Child's Play

Another busy day and another short blog post. Only this time I'm aware of the pitfalls that follow too many shallow posts.

I could have skipped a day, however I've come to value the importance this daily practice has on my general well being.

So here I am with full awareness. Knowing the worthiness of daily blogging and the dangers of prolonged superficial posts.

As I settle into being a quadragenarian, consistency and balance are two attributes I've come to value above all. They are not only the hallmarks of a truly superb wine or single malt Islay, they are also the ingredients for a livable life.

Which brings me to the title of this post.

This afternoon I popped into visit my 3 year old niece who was playing in her watery sandpit. I couldn't help but marvel at her joy whenever she mastered the skillful maneuver of pouring water from one vessel into another without spilling a drop. This seemingly simple act required a consistent and balanced action, which she improved with each attempt.

What I had observed in fact was a metaphor for life, and that mastery is nothing more than child's play.

So with that I'll leave you with today's sign off...

Until tomorrow, may your journey into mastery be as fun-filled as child play... and as delicious as an Islay.

Grace xx

Swiss Cheese

This morning I decided to take a self portrait from our balcony, which overlooks the village main street and its amazing alpine backdrop.

Stunning.

Please take a moment to appreciate this particular photo, as I contorted myself into strange positions to ensure everything was in reasonable shot.

This exercise revealed that my body is unaccustomed to Cirque de Soleilesque twists and turns, and I was challenged to replace my grimace with a convincing smile.

After several failed attempts, and being disturbed by my constipated expression, I came up with a brilliant solution to utter 'cheese' before each camera click.

And then it came to me, Swiss cheese. I laughed.

Swiss cheese can turn a dull, uncomfortable moment on its head in no time. So too can the queen of le fromage suisse, Suzi. She owns a fabulous cheese shop here called Fromage Etc, which is the social, culinary and information hub of Champéry.

Susy invited me to her daughter's end of school year break up, which consisted of a mini concert of adorable primary school children singing cute French songs. It concluded with kids scrambling for their free ice cream, which marked the beginning of their summer holidays (I never received free ice cream at school, these kids are on a winner!).

After the show, Susy organised for me to read my book 'Nubsy McNoodle Wanted A Poodle' to a small gathering of English speaking children. Who'd have thought that Zia Grace (AKA me) would be putting on a show in Switzerland? It was fabulous and I was thrilled.

So as I sit here on my balcony overlooking the village main street with its amazing backdrop of the Swiss Alps, I remember Swiss cheese. It makes you smile naturally thus instantly eliminating unwanted constipated expressions. And so too does reading to children.

Until tomorrow, have at least one Swiss cheese moment a day.

Grace xx

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The 5 Stages of Grief

Continued on from yesterday...

It's funny how your mind operates under stress.

There I was sitting in my car, imploding with grief. Instead of calling my husband (then boyfriend) or Mum for consolation, all I kept thinking was "Who can help me right now?"

My first thought was Kylie.

Not only is Kylie my gorgeous dear friend, confidante and soul-sister, she's also a nurse. Don't nurses know everything 'medical'?

Poor Kylie - I can't imagine what my call would've been like for her that day.

As soon as I heard her voice I began sobbing uncontrollably. I blurted out my diagnosis, my despair climaxing when I was hit with the most disturbing thought - that I may have lost all possibility of having children of my own.

Horrible.

I have images of Kylie skipping along merrily wearing her infectious smile only to have her long distance friend call and dump an emotional bomb on her. If you're reading this Special K, I'm sorry for the distress it must have caused you. I hope that was counteracted by the other shock news phone call three years later - you remember? - the one when I told you I'd won $15,000, had booked flights and you had 1 hour to get to the airport.

Sweet Kylie did her best to console me, but the only consolation I sought was for the clinic to phone back with news that I'd been given the wrong results. They didn't.

I can't remember much after that - only hours of crying, stinging eyes and an ache in my chest. It was excruciating.

At that point, I was in stage one of the Kübler-Ross five stages of grief

1. Denial
   "This is not possible, it can't be happening, they've made a mistake. There must be other answers". This led to frantic searching for solutions, seeking all kinds of alternative therapies; traditional Chinese medicine, acupuncture, homeopathy, naturopathy, hypnotherapy, Bach flower essences, Reiki, applied kinesiology, NET, CBT, yoga therapy, Ayurvedic medicine, psychic healing, aromatherapy, colon hydrotherapy, crystal healing, dietary healing therapy and meditation - most of which brought back menstruation, but nothing ever permanent or pregnant.
   
   
2. Anger
   "This is not fair, why me? There a so many people 'less healthy' or 'less deserving' than me - people who smoke, take drugs, are alcoholics. How can they get pregnant and become parents so easily? This is bull$hit!!!" I was completely angry and utterly furious with God, the universe, mother nature and anything else that I could put a label on. I questioned my faith in me, my beliefs, everything. I was bitter and unforgiving. I became intolerable of people asking me "When are you going to have kids?" - I either wanted to swear at them or hit them in the mouth with my shoe. I didn't x 2.
   
   
3. Bargaining
   I engaged in conversations with God "I'll pray every day, I'll fast, I'll eat well, exercise, do yoga, meditate, take my medicine, I'll stop drinking caffeine and wine, no more wheat, no more dairy, no more sugar, or salt, no more gluten, I'll only eat low GI foods, I'll juice every day, I'll even do a coffee enema every day - I WILL DO IT ALL (and I've done it all) if you could just please, please, PLEEEEEEAAAASE let my body work so I can have a baby!"
   
   
4. Depression
   Deep, dark and scary. To me this was a loss of lives, the lives of my beautiful yet-to-be-born children. The sons and daughters I had dreamed of, imagined and anticipated. I cried myself to sleep every night. I collapsed in the shower, sobbing on the ground till the water ran cold. I felt pain in my heart and sickness in my stomach every time I heard news of someone becoming pregnant. I could not look at pregnant bellies. I could not stand hearing women complain about being pregnant (I want to punch them in the nose - seriously). I could not hold babies without tears welling in my eyes and my lips quivering. I was in constant pain. It felt like an elephant sitting on my chest. I was aching all the time. I felt I was going insane. I was once so disturbed by my upset that I wished someone I disapproved of would miscarry - how horrible, judgmental and inhumane is that? (thankfully that wish was not granted).
   
   
5. Acceptance
   One day I decide I cannot go on living my life in chronic anguish and yearning. I choose to be okay. I am okay. I became an aunt. I realised I can still have children in my life, it's just going to be different to what I first imagined. I had a dream that dictated words for a manuscript. It was a blueprint for a children's book. I spent nine months and four days to create and deliver a book that (without my knowing) turned out to be the physical manifestation of all my maternal love for my unborn babies. Every time I hear news of a child loving my book I feel a connection. My maternal flame is lit. I feel I have made a difference. I am happy. I am a mother.

September marks 10 years since that fateful day. A decade.

This has been the most difficult thing for me to write and the most freeing. I am sobbing once more. I will sign off for now.

Until tomorrow, be brave and take all five steps when grieving. The fifth one is the best.

Grace xx

PS. At the time of my diagnosis I was told I had gone through premature menopause. The condition is now more commonly known as Premature Ovarian Failure (POF), though it is in transition to being known as Primary Ovarian Insufficiency (POI). It can affect women as young as 16. While many alternative modalities have theories about how this condition occurs, western orthodox medicine state that there are no known causes.

PPS. For avid followers of Weigh-In Wednesday, click here to see video

Kids Competition for Adults

I spent some time this afternoon kicking a soccer ball with my friend and her adorable son. It was so much fun and it put me in a playful mood all day.

As I was driving home, I wondered what I could do for today's post and decided to create a 'kids' competition for adults.

Didn't you just LOVE entering competitions?

Whether it was guessing how many jelly beans were in the jar, colouring in your favourite cartoon character, collecting tokens, licking a Paddle Pop to within an inch of its life or sucking Sunny Boys till you got brain freeze, there was always excited anticipation that the winner could be you.

The drawing pictured top right was done by yours truly on my laptop's sensor pad - sans mouse or fancy graphics tablet - so please excuse the childlike nature.

No, actually, don't excuse it - celebrate it!

Once you've done that, decode the symbols to make a statement. Write your answer down in the comments section below (on Blogspot, not Facebook) and if you're posting as 'Anonymous', please remember to write some kind of ID - be it your name or clever code word so I can identify you should you win.

The best competitions were always the ones where the winner could choose their own prize. So if you're the lucky guesser, you can name your prize from the five options below.

1. One random stuffed soft toy (could be a Smurf, naked Cabbage Patch doll or Powerpuff Girl's blonde head)
2. Two man-dolls. No idea who they are. Purchased from my local op shop.
3. Three random she-dolls. May include a Barbie. Purchased from my local op shop
4. Three Random children's books (no, not written by me)
5. One copy of a rare children's book signed by the late Bud Tingwell, the author, illustrator and the two main characters of the book (yes, written by me)

The Fine Print:

This competition is open to anyone who is willing to indulge in the joyous feelings of childhood. The competition will remain open until the correct answer is posted in the comments section below, or until Project Grace 2010 comes to its conclusion on 3rd November 2010 (whichever comes first). The winner will be announced on Project Grace 2010 within 48-hours of the correct answer being posted, where instructions will be given on how the winner claims their prize. One guess per person, the first one will be accepted as your official entry.

That's it, may the force be with you.

Until tomorrow, may the feelings of childhood bring you great joy.

Grace xx

Tick-Tock the Clock Knocks

I invested some time this afternoon looking at some recent photos of my gorgeous nephew and niece (courtesy of Facebook).

It confirmed without a doubt that they are indeed gorgeous (I am not biased).

The little rascals live 755km (470mi) away in rural South Australia, which means that I don't get to hang out with them as much as I'd like. Whenever I see photos of them, I'm always a little stunned - it's like time just did a massive leapfrog.

What have I missed in between?

It saddens me to think of it.

This leapfrog phenomena contrasts to how I experience life that immediately surrounds me. Days seem to merge into another and before I know it weeks, months, years and decades fleet past (a bit like little droplets of water filling up a bucket, sink, bath, swimming pool).

So today I started thinking about time.

Time would have to be the most precious resource (besides food, water and shelter). Each second is a premier, a debut never to be repeated. We cannot buy it or save it - but we sure do spend it. Do we spend time frivolously or invest it wisely - or perhaps a bit of both?

This is what I am pondering right now.

How do you spend your time? Do you consider it a wise investment?

Until tomorrow, may the tick-tock of the clock remind you of life's other precious things.

Grace xx

Gracey Goes to Bollywood

Last night I finished my web design course (yes, I know many of you saw it written down a gazillion times on my Facebook page - but not everybody is on FB).

Since the first week of March, said course had been occupying my Wednesday and Thursday evenings (not to mention my mind every other time). Now that is no longer the case, I want to embark on something else, something new, something... BOLLYWOOD.

Yes, I am going to start Bollywood dancing and am SO excited! I've been wanting to do it for a while, but the Wednesday night classes clashed with my timetable. Not anymore. Woohoo!

In my jubilant state, I jumped on my Mac eager to put together an image that aptly reflects how the prospect of Bollywood dancing makes me feel - joyful, young at heart and totally digging the idea of bling bling dress ups!

While searching our personal library of 50,000 India photos, I came across this fabulous shot of a typical Indian street scene complete with giggling girls, basket-carrying man wearing a traditional dhoti and of course an animal - in this case, a wee little donkey. Refer Exhibit A.

As for the cute little girl, it's a montage of my grade prep head shot (we call our first year of school 'prep' - abbreviation of preparation..?) sitting on the shoulders of my gorgeous three year old niece, who incidentally played Bollywood dress ups with me a few weeks ago. As much as she's totally delicious, I won't be publicising any photos of her on my blog.

I think India is the country that reflects me the most. We could each be described as a 'masala' - a spicy mix of many things that people find interesting (not to mention crazy, extreme, generous, warm, quirky, colourful, bright, frustrating, thrilling, hilarious, grounding, solemn, moving, inspiring, poetic and spiritual). Incredible. The importance of family, traditions, and the modern independent woman's battle to free herself from obligations, also strikes a chord with me. As for the abundance of all things glittery, pretty and girlie - that's me to a chai.

So next week marks a new chapter in Project Grace 2010 and that is, Gracey Goes to Bollywood.

Until tomorrow, think about what you can do to spice up your life.

Grace xx

PS. Did you know that the Indians use the term 'masala movie' to describe a film with everything - drama, romance, comedy, tragedy and thriller? And that Indians call all tea 'chai' and the spicy mix that we're familiar with is called 'masala chai'? Perhaps the person who coined the idiom 'variety is the spice of life' was really talking about garam masala ;-)

Gandhi and Me

If I could meet anyone in the world, alive or dead, it would be Gandhi.

I would ask him what was he like as a child, and what did he imagine he would be when he grew up.

Did he have any idea he would lead India's independence? Would he have ever imagined his image would feature on the Indian Rupee?

And what about his philosophy, strength and will power - was it something he had since he was a little boy or did he develop it with age?

I wonder if he had moments of soul searching throughout his life or did he always know his path, his destiny if you will.

I also think of his parents - did they know from when he was a baby or a young child that he'd be an influential political and spiritual figure that changed the course of history?

I am so fascinated in how people become who they are - especially those who have made such a profound impact on our world. When I look at children I can't help wonder where their path will take them.

As for me, I always thought I was destined to be a part of something big - though till this day, I still don't know what that is. There's long been a restlessness in me, searching for my life's purpose. Sometimes I wonder whether I'm delusional, but then I'll read a numerology report or a personality appraisal that supports my intuitive feelings (of purpose, not delusion).

Back to Gandhi.

After our meeting, I would like to go for a walk with my new friend and tell him a few things about me, starting with the intriguing fact that I was born 1 century, 1 year, 1 month and 1 day after him.

Until tomorrow, may you find your life's purpose before talking to ghosts.

Grace xx

ps. Photo was taken at London's Madame Tussauds wax museum in 1992.