the hit and miss list

I find it increasingly hard to fathom the amount of things I need/want/should do on any given day, so I have done what any good woman would do: I have made a list. Lists are fabulous things for any number of reasons. To list a few: they are easy to make, they create the (usually false) impression that you are very organised, and they fill you with an enormous sense of achievement - even if all you have achieved is writing down the insurmountable tasks you face.
My list has 22 items on it, under the heading Things to Do. Some of these are quite urgent, like 'clean bathroom' and 'wash sheets'. And if my list is still floating around a week or so from now, they will reappear on it. Others are semi-urgent, like cooking the pumpkin soup, minestrone, risotto and vegie lasagne I recently found in a Donna Hay magazine and, in a very uncharacteristic rush of blood, went out and bought all the ingredients. Semi-urgent because that was over a week ago and some of the ingredients are looking a bit the worse for wear.
Having looked at my list for some time, I realised there was no chance of me achieving it all in one day. Maybe not even in one week. But I have made a pledge to tick three items off the list at the end of each day, and today I did just that (I cheated a bit by writing 'wash sheets' in after I'd already done it, but sometimes you just need to be creative). I write this with a pot full of minestrone on the stove, clean sheets on the clothes line and a sparkling clean bathroom. Three down, nineteen to go.

for what it's worth

Went to the beautiful Newcastle Waldorf School (http://www.newcastlewaldorfschool.nsw.edu.au/) yesterday and discovered Elsa can actually start there from next term if we so desire. Hadn't really considered it would happen so soon, but given the organic nature of the school it won't be an issue as far as ''catching up'' goes. Big decision now is whether we send her next term or wait until term three, when she will have turned five but will have had an extra term of preschool, possibly making the transition a bit harder. Big decisions, but then you can't avoid them when you have children. A poem I found recently makes me think of the Waldorf school, and the Steiner method of education, and I'm completely swayed whenever I read it.

I meant to do my work today -
But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.

And the wind went sighing over the land,
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand -
So what could I do but laugh and go?

- Richard LeGallienne

so hot right now

Okay, I'm officially not very dedicated to this blog, but hey, at least it's here, right? At least it made it from the many fabulous ideas that float around constantly in my head to actually exist. And for that, I'm sure, we are all truly thankful.
I tell myself that once I am established in my gorgeous new study, adjoining my gorgeous new kitchen/family room and covered deck, I will be a daily blogger. I may have absolutely nothing of any interest to blog about, but by golly I'll be blogging anyway. And reading it all myself, just in case nobody else does.
The extension is still pending, and of great excitement although not feeling terribly real since no actual work has yet been done. This includes actual work that needs to be done by us, including demolishing a not-insubstantial brick wall and relocating a great deal of quite heavy pavers. Still, it is nice to know we have only these tasks standing between us and real progress.
There are really not many spare moments to be had in our corner of the world, what with one thing and the other, but even those rare occasions lately have not been at all fruitful due mainly to the fact that it is so incredibly hot. I realise I risk sounding like an old person here, but I seriously cannot remember summers being quite so intense when I was a child. I can't even hang out the washing these days without wearing a hat, not only to prevent sunburn but to stop me from passing out due to heat exhaustion. It kind of frightens me that maybe my children will grow up in a country where there is a certain part of the year where you just can't be outside for any length of time. Kind of like those Scandinavian countries where they have to stay indoors for three months of the year or risk freezing to death, only at the other extreme. Did somebody say climate change?

sing as though no-one can hear you

Can I just say I'm terribly sorry for attending to this blog in such a haphazard fashion. I would blame the whole crazy Christmas thing, but since my last entry was mid-November, that might be a stretch. Anyway, I do finally have something to report, having completed my eight-week introduction to singing course last night with a concert during which I sang not once but five times (four with my fellow students). I am so glad I did it, the course and the concert, and now when I am singing in the car or the shower or out in the backyard, Sound of Music style, I will know in my heart that I CAN really sing. And that will make all the difference.

do the ocean motion

A red letter day! My first swim of the season, in the crystal blue waters of Little Beach. It was even worth the two hours driving there and back and having to drag myself away from Elsa and Freya in full beach mode so I could come to work. Let's hope there will be many more days and swims just like it before another crazy year is out.
Dreaming of storybook cottages www.storybookcottages.com.au and weighing up the prospect of renovating (ie huge mortgage, stress, chaos) versus moving (ie not-quite-so-huge mortgage, stress, chaos). All weighty issues really, not to be taken lightly. But exciting, nonetheless.

in alignment

You know how some days the stars just seem to align and a spooky sort of symmetry prevails? Doesn't happen very often at all any more, but today it kind of did.
I decided to get take-away for dinner (while I'm at work) from the Hare Krishna cafe, which always makes me feel very calm and at-one-with-the-universe, especially if the lovely little monk-like man behind the counter smiles serenely at me when he asks "Pappadum?". Anyway, I digress. So there I was in the peace cafe, ordering my meal, when I saw a pamphlet about yoga classes being run in Newcastle. I am in the market for a good yoga class, having found one that was very convenient and run by a lovely 70-something-year-old lady named Shirley but then having to schedule swimming lessons for Freya on the same day, at the same time. The physiotherapist I've been seeing has recommended I return to yoga "as soon as possible". When she told me this, she gave me a concerned look that seemed to imply I might a) be completely incapacitated by back pain and general inflexibility; or b) have a nervous breakdown if I didn't heed her advice.
The very exciting thing about these new yoga classes, run by another monk-like man, is that they are on several different days and at different times (excellent for my no-routine type of life). I have not yet run this idea by my dear husband, but there seems a definite possibility I will be able to attend at least one yoga class a week! How very decadent of me.
This seems particularly decadent because I have just started an eight-week singing course, because it is something I have always wanted to know how to do properly. Apparently anyone can sing, or so the course outline says. We shall see. In the meantime, it is nice to see it as an emotional outlet, a way to be joyful, a social activity and even a two-hour reprieve from the daily grind. Of course all this is tempered with the mother guilt, the curse of selfishness, the washing that still needs folding when I get home.

hooray for me

My God, it has been a while, hasn't it? But I have been on holidays, and the bitter irony of this is that I have had exactly no time to do any blogging, reading or otherwise relaxing. In order to do these things, I have had to return to work.
The holiday was lovely, as is the nature of holidays, being all together and not having or wanting to be anywhere else. But it was nice to come home, because home is lovely too.
And tomorrow is my 34th birthday, fancy that. I cannot believe I am thirty-four years of age as of tomorrow. I cannot believe I am not still 19. I cannot believe I was only 23 when I met RJ and my single life was abruptly, spectacularly, wonderfully terminated. I cannot believe there are adults around who were born in the late 1980s. Part of me cannot believe I am not a famous actress, or singer, or fashion designer, because when I was 19 and my mind stopped processing birthdays, all of those things were a definite possibility.
All I do know is that it is my birthday tomorrow, and the mother and wife in me, the one who rarely has time for personal appearances or even hair washing these days, would like that to be celebrated. Hooray for me, she wants to shout. And maybe I will, tomorrow morning while I take a long shower and thank the universe for sending me my beloved family, who will all be at home with me and who mean more to me than anything or anyone ever did when I was 19.