One year of here.

Today marks one year since I began blogging in this space, picking up my haphazard blogging habit of times past. I've posted just over 100 or so times this year, tweaked the layout a bit, joined some link-ups (like this one and this one - some more regular than others), received lovely, uplifting comments (and the odd troll), and most of all have been inspired by the creativity of the blogging community.*

Blogging throughout 2013 gave me an outlet for sharing words, photographs, thoughts and ideas. It was a place of reflection through some pretty shitty moments, and a place to express joy in the shiny times. I have always endeavoured to see the beauty in the everyday and the mundane and this blog provides me a place to indulge myself and share them with the world - or, at least, a small handful of family, friends and other bloggers. (Hello!)

2013 saw my family of origin expand, with the birth of my darling, adorable, delightful character of a niece, named after our beloved great-grandmother.

We began the year in Alice Springs, and ended with the long-distance thing (which continues, and will do so for a while) as my partner now lives and works 1500 km away.

I had some difficult times in a turbulent workplace, where I made the hard decision to speak up about workplace bullying. (Have you been in this situation before? Speaking up about it is one of the hardest things I've done, but it comes back to the point that if I don't, who will? If I am assertive and self-confident enough to do this, I should speak up for others who might not have the strength and confidence to do so. I also figure that if I've encountered bullying behaviour, then it's hardly likely to be a one-off incident affecting only me - particularly when the people doing the bullying are in positions of power.)

But - unexpectedly - out of this trying time came a new opportunity in a new workplace, where I am learning more and more and expanding my skills in a supportive environment.

We spent time exploring Central Australia, including a four-day hike with friends along sections of the Larapinta Trail. I had little breaks away from the desert here and there, mainly visiting my sister and niece as she grow-grow-grows.

I spent varying amounts of time studying as I work towards my goal of completing a Bachelor of Laws (Graduate) by the time I'm 40. And, having had a birthday one month ago to the day, this is now (just) seven years away. I surprised myself with a trio of Distinctions and letters of commendation from the university which made me feel a little bit pleased with myself. My undergrad studies were creative and unstructured (B. Creative Arts - Visual Arts and Design, and B. Arts - yep!) so it's a different kettle of fish this time around.

There were friends to say goodbye to as they left Alice Springs and headed to other places for new adventures. In almost two years of living here, I've learnt that this is a part of the lifecycle of this place.

It's lovely to be able to look back on a year and remember the little moments. Thanks for sharing them with me!


*The blogging community, it's a 'thing'! I've really enjoyed delving into blogs, experiencing glimpses into the lives of others. Some blogs resonate with me, others not so much. Discovering a new blog is like devouring a new book or magazine - once you start reading, you have to go back to the first post and read it all the way through. There are the mummy bloggers (all about the childrens), the for-profit bloggers (sponsored posts, ugh!) and the 'look at me' bloggers. Then, behold: there are the whimsical, delightful corners of the internets where you feel like you're sitting down for a cuppa with an old friend.

Here are my favourites from this year. Have a read and share the love.

Meet Me At Mikes
This lady is talented, funny, crafty, smart and thinks about things. An old hat at blogging. I might even do one of her e-courses one of these days.

The Beetle Shack
Sometimes about the kids, sometimes sponsored posts, but mostly I like the sense of warmth, a real person tapping away on the keys and taking lovely photographs and wearing creative outfits. Also does the weekly 'Stills' link up that I often participate in.

Little Wolff
I'm so glad I discovered this corner of the internet. Lila lives in regional Australia, which I can relate to (and it's often very hot there, which I can also relate to!). Her 'little opinionated' posts are articulate, thoughtful and brave. She's clever and creative and cooks yummy vegan food.

Prudence Claire
Here is a witty woman with a funny cat and delightful way of sharing her life. Prue makes me laugh and writes in an understatedly eloquent way. Her proofreading is second to none - this is kind of a big deal (to me) in blogland.

Girl in the Pjs
A fellow Alice Springs blogger with a lovely sense of the aesthetic. Alli is an inspiringly diligent blogger!

Love love, lady
Such a beautiful soul encapsulated in a lovely blog. Sarah shares her raw moments alongside the everyday and you can really feel the creativity and love she exudes for her wife and fur kids.



And, as an aside, remember this post I wrote about life in Alice Springs? I was recently approached by ABC Radio NT who asked whether they could include it in a series called 'Wordsmith' where they feature works by Territory writers. I said yes - of course - and went along to the local ABC studio to record myself reading it. They edited it up and got rid of the stumbling and mumbling and whacked in some ambient sounds and played it in two parts on Territory-wide airwaves! I heard the second part yesterday afternoon and it was a strange feeling to hear myself on the radio like that. I'll share the link, when it's up.

Summer in September (A 'Stills' Post).

Another week was spent working in Darwin. This time around, I was more prepared for the humidity and how to grapple with my hair. I even managed two early morning runs, in about 95% humidity (and had to apologise profusely to the elderly couple I shared the hotel lift with afterwards!). Back at home, my weekend was spent lazily swimming, drinking coffee, doing uni work and riding to the shops on my shiny new bike. (More about the bike soon!)

I also came across this video over the weekend. It tells the story of Garrawarra Cemetery, an overgrown bush cemetery in the northern reaches of Wollongong, NSW, where more than 2,000 tuberculosis patients were buried in the first half of the 20th century. One of those buried there is my great-great-grandmother, Florence, whose photograph appears in the film. Watching the film made me remember the stories told to me by my great-grandmother, about her mother becoming ill with 'consumption', having to care for her mum and her siblings until Florence was taken to the Sanitorium and my Gran and her siblings to girls' and boys' homes and then foster families. Florence was only 36 when she died. Florence was a singer in the Tivoli circuit, and Gran remembered her as having the 'voice of an angel'. I can't imagine what it must have been like. Nowadays, the cemetery is overgrown and closed to the public.

1. Those chickens just keep on growing.
2. It's shiny, it's red and it has a basket. Perfect for Alice Springs, perfect for summer.
3. The scruffy author.
4. Bright colours from the loungeroom floor, newspaper-reading.
5. Some of the many tomatoes budding on our plants.
6. Kale growing quickly.
7. Deliciously hued bedspread I picked up from Darwin's Mindil Beach Market.

And a link to lovely Em at the Beetle Shack for the Stills linky!

52 lists: Cook books, dinner and pets.

Catchin' up on some lists again. This is an ongoing project with a new list each week, hence the name #52lists. Find out more about it by visiting Meet Me At Mikes! Or check out the hashtag on Instagram, if you so desire! Join in, if you like!

These lists are: Favourite cook books / Childhood dinners / Pets I have had.

 

Who's lived in your house?

Shane Adams, 7-3-75 engraved in the concrete out the back.

Recently, the owners of the house we rent were to be in town and wanted to call in to have a look. The house was newly rebuilt prior to us taking on the lease, following a fire a couple of years ago in which most of the house was destroyed. The owners brought their teenage daughter, who hadn't seen the house since she was small and it was interesting to see her reaction to this, the house she grew up in.

She asked to see her old room, and the backyard. The pool looks so much smaller, she said. There used to be a wall there, they said. Oh, there's my painting! Exclaiming at the mural painted on the corrugated iron fence at the side.

I've always been fascinated by houses, and their inhabitants through time. When I was 14, my family visited the village in Tipperary and the house of my father's forebears; a once-stately house that appeared long abandoned. When my parents went back to Ireland a couple of years later, they decided to bite the bullet and knock on the door. This time around, the house was occupied and being lovingly restored by - of all people - an Australian couple. They were most happy to oblige and my dad shared the history of his family connections and some of the stories of the house and the village.

When I was at art school, for one of my projects I took the train to Sydney to track down the house where my great-grandmother grew up, on busy Parramatta Road at Petersham in the inner west. I was always so eager to soak up her stories of childhood, often recounted with side-splitting giggles. I found the house, a three-storey place with a shop at the street level and living areas above. I could imagine her and her brothers peering out of the third-storey window, guessing the colour of the next car to come sputtering down Parramatta Road. (How different this is to the unrelenting traffic of today!) I found the school she and her siblings used to go to (or play 'hooky' from, as was more often the case) and the hilly street where she sent her baby sister hurtling down in her rickety pram, resulting in a huge scolding when the pram overturned.

What about your house? Does it have a history that you know about, or imagine? Or is it a space newly built for you, where you're making your own history?

I used to be a Tour de France tragique.

This is a big confession, for two reasons. First of all, it signifies the past tense: used to be. Meaning, no longer am. And secondly, because tragic I was, indeed. In all fairness, cycling was my life and my work. I was a staff journalist at one of Australia's biggest cycling magazine publishing houses. I was paid to write about cycling, talk about cycling and think about cycling ALL THE TIME. It was great! I loved it.

I also got very little sleep at this time of the year, Tour de France time.

Right now, as I write this, I can hear the all-so-familiar tones of cycling's famous English-speaking commentators, Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen, drifting from the lounge room. I still know most of the riders' names. I can picture the team tactics in my head without seeing the vision - sometimes fuzzy, sometimes fragmented by dropped-out satellites, sometimes without the audio and just the cheering of the crowd and sputtering of the media motorcycle as it weaves around riders and team vehicles.

I can see the dramatic steep ravines, the fields splashed with yellow sunflowers, the moonscape mountaintop and the cobbled village streets. The shirtless fans running crazily up the road alongside their compatriot. The flags, the campervans, the media trucks and the finish arch.

The team colours and names have changed, as they do from season to season when sponsors chop and change. Each year brings a slight alteration in the syntax of cycling style; one year, jerseys were fashioned with loose-fitting sleeves and riders took to cutting them off with scissors; another year saw longer socks than the previous. And who could forget the bright yellow rubber wristbands that spread like fire through the peloton (much like the more unsavoury practices now associated with that shade of yellow).

Let's take, for instance, 2005. See up above here? That's my name, the author of the pre-race write-up of the contenders for that year's edition of le Tour. That year, my TdF daily schedule went a little bit like this:

5:45am wake up
6:00am training ride
7:45am breakfast, shower
8:30am ride to work
5:30pm ride home from work
7:30pm work at home
9:30pm nap on the lounge
11:00pm start watching tour
1:30am go to bed

The next day, I'd rinse and repeat. I really don't know how I sustained this, considering I was on deadline for a major annual magazine and also going through a massive life change. How did I manage to keep deadline, stay upright on a bike, keep my eyes open at work? I'm not entirely sure. I think I ate a lot of bananas.

I remember when I first started learning about the tactics and how the race actually worked. My dad explained to me the timing system and the points and the way that the teams operated to shield their favoured rider, or to increase tempo to try and drop riders off the back, or how a rider in a breakaway group didn't 'have to' pull a turn depending on who was where in the peloton and the GC. Once I understood, I was hooked. From then on, me and July and the couch had a 21-day (or night) date.

Until now. I don't know what it is. I'm mildly interested, in the sense that I'm following without investing any energy or time. Was it the doping scandals that have doggedly plagued the Tour? Perhaps, partially at least.

I think we've just grown apart, le Tour et moi.

For now, à bientôt.

Yep, that's me spruiking a Stuart O'Grady t-shirt.

A(nother) day at the Show {part 2}

We headed back to the Show for a look at the stuff we didn't get to see yesterday (see this post here if you missed it). Not because the show is huge, but mainly because we were content to dawdle along and chat to friends that we bumped into. Today we looked at the craft, cooking, agriculture, photography and hobby displays, before heading out to see a bit of the equestrian events. The show jumping was in progress in one arena, and in another arena there was the fast-paced camp drafting and Western events - such a contrast! We also did the obligatory lap around the sideshow alley, with the lurid colours and blaring tinned music and flashing lights and toothless attendants. And, of course, the scary rides.

As we wandered through the hobby and craft section, I remembered when I was a kid we spent the school holidays one year preparing things to enter into the oh-so-lucrative Dapto Show. My sister and I entered all the art categories, and my brother entered cakes into the cooking section. It was a good way to earn easy money; we came away with many prize ribbons. At five bucks for first prize, it was a veritable gold mine for a 10-year-old.

Oh, and we sat down to watch a bit of the dog trials competition. It was so funny seeing the owners taking it so seriously, and the dogs losing interest and ducking out of the ring to get pats from various spectators, or stopping on top of the beam to check that everyone was, in fact, still watching them.

It happens once a year, and it's most certainly a different world.



{Was lazy today and snapped these with my iPhone. Edited with VSCOcam app.}

This was then: DIY, 1982

How about a little bit of nostalgia, a la 'throwback Thursday'. I love so many things about this photo. That's me, 18 months old, doing a little bit of light construction work in my quilted overalls, skivvy and gumboots. We were helping (my actual input is debatable) my parents' friends build a house in the Southern Highlands town of Robertson, NSW. In the background is my Dad, holding my new-ish baby brother. There's a blue heeler right beside them and our old orange Volkswagen. I have many memories of this place, and the steep, tightly winding road that we had to drive up and down to get there. I can smell the sharp, cool air, heavily laden with earthy rainforest; even in the middle of winter the windows had to be wound right down so we wouldn't get carsick. In the thicket of trees was a clearing and I have a memory of finding boat skeleton, propped up on a frame; thinking back now, I'm not sure where memories stop and imaginings begin.