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)

52 Photo Project (4/2013)

The prompt for this week's 52 Photo Project is to convert a photo to Black and White. I had a lot of trouble choosing. I enjoy the starkness and detail revealed in black and white as well as the contrast of a silouette.

My absolute favourite black and white photo is of ripples in a local park. I used a sport setting and took multiple shots after I threw a pebble into the water. Love this photo.

The next one is also a favourite: a reflection in water. Love the delicate lines in this one.

I have been in love with dragonflies for some time and when I was given one to photograph, I tried to be a bit arty in cropping this shot. the body is still attached.

Finally here are two photos that I took at dawn at our annual outdoor sculpture exhibition in September 2012.

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

52 photo project (3/2013)

Reflection Coffs Harbour December 2012

The prompt for this week's 52 Photo Projects is "Wide Open Spaces". I found two photos in my collection that spoke to me. This first one above, I took while on holiday in December 2012. The sky, reflected in the lagoon speaks to me of endless possibility which is one way I imagine this theme.

The one below was taken in the Northern Territory, Central Australia at dawn. The original was a bit blurry but when I added a watercolour filter, it looked dreamy which also says something to me about Wide Open Spaces.

Dawn at the bush camp, outside Alice Springs 2010

Hello feet

 

I have just started Susannah Conway's Unravelling ecourse and taking photos of my feet inspired this post.

 

Hello feet

Looking at you there, almost identical, anyone would think that you were the same.

 

I have been aware for a long time that I seriously neglect you both, my feet, I take you for granted and curse loudly when you let me down.

 

I thought it was time to write about you both. I have often chosen my left foot when given the task to write about one foot over the years.

 

There are some amazing things that make you both similar and some incidents that made each of you unique.

 

My husband has always been fascinated by the unusual lengths of my toes. (It  could be said that it was a foot massage that he gave me early in our relationship that wooed me so to speak but that is another story)

 

There is a condition called Celtic or Morton toe where the second toe on the foot is longer than the big toe. In my case, my second and third toes are longer than my big toe and on both feet. I have always thought that this toe length issue was just plain quirky and extremely frustrating when choosing shoes but I have also read that it can change the way you walk and balance yourself. Is it possible that years of tripping over, slipping up and spraining my ankle are all due to irregular shaped toes?

 

I would like to honour the great work that my feet have done over the 54 years that they have been carrying me. They have

• walked my body when it was grossly overweight with little complaint,
• run me through through the streets of Sydney when I was getting fit and healthy again
• danced me when the music moves me
• trekked me through different countries over hills, beside streams and into places that are amazingly wonderful

I love the feel of different textures through my feet;

• the crunch of sand at the beach
• the cool of water
• the sharp bite of bindiis (burrs)
• the luxury of velour carpet

My feet are long and flat and pronating. They are huge by shoe manufacturer standards. It has always been difficult to buy shoes for them. Secretly I have been quite jealous of all those people who can fit into dainty pretty small normal women's shoes. I have also been incredibly grateful when I can find a pair of shoes that fit my feet. For many years I had to go to specialty shoe shops because normal shops didn't stock my size or I had to buy men's runners because women's shoes weren't large enough for my feet. I am only a size 10.5 or 11 (Euro 42 or 43); certainly not gigantic by human standards. Thankfully, now, I can sometimes find my size in a normal shop.

 

As I mentioned, I have felt that my left foot has often let me down and that my right foot has had to pick up the slack because of it. When I was 15 I was rushing into the classroom and tripped over a step and sprawled spectacularly across the floor. My left ankle was a little sore but it wasn't until lunchtime when I peeled back my sock did I see that my ankle was bruised black and blue and seriously swollen. Eventually I got it bandaged but this accident seemed to weaken my left foot. Whenever I rush anywhere, I trip, slip or sprain my left ankle.

 

Two years ago I was at the peak of my fitness having shed 36kg. I was running regularly and often. On an art retreat in the desert outside Alice Springs in Central Australia, I went for a run on a bush track and suddenly experienced excruciating pain in my left foot. For three days I hobbled on my sore foot, iced it and elevated it until we returned to civilisation. Back in Sydney the Xray showed a clean break in my third metatarsal. This put a big dent in my exercise routine and shook my confidence to run again.

 

Last year while travelling in Morocco, I developed a DVT in my right leg. It was as if my right leg said, "I am so sick of the left foot getting all the attention for misbehaving, it is my turn for a bit of attention." As a result, my right foot is now shrouded in a compression stocking all my waking hours.

 

So dear feet, thank you for carrying me all these years and I look forward to many more journeys across the world together.

 

This process has amazed me and I think that I need to reconcile myself with several other parts of my body. I can see a whole list of future posts; hello belly, hello hands, hello wild hair.