accent [as if there's a bad one!;-)], that is fuss-free, but very friendly. I also picture some Aussie accents in a larrakin kind of way, no nonsense but also fun. Other bloggers have reached into the world of sound via YouTube and as I listen to their voices, it is quite a surprise when they have a voice in the way I always imagined (for one particular blogger it was a bit of huskiness). Of course there are others who sound absolutely nothing like I imagined them to be.

As I write this post, thoughts about my German pen-pal, whom I came into contact with via a school program when I was in 5th grade, come to mind. I was immensly excited at the thought of communicating with someone from a completely different country, a different hemisphere to mine and, with almost giddiness, imagined what her voice would sound like! I also consider how grateful I am to be in an age where I can, in fact, be in direct contact with people of virtually every country on our Earth. Many, many times we have heard it stated about the internet, but I will say it again: How wonderfully good is it? Well, I say Bloody Marvelous, in my loud, Australian-accented, but friendly voice!

Have you ever thought about how your voice or accent sounds to others?

A curious case of all those buttons!

2009-03-18T18:31:00.010+11:00

Ever wondered what to do with those buttons that come attached to new garments. With the button, stud or clasp a sample thread is also sometimes included. I usually snip away the little plastic zip-lock bag or cardboard envelope in which the button/stud/clasp & thread arrives in and store in a decorative box on my dressing table. However, once they go into the button box I usually never see them again. The other day I happened to glance upon this box. I immediately tipped it upside down on the bed. There were so many envelopes and little bags they formed a little mound. Upon searching through the box's contents I noticed there were packets for items I had long since discarded, worn away so much they were now garden and painting grubbies, or buttonless and holey in the garage rag box!

However, the question still remains: What to do with all these buttons? I did a quick search on the internet and found thes images below. What a great idea, I thought to myself.

From beedevine.co.uk

From elainschmidt.com

What about earrings or a bracelet even? Then my imagination got the better of me and I started thinking about belts, picture frames, sunglasses, oh the list goes on! I even had a mental image of a car covered in buttons...yes, I had better quit while I was still ahead!

Now, as much as the necklace appeals to me (I still like the car idea and I've probably got enough buttons!), I doubt I will ever get around to making it. But, maybe I can con my crafty and arty daughter, Miss 11 into it? I'll tell her that I'll throw an extra button, for repairs, in for free!;-)

What do you do with the extra buttons?

GIVEAWAY!!

2009-03-16T10:28:00.015+11:00

Considering how happy I was to receive a lovely card from Darla as per my last post, I would like to share the love and send a postcard to you.

If you are interested, please email your postal address to mervat@swiftdsl.com.au and a postcard from the land of Oz will be coming your way. I have recently been to Melbourne so I will include some of these cards in my giveaway. To my fellow Aussies, please feel free to participate as well!

If you feel uncomfortable about emailing me your mailing address details, I understand. However, this post has been written with the best of intentions and with the aim of bringing something tangible to the otherwise virtual, almost unreal world of blogging.

With much love and best wishes,

Mervat.