Life, Love and the Everyday

 LIFE Unlike most of my friends who count down to those long, balmy summer days during the year, I always look forward to Winter the most. Right now we are in Autumn, or as the Americans like to call it - Fall. I love how the trees are myriad shades of brown, green, yellow, red and orange - all blazing and vibrant as they drift to the ground. What do you see in your mind's eye when people talk about this time of year?  The intoxicating smell of chimney smoke?  Mugs of hot chocolate keeping your hands warm on a frigid morning?  Keeping your feet warm with woolly socks with quirky patterns?  Perhaps the seasonal cold and flu? Well, apart from those other things - I see Fall as a season of change. I think the Americans had it right when they came up with Fall for Autumn!  What Fall means to me this year is savouring moments and having the courage to do new things outside my comfortable sphere of ordinary. Seize the day! Carpe diem! And most importantly, when I think ab

LIFE Emotional and mental scar tissue takes longer to mend than a scrape. But as a small child I learnt if I kept rubbing that scrape because it was itchy, then the scab where the skin was beginning to heal would rip off and open the wound again. It's the same thing with the matters of the heart - if you think on the matter too much and itch the scratch, then its going to become infected and sore. That's how I felt last week - I couldn't leave the scrape alone. I got angry at God on Wednesday night. And I was mad at him for three days and all because of one scratch which hadn't quite healed.  To make light of the situation that night I said to A. "If I can't have babies, I'll have shoes and wine." A. chuckled and said. "You're crazy, woman!" "I saw a picture on Pinterest of a pair of ankle boots, aqua with tassels." "Uhuh." "Yeah! I have decided I am going to invest in alot of shoes!" "Awesom

I am one of the most patient people I know, except now I am starting to get impatient in my 'old age'. What I am about to talk about is something deeply personal. I have Polycystic Ovaries Syndrome, a health condition which now affects 12-21 percent of women in Australia, strongly prevalent in women who are overweight. On an X-ray it looks like strands of pearls are imbedded in the ovaries, affecting hormones and fertility. Yes it can be treated. Yes I can still have kids. It will just take a little longer for me to do so with the right treatment.  Am I currently trying for a baby? The answer to that is no. So why I am writing about this? What does this have to do with my getting angry at God? My desires for my life are simple. 1. Be an author (IN PROGRESS) 2. Having an amazing man to grow old with - CHECK. 3. Have children with said man - ? Okay - so the question mark is driving me crazy and it has been hanging over me for six years. Why did I get angry at God?

The Doomsman is a nickname I have made up for the guys who say 'He's getting married?! Poor guy!' I have to say, I am unimpressed with the 'poor guy, he's getting married!' quote, which is beginning to be a catch-phrase and I personally don't think should be so popular! Example: Groom: Hey guys! I just wanted to tell you before this became Facebook official! I'm getting married! Doomsman: 'Poor guy! Drink up mate and congratulations!"  (Cue male chuckling and the enthusiastic clash of pints). Why 'poor him'? Is he sad about the engagement? Is his life really over? Because women who are loyal to their man and dutifully pull their weight deserve the respect due to them.  As for that 'poor guy', he is pretty damn lucky to have somebody like that who loves him and has agreed to be his wife. If anything, deciding to enter the marriage state is brave because it means everything you do, good and bad, affects somebody else and i

My Mum hails from a farming district called Kin-Kin and being a country girl who came to live in the big ol' city, has a yen for scenic drives to a place where she can see blue sky the color of forget-me-not's and you can inhale the fresh air mingled with flowers (and every so often, manure). Every now and then, A. and I receive a spontaneous invitation for a country drive.  Our favorite place is Mount Tamborine, but last Monday we headed to Canungra on the Gold Coast, approximately forty minutes drive from Brisbane. I ooh'd and ahh'd as we drove past horses grazing in lushly green paddocks beneath rolling cloudy skies.  Canungra is a small country town which is quiet during the week and abuzz during the weekends.  The moment I climbed out of Dad's Triton I took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air and turned to A.  "A. Tell me why we don't live here."  With a dead-pan expression, he replies. "Because we don't have a car.&quo