Today is Another Day. Be Grateful.

The ability to connect with nature is one of the most basic and important aspects of modern life. Many people are losing this connectivity, through lifestyle, man-made distractions and lack of mindfulness. I believe they are losing their souls and sense of peace.

Taking ten seconds to notice the outside world as we wake each morning can enhance our appreciation for being alive. Look out of the window. What do you see? What do you hear? Can you open the window and feel it? What does it smell like? You are connected. You are alive.

I’m fortunate; I’m free, healthy and live by a river in a small Australian coastal town. There is a lot to be grateful for right there.

I look out of my window or step onto the deck. The river glistens and teams with visible life. Water hens, ducks, pelicans and cormorants cruise and dive, fishing amongst the seagrass. I can hear the flapping of large wings splashing water as black swans groom.

Before the river are tall Eucalyptus trees, as high as five storey buildings. Magpies, currawongs, kookaburras, corellas and galahs come to rest and socialise on the branches. The antics of the pink and grey galahs make me smile and I understand that it’s natural and good to have a sense of fun. I remember to lighten up.

In winter, some of the Eucalyptus trees burst into creamy white flowers like little tutus on Snugglepots and Cuddlepies. Hundreds of small white butterflies flutter around the tree and thousands of lorikeets jostle to feed on the nectar. The combined tweets and squawks are as loud as the ocean on a stormy day.

Underneath, on the grass, kangaroos munch and hang about enjoying the morning sun. Joeys follow their mummas, eating alongside, trying to get back in the pouch for a quick milky snack or a rest. She lets them until she’s carrying a new one which may be a while if the weather is too dry. In that case, a large joey will still climb in, legs poking out awkwardly and at such strange angles, I wonder how it can contort so. It’s like a teenager that’s outgrown its single bed. Eventually, it will fall out and meet up with a friend for a round of play boxing.

I smile. I breathe. The air is clean. I am free to watch. And I am grateful for another day.

Will you spare a moment to be grateful for the day?

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Seagrass keeps more than dugongs alive!

“The world’s seagrass meadows act like great carbon sinks sequestering twice the amount of carbon a tropical forest of the same size can store…” What? Really? I didn’t know that!

Feet up, Pinot Gris in hand and watching Nat Geo Wild’s Australia’s Hidden Islands, I was engaging in some armchair sight-seeing of Fraser Island. I heard this statement. I rewound the programme and replayed it! I heard right! On the screen was a dugong cow grazing on the seagrass munching away through 28kg of seagrass a day!

“Just one hectare of seagrass can capture 27.4 tonnes of carbon every year and produce 100,000 litres of oxygen per day, enough for 200 people to breathe.”

I’m suddenly fascinated by seagrass, something I like to kayak over on the river in Sussex Inlet, south coast of NSW. It’s great to see fish and sting rays startle and swish away as I pass. But I’ve not thought much more about it. Some people don’t like it around their jetty and illegally try to remove it. Instinctually, I knew this was wrong. Ruining natural habitats is not something that would occur to me let alone choose to do! But now I know a lot more about why it’s wrong.

If we’re going to continue to BREATHE, we need oxygen in the air and carbon stored in the earth. We need just the right mixture for our world to be healthy.

Mangroves, seagrass meadows and tidal wetlands (blue carbon coastal ecosystems) have unmatched ability to suck CO2 out of the atmosphere and store it in the ground below. This process is called carbon sequestration. Carbon is stored in the soil of blue carbon habitats for thousands of years. When these habitats are damaged or destroyed the carbon can be released as CO2 back into the atmosphere.

(Forests are also good at carbon sequestration, but trees have limited storage: they get saturated and have a shorter storage life, say 100 years. Coal is the result of ancient forest and algae carbon sequestration.)

Seagrass meadows are diminishing in size. The reduction in available light caused by enhanced suspended sediment loads and elevated nutrient concentrations, is the most widespread and pervasive cause of seagrass decline. This is a result of coastal discharges including outfalls of industry, urban stormwater, wastes from aquaculture operations (think fish farms) and sewage discharged from boats and ships. They are also susceptible to fishing and boating pressures.

Seagrass is also important for binding sediment, stabilising shore lines against erosion and providing the nursery habitat for fish, crustaceans and molluscs. Sea turtles and dugongs graze directly on seagrass, an important enough point, and they spread seagrass seeds as they poo!

It seems to me that seagrass is extremely important and should be preserved and promoted as necessary to the health of all creatures on earth.

I hope you stayed with me on this one! Following my curiosity has once again paid dividends: not to the writing of my novel – unfortunately – but to my understanding of the earth and my place in it. I hope that I’ve passed along some knowledge that will affect your life – at least so you can prevent anyone you know from clearing the seagrass around their jetty!

 

Thanks to Foxtel’s Nat Geo Wild and

https://ozcoasts.org.au/indicators/biophysical-indicators/changes_seagrass_area/

amongst others.

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I Want To Be Free

Have you ever felt like life is a school that’s handing out too many tests? Like there’s too much homework to do and you just want to go out and play? I have! Right now! I’ve had enough!

Life isn’t bad! It’s a good school: the grounds are picturesque, and the building is comfortable. The food is healthy and classmates friendly.

But I feel like I’m running the same circuit and the tests, the hurdles, just get shifted around.

I want to run free. Cross-country.

I’m currently trying to end one stage of my life: that stage where I fell in love, got married, had children, raised them, then found that the air I shared with my husband had gone stale and didn’t sustain me, or him, anymore. Some people can keep that air fresh and invigorating. That wasn’t the case for me. The window was closed and I had to break the glass to jump free.

I want to start the next stage. The only thing is, I’m still not free. I’m still stuck in the grounds! I’ve been here for two and-a-quarter years, trying to scale the boundary walls and only getting part way.

The tests have been emotional, physical, psychological and legal. Sometimes they stand alone and sometimes they’re mixed together.

I’m not going to go into details until I’m well and truly out of, or in, the woods! I may be legally divorced now but the legal and financial proceedings go on.

What do I want to do when I get to go out and play?

You may be wondering: Do I want a new partner? No! (Unless I was offered Kevin Richardson, Lion Whisperer.) Do I want to travel to obscure places that no partner would want to go? No! (Unless you call the Australian Outback and country towns, obscure.) Do I want to be a cougar? I’m too old! And No, anyway!

I just want to be me! I want to follow any path that intrigues me. I want to learn new tricks. Make discoveries. Achieve greatness in my own mind!

I want to be free to make decisions for myself, learn new skills and make each day count towards a fulfilling life.

The most fulfilling thing I could do right now is write, every day, towards completing my novel. The story and three characters consume most of my good thoughts. Those thoughts make me happy, even when I’m struggling! Those thoughts are play! (The other good thoughts are privately to do with Kevin Richardson)

So, Life! Here’s a plea. Can we get the tests over with? Can we say, enough with the homework, go out and play?

Go! Run! Be free! Yehargh!

 

Disclaimer: I apologise if Kevin Richardson is married! I haven’t actually stalked him to find out! 😉

www.lionwhisperer.co.za

https://www.instagram.com/lionwhisperersa/?hl=en

A Final Act as Master

It’s nine months since I made and enacted my last decision as master. Those of us that love dogs say our dogs are our fur-babies or our dog’s human, as if they’re our equal, but they’re not. If you’re like me, you treat your dog as your companion, a cherished member of the family or your favourite living creature on earth, but your dog is still not your equal. They’re nearer to being a dependent child or reliant best friend. As its owner, you are fully responsible for your dog’s happiness: its comfort, its health, its exercise, its mental well-being and its love. You are responsible for its life – and its death.

I took Chopper, my last dog, the handsome, seal-eyed, chocolate Labrador, to the vet on the afternoon of 20th March this year. I say my dog because that’s the way I felt, although I know that he had a family, my family. His two fur-brothers accompanied us. It had been a hard decision to make; harder than I knew. You see, I understood that he was suffering, and I gave him lots of drugs to ease his pain. I modified our walks and hugged him as I lay next to him on the floor. But I still thought he was happy. He always seemed eager to go out, lifting his head attentively and wagging his tail when I asked, ‘Do you want to go out?’ His eyes followed me around a room. He sat on my feet when I was still. But some days he could barely go out to wee. He could barely get up. Or he’d throw up.

My sons helped as much as they could and one day, as I broached the subject of the imminent end, they said things that indicated they already knew and they were waiting for me to accept it. I suggested we wait another week, until after the Easter break, so that Chopper and I could have quality time together in our holiday house down the south coast, a place he loved. ‘He’s still happy,’ I said, ‘so it makes it that much harder.’

Then one son said, ‘He’s not happy, he’s only happy when you’re with him.’ I was shocked. I asked the other son what he thought, and he said, ‘It’s not a dog’s life!’ I suddenly felt so sad. And selfish. My desire to keep him by my side had affected my judgement and my reality.

My sons carried him outside for his pre-bed wee, a time, not long before, we cherished as an end of day ritual: fifteen minutes walking, out in the darkness and quiet, Chopper sniffing all the night-time scents and me looking up to the moon and stars. He sat there. He couldn’t even get up to wee. I hugged him and cried. I buried my face in his furry neck and said I was sorry. I was so afraid to lose him, to no longer have the comfort of him, to be on my own.

I’d been his master for over eleven and a half years. He’d been my companion, pal and confidante. I rarely walked him on a lead. I rarely roused on him. He’d joined in the fun of the family, guarded us and looked after the emotional needs of each of us. He’d chased remote-control monster trucks, swum in the sea, supervised barbecues, romanced other dogs (putting it politely), played chasings and tug-of-war.

 

 

He’d travelled with me in a motorhome, never tiring of exploring, resting by a lake or meeting other nomads. He’d consoled me when I was sad, willed me off the lounge at night, and wagged his tail every time we made eye contact. He lay on my feet when I was writing. He didn’t feel like my equal; he felt like a soul-mate.

And for my soul-mate, I had to put his needs before my own. I had to do what I could do as his human and ultimately, his master. I could give him peace.

And nine months later, I can tell you about it.

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Face Work

Would we love our friends more if their faces were less wrinkled, less spotted and less saggy? Would we love them more if they were ‘prettier’ or their eyebrows were higher? Would we love them more if their lips permanently pouted?

Of course not!

Loving our friends has nothing to do with how well their face defies age. It has everything to do with who they are, how they think and what their values are. We like someone when we share interests or they excite us with new ones. We like them because of how they behave, what they do and what they say. Their attention, conversation and empathy are what’s going to make us think, what a great friend, I love this friend!

Not how they look!

It’s the same the other way around. Our friends aren’t going to love us more if we have a firm, plump face. And they aren’t going to love us less for gathering grooves and sagging.

Grooming is different. Grooming is about personality. Grooming is superficial, and I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense. I mean it’s an outer layer that we can don or discard, according to how we want to present ourselves. We tend to hang around people who groom a similar way. We judge people by how they look, and that’s okay if it’s just the grooming we’re judging. It’s human nature to assess if someone is like us or not.

Some people don’t care what they look like. Some care a lot. (Some people have no choice in the matter, but they’re not who I’m talking about.) But what we wear, how we do our hair or how we decorate our faces, is just a temporary effect. It is a choice made for effect.

Don’t get me wrong. I understand the desire to stay looking younger and ‘prettier.’ In my forties, I had Botox because I was worried about my frown and drooping eyes. I didn’t like the signs of aging. But then I realised that most of my friends weren’t having Botox. They were aging naturally, and I loved them just as much. My son used to make faces at me when I laughed because he knew my face well enough to observe the distortion in my face. He loved me well enough to let me know he preferred the natural look.

I’ve noticed that it’s hard for people to stop doing ‘work’ on their faces once they start. I know that Botox leads to collagen. All that paralysing, lifting and plumping needs to continue to keep up with the aging process. And it doesn’t keep up! It twists and pulls out of shape. It leads to a false, weird look. If our friends were doing this, we’d want them to stop. We’d want our friends to stop us!

Changing our skin through use of a needle or knife reveals an insecurity. And a belief that people will love us more if we look ‘better’. My argument is that that can’t be so, that they don’t love us in the first place if they are so affected by how young or attractive we look.

We love our friends because of what’s on the inside. So lets pay more attention to that. Let’s keep our minds, our hearts and our bodies healthy. Keep learning, be curious and be interested. Be kind, compassionate and thoughtful. Eat well and be active to keep fit.

Be a good friend. Love your friend for who they are. And remember that your true friends will love you no matter how your face ages. They will love you more for the light and energy that shines through your eyes.

The Life and Death of A Hiking Boot

Last week I wrote about packing for a night away. More specifically, I wrote about going on a two day walk along the Kiama Coast. The most important things to take were my hiking boots. Only hiking boots can keep you comfortable, upright and dry. Well worn, travelled and loved hiking boots are the best. And such are mine.

My hiking boots joined me in 2009 when my fifteen-year old son was boarding in Kangaroo Valley NSW. This is a school campus that teaches outdoor survival skills and at one point, a parent is required to join their son on a two-day hike. The point is – to survive! Hence the boots. They worked hard and I survived! They loved their first adventure, despite the rain, and a close bond was formed between boot and wearer.

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They carried me with empathy and support across many Australian landscapes: beaches and bush in the Bay of Fires, craggy rocks and seal colonies on Kangaroo Island, tracks across Orpheus Island, snow and mud tracks along the Thredbo River, farmland in Goulburn, cliffs and bush trails from Shellharbour to Eden on the NSW South Coast, and most memorably, up and down rocky ridges, through desert grasses and along dry, sandy  river beds on the Larapinta Trail in Central Australia.

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Overseas, they trekked over frozen ground in Patagonia, keeping my feet warm on windswept farms and glacial waterways. They helped me breathe at high altitude by keeping me stable and comfortable in the dry, arid Atacama Desert in Chile.

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And then on a simple walk through the hills and along the cliff, halfway between Kiama and Gerringong, one boot started flapping like a thong beneath my heel. We’d covered some uneven, muddy and grassy ground, leapt over a rivulet, then there it was. Flap, flap. I looked to see what was stuck to my heel, but alas, it was an unstuck sole. A bandage from the First Aid Kit could only slow its leaking lifeblood, and by Werri Beach, my soul had become unstuck!

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I was ceremoniously carried across the last rivulet so as to keep the boot dry. But we had reached the end of the journey. We had travelled so far. The boots had been in shoe-hospital once already. It was time to let them go. I undid the bandage and the sturdy laces, peeled them off my feet and kissed them both goodbye. Then I unceremoniously dropped them in the bin! Despite this callousness, I will always remember them with love and gratitude. RIP boots.

Spoilt for Choice

Tomorrow, I’m going on a trip to Kiama. Not for a week. Not even a long weekend. But for one night. I’m looking forward to it. I’m doing a two day walk with my walking group and we’re staying over-night, which should be fun.

But what’s not fun, is packing for it. It seems to me that you go to just as much trouble for one night as five. And the weather causes a quandary as to what to take. It’s Spring and the weather varies from warm and muggy to windy and cold. And thunderstorms are predicted one day and sunshine the next.

So, do I take long pants or shorts? Heavy raincoat or light? Runners for day 2 in case my hiking boots get sodden? Two caps? Obviously two shirts and a fleece.

But do I also take a comfy trackie to change into after my hot shower? Slippers?

And we’re going out to dinner, so there’s a full outfit, with shoes, and a wrap, because I can’t tell if it will be warm like last night or cold enough for a fire, like the night before!

The toiletries bag always overwhelms me. I try to find little containers to put shampoo and conditioner in. And face cream. And there’s the deo and sunblock and individual sheets of paracetamol and ibuprofen for all those aches and pains that come from hiking. And Bandaids.

I’ll need PJs but what about a gown? Pillow? Will I need swimmers and a towel?

My favourite tea is essential. But what about a teapot? Many places don’t cater for leaf drinkers any more. What about breakfast: cereal, sourdough, Vegemite?

And then there’s the necessary sustainers-of-life in the day-pack: water bottles, thermos, lunch, snacks, camera, hypothermia blanket (is that going too far?), emergency taxi money.

What if the weather is so foul that we don’t feel like hiking? Do I take a book, iPad? Kitchen sink?

At this point, I’m exhausted! But when I think about this, and stop moaning for a minute, I realise how blessed I am that I have all this choice. I have all these things! And I have the luxury of living in a country where going away for a couple of days is normal and easy and safe. It’s a holiday, an event unavailable in too many countries where there are no choices.

Australia. What a marvellous country it is. And how fortunate am I?

 

https://kiama.com.au/kiama-coast-walk