Life's Angels

For ages I have loved these little angel figurines from the 'Willow Tree' collection. They are these beautiful carved angels with wire wings and no face, each in a different stance to represent themes of life. I think the first one that really caught my eye was the "Angel of Patience". She was so calm to look at but so many conclusions could be drawn from exactly what she was thinking. She was for sale in this little gift shop I knew and every week I would go and see her. She was there for so long that she was reduced to $15. I felt sad for her sitting on that shelf alone, entertained by only her own thoughts.
I know what you're thinking - why didn't I adopt her? Believe me I wanted to, but I had developed this deep appreciation for the collection that I had convinced myself the eloquence of these creatures was the uniqueness of each, and that they could only truly uphold this if given as a gift. To buy one for yourself would be like buying a size 8 dress when you really are a size 10 - your self image is warped; it's how others see you that is the truth.
So I never did get the Angel of Patience. Soon after the shop closed down and she disappeared to somewhere beyond my knowledge. For Christmas however at the end of that year, my dear friend Miss Priss (I have previously referred to her in this blog in bad taste but no matter how much you love someone they can still give you the shits) gave me a delightful Willow Tree pair entitled "Sisters by Heart". There was no greater title for her and myself than this and I believed this gift to be one of the most sincere and heartfelt ones that I had ever been presented with. Sitting in a proud position in my bedroom, I still agree.
That same year Willow Tree released a Christmas collection. It included Joseph, Mary and Baby Jesus, the Three Wise Men and the stable animals. I had mentioned to my mother how much I loved them and suggested the starting of a new Christmas tradition.
You see, every year without fail my grandma gives my mum an ornament for the Christmas tree. It's something completely different every year - sometimes a souvenir from one of the various countries visited by my grandparents throughout the year, and others a collectors piece from Myer or David Jones.
So I thought it would be a great idea if every year I got another piece of the Willow Tree nativity scene - but Mum thought they were pretty lame and didn't jump on board.
Last Christmas I saw them again in the window of the jewellery store. I looked at them for ages then had to pull myself away. But I couldn't stop thinking about them and kept going back to stand in front of the shop window. After a few visits I realised that the only way that these precious characters wouldn't end up like the Angel of Patience would be for me to throw my theories out the window and put my money were my mouth was.
So I did - a whole $250 dollars of it. I lay-byed them paying as much as I could afford every week and the day that I paid the final dollars I rushed home and put them in the centre of our dining room table. I just loved to look at them and often found myself wasting minutes just gazing at their non-existent faces and their uniqueness.
I lingered in repacking them in their boxes after Christmas and New Year. I didn't want to shut them away until the festivities returned in another 10 months time. So when my birthday came around in August you would think that I'd be delighted to receive another angel from the collection. And I would have thought so too...
Miss Priss gave me one that truly is beautiful. She is the "Angel of Sincere Thanks" and with her faceless and wire winged body holds a wire hoop with the words 'Thank You' inside. I was told that she was the 'prettiest' in the shop and that she looked like she belonged to me.
So I took her home and sat her on the shelf with my Russian Nesting Doll and my Sisters by Heart. It didn't look quite right somehow so I rearranged my treasures until they pleased my aesthetics, and oddly enough my newest angel had found her place behind the Sisters at the back. I didn't know why but I wanted to leave her there; and it wasn't until days later that I realised why.
She doesn't mean anything to me. She does not represent an unbreakable bond of friendship, or clear my mind when she enters my gaze, let alone cause me to stop in my tracks just the absorb her true meaning as if that of a religious holiday. She has become an insignificant aspect of my room and life. She is not a gift of thanks, rather one of convenience, and for that she has taken the back row. It's not her fault, and I wish I could put it past me to overlook this unimportant detail for her sake. Sadly, I don't think I can.
Every time when I look at her I resent her more and more. Why could she not be an Angel of Hope or Wisdom? I know why - because Miss Priss chose her not to be. She played God to this unloved Angel and now it's up to me to right the wrongs. I will force myself to be able to look at her without negativity and unlove.
But until then, Christmas is just around the corner.

48 Hours to Live

This past week has been marked in my calendar as my 'Mid Semester Break'. However, unfortunately I had an assignment due yesterday and me being the procrastinator that I am didn't start until Tuesday. At this point I sat down to start and went 'Holy shit this is really hard!' so from then on, my holiday week was a stressful one.
Anyway, as I already said my assignment was due on Friday. Today is Saturday - which means I have 48 hours of freedom in which to dub as my 'holiday' so for once in my life I am getting off by lazy butt and doing something about it.
I woke up this morning at the delightful hour of ten to an empty house and an incredible summery day just abroad of the shadow cast by my own home. With every minute that passed, stealing another fragment of my already shortened time, I threw on my bathers and a cotton dress, jumped in the car and in no time at all tasted the salty air on my lips and felt the chilled water lapping at my feet.
There were quite a number of people on my formerly hidden-away-beach, but I put it down to it being a long weekend. There were families, creepy looking old men skulking around in the sand dunes, a group of male twenty-somethings kicking a football around along the shore line and the funniest would have been the bikini-ed teenagers taking MySpace shots of each other.
I stayed for about an hour then walked the long way back to our beach house, stopping on the way for some hot chips with chicken salt.
On my return I convinced my dad to come on an adventure with me to this cute antique shop in Coolangatta. I like second-hand shops when I'm with him because he can point out the significance of particular pieces and tell me truthfully if they are worth the price tag. I ended up with a very attractive purchase - a sewing box from the 1940s.
The other great thing about my dad is that he shares my sweet tooth. We visited the lolly shop and the world's greatest ice cream parlor - Cold Rock. By the time we got back it was about 4 o'clock (probably having something to do with my late morning sleep in) so I hurried home to shower and change for church.
Today's gospel was about Lazarus and his unfortunate life, and joy in heaven after ascending from the world of the living. Obviously it went a bit deeper than that but the theme throughout the service resulting from this story was "Practice one act of kindness every day" and in doing this, good will come to you both during life, and after it.
It made a lot of sense as I sat in the crowded church and it wasn't just this message that I pondered. Rather, that as seemingly unattainable the values are, that are preached for use in life, I accept them and strive to become a better person as a result. Days later it may all seem too difficult as my attempts are challenged by people around me, but as I sit with other Catholics in the rows of pews that we occupy, I believe it, I feel invincible. When I am there, both my body and spirit, I am home.
Rushing out during the final hymn I made it in time before the doors were shut to The Legend of Rain, this self-devised drama performance by a group of kids, directed by a young man who beat me at the Eisteddfod (and we are friends - not like see you all the time friends, but 'Hey! How've you been?' type friends).
So the performance went for just over an hour and one of the girls in it used to be a student of mine. I stopped teaching her at the end of last year and since then she's been having unofficial lessons with her cousin (who happens to be the director) and sad as it may be for me to admit it, she has progressed beyond words. She blew me away with her performance but at the same time I think I was a little jealous - I'd never been able to make her act like that!
But overall, the performance was like HSC Group Drama meets Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. For me it was a bit slow moving and I thought that each scene needed to be linked together more, but apart from that it was an amazing experience.
Afterwards I returned yet again to my empty house, cooked myself some pasta, put on a DVD and had a Smirnoff. Now here I am!
But now, I think it's time for bed.
Until next time,
x

Patience is a Virtue

Let me go back about 4 hours:
I arrived at my dear friend Yass' house to pick her up as we were heading up the coast to watch the arrivals at my brother's graduation formal. I hadn't seen her since my birthday over a month ago so it seemed like a good opportunity for us to catch up. Yass and I have been friends for quite a long time, and I would label us as close. Admittedly we don't see nearly enough of each other as we should but there is a mutual understanding between us that we know we can rely on the other in times of need.
Small talk filled my little car as we dodged the peak hour traffic, consisting mainly of work, friends and life in general. Just over 2kms before our destination we passed a limo in which a fat little hand emerged belonging to my graduating brother... and with my navigational skills I lost the carpark, ending up on the other side of the waterfront therefore, we missed his actual arrival. Nevertheless Yass and I hurried to join the mingling crowd, craning our necks to see a familiar face. And the first person that I literally ran into was none other than Biolady (I don't think I have actually reported much on her but for completion she knows a lot of my darkest past - this of course makes me uneasy). She was there solely for the arrivals with her baby boy whom I had not met before tonight - and yes he is gorgeous.
So we consumed a few minutes through insignificant conversation in which I felt awkward for 90 percent of, then I escaped and Yass and I mingled through the crowd. It was so surreal seeing all of these people that I had hardly spared a thought for over the 2 years since I had graduated myself, yet when I found their faces, I felt as if no time had passed at all.
There were of course individuals who were frequent visitors in my mind. Yass and I were summonsed by the Head of Middle School (referred to by students as the 'Short Scary One') and indulged in a heartfelt conversation that I never thought we would again share. Her daughter was in our group and whilst at school we were often found at her house - she was the cool mum who hosted the parties (and by parties I mean a whole heap of teenagers swimming in their clothes at midnight and burning random things over tea candles). We talked about the good old days and she admitted how much she missed us all, and let it slip that we were her favourite grade ever seen by the school. I relished in the thought of being someone's favourite even if it's not as an individual. And I realised how much I had missed her.
And the evening would not have been complete without a brief encounter with the School Chaplain. He looked genuinely pleased to see me and I finally had the opportunity to share the label I referred to him as - Dumbledore. Just because no matter what, he made everything ok.
Afterwards, Yass and I ventured back into the world in search for a meal. Ending up at my dad's favourite Italian restaurant, conversation continued.
Yass revealed how sad she felt after seeing everyone from our school days. She said that she missed seeing her friends everyday, how the teachers genuinely cared about you and how she wished she could go back. I must admit, this confession did take me my surprise because I know Yass well enough to say that she does not readily expose the emotive side of her spirit. Much to her surprise however, I agreed. I had thought it for 2 years and I was finally pleased to hear someone else agree - it threw my fears of not being able to grow up out the window, because if anyone had grown since our graduation, it was the girl sitting opposite me.
Turning then to tales of university and basically how it sucks in comparison, Yass began to speak as though only to her own mind, and not me. She truthfully confessed her hatred for tertiary studies and revealed the anxiety it made her feel. She hates her classes, her course, the students; the whole kit and caboodle. Well, I didn't know what to say - and to tell you the truth I don't even remember. All I know is that I told her it was ok. Uni does not shape a person or even define their future, and we're only 20 years old. We are too young to know where our lives will be in another 20 years so how can we choose a path to go down now to get there?
Not only was that what she thinks she needed to hear, but I think it's what I needed too. Don't get me wrong, I think I'm steering in the right direction, but if that damn fog blinds me I need to know that it's ok to pull over - and I just gave myself permission.

Child's Play

I think two of the voids in my childhood was my inability to skip double dutch, and to twirl a hula-hoop.
Today, however, was one of the most fulfilling days that I have had in a very long time. Not only did I have a very deep conversation with M, the most deeply spiritual woman I know about sacred spaces and where to find God, but I returned to my childhood with the most precious children I know and we taught each other how to skip.
Okay, so we all knew how to skip, but there were of the course the little tricks and turns like criss-cross, jump ins (we got to 3!) and of course everyone's favourite, the old single rope jumping.
It was someones brilliant idea to get two ropes going and attempt some double dutch. Now I knew that this wasn't my area of expertise, so I volunteered to turn the ropes. And to be perfectly honest, no one started off too well.
Yeah, we were all that bad that we retreated inside and watched the movie that inspired us to skip in the first place, 'Jump In'. Actually, E. loved it that much she had a need to watch it 5 times since hiring it out the previous day.
Anyway, I resisted my severe need for down time (since being woken by E. at God knows what hour after going to bed only a few hours before) as the rest of the family went out, and A. and I attempted double dutch again.
We thought we were rather clever by tying an end of each rope to the end of the trampoline and taking it in turns jumping in. Our aim was to get at least 2 jumps each under our belt before the rest of the family returned home. So after many failed attempts we recorded one on my mobile and sent it off to my professional skipper cousin. Hastily replying, she gave us a few tips to work on.
The others returned home and did we practice, practice and practice! Soon everyone was having a go - even M. - and after little time at all, little E. got the hang of it and busted out with 34 jumps. Wow - talk about setting the bar high! This just made the rest of us want it even more!
G. got flustered after a while - said he didn't like things that he wasn't good at, but eventually he got 2 jumps in, as did A, S and M.
So I gave it another go and "By Jove! She's done it!"
37 jumps.
The record of the day.
And the feeling that I got is hard to describe. You couldn't say defeating your demons (that would suggest that skipping is something to be feared) or that it is achieving that 'sacred space' (because I know there is nothing more almighty than God himself) - but more like finding that bracelet you lost when you were 7, or coming across your old Barbies and desperately wanting to play with just to feel 10 years old again.
I felt like a child and it didn't frighten me. I have been so consumed with this idea that I haven't grown up and I never will, because my heart and mind are continuing that ongoing battle that began over 6 years ago. I figured that because I still felt the same, I still was.
Well, that battle has not ended - it may take something more powerful than skipping. But I have achieved that feeling of fulfillment and completeness. I have filled that jigsaw piece that I'd never thought I'd find into the puzzle that I never thought I'd finish.
Well - not yet. But I'm going to buy a hula-hoop tomorrow.