Gratitude January

Ever since I read how practising gratitude can improve mood and sense of wellbeing, I have been an inconsistent proponent of the habit.

In 2009, I read a magazine article about a woman who took a photo of the small things that she was grateful for, every day and posted it on Flickr . She had been experiencing depression and she found that posting her daily photo resulted in much improved mood. I started the practice of taking a photo every day. It was fun looking for a moment to capture and photograph. I think my folder had about 30 entries, maybe one month's worth.

Then I read in Sonja Lyubomirsky's wonderful book, The How of Happiness that writing  in a gratitude journal significantly boosted happiness. While it is recommended that you do it every day, Sonja says that once a week can be effective. In the last few years when I have become stressed and negative and unhappy, I would pull out my gratitude journal and write down my thoughts. It has been so important to take my focus off my worries and instead focus on moments of beauty, people, places that I am lucky to have in my life.

So I plan to look for those moments of gratitude and post them in my blog at least once a week. Today I'm doing a catchup.. for January and here are 10 things that I am grateful for

1. the extent of surgery on my arm was much less than had been predicted and
2. my recovery is happening so much more quickly
3. my friends who sent me so much love and support before, during and after my surgery- I floated on a cloud of love
4. my husband who listened to and supported me in my pre-op nervous jitters and my post-op exhaustion
5. a friend who sent the most exquisite bunch of flowers that not only looked divine in pinks and blues but also wafted a heavenly scent when I walked in the room
6. the beautiful sunshine that has greeted me so often in January making it a pleasure to sit on our deck
7. our garden has felt like a peaceful oasis where I can rest and heal
8. getting back into the pool and realising how much I love my swimming
9. breakfast with our son Nick on Australia Day at a cafe on the local marina
10. feeling the return of energy and excitement about what 2014 has in store

What are you grateful for today?

I love flowers

One Little Word 2014

My one little word for 2014 is EMERGE.

I chose this word because I feel as though I am ready to move into a new phase of my life. It is two and a half years since we walked out of the doors of Allen-Fisher Acoustics, the business that my husband and I nurtured and grew for 12 years together and he alone 12 years before.

When we left the business, I said initially that I needed a year to recover, regroup, try on different possibilities until I knew the direction that my new life would take. It's been two.

So this is the year, 2014 when I want to take the first steps towards a new career, work-life or what-ever. I am still no clearer about what to do next. But I am setting the intention to move forward.

The last two years have felt like a cocoon, a place where I have tried creative pursuits and loved them. I have also struggled and in many ways held myself while I waited out this period of change.

What do I hope for in 2014?

That I will EMERGE from
1. my frustrating health issues and return to my former energetic and healthful self
2. the extra kilos I have regained recently and get back to my exercise routine
3. my career hibernation and start / create a new job (don't know what form it will take yet), 
4. some self destructive mindless habits into a more fulfilling and mindful lifestyle.

I have started a board on Pinterest with images for my word.
http://www.pinterest.com/jennyfisher3/one-little-word-2014/

I am imagining tiny green shoots emerging from the soil, a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, the moon or sun rising out of the ocean, nature's beauty emerging from the mist, a flower pushing out of its bud, the feeling of bursting from the water..

I am going to explore this more as the year goes on and I will share my journey with you here

Here is one of the images, a sculpture entitled Freedom by Zenos Frudakis. You can read about his personal vision for this work here. http://zenosfrudakis.com/sculptures/public/Freedom.html



http://designyoutrust.com/2011/10/04/sculpture-breaks-free/
 

Stepping into 2014

Here I am two weeks post surgery on my shoulder and the outcome is far from what I expected.

Last year, the MRI showed that I had a high grade tear in my subscapularis and a lesser tear in my biceps tendon. When the surgeon looked at my shoulder through the arthroscope two weeks ago, there was no evidence of either tear. I know I spent much of last year wishing for a miracle cure but the photos he took of the tendons show them in pristine condition. So it seems that the interpretation of the MRI was wrong.

However, he did find a small tear in the labrum, the cartilage that that forms the capsule of the shoulder and extensive capsulitis - scar tissue - commonly known as "frozen shoulder". Or in Japan it is known as "50 shoulder" because people over 50 especially women are prone to it. He sutured the labrum tear, released some of the scar tissue and tipped my rehab plan on its head.

After I woke from surgery, my arm was restrained in a sling and I was numb from the neck to the finger tips. It was a very strange feeling or lack of feeling to be precise. With my good hand, I would find my numb one and it was as if it was not attached to me, no feeling, no sensation, very unsettling.

When I moved, my arm hung limp and lifeless in the sling. My brain kept wanting to shake life back into my numb hand but I couldn't move it, even more confusing. Slowly feeling returned, first pins and needles and then full nerve sensation and eventually after about 18 hours, I could move my hand again.

The surgeon visited me in the morning, with my hand feeling normal, I was shaking off the last vestiges of post-operative drowsiness. He said "Don't use the sling, move your arm as much as possible. We have make sure that the stiffness caused by the frozen shoulder doesn't return and further we have to get the joint moving so that your shoulder can "break through" the remaining scar tissue.

At first I was elated; the dependence, the restrictions, the immobility that I had dreaded and feared did not eventuate. The rehab time would be much shorter.

Then I was thrown off kilter, what if I had known this last year, would I?  could I? what if?
Of course "what ifs" are not helpful. I can't go back and reclaim last year.

It has taken me two weeks to get my energy back, to get off the couch and start to move again, to reclaim my normal life. I am moving my shoulder now at the same level and range of movement that I had before the operation.  

I am in a strange place emotionally. I had quarantined the beginning of this year for rehabilitation, restriction and limitation. I feel as though I been given a bonus and I can't squander the time. Yet I still need to focus on my rehabilitation. I start hydrotherapy tomorrow. I have to do my stretches several times a day.

But I am rethinking February and March and looking forward to doing more sooner rather than later.

Sculpture entitled "Entrust" Derwent Water, Lake District, England October 2013

Reviewing 2013

I have been avoiding my blog for the last few months. Life has been challenging me. I injured my shoulder in March and I have spent my hours looking for a miracle solution. I have been told that surgery is the only option by the surgeon and doctors but the allied health staff have been aghast, insisting that I find another solution. They have implored me.
 
This has sent me into a confused funk, I have thrown endless dollars at alternative possibilities in the hope that my shoulder will recover and it hasn't.

I have been quite depressed about it as I contemplate surgery and then 6 months  rehabilitation including 2 months where I have to keep my arm immobile while I am dressed, washed, fed and cared for by my husband and friends.

I find this so hard to contemplate. I am the uber independent woman. I like to drive my car, flit about unencumbered, set my agenda according to what I want to do and when.
As I think about next year and try to plan, all I can think is that the first four months are on hold. That is one big hole in next year.

As I sunk into a deeper pit of misery, I lost sight of the wonderful things that I have enjoyed this year. I have just started a photo book of highlights of 2013 so that I can remember the good stuff amongst the bad.
Biggest negative issue has been my weight gain as a result of my limited ability to exercise since I injured my shoulder (20 March 2013).
So let us have some fun remembering the best bits of my 2013..

I have found three themes for this year

Connection, Creativity and Cooking

1. Connection - Reconnection..
I reconnected with Britta after 30 years- I met Britta while I was backpacking in Europe in 1983. We have been keeping in touch by email and met face to face this year.

 

I reconnected with Jenny and Karen after 15 years. We went to Uni together and lost touch due to personal stress but now we have we reconnected.

 

 

I reconnected with cousins in the UK - we keep in touch by email and it is so good to spend time together.

 



Creativity

Photography - I did a course where I learned about night photography, bokeh, light and depth of field. One of my photos was selected from 1000 entries in the Top 30 of the class.

 

 

In addition, I learned about shibori- inspirational indigo dyeing and folding techniques..

Photography Bokeh - that exciting technique of making the background light into star burst wallpaper...

 
Quilting a landscape wall hanging (below) and my niece Grace's bed quilt

 



Cooking
I joined a writing class this year and found my forte in making sumptuous gluten free cakes EVERY week...

I also revelled in making other beautiful food - I did love cooking in 2013..lots of it was very healthy
 

As I bemoan my physical issues in 2013, this has been an uplifting exercise of acknowledging the good stuff that has happened.

Wishing you all a fun and nourishing holiday season..
My shoulder operation is on 15 January so I plan to pack lots of good times into the next three weeks
Lots of love and best wishes
Jenny

what do I do?

In one week, I get on a plane bound for the UK and when we leave Australian Immigration, I have to complete a form and there is one box that has me totally flummoxed.

I don't know what to put in the Occupation box. Part of me wonders does anybody care or is it just me? I think it is because I have always struggled with this question. It defines who I am. It holds me back, it boxes me in and ultimately, it tears me apart. You see I have never really had one single word that described me..more especially right now fully.
 
If I go by what I am trained to do, what I have the piece of paper to say I am - I would write Social Worker but in truth I haven't been a social worker since 1987 so that won't do. Ever since 1987 I have written Manager in the box because all my job titles between 1987 and 2010 had the word 'Manager' in the name. But I am not a Manager any more because we sold the work I managed two years ago.

Now truth be known I am "In Transition". Since we sold our Business, I have been taking some time to decide what to do next - If they accept 'Unemployed' as a definition, perhaps I could put 'In Transition' in the box. I fear this is what makes me feel so stuck, "In Transition" is no wo-man's land, a place of uncertainty, a purgatory of sorts, floating about unsure of my direction.

If I look at what takes up the majority of my time I should put Home Duties (Cook, Cleaner, Mother & Wife) but that is not how I define myself. Oh no - I am not a person defined by Home Duties - no, no, no (well that settles that!)

If the question really is how do you earn money? I would write Company Director. We have a company with funds that pay my way.

But really the question What is my Occupation?

Dictionary.com say this is defined as

1. a person's usual or principal work or business, especially as a means of earning a living; 

2. any activity in which a person is engaged.

3. possession, settlement, or use of land or property.

4. the act of occupying.

5. the state of being occupied

 

So I think the crux of this question is,  what engages me? well right now I am engaged in becoming a writer, a blogger, a photographer, a quilter and an artist.

 

Interestingly, I feel like all of those names define me except Writer - that is the one I struggle with, hide from and feel I am completely hopeless at achieving.

 

Besides, there aren't enough boxes to write all of these, so I am a Creator. Dictionary.com gives me some options here- a person who creates is a Creator but a female person who creates is a Creatress or a Creatrix.

 

So from this day forth I am a Creatress and in brackets (Writer) because I think if I write the word often enough I will eventually grow into my belief that I can do it..one day..It may sound pretentious, but I think naming ourselves helps clarify who we are in the world. I am going to try this one on for size. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lessons from Brene

 

Brene Brown with Jono Fisher of Wake Up Sydney (Photo by WakeUp Sydney)

Last Saturday, I had the privilege to hear Brene Brown speak at a session hosted by Wake-Up Sydney. She is a social worker who does research into vulnerability, shame and fear. I have been a fan of Brene's work ever since I stumbled on her first book "I Thought it was Just Me".

And even though I have read all her books and watched her TED talks, I am only now really getting what she has to say and seeing clearly how it applies to me. Sometimes, these things take a while to sink in.

Sitting in the Chatswood Concourse Theatre and hearing her live was such a treat. Brene is authentic and willing to share stories from her life which help us understand her research and make sense in our own lives. I laughed and I was inspired. I thought I would share some of my favourite quotes and insights from Brene that resonate with me.

“Don't try to win over the haters; you are not a jackass whisperer.”
As Brene says we spend more time trying to win over those people who dislike us, disapprove of or criticise us and we should think of them as jackasses. She says she has a very short list of those people whose opinions really count. These are the people who we can really rely on and yet we mostly take them for granted.

Further to this, these are the people who often-times get the blame for what goes wrong in our lives. As someone in the audience remarked "we run over those people we love, while we strive to win the approval of people who really don't matter."


“One of the greatest barriers to connection is the cultural importance we place on "going it alone." Somehow we've come to equate success with not needing anyone. Many of us are willing to extent a helping hand, but we're very reluctant to reach out for help when we need it ourselves.”
I put my hand up for this one. For years, I have played Super Mum, Super Boss, Super Person and tried to do it all, for everyone perfectly every time. When I do this stuff, I get overloaded, burning out, exploding or falling apart and blaming everyone for the pain I feel from my self-imposed exhaustion. Now that I am aware of this, I try and interrupt my pattern AND I am practising asking for help.


"Vulnerability is the first thing I want to see in you and the last thing I want you to see in me."
I have spent a lot of time in my life putting on my armour and going out into the world, protecting myself and making sure no-one can see the real me. When my hubby and I were having marriage counselling, our homework was often to sit together quietly and share our fears and uncertainties. It was a training ground for letting each other have a peek at our vulnerability. Amazingly, we both appreciated what we saw  and being vulnerable with each other brought us closer.

"Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”
Over the last five years I have been exploring my darkness. I have shone a torch on my demons, started owning up to my fears, naming my mistakes and then learning to forgive myself and others so that I can stand in my light. It hasn't been easy and the journey isn't over but I so identify with this message.


“Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.” 
For the last six months, I have been learning to write memoir, stories from my life. My best stories are where I have shown my vulnerability, letting my stories explore my inner world, my wonder and my frailty rather than trying to construct a safe haven within which I filter the view you get of my world.

Her latest book is called Daring Greatly and the title comes from a quote by Theodore Roosevelt which says that it isn't the critic that counts, but the person who steps into the arena and strives valiantly and at best triumphs and worst, fails while daring greatly..so this is my new mantra to go into the arena and strive valiantly every day.. rather than sit on the sidelines worrying that I am going to fail like I have done for far too long.


“Healthy striving is self-focused: "How can I improve", Perfectionism is other-focused:"What will they think” 
This is so hard to change but I am working on it. I find that my creativity dries up when I worry how my art, photography and writing will be received. It is so much better to have a go rather than hold back for fear of failure or not getting approval. 


"We live in a world of scarcity where there is never enough." She quoted Lynne Twist  who noticed that the first thing we say when we wake up is "I didn't get enough sleep". The last thing we say when we go to bed is "I didn't do enough today". Brene recommends we keeping reminding ourselves, I am enough.


If you are interested in learning more about Brene Brown, she has several talks on TED as well as three books; "I thought it was Just Me", "The Gifts of Imperfection" and "Daring Greatly".

learning to love winter

When I was a child I thought that the only season worth loving was summer. I have no idea where this came from, but I remember feeling cheated that my birthday was 9 days into autumn instead of being earlier in the summer season.

Now I still love summer but I so love the other seasons too. In fact, these days, I prefer the gentleness of autumn and spring to the harshness of summer and winter in Australia. Although this week, you would be hard pressed to think of our winter as harsh. Today, it is warm and sunny and the air has barely a whisper of chill in it. Nothing like the winters that I experienced growing up in the country town of West Wyalong.

As a child, when I woke in winter, I would always look out the window to see if there had been a frost. I would be so excited if the grass was white, Hooray, this would make the mile and half walk to school an exciting adventure. Dressed in my blue uniform, woollen jumper and long black socks, I would pick up my small brown globite suitcase to walk to school with my brother and sister.

Blue blue sky and bright sunshine belied the freezing cold air. Our breath turned white as we laughed and talked. We pretended that it was smoke and we tried to blow rings like we had seen our parents do at parties after a few drinks.

But that wasn't the best bit, no, it was the crisp ice encasing the grass or covering the tiny puddles that were most fun. We would race ahead to be the first to put a shiny, freshly polished black shoe onto the ice and hear it crackle and snap. Sometimes we had to be quick because as the sun rose in the sky, it melted the ice and the satisfying sound was not there any more.

When I was a teenager and staying with friends on their farm, I would love being called out to help with animals in the frosty dawn. Rugged up with scarves, beanie and thick coat, feet encased in woolly socks and boots, I thrilled to the feeling that every part of my body was warm except my face. The chilly wind made me feel alive as it caressed my face and nose .

A few years ago, when we did a bushwalk in the New England National Park in winter, it was bitterly cold. As the track turned a corner we were rewarded with a waterfall, completely frozen in time. We stood silent and in awe at the majesty and beauty of the ice which had frozen mid leap from rock to rock. I couldn't believe it, here was my childhood dream magnified a hundredfold.

Today, I give thanks for winter, the chance  to walk briskly in the fresh air, to snuggle under the doona and sleep more soundly, and all the while to lay dormant waiting for the bud of spring to arrive.

frost in the country 2001

lessons from baking

I used to be such a crap cook, especially when it came to cakes. Well maybe not consistently crap but I was certainly never considered a fabulous cook. I was always envious of anyone who was creative in the kitchen and made food that was not only attractive to look at but delicious to eat. I sometimes wonder if it is because of the models I had growing up.
 

In my early life, because my parents who were GPs in a country town worked long hours, we had “help”, Mrs Evans who cooked lunches and dinners for us. The most memorable of these meals were burnt chops and boiled vegetables, alternated with tasty stodgy options such as macaroni cheese.

Then my adolescence was spent at boarding school where meals ranged from the unappetising slivery tripe and tapioca pudding at the least favoured end of the spectrum to chicken schnitzel and chips followed by ice cream and homemade caramel sauce at the other.  

My grandmother loved to cook but she favoured scones, rock cakes and meringues. I used to love our annual gorge when she gave us each an ice cream container of meringues for our Christmas present – oh so predictable but always devoured and enjoyed.

My mum was often too tired from work to cook. While she could make an extraordinary marshmallowy and crisp pavlova, she was also relieved to find that birthday cakes could either be made simply with the addition of one egg and a cup of water to the packet you bought from the supermarket or once we were at boarding school by simply phoning DJs, a department store in the city and having a gorgeously rich concoction delivered.

I wanted to be a good cook and I don’t know why I found it so hard to make something that looked good and tasted fabulous. I used to dread the idea of having to create a cake for my son's primary school cake stall. While I mostly managed to make something edible, my icing made it look as though the cake had barely survived its rugged journey into the world.

Lately, I have realised that I didn't have the right attitude to making cakes. I have a fabulous recipe for a boiled orange and lime cake which is universally loved by everyone who ate it. However, every time that I used to make the cake, I would baulk as the recipe called for 3 eggs and 4 egg whites. The little voice in my head would go really that is 7 eggs, yikes, that is so extravagant, how can I get away with less? Then I would just use less eggs and wonder why it took forever to cook and refuse to set firm. Being stingy is not a good approach to cooking well.

Being overweight for years, I decided we shouldn’t eat cake or biscuits or anything with such vast amounts of sugar and butter and eggs so for a long long time, I refused to make cakes unless it was a special occasion. Even then I often I resorted to packet cakes because it was easier, faster and more reliable. Part of me became quite critical of people who baked regularly and often, "so unhealthy", said the voice in my head.

So now, what has changed so that my writing class is wowed by the yummy cakes that I make?

I have to say that the thing that has changed is me and my attitude and I have learned some important lessons along the way.

1.       Keep it simple

I used to look at the picture of what I wanted to cook and be inspired, hmm how to be easily seduced into failure. Now I look at the list of ingredients and what is involved and work out if I am up to the task.

2.       Allow enough time

I have learned to treat baking and cooking as a meditation. Surprisingly, I can’t do ten other things at the same time, as much as I try. Beating and whipping take time, folding needs to be done gently. Amazingly, you have to leave the cake in the oven for at least the time it says it will take to cook!

3.       Learn what works

I have a handful of recipe books that I know always work for me. They aren’t complicated and don’t require 57 ingredients and 12 bowls to make. They may not win Masterchef but they will impress my family, my guests and people in my writing class. I have been known to surf the net for a recipe and find one that works, this is where I use the first test to decide – is it simple enough?

4.       Don’t take short-cuts with time, ingredients or instructions

Like my story about being stingy with ingredients (oh I really do have to watch that part of my brain that goes wooah to 2 cups of sugar in a cake!) , this also applies to those steps that say beat for 15 minutes (15 minutes why can’t 3 minutes do? goes my busy mind) Well I can certainly attest that the step for pavlova that says beat egg whites until soft peaks form, really does means beat it for that long. I know because I did add the sugar too early (more than once) and ended up with a sloppy mess that flowed off the plate rather than perky shiny mounds of sweetness that should have been the precursor of a pavlova.

5.       Stay present

I am an introvert. I do live in my head. I am constantly in conversation with myself about the ten other things that I need to do but my cooking won’t work if I am not paying attention. Last week, I was making the delicious lemon and ricotta cake and it called for vanilla essence. When I tipped the lidful into the mix, I thought, that looks a bit dark – oops, oh no coffee essence, the bottle is identical and where was my attention? Luckily I could scoop out the essence as it sat quietly on top of the sugar and no-one was any the wiser. Now I think of baking as meditation and creativity and a reward based behaviour to boot.

I am sure that I have learned more but this is a start. So if these are my lessons from baking, what are yours?

a successful pavlova Jan 2013

I'm back

Well, here I am, back again after almost 3 months sabbatical. Thank you to a few of my friends, loyal followers of my blog who have told me that they had missed my catch ups.

So where have I been? you may ask. Well nowhere special, I just needed a break from blogging while I recharged my batteries and tried out some new creative pursuits. Hmm I probably should have blogged about that but I didn't seem to have the energy as I was dealing my High Priestess of Self Protection- (remember her from last year).  She has been visiting regularly and sitting on shoulder giving unwelcome direction..I have asked her to take a back seat for a while and so here I am.

My main focus of the last six months has been a Memoir and Non-Fiction writing course conducted through the publishers Allen and Unwin. It has been a fantastic experience and enormously rewarding.

Our teacher, Patti Miller of Life Stories has skillfully guided our small group to have a deeper appreciation and understanding of how to write well and to publish a memoir / non-fiction book. Our group of nine has grown close as we have had to regularly share our writing and give each other feedback. I have been thrilled to find that my writing has improved immensely and I plan to share some of my stories with you over the next little while.

I also developed my baking skills while doing this class. "What baking for a writing class?" some of you may cry. Well yes. It started out as a brazen attempt to bribe my class mates into giving me good feedback on my writing and soon transformed into a weekly kitchen meditation as I searched out and tried new recipes. Nothing like an appreciative audience to transform me from hopeless cake maker into a culinary angel.

Two of the group are gluten free so I have expanded my repertoire of flourless cakes exponentially over the last six months. I am pretty sure that I have also expanded my waistline through our weekly indulgence in sugar and spice.

So here is tomorrow's creation. It is Donna Hay's Lemon Ricotta and Almond Cake from her Winter 2013 magazine along with several other delicious flourless beauties. Her recipe is for small cakes but I made one large one and it looks divine.

Lemon, Ricotta and Almond Cake

120g unsalted butter, softened

275g cups caster sugar

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1/4 cup grated lemon rind

4 eggs, separated

240g almond meal

300g ricotta cheese

60g sliced almonds

icing sugar, for garnish

Directions: Preheat oven to 160 degrees C. Grease a cake pan. Place butter, sugar, vanilla extract and lemon rind into a large mixing bowl. With electric mixer beat until mixture is light and fluffy, about 8 minutes. Add the four egg yolks and mix for about 2 minutes until completely combined. In another bowl, with clean beaters, beat 4 egg whites until they have reached stiff peaks.  Add the almond flour, fold until combined.

Add egg whites & ricotta and continue to fold batter until all ingredients have come together. Pour into pan and layer with almond flakes in a pattern. Cook for 45 to 50 minutes or until the cake is firm to the touch and when a skewer comes out clean.  Allow to cool completely in pan. Once cooled remove and sprinkle icing sugar.

Recipe adapted from Donna Hay Magazine July 2013

The Magic of Fairytales

I have recently become aware of the magic of writing or creating fairy tales based on real life. They can be therapeutic when you apply them to your own life and an amazing gift when given to someone you love. Talking to my sister, Kathy about this she said fairytales give you the chance to look at a story objectively, make fun of it and often find resolution as children's stories always have a happy ending.

A gift of love
Two years ago on my mother's 80th birthday, my sister wrote a fairytale about my mother's life. She reversed my parent's names (which gives the feeling of anonymity) and used the language of fantasy to describe the places where she had lived "a far, far away land of green hills and bushy hedges" to describe Wales and the "Land of Open Spaces where the sun shone all the time" to describe country Australia. She lovingly detailed key stages in my Mum's life and how she had to work very hard. She used the repetition of my Mum being given advice that “you will have to work very hard for that” and my Mum's response “this is not what I expected at all.”

She used symbolic fantasy language to illustrate the story such as this "when you had a child you would hang at least a dozen white fluffy flags out on a flag pole every day for two years to tell the people of the Land that you had a child.

Ina had one child and then before long had two more and then another.  After 18 months Ina was spending her whole day wheeling out dozens and dozens of white fluffy flags and hanging them up on the flag pole and then bringing them in each evening and folding them up ready for the next day."

My sister read the story at my mother's birthday lunch and had the family in stitches as we appreciated the wit and tenderness with which she treated my mother's life.  My mother loved the story and read it to everyone for months after the event.

Resolving a work issue
A few months later, my husband and I were immersed in an incredibly stressful experience of handing over our business to the new owners. We had run the company as a small family owned business and maintained this 'family' flavour even though we had grown the business to six clinics and employed 26 staff. The new owners were a multinational corporation who we perceived to be changing and dismantling our 'family' in the takeover.

On a short holiday to get some respite from the 'trauma'  of this process, I searched online for suggestions to deal with my stressed out emotional response. I read a blog entry (which sadly I can't reference as I didn't ever think I would be referring to it in public) where a man wrote about how cathartic he had found the process of writing a fairytale as part of a management course.

I decided to write about my experience of selling and handing over our business as a fairytale. I found the experience so freeing. I could refer to all the players without naming them. In the tale, our business was called "the Garden of Life", which became a wonderful metaphor for the buyer "Emperor of Seed" and the new heads of different departments as Dukes and Duchesses of different parts of the garden.

When I wrote my final paragraph, I created a sense that completion and peace would eventually result in my story. This was what I wrote. (My husband is the King and I am Penelope)

"The King and Penelope loved their Garden even though it had caused them some sleepless nights, they had a loyal team of gardeners who were willing to work in the new Empire and collaborate with the Dukes and Duchesses. The King and Penelope realized that they were grieving the loss of their family, their dream and their success. But in the end, the Garden would survive and thrive and for Penelope and the King, freedom would be their reward."

 

Personal Resolution

Last year at memoir writing course, I was invited to write my life story as a fairytale. While there are so many ways to approach this, I chose to write about one aspect of my life. I published it on my blog and you can read it here.

 

Helping someone else with an issue

Towards the end of last year, I was in contact with a dear friend who was feeling depressed. She is a keen reader of my blog and remarked on how she loved reading my fairytale.  

 

Thinking about her story, it struck me that I could rewrite it as a fairytale. In the early hours of the next morning (3am to be precise) the story woke me up. As I lay in bed, sleep evaded me while the story unfolded and developed in my mind. Eventually at 5am, I just had to get up and write the story down.

 

I loved the way changing people's names, finding symbols for her special talent "a heartful of love that could shine on everyone she loved" and then using the same symbol so that when she became sad, her heart became dull and tarnished.

 

Finally the moral from her fairy godmother was

"People who are given the heartful of love always shine it on everyone they love and the places where they live and they forget to shine it on themselves. The first rule when you have the heartful of love is that you must shine it on yourself first, every morning and every night, BEFORE you shine it on anyone else. If you don't, it will go dull and wear out."

I loved writing this story and when my friend read it she said she had tears in her eyes. She rang me to say she was so excited to have her very own fairytale. It was a beautiful gift that gave my friend a lot of pleasure and helped her see her world from another perspective.

Planning my future Now as I sit here wondering what my new career plan might look like, I am writing a fairytale about how I can unpack my fears. I will let you know how it works out.

 

If anyone has posted a fairytale or used one in life writing, I'd love to know about your experience. Please leave a link in the comments or send me an email to  jenfish90 at gmail dot com

 

My niece, Steph, aged 3; one of our beautiful real life fairies. 1993 (taken by my sister, Kathy
with a watercolour filter added by me)

the goddess of car parking

 

 

In New York last year, I was surprised and delighted to find to these two signs about car parking. They were great for a giggle and a timely photo shot.

 

While I have never been very convinced about the power of manifesting what I need or want, I have developed the habit of calling on the Goddess of Car-Parking when I need to find a convenient place to park. I can't remember who first suggested this to me but I have been doing it for years.

 

I know it sounds crazy and my passengers always have a giggle when I actually out loud - call on the Goddess. My family think I am just plain mad.

 

However, when she almost always delivers the perfect right-out-the-front parking space, they start to say, there might be something in it..

 

So today, I was thinking about how I am feeling so resistant to several things in my life right now. A big one relates to the menopause hot flushes which  are driving me quietly and not so quietly insane, waking me up at night or setting me on fire even in air conditioning. Even now I am dripping. I have been feeling cranky, angry and frustrated. Yet I know that if I just change some aspects of my diet; reduce coffee, remove alcohol and sugar, there is a chance that I can reduce my overheating..well, there is a chance but I am so resistant. My mind goes into "it's not fair", "why should I" etc etc

 

And then I think, what if I changed my attitude maybe this would help too. But maybe I'll need a backup support goddess to get me through this resistance.

 

What shall I call her, what do I need to manifest to get through this phase. It is all about changing habits, embracing wise choices and loving my body for the changes it is manifesting. I have decided she is the Goddess of Self Love. I am going to call on her every time, I need to manifest wise healthy and body loving choices. Hopefully she will put the focus in my view finder just when and where I need it most!

 

What do you need to manifest right now? What will you call your Goddess?

 

 

 

 

embracing swimming

Under Water by my brother Peter Fisher January 2013 (I added the watercolour filter)

I love this photo that my brother took underwater. It so captures the feeling I wanted to express in this post.

Swimming is one exercise that is kind to my body, my recent injuries especially my knee.

Before Christmas I started swimming at the local university pool. I was nervous starting something new and sadly, my first two attempts were not the best.

On my first swim, I slipped into the water and enjoyed the cool splash against my hot skin. The lanes for swimming laps are labelled Fast, Medium or Slow. I chose Medium and started following the other swimmers in an orderly fashion up on the left, back on the right. Gradually the others left the lane and I was on my own. I enjoyed striking out and finding my pace. I was just getting into a rhythm when I suddenly collided with a large white plastic wall. Looking up I saw some people erecting a barrier. "What is happening I enquired? Shall I get out of the pool?"
"Swimming squad is starting in this lane now", came the answer.
"How strange." I thought. No simple tap on the shoulder to say, "be careful"or  "please move lanes". Just bang into a barrier.

The second time, I swam in the Medium pace lane behind an elderly and slow swimmer. Overtaking him was stressful: "slow down", "look", "check", "speed up", "overtake" and "be careful not to splash". When I finished my laps, I was breathless, dizzy and woozy. I had to sit to rest and recover. I realised that I was over breathing with my inconsistent pace.

Hmm this swimming caper didn't feel so calming and restful as it had been in the past.

I remember twenty three years ago, pregnant with my son. I swam every day. I loved the weightlessness, lifting my bulk and feeling it move. I loved the way the movement and the water washed away the stresses of the day. I remember feeling as though this was the most important half hour of my day.

So, I have persisted despite my initial misgivings, deciding it needed another chance. I have gone back to the pool and I have been rewarded.

The secret is to set my own pace. I start by focusing on my stroke. I only think about finding my rhythm. Stroke, stroke, breathe. I let my body decide the right speed, moving for consistency, comfort and ease.
I relax into my breathing. Breathe in, swim, breathe out. Again, in, out. Natural and not too forced.

I focus on the pull of my arm through the water. I feel the shift in power down through, along and up. I remind myself to give a kick with my legs. I love the way, I glide through the water.

I marvel at the bubbles on my body and from my mouth. Blue drifting through the clear. 

I stay left of the centre line, it guides me down the 50m length. I find my eyes don't have to focus and my thoughts can settle. Ideas come and go, settle, expand and then move on. Sometimes, inspiration comes in waves, other times it's just mundane list making.

I am in my zone.
I notice the light dancing on the bottom of the pool as I slip from sunlight into and through the shade.

I count the laps as I turn and then I let my thoughts run free. I am gliding, it is easeful. I feel free.

Twenty laps later, I am calm. I have found my daily meditation place.
Thirty minutes and I am in a better place.



the day the soup burned

Today while I was swimming..all I could think about was the pot on the stove.
I have been doing some plant based dyeing of silk scarves. A friend suggested using purple carrots to create the dye, so I have been experimenting.

My decision to go for a swim was impulsive. I had been home all day, missing my usual exercise and a quick look online at lane availability at my pool showed it was a great time to go swimming, if I went right away. So I did.

Then as I started down lap one I thought, did I turn the pot off on the stove?
I tried to imagine my hand turning off the switch and my eye watching the flame extinguish. Yes yes I am sure I did.

Lap two, hang on, I turned off the flame a while ago and then turned it back on when I put the second scarf back in for more dye. Did I turn it off? Think think..

Lap three - I'm pretty sure that I didn't. Hubby is at home. Should I go and get him to check? My phone is in the car, I don't have any money, hopefully if it starts to burn, he or my son will notice (maybe)

Lap four - I can't do anything so I will just have to wait..keep swimming with fingers crossed.

Here I am obsessing. But you see there was a time, a long time ago, probably 15 years ago. It was wintry Saturday morning in our old unrenovated kitchen with the unreliable gas stove. I had decided to make soup. Lots of soup. Pumpkin soup, potato and leek as well as our family favourite lentil soup. Plenty of soup for the weekend.

Saturday morning was soccer morning. Hubby took son to the pre-game warm up as I was cooking. Time passed and suddenly I was due at the game. Grabbing my keys and heading out the door, I made it to the field in time for kick off.

As I drove home, I had a thought, I hope I turned the soup off.

Arriving at the house, it was still standing and everything looked fine. Phew I thought.

Opening the front door, the hall was thick with white smoke. Acrid, metallic, burning smoke.

I can't remember what I screamed as I ran the length of the hall to the kitchen but it wasn't pretty.

In the kitchen, there were no flames but there was lots of smoke, thick white scary smoke and two melted saucepans. I had never seen melted saucepans before (or since, I might add).

Opening the back door, grabbing oven mitts I lifted the two pans out into the garden and placed them on the ground.

Inside, I opened every window and ushered the smoke into the garden. The stench lasted for days and served as a sobering reminder. Now I can never be sure if it was because the stove knobs were dodgy and didn't turn off properly or whether, I just got distracted and forgot.

That was a lucky escape and the possibility of what could have happened, comes to mind (nearly) every time I leave the house.

Postscript to the earlier story - I had turned the pot off! Phew!

Pot reflections on a good day December 2012