If I Was to Be Stranded On an Island...
A totally random memory crossed my mind today. I was out swinging on the swing when I rememberd this column I read once written by a music editor. Someone (presumably the producer of the magazine) asked him the question, "If you were to be stranded on an island, what five CDs would you want with you and why (choosing 'best of' albums is cheating)?"
Of course, being the creature of imitation I am, I instantly wonderd what five CDs I'd want with me if I ever got stranded on some lonesome, desert island. What five CDs have meant that much to me? What five CDs--if any--would I most likely be able to listen to repeatedly without getting sick of them?
Now presuming I wasn't going to be stranded on the island indefinitely and presuming the people I was stranded with (if any) didn't have copies of the same CDs with them, this is what I'd choose.
The Jesus Record - Rich Mullins.
This was a hard one to pick. I have all his albums and I unashamedly consider them the backbone of my CD collection. I'd want this one, I guess, because it was the first of his I heard and ever since I was twelve it's grown on me more and more. My top favourite songs of his are on other albums, but when I look at it objectively, this is the only album of his of which I like every song.
Shelter - Sons of Korah
A recent favourite when compared to how long I've had The Jesus Record. The first time I heard this album a year ago I just knew it was going to stay in my collection forever--the psalms just never grow old. The unconventional folk music Sons of Korah put them to is beautiful. This is probably the only worship album that I've been able to listen to when really angry. I'm amazed at how many die-hard rock fans I know that love it.
Offerings-a Worship Album - Third Day
Nothing beats live Third Day worship albums. Seriously. Some of their normal studio albums annoy me but this one is something of a classic. It was my first introduction to how good a P&W album can be when done right. The songs they chose are deep and strong and I love the emotion in Mac Powell's songs Thief and Love Song. The live crowd just makes it even better.
Anna & the King-Original Motion Picture Score - George Fenton
This CD holds a special place in my heart as being the score that got me hooked on soundtracks. Whereas classic music bores me, the music in this took me in and pulled me under. The sheer simplicity and grief in songs like The Execution is something I can connect with. The lighter songs on the album are beautiful and calming and I love how the whole album reminds me hauntingly of Cambodia.
Llegar a Ti (Arriving at You) - Jaci Velasquez
This was another hard one to choose. I swung back and forth for ages trying to figure out just which fifth album really special enough to include. I eventually came to the conclusion it had to be this one for two reasons. Firstly, it was the first album of my spanish collection; and secondly, it has all my favourite Jaci V. songs. I grew up listening to the english versions of A Little Bit of Heaven, Like a Flower in the Rain and Look What Love Has Done and now that I'm desperately trying to learn just how to sing them in Spanish it's been like discovering them all over again.
So, now that I've finally concluded that, I bet it would be just my luck to never get stranded on an island. Or--irony of irony--I bet I'll get washed up to shore with only my underwear left to claim as mine.
Huskies and Cheescake
I feel completely uninspired at the moment. *yawn* So I just went serfing the net for photos. I'm so like that. I'm one of those lazy photographers who couldn't be bothered reading photography books, so I just serf the net for photos I like and steal the ideas. I tried to read a photography book once--I swear I did--but it just went in one ear and out the next (or in one eye and out the other, however you want to put it).
I love huskies. I was delighted to find that my favourtie photo hide-out, Corbis, has not one, but three pages of husky photos now. Very accomodating for my little obsession.
A late night MSN conversation with a girl friend also got me craving cheesecake. Why is it we always crave things when they're the least excessable? I'm excited about shifting north in that respect. I can't wait to scout around for a little hide-away cafe that serves cheesecake up and beyond the call of coffee. I just know I'm destined to write a novel in a quaint little cheesecake cafe one day. If my experiences with fudge during the writing of Meet Me in Arabia have any indication of how the novel will turn out, I'm bound to have my heroine hooked on cheesecake by the end of the book. I'm convinced this can't be a bad thing.
Happy Australia Day!
A few random facts you mightn't have known about our happy little island country:
*Australia is the largest island in the world.
*Australia is the driest continent and boasts the second largest desert area in the world.
*The first Europeans to discover Australia were actually the Dutch, not the English. They landed on the North Western tip of Australia where it's driest, saw the desert, and sailed home declaring Australia uninhabitable.
*The area of Australia that is covered by snow in winter is larger than the area of Switzerland.
*Since 1896, the beginning of the modern Olympics, only Greece and Australia have participated in every Game.
*The mining town of Coober Pedy got it's name from the local Aboriginals. It means something like "White fella down a hole".
*The common refrigerator's system of cooling was invented in Australia, in the 1850's, by James Harrison.
*Australia is one of the safest places in the world, with a murder rate of 2 per 100,000 people. The US is up around 8 per 100,000.
*The most dangerous ants in the world are the Australian Bulldog Ant, (it grows up to 4 centimetres long). It stands responsible for at least three deaths.
*If you are driving a car in New Zealand, you are twice as likely to die from a car accident than you are in Australia. In the USA, you are roughly 1.4 times as likely than you are in Australia.
*The Utility--or as it's called in Australia the 'ute'--was invented in Australia by Ford in 1932. The legend has it that it that a farmer came to Ford looking for a car that could "work on the farm all week, and then take the wife to church on Sundays."
*In the mid 70's, Australians were the 3rd biggest beer drinker in the world. (behind Germany and Belgium) In the late 90's, we didn't even get into the top ten.
*70% of the world's wool comes from Australia. We have over 126,000,000 sheep, which use fully half the continent for grazing.
*The longest fence in the world is in Australia (it runs for over 5,530 kms). It's designed to keep dingo's away from the sheep.
*The so-called 'dingo fence' in Australia is almost twice as long as the Great Wall of China. It has a gate every 19kms.
*The kangaroo is unique to Australia and one of our most easily recognised mammals. There are more kangaroos in Australia now than when Australia was first settled. Estimates suggest around 40 million.
*And last but not least, Australian's use the term "g'day" as a greeting and never as a leave-taking.
Happy Day
I wake with that knowing, I sense there's something waiting and I instinctively know to look at my sidetable. There they are; pre-loved treasures sitting demurely one on top of the other. I smile and my reaching hand is slow and unsteady with sleep as I touch each one wonderingly. What friends do the musty pages hold? What words of beauty hide coyly behind the untouched covers, waiting to be discovered?
I pull them off one by one and read their invitations. Outbacks, riverboats, and South Australian vineyards. I will start one now, taste the sweet nector while the anticipation is fresh, for I am still dreaming and to this dream I shall hold.
This is how it begins--my happy day.
I love mail days. I'm sure I've said this before. My week revolves around this one day; it's either about to be mail day or it's just been mail day. To me it's like waiting in anticipation of a mini birthday once a week. Sometimes I can guess at what's coming and sometimes letters and parcels come totally by surprise. Today a whole stack of books by my new favourite author Nancy Cato arrived.
I fell in love with her writing a few months ago when I found her book Brown Sugar tucked away, covered in dust on a top shelf of our nearly-ceiling-high bookshelf. She writes the most amazing Australian historical fiction. She's almost the Australian equivalent of the American Margaret Mitchell, author of Gone With the Wind.
Strangely enough, her book Brown Sugar didn't completely seize me after I first read it. I appreciated it, but it wasn't until I was talking with mum about looking for more Australian fiction books when I remembered how much I'd enjoyed Brown Sugar. I showed the book to my mum and darling that she is, she spent the next few days that I was away in Dubbo scouring the net for second hand copies of Nancy Cato books.
My Mum is the coolest. When I awoke to see the books stacked high on my side table I was so excited. I started one right then and there and finished it just a few moments ago. I love how the richness of Nancy Cato's language wraps around me and makes me feel like I'm breathing and tasting the very dust of the land on which I live.
The weather was perfect today. Perfect for snuggling up in a chair and getting lost in a world of times past. Anyone else know that weather? It was rainy, the sweet smell of moisture was heavy in the air and the powerful, reassuring tread of thunder thumped back and forth across the sky.
Yes, rain! We got almost a whole two inches. Can you believe it. We haven't had a rain like this in nearly four years. It was so much fun watching it blow and swirl around out the door and wonder from every five minutes to five minutes whether it will blow over like it has so many times or stay and drench the ground as we've dreamed it would.
It was also Caleb's birthday today. He turned the grand old age of eleven. Because of the storm, the power went out and so we spent the whole afternoon battling each other in a game of Risk. As it would happen, Caleb won. Birthday luck.
Now I'm pondering the thought of rummaging around in the grocery box that came today in search of the avocadoes I know must be there. I'm so obsessed with avocadoes at the moment. I love how they're so soft and smooshy and--get this--good for putting on weight. After that I might have a shower and curl up with another of Nancy Cato's books. I love happy days.
A Baker's Dozen
I have a new favourite blog. The last couple of weeks I've been searching high and low for blogs by older women that I enjoyed that I could also look up to as mentors. My Mum is at the top of this list--but, alas, my mum doesn't have a blog--and seeing as I enjoy the blog world I thought it might be a good idea to find some blogs that I don't read just because I know the person, but because I truly enjoy what they write about. I found such a blog.
I spent hours last night dancing my way through Kim C.'s blog, Life in a Shoe. It was delightful. She didn't pull her punches; she does write about the hard things like having to wake up seven little girls at two in the morning to pick up a husband who's been stranded in a parking lot two hours away. She wrote about those things, but in such a humble, loving way that I left her blog with a real sense of peace and joy. I have never gotten those feelings from someone's blog before. Books, maybe, but never a blog.
Over six months worth of posts a person can't pretend that kind of an attitude. I've noticed that in other's blogs. Some people might talk about being humble and joyful, but read their blog long enough and their true heart will come through. I can't remember any posts Kim wrote specifically on heart attitudes, but something still came through her writing that reached out and touched mine. It's really inspired me to look at my own attitude when I write. Just what legacy of feeling do I want to leave behind in my blog?
I was wondering about it absentminedly the other day. I wondered how it would feel to one day have my own daughter read my blog. Would I want her to? Is there things I've written she might enjoy? Is there things she might learn? Will I even one day have a daughter? There is always the possibility I could have all sons--or the possibility I won't have any children at all.
~~~~
My sister, Hannah wants a baker's dozen. I love how she says this. She tilts her head to one side and lets her hair fall half across her face. Her turquoise eyes sparkle and one corner of her mouth curls up playfully, "I want a baker's dozen," she says mischieviously.
I hope she gets her wish one day. When she first told me she wanted a baker's dozen I thought she was being fastecious. I thought instantly of her disorganized tendencies, of her emotional vulnerability, but then I thought further and saw how silly my thinking was. Despite her weaknesses she has strengths I don't come anywhere near matching. She's the most loving, dottering dear person I know. She cooks up the yummiest storm in the kitchen and she'd gladly give up school if she could to just sew all day. If any girl was to have thirteen kids and enjoy every minute of loving them it is going to be Hannah.
I'm not sure how I'd feel about myself having thirteen kids. What's right for each family differs so drastically sometimes. Rachel and Matt are still debating numbers. Matt likes the number five, Rachel the number eight (she wants to beat mum and dad's total).
I love the idea of being pregnant one day, but then again I almost think there's going to be something different for me. I love the thought of adopting. I don't think this in a romantic, or even an obligatory sort of way. There honestly is something about dirty brown feet and little black smiles that has wriggled it's way deep into my heart.
Right from when I was little I've had a soft spot for orphaned animals. My Dad got me my first baby lamb when I was six. My Mum would make up the bottles for me and I'd get them out of the fridge to feed my baby every four hours. I turned into the orphanage mother after that. I had baby goats, baby kangaroos, and even once a baby swan. After I hit fifty, I lost count of how many baby lambs I'd raised.
Loving another woman's baby doesn't bother me. I know there are some ladies who just aren't made to do it, and I don't think anyone has a right to hold that agains them, but for me it comes naturally. I'm not a gushy, emotional kind of person, my family will testify to this, but when I read stories and when I see pictures, a swelling of longing rises in me. I want to hold that baby and I want to take that little boy home.
~~~~
Physically I could probably never bear thirteen children. Though I am getting better, my body will never be as robust as my sisters. I'm going to have to face the possibility one day that a stress like childbirth could trigger off a major relapse I might never recover from. I know a woman this happened to.
I'm not angry anymore at having gotten sick, though. I've learnt a lot of things about health and emotions that in the close loving family I come from I never would have leant about normally. Many, if not all, children to be adopted from overseas suffer from major health issues, the least of these being malnutrition. I know what it is like to be dizzy and weak from malnutrition. I lived two years with a digestive system that wouldn't digest the food I needed, losing weight I didn't have in the first place.
Strangely enough, I even know how it feels to be unable to receive love. The disease inside me not only affected my physical body, it messed with my emotions as well. There were times I physically could not stop crying. I know this it hard to understand; before I became sick this is one thing I never would have ever considered possible, but it is possible--I lived it. Things can get that chemically messed up in your body.
I once cried for three days straight. I'd be able to stop for a few hours here and there, then in the middle of a movie scene or a flicking of a switch, it would start up again. The last of my resilience was breaking. If I was the suicide kind this was where I would have pulled out the razor and ran it across my wrists. But I didn't have to--deep down I was convinced I was dying already.
I've read of the terror people go through when they can't breath in that moment between their lungs stopping and the lung machine taking over. The three days I couldn't stop crying were like that. I was frozen stiff, unable to breath, wishing for a breathe but almost hoping the dark would just swallow me whole.
I longed for love so desperately. I knew people loved me, but as hard as I tried I couldn’t feel it. The disease controlled my emotions and I was starving in the wasteland. It was at this point that the rage hit. I hated the disease, I hated myself, and in the end I almost hated God.
The circumstances that produce the same emotions in orphans is totally different I know, but in the end I almost don't think it matters. I know about the despair and the rage. I could hold a lonely child and understand how they felt.
I'm willing to understand, too, that this might never happen. I don't know yet who I'll marry and I can't pretend God would tell me everything before first laying things on my husbands heart. I'm going to admit, though, that I don't think God has made me sick for nothing.
I'm curious to see just what He will do with my desire to adopt. He sees so much further into the future than I. He has healed me when the statistics said I should have been sick for life, and He has loved me when I've had no love of my own. In that light I guess anything could happen. I could end up with ten kids, I could end up with five. But then again just imagine--I could end up with a baker's dozen, too.
Currently 30°C (86°F) at 12:58am, Monday 23th, '06
I can't believe this heat. It's one thirty a.m. in the morning and I still feel overheated. My face is red and it feels like every pore in my body is wide open waiting for the sweat to start flowing.
I was going to write about movies. Actually I was going to write about movies, music, bright lights and something else equally as attractive...but this heat. I've been mulling this post over in my head for days, but I just can't stand to sit at this laptop with the keyboard adding yet more heat to my body.
You'd think the temperature would at least drop after midnight, but sheesh. If I stay here much longer my legs will swell up again and then I definitely won't be able to sleep.
I didn't get to sleep until four thirty last night. It wasn't wholly because of the heat, I was having a majorly bad reaction to rubber. Hannah reckons I was dead to the world from six am to lunch time; she testifies to having cleaned up her side of the bedroom without me having twitched an eyelid, but you know, I woke up in a sweat and that counts as the equivalent of waking up on the wrong side of the bed.
Today wasn't bad, though, as bad goes. I loafed around--wait, I do that routinely--hoping the temperature would go down. I dusted and vacuumed Josh's bedroom. I've slowly been working on his bomb of a room as his welcome home present, because yes, as many faults as he has, I do love the schmuck. I know he's a guy and all but I can't believe how thick the dust was on his side-lamp. My goodness. I had an asthma attack dusting his shelves.
My legs didn't bother me so much today, which was nice. They've really been driving me nutty lately because the veins running down behind my knees into my lower legs keep swelling up with the heat. My whole leg goes red and it feels like it's going to explode. The pain gets especially bad behind my knees, like the pain you get in your neck when you get a 5-grade migraine, and I can't stand up on them. The only thing that really helps is when I lay on the couch and swing my legs to rest over the back--seems to run the blood back out of them.
I should go try to get my temperature back down. Maybe sit in front of the kitchen air conditioner. Yes, sir. Tell me about your ice fishing. I'm jealous.
The Girls (our grand photoshoot)
Ever since Rachel left home we've been a pickle. We're had photos of Rachel and Lydia; photos of Hannah and Lydia; photos of Mum, Hannah and Lydia; photos of Rachel and Mum; photos of Rachel, Lydia and Hannah, but never--never photos of Mum, Rachel, Hannah, and Lydia all together.
When Rachel came up for Christmas we saw our chance. We grabbed our red shirts and went crazy with the camera. Her's a few of the photos we got:-
1). The Girls Inside
2). The Girls Outside (unanimously voted the best shot)
3). The Boys (minus Matt and Josh)
4). Mum and I
For those of you who might be confused: Hannah is the one with the long hair (she's almost 14), Mum is wearing the black cardigan, Rachel is the one with the 3/4 sleeves (she's 23), and I'm, um, the other one.
The Day Before
Photos from our grand photoshoot featuring Rachel before she left are coming next. But first I need to take you back a day, back to the day we got off our lazy buts and turned productive.
We finally did make jars and jars of homemade salsa. Indeed, we did. We chopped, sliced, and smushed over 24 red, juicy tomatoes.
This is what we--and the kitchen--looked like after the grand undertaking.
For full effect (tomato juice goes everywhere).
While I cried from chopping chilies; while Mum cried from chopping onions; and while Hannah cried from squeezing lemons (lemon juice goes everywhere, too), Rachel sat gracefully composed at the table scrapbooking.
Witness Rachel attempting innocence at our pain. (She did, however, a lovely job of scrapbooking Matthew's baby photos).
And in case all this production wasn't enough, we also celebrated Dad's birthday. Yay for us!
Dad turned the ever-wise, glorious age of 47.
I Need a Life
A real post coming soon--I promise. But in the meantime, I thought you guys might like this. I signed into MSN and saw that Bethy--who is never on MSN--was signed in and had her status to "ON". This is what transpired:-
< .begin >Naturally Nine - Conversation< /begin >
Lyd says:
Why hello
Lyd says:
this is a surprise
Lyd says:
*nudge*
Lyd says:
Bethy darling, I'm tired
Lyd says:
if you stay silent I'll fall asleep
Lyd says:
*1*
Lyd says:
*2*
Lyd says:
*3*
Lyd says:
*yawn*
Lyd says:
*4*
Lyd says:
*5*
Lyd says:
would you like a photo?
Lyd says:
we got some photos of all us girls before Rachel left on Sunday
Lyd says:
it was sad to see her go
Lyd says:
though, I did get to go in the airport
Lyd says:
I love airports
Lyd says:
there's something about them..an atmosphere, a smell
Lyd says:
*yawn*
Lyd says:
Where on earth are you?
Lyd says:
I'll keep rambling
Lyd says:
I've developed this undeniably bad habit of rambling lately
Lyd says:
*6*
Lyd says:
*7*
Lyd says:
*8*
Lyd says:
*9*
Lyd says:
counting makes me tired
Lyd says:
*10*
Lyd says:
I think you must have forgotten you're signed in
Lyd says:
don't tell me Fletcher has a hole in his shirt again?
Lyd says:
heh
Lyd says:
I want to steal your little brother
Lyd says:
he sounds so adorable
Lyd says:
*11*
Lyd says:
*12*
Lyd says:
*13*
Lyd says:
Aaron said the funniest thing the other day
Lyd says:
Rachel asked him, "So Aaron, do you feel ready to become an uncle?"
Lyd says:
He replied, "I don't want to talk about it."
Lyd says:
Rachel: "Why not?"
Lyd says:
Aaron: "I don't feel ready for a child."
Naturally Nine says:
little brothers and freind ask why are you taking to your self
Lyd says:
*14*
Lyd says:
*15*
Naturally Nine says:
talkking
Lyd says:
Because this certain somebody has nothing better to do
Naturally Nine says:
16
Naturally Nine says:
17
Lyd says:
*18*
Naturally Nine says:
18
Naturally Nine says:
21
Lyd says:
whoops
Lyd says:
*crash* *bang*
Lyd says:
you broke the system!
Naturally Nine says:
i am the systom
Lyd says:
haha
Lyd says:
so is this you, Bethy?
Naturally Nine says:
hello, Lyd
Lyd says:
hello dear
Naturally Nine says:
it's Bethany now, but my brother and his friend have been messing with your head.
Naturally Nine says:
and denying it
Lyd says:
haha
Naturally Nine says:
they want to know if you eat Vegemite.
Lyd says:
lol yes
< .end >Naturally Nine - Conversation< /end >
My Favourite Foods
I love long phone conversations. As far back as I can remember, I never felt I'd had a real good chat with someone unless I'd talked with them for at least two hours. A few more years on my age--namely five--hasn't changed that feeling.
I love to kick back, gaze sightlessly through a window and picture the person I'm talking to on the other end of the phone. In this world where all is imagination and all is private almost anything can be said. Much can be said in one hour, but I don't think the truly profound and serious topics come out until the sixtieth minute has passed.
What I love about Bethany is that with her the serious subjects start right off the bat, and somehow, because of that, an even deeper level is reached in the second hour. Not many people can reach that second level and still be laughing, it takes a great sense of humour to do that.
Somewhere in the discussion of sweet older women and grandchildren, Bethany declared quite ruefully, "I'm terrible like that. I always forget
to ask people the normal questions like 'what's your favourite foods?' " We talked for another hour and a half and never did return to the question.
So--just in case we never get around to the topic again--this list, dear Bethy, is for you.
* Youghurt:- I literally eat this all day. It helps my stomachaches and always tastes so yummy.
* Mangoes:- Oh my, yes. My whole family is obsessed with mangoes. I especially love them in smoothies.
*Lasagne:- My favourite birthday meal. Nothing can beat my Mum's lasagne.
*Salsa & Guacamole:- Or Mexican food full stop. I could happily turn completely mexican. Turn my tongue to Spanish; feed me burritos; dress me in a long red skirt; and give me gorgeous black hair.
*Peppermint Chocolate:- I'd eat more of this if I hadn't fainted last time I did. One day...write it on the list. One day.
Mail Day
I got the most unexpected letter in the mail today. A friend I had off-handedly sent a Christmas card to wrote back to say she was in Thailand. Thailand! On a short term missions trip. What a coincident, no? I just bet Josh runs into her.
You know, I was just thinking last night after I finished posting that I don't write a lot about what I'm expecting to happen in the near future. I seem to spend half my time wallowing in the past. Sure, I talk about big future stuff, but even then I seem to manage to make it into a past story thing. Strange. I think it's a bad thing. I should work on it.
Starting with this....I'm ringing Bethany in an hour! I can't wait. I love talking with my dear Bethy.
Another thing that's swiftly approaching is Sunday--the day Rachel leaves. I can't say I'm as excited about that one. It's been so much fun having her around for a month. I can see how Bump has already grown. Apparently it can now hear and even suck it's thumb.
Making Headway on New Year's Resolution #3
I rung and had my first long chat of the year with my naturopath/dietitian today. I enjoy ringing Jo (or Dr. Dzung for that matter). I've known both of them for so long now that it's almost like ringing up friends. When I was really sick, my monthly chats with them were almost exclusively my social life. Sad, I know, but the truth was, when emegencies arose it was them I rang. I always found there was a satisfying sense of thank-goodness-not-everyone-believes-its-all-in-my-head when I rang freaked to death, but in a dead-calm, and had them panic for me.
I remember once I rang up in a tizzy. I had begun passing blood and I had this sudden fear that maybe my stomach was bleeding. I knew Dr. Dzung was on holidays, so I asked to be put through to Jo.
"Um..no, sorry...Jo is away, too. Let me see who else is in." The voice of Shelly, the receptionist, trailed off and I knew she must be reading the days appointment schedule. "Is it urgent? Would you like to specifically talk to someone you've seen before?"
The main doctor I see is the founder of a large clinic of various doctors. Over the years I've seen a few of them for different things. I knew that as close to tears as I was, I'd much perfer to choke up with someone I knew at least a little. "Yes, someone I know would be good. Is Yvonne there? I've seen her before."
"Yvonne....Yvonne...Wednesday is Yvonne's half day off. She would have left half an hour ago. If you like, I could try to get a hold of her on her mobile. Why don't I give her a go and call you back in ten minutes?"
"Ok, that would be great. Thanks." I hung up the phone and tried to tell myself I was probably overreacting. These things happen all the time remember, I told myself. You always think the worse and it always ends up being something much minor. It's probably just a tear. There'd be lots more pain if it was your stomach. Besides, who dies of a stomach homorrhage when they're sixteen?
I waited and hoped Shelly was able to get a hold of Yvonne. I waited an hour; no phone call. By one and a half I was half way through a funny movie and had calmed down enough to believe I was panicing over nothing. At two hours Shelly finally rang.
"I'm so sorry, Lydia. I've been trying Yvonne every twenty minutes and she's just not answering. She often turns her phone off." I said a few nice phrases at this point to reassure her that I wasn't about to send goblins to take up permanent recidence in her kitchen bin. She continued. "I just found out, though, that Dzung just got back from her holidays and plans to pop in this afternoon to see a few patients. I could put a note on her desk and she should ring you the instant she gets in. Is that ok? I'll say it's urgent."
Shelly is a darling. She must have said more than urgent on that note because my mum reckons she has never heard Dr. Dzung sound more worried than the time she rang that day. Dzung is a very practical, laid-back kind of lady--the kind who, one morning when I went in to see her made a face at me and complained about being tired because she drank too much coffee the night before. The first time I'd rung her for an emergency she'd rung me back sounding quite calm and almost annoyed. It was a year and a half and many, many complications later and since then her view of me had obviously changed.
According to my mum, when she picked up the phone Dr. Dzung sounded almost distraught. "This is Dr. Dzung Pri---what happened? Is she alright?"
In the end it turned out that everything was alright. A small blood vessel had ruptured in my large intestine and not my stomach, an easily treated problem and not at all life-threatening. But her reaction to a note with my name on it that read "urgent" stuck with me. So often I knew she had always endeavoured as all good doctors do to stay calm about all my problems to try and allay my fears, but when one little note after a long abscence triggered such a panic, I suddenly knew just how sick I was.
Things have changed. The last time I talked with her I remember laughing 'til I nearly choked. I can't remember what it was we both found so funny, but if nothing else, we both finally knew I wasn't going to end up in hospital for life and--if nothing else--I guess that's always worth laughing about.
Like I said, it was good to talk with Jo today. I still have a long way to go, and where Dr. Dzung is a big picture person, Jo helps me with all the nitty-gritty details of my daily routine and diet. I thought she'd laugh and tell me I was hoping for miracles when I declared I wanted to put on weight this year, but the optimism seems to have struck her too and she said it sounded like a great idea.
Earlier this year when I first began seeing her, I remember her looking at the long list of tablets I was taking and saying, "Whew, this is a lot. My first goal with you is to get this down. I'm going to have to add a few more for now but I promise you this is going to become less." It's taken a year but it is finally down. At one point I was taking over thirteen supplements and tablets. Today it dawned on both of us that we've finally whittled it down to five. Jo put on her how-could-you-have-ever-doubted-me voice and declared loud enough that I could almost imagine her putting her hand on her hip, "I told you it would happen!"
Heh. So it did.
Accident Prone Josh
I'm surprised at the random chaos that has been occuring in my comment box recently. As of yesterday I never knew there was such a term as emo and I had never in my whole life invisioned catching a man through garlic bread being first stuck in my "big bush of hair". Now that I think about it I'm sure my hair must be emo. It definitely tends toward the emotional (or expressive if you're into diplomatic sounding descriptions).
My day began with...well, waking up in a sweat and moaning about the heat, but I'm sure y'all are sick of my griping by now....actually it began with the eavesdropping of a very interesting phone conversation.
My Dad picked up the phone, "Robin D****." A pause and then a light of recognision in his eyes, "How's my man?" He asked. Ok, I figured, it must be Josh.
Another pause and then a slightly incredilous look passed over my Dad's face, "You sprained your ankle? How did you manage that?"
Apparently Josh managed it in the way all sprained ankles come to be--he slipped over. Now not in Thailand, he hasn't got there just yet. He was first to stay a day or two with Trevor, our pastor, for a quick time of preparation and briefing.
As the story goes, Josh apparently woke up early this morning and, having nothing better to do at six o'clock when all is quiet and one's hosts are asleep, went out for a walk. Nothing out of the ordinary happened until the return journey when he went to walk down a muddy hill. It was then, in the placing of one foot in front of the other, that the inevitable happened. Swoosh! Bang! Flat on his bum. A sprained ankle was born.
He went to the doctor and found out he had torn a ligament. We were a bit worried that maybe it would be broken and he'd have to back out of the trip, but it turns out that if he promises to use his crutches he can go. It just means that he's going to be hobbling around Thailand for a week. The imagery such a scenario creates is simply devilish. Just imagine lanky Josh swinging around on a pair of crutches, herding together cheeky toddlers with a tap on their well padded bottoms. I can't wait until he gets back home with photos.
Bad Hair Day
Rachel makes me laugh. She--who incidently has dead straight hair that is rarely rebellious--descended upon me with the camera just before, giggling loudly.
I looked at her wryly, "What?"
A giggle, "You're hair. It's such a rats nest!"
Indeed. We lived in the same room for fifteen years, haven't you ever noticed it before?
Like I said...she makes me laugh. She reckons her hair is boring, but sometimes I wish I could live with her assurance that her hair wasn't about to start doing cart-wheels at any and every inappropriate moment. Usually if my hair looks kind of cute I don't care what it's doing, but even then, I don't think I'll ever get over the spiral of terror I get every morning just before I look in the mirror. Some thing are better left unknown.
Spanish Salsa and Thailand Babies
Today has been good in a lazy, happy kind of way. I got a decent nights sleep last night and I've had less allergic reactions. The heat wave is also over, so it's not like I'm gasping for a breathe of cool air anymore. I can sleep when the temperature drops below 30 at night. When it doesn't I'm still sweating at midnight even with the air conditioners on.
I didn't do anything much, but I did kind of think about doing things, which is always a step up. I pulled out my Spanish course and played around with it for a few minutes. I've spent the last six months randomly watching my favourite movies with the spanish audio and I'm surprised at how much I picked up through just doing that.
Mum and I actually had plans to create a stylish mess in the kitchen yesterday making homemade salsa, but when mum went to get the ingredients she found we're out of onions. So, you know, we're trying to do stuff, but it's just not happening. *roll*
Januarys always seem to be like that. We usually take our family holiday in January to escape the heat, but because we're shifting mum and dad decided we wouldn't do it this year. Now we're banging our heads on the table wondering what kind of fools we are. It seems ironic that we should sit and swelter in the heat and then move after it's over.
Josh is lucky. He's going to Thailand for four months starting tomorrow, and the temperatures up there are perfect. Talking of which, it seems strange that he's leaving tomorrow. There just hasn't been a whole lot of excited fuss about it.
Rachel, Mum and I were talking about it and we figure it must be because we're so used to overseas trips. Matt has been to over eight countries; Rachel not much less than that. I feel almost cheated that I've only managed two so far. Well, actually more only one, but my team did spend one night in Singapore. I say it counts.
Josh is going with a church team to spend time babysitting the babies of missionaries attending an international, week-long missionary conference in Thailand. After that they'll spend a few weeks doing manual work in the outlying villages. Josh and I were talking about the trip one day when he turned to me and said, "It's weird, you know. I asked God to teach me the stuff I'll need to know about being a dad, and now I'm signed up to babysit toddlers for two weeks." He's so funny sometimes.
Suspended in Time
I don't want to write.
I've written that line so many times in my pen and ink journal lately. It's like I get to this point where all I can see is a blur of blended colours and I can't make out any bright points to write about.
It's probably a combination of things. Everyone is on holidays at the moment, so besides my Dad who goes out early for work every morning, no one is following a routine at the moment. Plus I've been eating a few things I shouldn't have lately, and when I have an allergic reaction my brain shuts down--I find myself floating around in a fog.
I feel a lot like that with everything at the moment. We're shifting (moving, that is) this year.
I've got totally mixed feelings about the moving thing. You know, way back at the end of last year I was the one who first started thinking about it, and I was ready to pack up and go anywhere right then. At the beginning of this year when I was so sick, it hit a peak. I had to shift. I was in such fear and everything was so hard because Dr. Price couldn't see me. Mentally I had no hope and I had to escape. My room was my prison, the night my keeper.
April came and the month in Brisbane. When we got home, I was still a total emotional wreck and Mum figured that maybe I could change rooms. Hannah and I swapped with Caleb and Aaron, and it was like we'd shifted. It was beautiful having a new spot, waking up and seeing outside the window and not the bookcase.
Psychologically swapping rooms really rescued me. I also did some serious praying, and slowly I got a peace about maybe staying here for the next three years. I kept asking God to please give me a calm bigger than all my hormonally messed up emotions. He did, and for a time I was in joy.
It was a real shock, then, when suddenly Mum and Dad sat us down at the table one day and said, "We want you all to pray with us about shifting."
The thought was exciting. Up north we'll be able to go to church, I'll be able to get involved in things, go shopping, and there'll be all the special foods that I need available right there.
Then the terror hit and I felt terribly homesick just at the thought of moving. I've always loved living out here in the bush. I was the tomboy when I was younger and I spent years tagging along behind my Dad, first rouseabouting in the shearing sheds and later mustering sheep. Plus I have so many memories here. We've been on this station for over eight years now. This is where I had my first motorbike accident, where I found God, where I turned sixteen.
For I while I felt like I was living on a see-saw. First I wanted to shift only to find out it just wasn't to happen, then right when I finally came to a peace about not moving, I suddenly find out we are. When I finally got readjusted to this new idea, reality hit and I discovered that things won't suddenly be perfect when we shift--it'll just be different. That upset me for a while.
But that was two months ago. A lady has been sending us a few photos everyday of the house we're shifting to and the more shots I see the more I can envision ourselves shifting. Slowly the reality of it has crept up on me and my initial excitement is back. I want to shift. I'm ready to shift.
But of course the see-saw had to tip. I finally get to this point only to find out that we've still got four months to go before we shift. Somehow I had been thinking it was only two, but alas, it's not. Over Christmas I've been tieing up the loose ends of projects I've been working on, and now I find myself at the end of it all.
It feels like I'm suspended between this time of what was and this time of what will be. It's like the night is finally over, but now that the day is here I find myself overcome with the length and brightness of it. The endless possibilites of what will happen this year scare me and I don't know what to do.
I know I shouldn't live waiting for the day we shift, because as my Mum said, "You'll only find that we'll get up there and it won't be that different. We will be the same, our routines will be the same...we'll just be in a different place."
But, you know, sometimes knowing doesn't change anything. I learnt that last year. I found out that knowing the answers doesn't necessarily make you feel them. I am going somewhere, this I know. But right now I'm floating around in a fog--right now I'm suspended in time.
Three Pinches and a Punch
I like quoting people...
~~~~
I'm a gentleman, so, even though the ladies may punch and kick, I'll
restrain myself. Three big hugs for the third of the month...???
-Stephen
~~~~
And seeing as it is the third of the month, here's 3X2 my goals for 2006.
1) Grow Out My Hair - There's a few people who have strongly disagreed with my latest hair cut, myself included.
2) Concentrate on Learning Spanish - I'd love to speak it fluently one day.
3) Put on Weight - Don't laugh, I'm serious. I haven't put on weight since I was thirteen--actually I've probably lost some--and next to getting better, there's nothing I'd love more than to put on five kilos or so. You wouldn't believe how impossible it is to find clothes in that size between girls and women's cloths that doesn't exist.
4) Work on Consistently Praying Every Day - I like to pray while I'm walking or swinging on the swing, but the around the clock heat wave lately has canceled both forms of exercise. I'm yet to figure out an alternative.
5) Finish My Second Novel - I made a deal with myself: I'm not allowed to buy any of those lovely looking books on writing until I've finished "Liana". I'm too much of a perfectionist. I fear I'd read all about how to write and then be too scared to actually write.
6) Be Less of a Know it All - Heh. This one could take a bit of work.
And just in case I don't succeed in meeting any of these goals, here's three things I know will definitely happen that I'm especially looking forward to.
ONE - Getting my braces off.
TWO - Becoming an aunt.
THREE - The release of Pirates of the Caribbean 2.
Happy New Year
I got up early and watched the sunrise this morning. I haven't done that in such a long time. I've seen the dawn many times this last year, but it was always at the end of a night of no sleep and never at the beginning of my day. It was special in that sense.
We have a tall water tank tower in our back yard. I climbed up there and hugged my knees to my chest. The surnise was kind of melodramatic--it never is really spectacular in summer, but there was this soft breeze. It brushed across my cheeks and around my neck and carried with it the innocent smell of morning.
I thought about the candle and as I did I remembered this one thing I read once. A lady who had recently found out she had a chronic illness wrote about how she had at first really struggled with not being able to do what she had managed quite easily to do before she got sick. She shared how, in the process of accepting her limitations, she would get out a candle and light it.
She said she'd think of one thing she wished she could still do, tell herself she was thankful for the time she was able to do it, and then reaching forward, she said she'd blow out the candle. She said it was the one thing that really liberated her. She was admitting her limitations and in blowing out the candle she was saying goodbye to the hold they might still hold on her.
I realize that in blowing out my candle I'm in an essence having to say goodbye, too. I'm having to say goodbye to the rage and fear and hurts. I'm having to say they are over and not going to come back--I'm having to say, "Here Abba, they're yours."
There's another Rich Mullins song I've thought a lot about lately. One line from the song goes, "I can't see how You're leading me unless You've led me here to where I'm lost enough to let myself be led." I realize now that's where I came to last year. I had to be screaming, lost in the dark completly before I could give up all that I thought I had a right to. To surrender I had to say goodbye to all that was and, in turning my back on them, raise my eyes to rest only on my Saviour.
I prayed for a long while sitting up there on the water tank stand. I revisited with God all that has happened in the last year. I went over the tears, the anger, and the fear. I felt the soft, warm kiss of the sun on my face as I thanked Him for never giving up on me. I gave him last year; I gave him this year.
Then, taking a deep breath of the fresh smell of morning--I blew out the candle.
Where Once Was Light
Home
I see the morning moving over the hills
I can see the shadows on the western side
And all those illusions that I had
They just vanish in Your light
I can feel the warmth of morning on my face
Though the chill in the night still hangs in the air
Though the storm had tossed me
'Til I thought I'd nearly lost my way
And now the night is fading and the storm is past
And everything that could be shaken was shaken
And all that remains is all I ever really had
What I'd have settled for
You've blown so far away
What You brought me to
I thought I could not reach
And I came so close to giving up
But You never did give up on me
I see the morning moving over the hills
I feel the rush of life here where the darkness broke
And I am in You and You're in me
Here where the winds of Heaven blow
And now the night is fading
And the storm is through
And everything You sent to shake me
From my dreams they come to wake me
In the love I find in You
And now the morning comes
And everything that really matters
Become the wings You send to gather me
To my home
To my home
I'm going home
Copyright 1988 - Rich Mullins
~~~~~~~
I found this song a little over a year ago. When I first read the lyrics I copied them down into my pen and ink journal. Underneath it I wrote: "One day I'm going to claim this song. One day it's going to happen and these words are no longer going to be a mockery at what I can't reach."
The day seems to have finally come, but now that it's here I'm not sure I have the faith to claim it. I'm scared.
At the beginning of this year I thought transcending into the new year would be like closing up and filing away the hurts and pain of the year before. I thought that I could move beyond the grasp of their reminders and with words spoken to me by my doctor, I thought it would be the year I'd get better. I held out my one last hope and I held my breathe.
If you hold your breathe, though, the punch hurts more and when it came I had no desire left to resist it. I know most of you think the treatments I received in April helped me...and in the long run they did. But at the time they made me sicker then I'd ever been. I never told any of you, but nearly every time I left the house that month I was in a wheelchair.
Most of you never knew because that's about the time I disappeared from online. I was badly allergic to the radiation from the computer, that was the truth, but more than that I was falling apart completely and I couldn't keep up a masquerade anymore. I'm not very good at being vulnerable. I'm one of those people that instinctively hides away until I'm ok. I share about it later.
I had learnt how not to hope anyway. Daring to hope was as vulnerable as I could get. I had learnt that everytime I hoped I only got smashed in the face. What then would happen if I was truly vulnerable? I don't think I ever really thought about it that plainly, but somehow I knew and in that knowing I knew I couldn't afford to try.
I learnt how to cry. I don't think I ever really knew what real tears were before getting sick. Before a bout of crying came rarely and I always felt better afterwards. Suddenly I found out there was another kind of crying that wrapped it's arms around your throat and choked you. I don't know how to describe the despair and fear except to say it's like getting shown a window into hell. The terror consumed me.
I remember one day night I just sat in front of the mirror and watched myself cry for two hours straight. By that time I was almost flirting with the depression. I knew when he came, how long he would stay, and in taking him in, I in my obstinance dared him to destroy me forever.
That's why this Christmas was so important to me. Last Christmas is something I don't want to remember. I was in so much pain and I was such a mess I had to go to bed after lunch and I slept while my family was out swimming in the pool. I had held out a hope that at least Christmas could be a good day, and yet again I'd gotten smashed in the face.
It was almost like I was Gideon this year as Christmas approached. I've slowly been getting better and when I realized there was a possibility this Christmas could be good I made a subconscious bet with myself. If it was good then it ment the fleece was wet and the ground all about it dry--it ment I was getting better.
Well, it happened. I had a wonderful Christmas. I got five hours sleep the night before. I had only a headache, and I only had to take a short nap before lunch. It seems that I've gotten well enough to control my symptons enough to pull out a good day when I need it.
That ment a lot to me. For so long I've felt so helpless, at the mercy of the disease inside me. When three months ago I had two good weeks in a row, I pulled out the song "Home" and wondered if maybe the time had come.
But something went wrong. My Mum went away down south for ten days, and a new pain I hadn't had before hit me. For seven days I didn't get any sleep, and by the time my Mum rang Saturday morning I was crying before I'd even gotten out of bed for the day. I didn't know how I could take anymore. I raged for days at God for letting me mistake the feeble yellow flame of a candle for the glorious warming rays of the sun.
But though it was tiny I held onto that little candle. Every now and then I got a good day and when it came I'd hold the candle and tell myself that at least I had this one light. The candle became almost like my belated hope. I lived believing there was nothing between me and the darkness--it was the only way I found not to get hurt--and so when the candle came I believed and hoped in it only on the days I had it in my hands.
Then this month happened. I remembered the song and now that the end of this year is here I want to believe that the dawn as really come. I need to know next year will be a new day. I can't keep on as I am, I know that. But when I think about it I realize that to find out if there is shadows on the western side of the mountain I have to first let go this one little flame--I have to first dare to hope the dawn is there to keep the dark from consuming me.
I want to believe it could be true, but then I remember how cold the dark can get and I discover anew just how real the terror is. I'm not sure I have faith enough to blow out the candle.
