tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40604401041813234052024-03-14T05:45:32.035+11:00I'm too busy to...fight cancerDo you have to be a hippy, a doctor, a cancer patient or none of the above to be a wellness guru?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-14640441718067891332016-05-30T21:49:00.000+10:002016-05-30T21:59:11.796+10:00Game of Thrones addictionI simply can't explain it but I am absolutely addicted to Game of Thrones...it's violent and disrespectful plus all the sci-fi/fantasy elements have been done before. But, there's the ridiculously quick-witted dwarf, loyal dragons, funky outfits and let's not forget Jon Snow. And I can't be the only one with this closet obsession - it's one of the highest rating shows. Why?!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-54498610415024372052016-02-22T11:14:00.000+11:002016-02-22T11:14:52.037+11:00Do women actually create their own glass ceilings?I went to a talk yesterday by a rather amazing lady - she was honest, articulate, intelligent and altogether inspiring. She has held very senior positions in big companies (banks/insurance companies) but she didn't actually seek such roles out. She liked fixing problems and told people the truth of whatever situation they were in. I think she was actually quite modest too :) But...<br />
<br />
Her honesty seemed to be juxtaposed to her gender - after all women 'have to be' nurturing...and somehow we (females included) role gentle and diplomatic into this definition of female nurturer. This lady was therefore labelled "a b!tch". Her first task whenever she stepped in to a new role was, therefore, to disassemble this preconceived idea by taking an active interest in those around her. She had to over-compensate for being a female leader by being extra 'female'?!<br />
<br />
She gave a great example of the stereotypes we women reinforce (adding to our own glass ceilings). Have you ever seen the response Father's get when they drop their children at school...? It's "Hero or Zero", ie.<br />
<b>Hero</b> = isn't that wonderful, what an amazing Father being so involved with his kids, or<br />
<b>Zero</b> = why doesn't he have a job/what's wrong with him?<br />
And what response do women get when they drop their kids at school - absolutely nothing! It is expected of them to perform this duty. It really is food for thought....<br />
<br />
I unfortunately have the opposite affliction in that I'm too diplomatic to call a spade a spade (I skirt around the edges hoping my recipient hears the subtle hints I drop). I'm therefore 'not strong enough' to be truly Senior at work. Or perhaps that's another preconceived idea about what it takes to be the boss????<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-91067013582097687252016-01-28T22:27:00.001+11:002016-01-30T19:40:48.711+11:00Your first ever teacher....Tomorrow my son meets his first ever school teacher.....I can't articulate the range of emotions I feel and I'm sure his little heart and mind are riding a similar roller-coaster!<br />
<br />
Can you remember your Grade 1 teacher? Mrs Mercer was mine - she was tall (or was that because I was so tiny [nothing has changed I hear a few of you say ;)]), kind and ridiculously patient. I thought she was perfect - please, please let my son have a similar experience xoAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-20907203119993835592015-12-19T16:58:00.000+11:002015-12-19T17:02:50.683+11:00Famine, slavery, dictators - is 5 too young to build a child's social conscience?I found the most extraordinarily confronting book today in the <u>children's</u> section of the library...It's called Dust and was written "for all children who do not wake up safe and comfortable". It is a child's voice detailing his own death from starvation. The images are awful but perhaps brilliant. I won't be showing my son but it did get me thinking - why? If I show him will it sink in, will he be more grateful, will he be a more community aware adult? Here are a few of the illustrations - what do you think?<br />
<br />
<img height="239" src="webkit-fake-url://753792bf-95b6-4643-bf56-d30aaeeeb7e7/imagejpeg" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<img height="239" src="webkit-fake-url://f0d343ea-4562-4376-a404-b5f4b1b18b2d/imagejpeg" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<img height="239" src="webkit-fake-url://a90dd820-e66e-4db5-b4d1-2b9fe76727b7/imagejpeg" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-48541818681839447632015-12-18T13:51:00.001+11:002015-12-18T13:51:44.146+11:00Kardashians - feminist role models or useless piles of commercial excrement?!OMG! Can you believe it, a Kardashian - can't remember which one (they all blur into one butt loving bundle of boredom to me) - is doing a TV series on how to look better after a break-up. <br />
<br />
I am officially in that space now where anything the Kardashian's do is annoying. But the first step to recovery is acknowledging the problem. Let's try to objectively and intellectually rationalise their commercialism;<br />
<br />
<em><strong>Perspective Number One</strong></em>:<br />
At least the Kardashian's are not stick-insects and helping to repair a women who has been devastated by a relationship breakdown is great. They can help these ladies rebuild their sense of worth, give them the confidence to launch themselves back into the dating scene, perhaps even find true love? <br />
<br />
<strong><em>Perspective Number Two</em></strong>:<br />
.....because finding a man and having a boob/bum/jaw/eye/nose job is the best way to value oneself. Congratulations Kardashian's for reinforcing to young girls that their partner's flaws or the relationship's demise is a result of their appearance - you go girrrlll! <br />
<br />
They really are useless, over-paid, handbag wielding piles of commercial excrement. Ohh cr<a href="mailto:cr@P">@p</a>... session 1 of my recovery clearly hasn't gone well...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-42702087046334555872015-12-10T21:59:00.000+11:002015-12-10T22:00:07.747+11:00Beetroot lipstickI just read an article that told me to suck on Beetroot ice cubes to have permanently 'natural' red lips....seriously who has the time to discover this stuff!<br />
<br />
After the cucumber on my eyes, the beetroot on my lips and the brewed lettuce (to help you sleep?!) I'll have nothing left for the salad I'm suppose to eat for lunch.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-49997523770081115452015-12-09T22:16:00.001+11:002015-12-09T22:22:03.899+11:00Who does Christmas better - Mother Theresa or Taz (the Tasmanian Devil)?<u><i>Warning</i>: this post is all over the place, much like where my head is at today!</u><br />
<br />
Christmas is a time to reflect, to be appreciative and to surround yourself with loved ones.... <br />
<br />
Then why do I feel like a Tassie Devil whirling around accumulating presents, expectations and bills, whilst balancing an impenetrable timetable, bribing two ungrateful little-ones with ridiculous stories about an all-seeing overweight, bearded white guy with an endless supply of Chinese plastic and doing it all with a 'really I like Christmas' smile...someone hand that women a wine!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/3c/f6/c3/3cf6c33e4b83780c84078e4305821205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/3c/f6/c3/3cf6c33e4b83780c84078e4305821205.jpg" width="200" /></a>Of course one must also cope with this festive season whilst continuing to purchase organic foods, cook paleo dinners, prepare sugar-free lunches, clean the house (but not too much so as to render the children's immune system deficient), sort a few (hopefully clean) clothes so my children don't arrive at childcare naked, be 'present' with my children, remember I have a husband, sort the freakin heating/cooling out which has been repaired 15 times (in a house that is not even two years old - go Glenvill ;), celebrate the 7 birthdays my family manages to squeeze in 6 weeks prior to Christmas, sort the finances, do my job, be mindful, exercise daily and remember.....<br />
... I <b>have </b>a house to clean, I can <b>afford</b> to buy organic food and children's toys, I can <b>read</b> paleo recipes and I have a beautiful <b>family</b>. <br />
<br />
Things are not balanced for me at the moment - I'm not exercising, the chocolate is creeping back in (ahh hell, let's be honest, it's flooding back in via morning tea, afternoon tea, Christmas lunches, end of year presents and any other avenue that offers that irresistible velvet elixir), my meditating is barely existent and my blogs are sporadic. But it's Christmas - the city is alive with buskers and garish red tinsel on my walk to work, my children are inexplicably happy with images of reindeers, I have three weeks off work and a whole lotta Summer to enjoy....Ho, Ho, HoAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-72793411342053110092015-11-18T16:45:00.001+11:002015-11-18T16:45:58.765+11:00Politics and Schools : will fear or fascination win? <div class="MsoNormal">
To my son,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next year marks a major milestone in your little life – you
start school! I am so excited for you as
I know how ready your amazing mind is to absorb all the wonder of our
world. You will be exploring countries,
learning Mandarin, kicking like Elliott and playing the recorder like…what
adult on earth plays the recorder?!
Anyways, the point is, your life and understanding is about to grow
exponentially. And it is in this
breadth of information that I find myself drowning…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You have already thrown me a few curveball questions that
despite my education and genuine desire to be as free as possible from bias, I
find myself answering ineffectively:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Mummy, do
days stop?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Mummy, is
Heaven real life?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mummy, are men with towels on their heads baddies?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You don’t know yet what racism is, you are yet to see the
atrocious lengths some people will go to in order to secure power, money, land
or fame, you are yet to experience your sister being paid less than you for
doing the same job. You “read” the paper
for the footy results but I see your eyes scan other pages and a frown settle
on your face – what does that little mind think when it sees images of bloodies
bodies, AK-47s and smiling assassins? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You ask a question and (generally!) accept my answer. And so it is upon me to try to articulate to a
5 year-old the complexities of our current political landscape…. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t want you to grow up with hate in your bones or
prejudices in your mind. But I also
don’t want you to be unnecessarily hurt from your own naivety. Most people are good – the vast majority of
people are good but, quite simply, some are not. There will be some people who want to hurt
you, some people who want to rule you, some people who want to use you and some
people who derive their own worth by putting you down. You cannot tell who these people will be by
their religion, their bank balance or their beauty. That is as true on a school playground as it
is in world politics. Adults play the
same games as children do but are unfortunately armed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cannot shield you from all of this (P.S. Dad – that’s why
Mum gets teary when we talk about school!), for to do so would
mean a hermit life …. So instead, be
aware that hatred and cruelty are out there but they live in minute, squalid
pockets. Trust your instincts when it
comes to removing yourself from a dangerous situation. Judgments
are your body’s defense mechanism. But judge
people on how they treat you not on the colour of their skin, nor their nationality,
nor their gender. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Start your thoughts with kindness, knowing most people will reciprocate. Share your ideas generously and listen to the
ideas of others, knowing that you are seeking the best outcome not your
outcome. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of all, step in to the world knowing that I love you as
much as the whole wide world plus infinity! </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mum xox</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-91617712960443971832015-11-07T14:59:00.000+11:002015-11-07T15:00:03.162+11:00Inside my nightmare - surgery versus flyingI survived another surgery yesterday and statistics show this is quite the norm.<br />
<br />
The rather cold operating theater was abuzz with my surgeon, the anesthetist, assisting doctors and nurses. The melody of their conversation was calming but then I looked at that awful trolley loaded with various size "knives" and I felt a little apprehensive...<br />
<br />
Oh well I told myself - it's still better than Wednesday! What happened on Wednesday I hear you say? I had to fly from Melbourne to Sydney return. This flight is just over an hour - a hop, skip and a jump. It is one of the busiest (9th busiest route in the world which is quite extraordinary given our little population!) and safest flight paths in the world. The 'normal' passenger gets on the plane, has a quick nap, a light snack and is back on the ground again - easy!<br />
<br />
Not for me....I've never liked flying (although I've always liked travelling?!) but since having Cancer I am living proof that fears can be quite irrational (and all consuming). The minute that plane takes off every muscle in my body tenses, I start to sweat and talk frantically to the poor souls seated around me. I try desperately to focus on that thud when the wheels hit the ground safely again.<br />
<br />
Some people say it's about control (or lack thereof) but I sure as hell don't want to be flying the thing! I love other people driving and I don't batter an eyelid when I step on a train. So I think "control" is an oversimplification. I think, for me, it's the finality - no amount of airbags can save an airbus. I didn't fight cancer to go down in a plane. <br />
<br />
I have no idea how I'm going to get to Hawaii for my birthday next year - a whole lot of Xanax and a beautiful family who I don't want to let down...<br />
<br />
Can someone please invent a commercial rocket submarine by next December - please xox Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-22015700494581024932015-11-02T20:56:00.001+11:002015-11-02T20:57:25.421+11:00He didn't even get 18 weeks to live...<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; margin: 0.75em 0px 0px; position: relative;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 9pt 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I've had a bit of fun with my posts
of late but some awful news on the weekend abruptly reminded me of why I
started this blog. In early September I wrote about my Dad's bestie from
High School - Mr TJ (</span><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4060440104181323405#editor/target=post;postID=6819272306006691559;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=5;src=postname"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">18 months to live - what would you do?</span></a></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">) who was diagnosed with Grade 4 skin cancer and given
18 months to live. He didn't even get 18 weeks....</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I'm in shock that this big, burly
Aussie bloke has been taken already. His height and stature gave me the
false impression that he was indestructible. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He was my Santa Clause personified -
he had a huge, jolly laugh, he was honest and brave. He was kind and just
a little bit cheeky. He had an affinity with the land and the sea -
enjoying solo camping trips and dedicating his life to patrolling and
protecting our ocean. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
I didn't have the opportunity to share enough of my life with him but those
painfully real and open conversations I shared with him in September will stay
with me forever. I know that sounds cliche but I also know that there are
very few conversations deeper than your own mortality. TJ shared his
experience openly and with a courageous humour that only an Aussie larrikin can
muster. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I can only imagine how sad and angry
his family must be. I extended every drop of compassion to them and,
whilst I want to somehow make it better I'm not going to write some bullsh!t
about being grateful for the time they had. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">People experience such an intense discomfort when someone shows grief so we try to 'wash it away' by saying things
like "be grateful for the time you had", "isn't it great he
lived a full life". And whilst that's all technically true, it's still deeply painful and unfair that he's gone. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The only small consolation I have is that I wrote my blog for him in time for him to read it and he sent me the most heart warming texts in the subsequent days. Wrap those you love in the biggest hug and tell them daily why they're special... xoxo</span></div>
</h3>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-63675283791818623672015-10-28T20:29:00.003+11:002015-10-28T20:32:47.928+11:00Back to Your Future - a message from Marty on 2045<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Unless you've been marooned on some faraway, completely isolated island you would know that we have finally arrived in.....the future! </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">On the 21st October 2015 Marty McFly and Doc Emmett Brown arrived from the past in their DeLorean (I seem to be developing quite a connection to the <em>Back to the Future</em> series with all my Emmett Brown references!). In the 80's twenty-fifteen seemed so very far away...and the writers must have thought they were revolutionary in their predictions. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Whilst the flying cars and re-hydrating pizzas have not been produced (at least to my knowledge) they were pretty accurate with the flat widescreen TVs, tablets and video chat. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It got me thinking...what do we think 2045 will look like? Don't think about monetary or technological constraints, just think about the most awesome and life altering invention you can think of. And imagine what you will be doing in 2045?! </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I know a 30 year plan is rather unrealistic (especially considering I've never done a 5 year plan!) but dreaming big seems to be something that is squashed out of us as we grow up. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Imagine the fun and crazy conversations that would ensue if you asked a room full of children what 2045 would look like....but adults put caveats and disclaimers on their dreams or worse still don't have them. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">After all our goals must be S.M.A.R.T (specific, measurable, attainable, realistic and timely). Well - why don't you just line up innovation alongside creativity and shoot them both! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">So - I'll set a challenge for you all. Write down a dream, p<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ut a time stamp on it and now it's in the digital memory bank we'll have a chance to go back and see how hilariously inaccurate or unnervingly accurate we were... </span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong>My 2045</strong>: people will fly (no need for flying cars McFly), spinach will taste like chocolate, trees will dominate our landscape with houses surreptitiously incorporated, I'll be alive and well celebrating (on the Whitsunday Island I somehow acquire) the birth of my 5th grandchild and my job will be buying people gifts and exploring the world!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-12970055577862311592015-10-20T21:04:00.001+11:002015-10-20T21:04:51.239+11:00Death of Kardashianism<div class="MsoNormal">
We seem to live in a world controlled by the fear of anonymity. More people than ever are striving to get their noggins on YouTube! It doesn’t seem to matter if you have any particular talents or attributes – just get your face on YouTube, increase your Twitter followers and post pictures of your over-manufactured derriere on Instagram (or is it Snapchat or Pinterest?). <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, besides sounding like a dinosaur that has no idea of the current ‘it’ digi channel, my point is I’m really fearful of the current reverence given to the likes of the Kardashians. I understand and respect the worshiping of sporting heroes and movie stars. After all they actually possess a talent and in many cases display an incredible level of skill. But what are the Kardashians actually good at? And are they so good at something that they deserve the ridiculous amount of money they earn? Can they sing, dance, act, play tennis, football or run, can they drive social change, public policy or inspire women to get an education?<br />
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It’s not that I hate the Kardashians, I simply don’t get the fascination! I don’t want my daughter growing up thinking the epitome of success is the latest Dolce & Gabbana handbag. I don’t want her to think she needs a nose job, a bum implant and some over exposed cleavage to be heard (yes heard [not seen]). I want her to admire someone intelligent, brave, kind, skilled, entertaining, humble or selfless – there are so many attributes I can think of that are admirable but not one of them fits the Kardashians.....</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-84915610922004899702015-10-09T22:04:00.003+11:002015-10-09T22:05:30.323+11:00Fighting for principles of respect, understanding and less lamb chopsI got a flyer in our mail today for the Animal Justice Party. There's a beautiful photo on the front of a lamb and an adorable, inquisitive kitten on the back. Awww. Baby animals = Marketing 101, so I read on...<br />
<br />
"<i>The Animal Justice Party (AJP) has been established to provide a political platform for policies and practices that promote respect, kindness, compassion and understanding towards animals</i>". <br />
<br />
Sounds perfect to me - as long as PEOPLE are part of their definition of animals. Imagine it - a world where people respect differences, lead with compassion and strive to understand...I reckon animals of all breeds would do well! <br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I entirely agree we should be respecting animals I just wonder if our compassion is a little warped when we'll help a cat but walk straight past a young girl living on the streets? It's that uncomfortable feeling I get when I read Johnny Depp has spent $320,000 flying his pet dogs home via private jet. I'm sorry but WTF Mr Depp! But is it really Mr Depp's issue - we live in a world where that's OK. We can feed and educate a child for $2 a day...how many kids did that private jet fee equate to??<br />
<br />
It all comes back to <b>balance</b> - my favourite but seemingly unattainable goal. There is no place in our world for animal cruelty, animal testing and in theory I love the idea of Veganism (don't seem to be able to execute that one). But I'm sure I've never heard of a kind, compassionate person mistreating an animal - seems like an oxymoron to me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-91040417953810509662015-09-11T13:06:00.001+10:002015-09-11T13:07:20.614+10:00KFC and gastroOn Thursday night my 2 year old daughter started throwing up about 4.30pm and continued to do so every half an hour. By 7pm the poor little soul was exhausted and miserable and Mum couldn't take any more...so off to the hospital we went (I should mention, as I've noticed a few Americans have joined, that this service is free in Australia).<br />
<br />
The staff were really kind, telling us there were several cases of gastro going around. We were put in the "handle with gloves" bays and my daughter soon relaxed after some anti-nausea medication. I was super impressed with their non judgmental approach. I was never made to feel like an "over reacting" Mum. I was musing on this, when I overheard a doctor tell the family in the bay nextdoor to monitor their daughter's diet. <br />
<br />
"No probs" said the Dad casually<br />
The doctor went on to recommend "no dairy, lots of veggies and plenty of fluids....avoid soft drink" there was an almost pleading tone to the doctor's voice.<br />
<br />
Soft drink! Who on earth would give their child a can of Coke straight after a fit of Gastro?! And it only got worse - when I walked past to leave I saw the child (maybe 6 or 7 years old) eating a big box of KFC. When I saw this, all judgments left me and I was overwhelmed by a genuine sadness - where are our health and education systems failing that some people have so little nutritional understanding? Or perhaps what is even more frustrating is that we've built a food supply chain that can sell a box of fat-covered chemicals at a much cheaper price than fresh food...<br />
<br />
Now I'm no Saint - who doesn't enjoy a McDonald's chocolate sundae (sauce on the bottom and top thanks) every now and again. And perhaps, just maybe, that is the only food option these parents had available to them.....?<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-68192723060066915592015-09-04T11:31:00.001+10:002015-09-04T14:57:39.777+10:0018 months to live - what would you do?Mr TJ is my Dad's bestie from High School - they have a friendship that has spanned 50 odd years, several countries, a couple of marriages, business ups and downs and a health scare or two...(may you all have a friend like this xo)<br />
<br />
I met TJ when I was little, really little and he seemed like the biggest human being on earth! He is very tall and generously proportioned but I have never been scared of him even when I only came up to his knee caps. He is kind to the core and has a hearty, warm and frequently-used laugh. He is the personification of the image we push to our children of Santa. <br />
<br />
TJ has devoted his life to protecting our marine life particularly from large, foreign (and often illegal) fishing vessels. I am sure his intimidating frame and big, burly voice helped him on the job (but I'd rather keep the Santa Clause imagery!). It's a particular type of lifestyle - endless patrolling of the sea and complete exposure to the sun...the latter of which will ultimately cost him his life. TJ has Grade 4 skin cancer and has been given 18 months to live.<br />
<br />
I had the privilege of talking to him in person yesterday and was amazed at his strength and humbled at the dignity he displayed in sharing this horrible information. I'm not sure if I used the right words to comfort him or whether that's even my role to play. At some points in the conversation I had no words at all...but perhaps that's OK too. Being sad, being angry and being uncomfortable are 'right' emotions. The two overriding emotions for me were:<br />
<br />
1. ANGER: He is too young and the world, <b>his</b> world, will be sadder without him. It sucks and it's not fair. This gentle giant (rather fittingly) had 2 daughters and now 3 granddaughters - ask any of them if there is a silver lining!!!<br />
<br />
2. GRATEFULNESS: I caught my Cancer early, I have two beautiful children, a loving family amazing friends and the 'leave-pass' to tell them all, whenever I can, that they rock :)<br />
<br />
I can do little to help TJ - I'm not a doctor and my quest for wellness guru status is largely failing as I allow myself to get drawn back in to the Busy Delusion. I think I'm writing this blog to let him know how I have always viewed him - brave, kind, honourable and just a little bit cheeky. Now fight TJ - fight to prove them wrong, fight to enjoy your world, fight to see your horse make it over to the big-time Melbourne spring racing carnival!<br />
<br />
And for the rest of us....be kind and don't stress the little things (yes, that's the sum of my philosophy today...just call me Socrates ;)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-91753287931680865452015-08-22T15:19:00.001+10:002015-08-25T12:39:21.497+10:00Hmmm...delicious chocolate balls - no cooking, no sugar, no worries!<i><b><u>Cacao Balls</u></b></i><br />
<br />
These are a winner in my house with the adults who appreciate something to curb the sugar cravings and even with the kids who, at this stage, are convinced they're "chocolate balls".<br />
<br />
<i>Ingredients</i><br />
200g blanched almonds or pecans or walnuts or a mixture - whatever you like!<br />
1/4 cup pepitas<br />
2 tablespoons chia seeds<br />
250g pitted dates<br />
1/3 cup goji berries (can substitute with low-sugar craisins if you're not worried about the sugar)<br />
1/4 cacao power<br />
2 tablespoons water<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla bean paste<br />
1 tablespoon rice malt syrup (<b>optional</b> - you don't have to put this in if you want them to be 100% no added sugar but I like the way it helps the ingredients bind together)<br />
Coconut for rolling<br />
<br />
<i>Instructions</i><br />
1. Put the 200g of mixed nuts in a food processor and finely chop<br />
2. Add all the other ingredients into the same food processor and finely chop (you should end up with the mixture being like a lumpy-paste)<br />
3. Roll the mixture in to balls and coat with coconut<br />
4. Refrigerate, preferably covered, for about an hour (they can then be stored in an air tight container in the pantry...I'm not sure how long for as they never last longer than 2-3 days in my house!).<br />
<br />
Enjoy xo<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-1525367170954600382015-08-12T09:45:00.000+10:002015-08-22T15:29:39.101+10:00It's confronting for a lady to be bald!I can't wait for my hair to grow back! Yes, this is partly vanity but, more importantly, it will stop the 'side' conversations my husband, sister and parents are frequently required to have. Well meaning folk (who are not privy to this awesome blog ;) often pull them aside to say "is your wife/daughter/sister OK?" and so the explanations start all over again...<br />
<br />
Not sure why I'm blogging about this - I think to highlight the extended effect this annoying disease has and to thank my beautiful family who equally shoulder the burden. xoxAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-51286201169661193462015-08-10T20:54:00.003+10:002015-08-10T20:54:33.304+10:00What TO DO for a friend who is sickI have had the most overwhelming level of support from my family and friends, my work and even relative strangers following my cancer diagnosis. I cannot imagine those poor souls that are forced to endure these experiences alone (makes me think [again!] about how I'm going to squeeze community service into this busy life!). This support has taken many forms so I thought I'd share the most helpful....<br />
<br />
My top tips for what TO DO to help:<br />
<b>1.</b> <b>Cook healthy dinners.</b> <br />
Isn't it funny that when someone is sick we have a strange desire to feed them something unhealthy (cakes, cookies, chocolates). Pre-cancer, I would have been the first to do this (as my chocoholic reputation would demand) now I understand that a good, healthy dinner is one of the most useful gifts someone can provide. My beautiful mother's group have rotated this gift and once a week my family receives amazing dinners (from hearty beef & veggie casseroles to chicken & veggie pies). Instead of going to the supermarket, cooking and cleaning I literally get a couple of hours back in my day where I can rest, recover and/or spend non chore based time with my children. XoXo<br />
<br />
<b>2. Arrange play dates</b><br />
(A) Kids.....compare (<b>1</b>) an afternoon with Mum who can't lift you for a cuddle, can't play footy, is slightly hazy given the drugs (OK-maybe that part could offer some entertainment!) and has turned into a bit of an anti-sugar tyrant <u>versus</u> (<b>2</b>) an afternoon with kids of a similar age where you can run, scream and load up on lard/sugar.<br />
(B) Husband.....a day out at the footy could be just what the doctor ordered for this over-worked, under-paid but greatly appreciated Chief Support Officer!<br />
<br />
<b>3. Helpful gifts</b><br />
I'm not talking about expensive presents. I mean little gifts that practically support someone's recovery. For example, my wonderful Mum knitted me a beanie in a particular colour I needed to match existing clothes, my gorgeous cousin found a 'funky' beanie, my thoughtful Auntie gave me a little glass jar to put a fresh flower in each day, a generous friend from work gave me a mindfulness book & diary and another kind friend gave me a special memento that helped her through a similar battle. A very smart friend gave my husband some strong coffee beans to cope with being both Mum & Dad at night!<br />
<br />
<b>4. Do some errands</b><br />
A 'cancer-friend' (what a strange title!) told me about her support network which included someone going to the Organic Markets for her and another friend who collected the dry-cleaning/walked the dog/posted mail etc. I haven't had as much need for this but it sounded super practical and helpful to me!<br />
<br />
<b>5. Be yourself</b><br />
Drop the awkward and have a laugh!<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-54384567712295906622015-08-09T21:11:00.004+10:002015-08-10T20:52:41.969+10:00What TO SAY to someone who receives bad medical newsWhen someone we love is sad or angry we have an overwhelming urge to 'make it go away'. We comfort them with words such as "it's OK", "stay positive" or "it's great they found it early". People are so fundamentally <u>un</u>comfortable with these two emotions that they inadvertently ignore them or blatantly dismiss them! <br />
<br />
I was speaking to a friend today who requires a hysterectomy due to complications following the birth of her 2nd child. With all good intentions her family and friends have been telling her how lucky she is that she's had 2 children....which, for her, has been translated as - don't you complain that you can't have a 3rd. Inside she is grieving, angry that a really fundamental choice has been taken away from her but outwardly she is 'not allowed' to complain. <br />
<br />
I think back over some of my friendships and cringe as I reflect on 'advise' I have given friends who struggled to have a 2nd child. I recall myself saying "you have such a beautiful son already" etc etc At the time there was nothing but love and caring behind the words but in hindsight I see how unhelpful they are. So, firstly, my sincerest apologies! Secondly, yes there are some people who can not have any children (and I feel deeply, deeply sorry for them) but offering someone 'perspective' when they are stumbling down their path of grief is, unfortunately, like telling an amputee not to worry as they have another leg.<br />
<br />
<b>My top tips for what TO say</b>:<br />
1. "That sucks!" Let someone be angry and/or sad.<br />
2. "There is no f..... silver lining to cancer".<br />
3. Say nothing! Let them talk, grieve, vent, hurt<br />
4. Ask them if they actually do want to talk about it. Perhaps they've had enough of explaining what the doctors said and when the treatment(s) will be?!<br />
5. Offer your support, help and shoulder - solutions aren't necessaryAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-87193653310465842462015-08-07T20:20:00.001+10:002015-08-07T20:25:53.010+10:00Hospital Beats - Song #3: Losing Raspberry Envisage 'angry' music. You know, that hard core heavy metal where there are so many guitar notes smashed together you can't actually decipher a tune and the lead singer is screaming rather than singing. That's the back drop for this hospital beat. Raspberry (AKA my right drain tube) has been given the thumbs up to be removed....<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I smiled naively at the nurse when she walked in, blissfully unaware of the pain she was about to inflict! She took a good 10 minutes to work her way through all the tape they had used to secure the drain tube (apparently stitching it into my body wasn't enough!). Each time she tugged at the tape she put pressure on my significant cuts and at one stage was using my recently placed 'bolt-ons' as the anchoring point for her hand. I was working up quite a sweat in an effort to manage the pain but otherwise kept my cool (although "an angry song" was brewing).<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She then warned me I'd feel 'a little sting' as she cut the stitches. I shut my eyes and breathed deeply. Sure enough a few 'little stings' but overall quite manageable. "Ok, now you'll feel another little sting as we remove the tube. Can you take a deep breath in for me Sarah?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I did as I was instructed, taking a big breathe in. The nurse proceeded to "remove the tube" whilst I screamed in my head every c-bomb, f-bomb expletive I could think of in the angriest song I'd ever heard. A LITTLE f@#!ing sting - it felt like she'd taken a hot iron rod and dragged it from my arm pit to my waist. "There we go love, it's all done". Luckily for her I've been built with this firewall that prevents me from getting angry at people. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I smiled wearily and sank back in to the pillows - my only thought was, oh my goodness I have to do that all again with Strawberry! The nurse put some padding on my side, then clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Hmm, there's a little bit of leakage" she said as she swapped the padding for a thicker variety. A third pad was used and finally after 10 awkward minutes she was satisfied she could tape it up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have subsequently found out that this nurse forgot to turn off the suction before removing the tubing. So whilst the tube was coming out, it was diligently still sucking out whatever it passed by...hence the burning sensation and pile of gunk! </div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-88664612527267053552015-08-02T20:26:00.000+10:002015-08-02T20:29:15.162+10:00Hospital Beats - Song #2: the sound of sleepOne of the most important things about post operative care is sleep...a string of professionals swan in and out of your room telling you to "get some rest" (the irony escaping them that they've just woken you?). I particularly like the 3am obs! Hospitals are really not condusive to sleep! As the night time shift settles in and patients make their way to bed (or roll over from day time to night time position) the sounds of the hospital start...<br />
<br />
In the room next to me is a tiny lady who has developed a unique coping method - whenever she is required to move she makes a rather high pitched "whoop, whoop" sound. It's really a very difficult sound to replicate and given she is probably in pain I feel quite awful that it makes me smile. Across the hall is a generous man who coughs up a lung every 2nd hour! Room 203 houses a poor old biddy who must be suffering from some kind of inertia as she's constantly telling nurses she's falling. And of course all the rooms have that steady rhythmic beat of the electronic drips that every now and again make a rather abrupt and rude "ping" when the saline bag is finished.<br />
<br />
Whoop, whoop<br />
Cough, cough<br />
FALLING!<br />
Ping<br />
<br />
Whoop, whoop<br />
Cough, cough<br />
FALLING!<br />
Ping<br />
<br />
You see, give anyone some decent hospital drugs, and they'll think they're a musician ;)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-3281930143244114142015-07-29T22:40:00.000+10:002015-08-02T13:59:58.744+10:00Hospitals Beats - Song #1: Strawberries & RaspberriesThe world of western medicine, like any good profession, is riddled with alienating acronyms and intimidating titles. That's not to say I don't respect the many years of training that goes in to those titles! But I'd like to share my recent hospital visit from a layman's perspective (apologies to my highly trained medical friends ;)<br />
<br />
The hospital where I had my 'procedure' was the same hospital where I gave birth to my two wonderful children and the same hospital where I watched my beautiful 57 year-old mother in law loose her battle with asbestos cancer. If I had a big, baritone Mufasa voice I might start talking about the circle of life... The point is, the hospital is very familiar to me. But the needles, the various bodily fluids and that potent ethanol smell intimidates me every time!<br />
<br />
On the day of my operation I am escorted to a tiny cubicle and asked to replace my clothes with paper knickers and a heavy cotton gown that flaps open regularly to reveal those rockin' paper undies. A rather stern looking nurse asks the standard set of questions: name, DOB, allergies, admitting doctor, what am I in hospital for today... In answer to the last question the facetious me wants to answer "those creamy, salt-smothered scrambled eggs you serve the day after an operation" but, alas, sensible my tells them they'll be upgrading Thelma & Louise for some younger, more synthetic models (no, I don't normally name parts of my body but I'm clutching at a little dignity). <br />
<br />
They then put me in my bed and the most extraordinary measures commence to promote blood flow. Firstly, they squeeze me into some very tight socks which are then covered by white inflatable leg-warmers. Much like a blood pressure test (although not quite as tight), these leg-warmers squeeze your legs. There are three sections to each leg-warmer and they soon settle in to a rhythmic massage inflating then deflating up my left leg, then the right. Finally a big blue synthetic blanket is put over me and a heating duct plugged into the end. Hot air is blown into the blanket and in no time at all I'm enveloped in the most delicious warmth. <br />
<br />
With the air blowing, the leg-warmers pumping and the nurses flicking through paperwork I find the beginnings of an awesome percussion rift. The musical interlude is interrupted by the surgeon's nurse asking me the standard questions. I answer her in record time and settle back in to imagining Ed Sheeran groovin along to my Hospital Beat. But then nurse #3 (the anesthetist's nurse) demands answers to the same standard questions. Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with all the checking. After all, you wouldn't want to be accidentally putting a couple of bolt-ons on Mr Jones in Bed 5!<br />
<br />
Finally, we're ready for the main act. I am wheeled into a tiny little pre-op room where I am momentarily left in peace to contemplate what is actually about to happen. The anesthetist strolls in and introduces himself. I try desperately to listen to what he is saying but can't shake the undercurrent of indignation I feel toward him given the only correspondence he (or his rooms) managed before this moment was a TEXT message asking me to confirm I'll pay $1000 in addition to his medicare and private health insurance covered fees. I smile politely at Mr $1000 and hope that in a few moments time I won't be thinking or remembering anything.<br />
<br />
A procession of people breeze in and out of the pre-op room - the breast surgeon, her assistant, the plastic surgeon, his nurse and then finally the anesthetist's nurse. And throughout all these 'visits' is the backdrop of clunking metal equipment on metal trays. "How many knives do they need?!" I ask the latest nurse. "Ah yes, sorry about this" she smiles "The last surgery ran a little over so you've had to wait here an unusually long time". Oh, how I dislike that word unusual now! 65 minutes later, Dr $1000 finally returns and administers that 'little scratch' that sends me off to sleep.<br />
<br />
I have neither the stomach, nor the knowledge to document what happened over the next 4 hours...but when I woke up there were strange inflatable bags on my chest and drain tubes stitched in to my side. These tubes ended with clear plastic bottles diligently collecting the blood and fluid draining from my wounds. The site of these bottles made me want to puke so I did the only thing I know how to do in such medical environments - not take it all that seriously! Instead, said bottles, have been knighted Sir Strawberry and Sir Raspberry and they are the key to me getting out of hospital..... TO BE continued.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-12817607077877807902015-07-21T22:01:00.000+10:002015-07-21T22:03:39.004+10:00Can relaxing your mind fuel your body? Meditation part #4I can now tick off the list 'learn how to meditate'... I've officially completed a four day course with a highly (and 'traditionally') trained meditation expert (who I have affectionately named Dr Calm). <br />
<br />
The course was one on one and was completed in her home. It was intimidating and potentially useless if I didn't discard my judgements! As I walked into her apartment in an appropriately alternative suburb in Melbourne I was greeted with the smell of cats. I was asked to remove my shoes and was guided into a tiny little room with futon couch, waterfall pictures and burning incense. The swish swish of her corduroy pants made me smile.<br />
<br />
The flowers, fruit and white cloth I was asked to bring were all used in an ancient ceremony that empowered Dr Calm to find my mantra. She whispered a strange word in my ear three times - this was my mantra, this was my invitation to the world of meditating... And to counterbalance the growing image of levitating monks from your mind, I must admit Dr Calm also spent a substantial amount of time explaining the science behind and physical benefits of meditation, including sharing some referral success stories she had been involved with in psychiatric patients.<br />
<br />
Now it is up to me - I can dismiss her and her teachings as mumbo jumbo or I can give it a go. There seems little downside to me. Twice a day for 20 minutes I get to have a space where no demands are placed on me physically or mentally. No bums to wipe, no tears and tantrums to placate, no reports to write, no future plans to make. A growing awareness of my body and a blossoming appreciation for the here and now. It's all good - so what's stopping me....NO, don't say it!! I'm too busy to... How am I going to find 20minutes twice a day?! Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-88571719441960050902015-07-20T20:52:00.000+10:002015-07-20T20:55:20.156+10:00Healing - a step forward, a step backwards!Amidst the meditation lessons, diet changes and supplements research the giant hand of western medicine strikes again! With one simple blood test my healing path is jolted in a different direction. You see I finally have something in common with Angelina Jolie - a BRCA gene. What does this mean? Even if I treat the existing cancer I have a high chance of another new one forming. The 'best' option I have to help myself is a bilateral mastectomy (and reconstruction).<br />
<br />
My initial reaction is to say "of course, get rid of them if they're going to kill me!" but then you allow that awful Dr Google to creep in. I've read some of the most amazing and inspirational stories of women who have "fought off" their genetic predispositions...however these success stories are few and far between whereas there are thousands of successful "Angelina" cases. I have the chance to improve my odds exponentially and I like the sounds of that :)<br />
<br />
So once again, Dr I/M is relegated to the back of the queue (I can just see her Dr Emmett hair shaking in frustration ;) and I'm focusing on Horse #7 "best rack in the nursing home"! Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4060440104181323405.post-6707771108962156012015-07-10T14:40:00.001+10:002015-07-10T14:43:02.274+10:00Meditation Part #3 - Hare Krishna and/or ultra-successfulThe mindfulness discovery path I'm on is now literally smelling like roses....quite a transformation from attempt #1<br />
<br />
You see, I've been asked to bring the following to my first meditation class:<br />
* A bunch of fresh flowers - at least six<br />
* Two or three pieces of fresh, sweet fruit<br />
* A piece of new white cloth – a new white handkerchief is perfect<br />
<br />
So - what are you thinking (honestly!)? Have I got myself caught up with a quasi Hare Krishna group...I'll be wearing orange and bald in no time (oh, hang on - I've already satisfied that ;) Or do you think it's wise to broaden my perspective? Perhaps I may have stumbled upon the answer of how to keep all those little buckets of life full and happy?!<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11990104668040988643noreply@blogger.com3