I wrote this two years ago for Flickr Christmas but then chickened out of putting it up-always the worry of over-sharing. However, I think now, two years on, that I feel O.K (I think) about sharing as those that bother reading my blurbs know me well enough and I consider you my friends (warning-swear word in story). I thank you all for your amazing generosity in supporting and encouraging me throughout the year and wish you the best of Christmas.
I hope you all at least have one folly in your life that brings you great joy.
The Christmas Tree Folly
It was after my third failed attempt at IVF. Christmas was one week away. Another Christmas without a baby. The Christmas lights on my street sparkled with festive joy, but every time I drove past them, their green and red warmth blurred black and white.
When we built our home, we had a big bay window in the front of the house, and I had always envisioned the silhouette of a large Christmas tree dancing over our nature strip, just like the one from my childhood dreams. Instead, all we had was a small plastic tree with a few cheap decorations.
Christmas has always been my favourite time of the year. Yet, as the glorious affection of the season sprung to life, I remained unmoved and instead longed for something to lift me from my despair.
While wandering through the city, I saw it. It was the Christmas tree that would fill our front window - the tree that might make me feel like Christmas again. There was no way we could afford the tree. The failed IVF treatments had taken everything we had, so we turned our backs on that tree and walked away. But as the hollow festivities approached, I couldn't get that tree out of my mind. I kept thinking if I can't have another baby, I want a big fucking Christmas tree.
The Sherpa would have done anything to make my Christmas brighter so he borrowed the money and bought the tree, along with lights and a few decorations.
Each year, the number of decorations grew. Decorations from far off places that people bought back for me, places I eventually travelled to, remembrance decorations for pets that had died and most precious, decorations made with glitter and love by little hands. Soon again, the lights on my street returned to their full glory, the green and red hues vivid and luminescent.
The following April, after what was to be my final IVF attempt, I fell pregnant with my girl. Seventeen years later, that much longed for child is now the eye-rolling, gangster rap- loving teen.
The tree brings us great joy every year. Even as it gets older, the decorations worn and the hand -made lanterns sparkle a little less, I will never regret the lengths we had to go to for this tree. What at first seemed like a folly, turned out to be a symbol of hope and celebration.
Tags: Christmas Tree Flickr Christmas Decoration tree Festive lights
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Summertime in Australia
I tried so hard to do something light for this month’s FOFT challenge (“summertime” by the lovely Laszlo) given my last few challenge posts have all been on the heavy side and I tried not to write too much. But in the end I couldn’t do either.
I have spent the last few days in the country on my friend’s farm. I took images of kids jumping off the big rocks and swimming in the waterholes-typical Aussie summer fun in the country. Then on Friday we were blanketed with thick smoke as was most of Victoria and New South Wales. On Saturday, our Vic Emergency Apps sounded the alarm, telling us there was a bushfire near the tiny town of Euroa, not far from where we were staying. The smoke thickened. We decided to leave. I drove past the fires and got through without incident. Not long after, there was an emergency warning to evacuate and the highway was closed. Fortunately, the wind changed in the afternoon and Euroa was spared.
Other places are not so lucky and so much of East Gippsland and places far and wide across Victoria and other states are on fire. Almost 1 million hectares has already burnt in Victoria alone. I don’t think anyone can fully comprehend the long-term loss and devastation these fires will have on our ancient forests, their associated wildlife, the stock and all the communities dotted throughout these landscapes that will have to try to rebuild.
There are few words. I am heartbroken. I don’t have a monopoly on these feelings of helplessness. Images of summer once involved gorgeous sunsets, days in the pool, outdoor BBQs and games of Cricket. Ever since Black Saturday, the thought of summer now brings anxiety and the fear of fires.
However, as is often the case, in the face of disaster our communities band together and do the most incredible job of supporting each other. Millions of dollars has been raised (locally and overseas), food banks are being set up everywhere and people are donating their time, homes and machinery to help.
That is the heart-warming part of the story.
This image is a composite of two I took while away. The sheep in the smoke and the sun, made blood red by the fires. A light texture applied.
Tags: 2020 Strathbogie fire sheep smoke drought rural Country Victoria dry FOTF
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This Rose is around 50 years Old. My mother planted it in the garden where I grew up. We lived on a corner and next to the local milk bar and fish and chip shop. Some of my strongest memories are of my mother, in the garden, pruning the roses. She would be out there for hours, with not a lot of gardening going on as everyone stopped to chat on their way past to the shops, or to post a letter in the big red post box that stood out the front of our home. These chats would often end around the kitchen table over a coffee. It was a time when you knew everyone in your neighbourhood and we all looked out for each other.
My dad hung on till my 21st birthday and died the day after. Mum died almost 3 years later. Both of cancer. My brother and I were still living at home. We were really still kids. We had to heart -breakingly sell the family home.
On the weekend, almost 30 years after we sold it, our old family home that held so many memories was demolished to make way for something bigger and brighter. A series of weird co-incidences led me to the house during the week, where it sat empty. I was able to walk through it and say my goodbyes. It’s true what they say about everything looking so much bigger when you are a child. It felt nothing like the lively home I grew up in that held all the love, laughter and dramas that accompany the raising of 3 children. The people that bought the home from us had virtually done nothing to it in all that time. Even the stain on the carpet where dad spilt the paint one Christmas Eve was still there.
On Saturday, my husband drove past to find the house already half rubble. He approached the workers and asked for the owner’s number. He then rang and told him of our circumstances and asked if he could dig up the roses, standing tall amongst the weeds, neglected but still flowering. The owner was kind enough to say yes. My brother, sister and I met at the house while my husband dug up the roses in the pouring rain. We will each have one in our own gardens.
We planted this rose in my front garden on Sunday evening. It still gives off the same, sweet scent it did all those years ago and takes me straight back to my mother.
Tags: Garden Mums Rose Rose In memory mum mother Nikon Nikon D750
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UNZIPPED -Age Inside
For this month, the Famous Flickr Five+ theme for Freestyle on the Fifth was chosen by Jette.
She chose "Beauty in decay" (So very sorry this is long. Was going to write a couple of lines and kept going and as always, in a rush)
I am equating youth with beauty here and am making no comment about my own “beauty” or lack there –of (no comments on this required).
A little while ago I posted an image of a flower past it’s prime, over-shadowed and made invisible by the new blooms www.flickr.com/photos/137349496@N06/48816824518/in/datepo... . I imagine it was obvious that the analogy was about how I was feeling at the time. That feeling of no longer being relevant or being ignored happens to many of us, especially middle age women. Up until recently, there have been very few roles for middle -aged women in movies, T.V and reading the news. The roles are still few and far between. In 2018 only 11 of the top 100 films had lead roles for women over 45. What does that say about society and aging? Yet women in lead roles influence girls and women in many positive ways.
Studies have shown that young people see themselves as older on the inside but, as we age, most people tend to feel younger on the inside. People who feel younger than their chronological age are generally much happier and healthier.
Sometimes it is hard to reconcile the person you see in the mirror with how you feel on the inside. As my mother died before she was “old” it has been hard for me to imagine myself growing into an older woman. The template is missing. In a few months, I will be the same age she was when she died. I distinctly remember her looking in the mirror in the hospital and saying to me “I’m too young to die”. And as I approach that age, she was.
The girl inside this image was about 30. There are lots of benefits to being older and I wouldn’t want to go back to being young, though. But I also don’t want to be invisible. There is still so much beauty and wisdom to be found in the middle aged and old.
We all need to unzip and find our inner beauty, regardless of what the mirror and society says.
It’s hard to put a figure on the age I feel inside -Just younger than the mirror tells me. What about you?
This was one of my favourite poems when I was young-never thought I’d get to the age where it has real meaning- And my eyes are still blue!
As Long As Your Eyes Are Blue (Banjo Patterson)
Wilt thou love me, sweet, when my hair is grey
And my cheeks shall have lost their hue?
When the charms of youth shall have passed away,
Will your love as of old prove true?
For the looks may change, and the heart may range,
And the love be no longer fond;
Wilt thou love with truth in the years of youth
And away to the years beyond?
Oh, I love you, sweet, for your locks of brown
And the blush on your cheek that lies --
But I love you most for the kindly heart
That I see in your sweet blue eyes.
For the eyes are signs of the soul within,
Of the heart that is leal and true,
And mine own sweetheart, I shall love you still,
Just as long as your eyes are blue.
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The Invisible Age
This fading beauty was in amongst the bright purple blooms of the daisy flowers in my garden.
Even though she is past the vigour and beauty that accompanies youth and is replaced by bolder, prettier flowers, she still has a fragile grace, an offering, even in the throes of death.
The aging often become invisible.
Do you not see me?
I got down on my knees to look beyond the young growth to find this aging flower.
Her last gift to me was to inspire a flower image I am finally happy with.
I saw her.
My gift to her was that she was seen.
Tags: Garden flowers Art art texture texture bloom daisy old bud age aging beautiful beauty pink purple macro
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