Happy 10th Birthday Facebook

Post by Grace Mimmo Fitzpatrick.

A beautiful and treasured gift I received today.

- Grace xo

My lounge room

Yesterday I inserted this photo of my lounge room in an attempt to portray me resting in a time of restlessness, the Sunday Sentence theme. Then I realised how funny it must look to those with a savvy sense of style in interior decor.

For those who don't know, I live a very bohemian existence. We reside in what were once offices above a factory. My brother lived here several years ago and converted it into a living space. After he vacated, it was used to store all my grandparents belongings when they were relocated to an aged care facility.

Because Patrick and I are transient, we've never taken our abode too seriously. There are many tongue-in-cheek touches to amuse ourselves and bemuse our guests. The space is now a combination of old, new and completely bizarre. It is extremely kitsch, makes me giggle and I love it.

Since all my grandparent's have now passed, I feel comforted by being surrounded by their stuff. Just like smells take you back to your childhood, so too does an old photo or piece of fabric. Our place is by no means minimalist and chic, but it has soul - and a fabulous sense of humour.

Until tomorrow, never be too chic and loose your soul.

Grace xx

PS. The photo hanging top left is of my family's hometown in Italy. It was taken around forty years ago by Giuseppe Bonfito, my father's godfather, and is framed in a masterpiece lovingly crafted by my late Nonno. The painting top right is called 'Traffic Jam' by Australian Artist Samantha Lord. We purchased it the night after we returned from travelling 355 days around the world.

If you a. love me, b. love my blog, c. love this post or d. all of the above - please SHARE

Happy 75th Birthday Dalai Lama

Today marks the Dalai Lama's 75th birthday.

You know when you're asked "If there's anybody in the world, dead or alive, that you could have dinner with - who would it be?"?

More often than not, I'll answer "The Dalai Lama".

I don't know what I'd say to his holiness face to face as I had a hard enough time signing his birthday global tribute.

His balding head, square glasses and warming smile reminds me of my late grandfather - though I'm not so sure that's appropriate dinner conversation.

What I'd like to know is how he feels. What's it like to be a world spiritual leader. Did he graciously accept his destiny or were there times when he questioned it. I'd like to know the human being behind the smile and the words of wisdom.

In the meantime, I'll keep feeling all warm and fuzzy over his likeness to my beloved Nonno. That'll be our secret.

Until tomorrow, is there someone in the world that you'd like to have dinner with? If so, who and why?

Grace xx

PS. Back in France on day one of our pre-tour reconnaissance. The tour starts in one week and we have a LOT of work to do - yikes!

If you a. love me, b. love my blog, c. love this post or d. all of the above - please SHARE

Sugar Coated

Here in Australia, it is traditional to serve 'fairy bread' (pictured right) at children's birthday parties.

Fairy bread is sliced white bread smothered in butter or margarine, then sprinkled with sugary coloured beads that we call 'hundreds and thousands'.

While it's pretty, colourful and crunchy - one would seriously have to question it's nutritional value and what it teaches children about what we consume at celebrations.

I'm not about to stand on a soapbox and rant about this with a waving finger. I am simply exploring my own upbringing, how much I LOVED fairy bread and comparing where I am now with the advantage of 20/20 hindsight.

So what brings me to this point?

Remember how I said I'd been feeling really tired these last few days? It turns out that my insulin levels were through the roof and have been causing a domino effect, causing my pancreas and liver to go bonkers (Australian for crazy).

This completely puzzled me as to my knowledge, I have been consciously consuming low GI (Glycemic Index) foods for several weeks - I even pick the sultanas out of my weekend muesli (I have a super-smoothie breakfast on weekdays). I was instructed to write everything down to see if we could uncover what I might be missing.

Turns out, my gluten-free bread is higher GI than I am permitted and that different information sources have different values for foods I considered 'safe', like polenta (corn maize) - some say high, some say low, some say medium.

OH MY GOD WHAT AM I TO BELIEVE?

I am becoming frustrated with trying to do the right thing and finding out that it's those 1%ers that are undermining my efforts.

Then my monkey mind took me on a random nostalgic journey of sugary foods that I once consumed with no consequence (or at least I thought they had no consequence), and it brought me to fairy bread. I have vivid memories of the magical party treat looking all tempting and delicious at the beginning of a party - but by the end the colour had bled, thus staining the bread.

Is that what happens to us?

Are we like fairy bread that is bright and vibrant when fresh, then over time become stained by the hundreds and thousands of high GI foods that we've consumed without awareness? And can those stains ever be removed?

Where I'm at right now is looking at my reality - without sugar coating anything. It's a scary space to be in, but a necessary one.

Until tomorrow, ask yourself whether there's anything you've sugar coated that you could do without?

Grace xx

Pop!

Okay, here it is... the moment we've all been waiting for...

In the early months of 2008 I called for a meeting with the national distributor of my first (and to this day, my only) children's book, 'Nubsy McNoodle Wanted A Poodle'.

My plan was to learn more about an industry I had just entered. I felt like a new girl at school and wanted to get the low down on how things worked. I was talking to an 'expert', someone who'd been in the industry for over 30-years. I was in good hands, or so I thought.

By now, I'm sure you know me well enough to envisage how bubbly I become when inspired. I have as much eagerness and enthusiasm as a child whose anticipating a visit by the Tooth Fairy. Despite being toothless and looking a little goofy - I AM EXCITED!

I walked into the office of a partner that I hadn't met before. We introduced ourselves before I proceeded to explain my plans for that year. I wanted to know cut off dates so I could plan the production of the next three titles, which I already had manuscripts for. My goal was to have them completed in time to be featured in catalogues, and in stores by Christmas.

He seemed bemused by my wide-eyed fervour and was quick to interject, asking "How many did you print?" to which I answered with smiley, "10,000 copies" (coming from a print packaging background, this was considered a small run in my realm). "Well that's 8,000 too many," he replied in a monotone voice.

That was it.

Pop!

That was when my happiness balloon burst (again).

It is only now with hindsight that I realise this was just another rendition of '99% Equals FAIL', and the feelings that accompanied the experience were identical to the primary instance. I was shattered. What's most interesting is that just as my maths went from bad to worse, until I chronically failed and eventually dumped the subject, my book sales seem to be taking the exact same path - down the gurgler.

Instead of dismissing what he said as merely one person's less than optimistic opinion, I made it mean something about me. I felt stupid and childish. I thought myself an idiot for believing that my work could be good enough to succeed in the publishing world. Though I tried to continue on believing in myself, it was forced. My conviction eroded to a point where I felt as gullible as the days I believed in the Tooth Fairy - who on Earth did I think I was?

Consequently, this has been a thorn in my side. This is where I'm stuck. I have 8,000 books (funny that...?) remaining and I have no energy, passion or spirit to do anything more about it. Just as I became known as the 'math's dummy' (which I now know is crazy considering at one point I got 99%), will I also become known as the author who printed 8,000 too many?

Right now, I still cannot face those 8,000 copies. I don't know what will happen to them (or the other three titles that have been in production for the last two and a half years). I'm hoping that just by letting it out, externalising it, will help the healing process. Perhaps one day it'll go 'click' and the path will become clear, for I have already started to realise I'm not bad at maths... so perhaps those 8,000 copies will turn out to be not too many after all.

Until tomorrow, may you only listen to those that serve you and dismiss those that don't.

Grace xx

A rewind moment

Have you ever had a rewind moment?

It's like time stands still while a whole bunch of memories are played back in slow motion. You observe happenings of the past as though you're watching a flashback movie montage. Only this time, you know the ending.

You notice all the little details that you missed the first time. It all becomes clear. A bit like gazing at those magic pictures and all of a sudden you have a separation between the crazy pattern and the 3D picture. Once you've seen it, you can't believe that it took you so long to 'get' something that's so obvious. You have what I call, an 'aha' moment.

Well THAT'S exactly what happened to me today...

Saturday mornings, an hour before my French class, I go to a local café to do my homework and practice ordering breakfast with the lovely French waitress (is 'waitress' politically correct nowadays...?)

This morning I bumped into someone whom I haven't seen in eight months. Needless to say, we had a lot to catch up on. She asked what I was up to and I naturally progressed to talking about Project Grace 2010. The conversation turned out to be like a 'best of' compilation album that got stuck on track No. 48, 'When 99% equals FAIL'... and then it happened - the 'aha' moment.

I had a flood of memories, which felt like watching reruns of Count Down (Australia's MTV of the 70's and 80's) where I reminisced the many renditions of the aforementioned popular tune. I could see cover versions of the original (being the 99% maths test) that played out in different scenarios - a bit like having a different band, different film clip, but essentially the same song.

Not only had this song been playing in my life over and over again like a friggin' broken record (or skipping CD for you young bucks), it's been in the Top 10 for nearly 40 years - holy poop! (word 'poop' courtesy of Christy's comments - cheers)

Just as I went from 99% in maths to chronically failing, I could clearly see scenarios where the dreaded '99% equals FAIL' had contaminated specific areas of my life - which to this day, is still a problem. It's that bloomin' song again, playing in the background like drab, hypnotic ambient music.

THIS IS HUGE!!!

My weight issues and frustration over Nubsy (my abbreviation for 'Nubsy McNoodle Wanted A Poodle', the children's book I wrote and published in 2007) are two major sticking points in my life right now - and I can pinpoint the actual moment when a pivotal conversation took place that popped my happiness balloon. Essentially, it was the precise moment that DJ Poop started spinning that cruddy song, "99% equals FAIL" - and I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT!!!

Wow.

With this insight, I feel like 'I've seen the magic trick' (thanks for that metaphor Gaz). What opens up is possibility and freedom. I have taken over as DJ and am tossing out that outdated track. I am choosing what songs I want to play and when.

Until tomorrow, be your own DJ and play the songs you choose.

Grace xx

Repackaging

Yesterday I woke up with a brainwave...

"I'm going to change the way I view my time at the gym," I announced to my husband.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't like referring to gym as Jim and that I'm off to have an affair. It was funny in the beginning, but it doesn't work for me anymore. Plus, I like it when you come along with me."

"Then we'll have a ménage à trois," he said triumphantly - lightly chuckling at his jest.

"No. That's not it. You see, I really like the way I feel after the gym. I ALWAYS leave feeling better than when I arrived. It's just getting there that's the problem," I continued...

"It's like an obligation, something I have to do - and that's not inspiring to me. I need to repackage what the gym means to me so I am inspired to go. When you're inspired, you don't need to motivate yourself because you're itching to do it. Self motivation is draining. Being inspired is the opposite - it's energising. Instead of having to coax yourself to start, you're having to force yourself to stop... or at least pace yourself. That's how I want to feel about the gym. "

"Geez it must be hard being you," he interjected.

"It IS hard being me," I sighed. (That's before I had my 1% breakthrough)

I took the time to reflect on my attitude towards being active as a child. I was always outside playing. From the moment I returned from school it was off with my uniform, complete any obligations (or negotiate deals) for my 'get out of jail free' card, and I was out the door quicker than you could say "Have you finished your homework?" We played till sunset and begrudged the familiar call of "Kids, dinner's ready!"

It didn't stop there. Every wedding, family BBQ or staff Christmas party I was running around with cousins or newly made friends till I collapsed (usually under the table at the feet of my mother). I remained sedated till being carried upstairs and laid to bed (occasionally I would awake when our car reversed into the garage, but I adopted a charade so I could get a free lift to my room - very naughty).

Kiss chasey, tiggy (aka tag), backyard cricket, football, roller skating, riding bikes, British bulldogs, elastics, down-ball, hopscotch, skipping rope and 'mothers and fathers' (the latter probably the least active, but the most creative). I couldn't sit still for a second.

So, with this in mind... plus knowing how good I feel after I've been to the gym, I have now repackaged it as 'Play Time'. That's what the gym is for me. It is PLAYTIME - Woohoo! And the best thing about it is that I don't have to finish my homework before I go. Now that I am an adult (well, that's what my age indicates), I can choose to have my playtime before I start my obligations - isn't that fabulous?

So far, so good.

This morning I leapt out of bed and asked Patrick (my husband), "Do you want to come out to play?" to which he declined. Then I ran off (literally) and played anyway. Right now, I am feeling as happy as I did when I was that little girl who ran and ran and ran till she faked being asleep on her Dad's shoulder.

Until tomorrow, may you repackage whatever it is in your life that needs a new attitude.

Grace xx

The fabric of life

Why do we celebrate birthdays and anniversaries every year?

Granted, there are some cultures that don't celebrate them, however I can only speak for myself and on behalf of those like me.

What is it that we are really celebrating?

As years go by, I care less for gifts and more about those I choose to share these celebratory times with.

To me, these annual celebrations are a cause for reflection. It's like stopping midway trekking to look back and see how far you've come. It's not about reversing or dwelling in the past, a few pensive moments are quite enough.

I love to create experiences where we can (justifiably) put our world on pause and fully indulge in the present for such occasions. By creating special moments, we honour the historical happenings of our lives.

We are no less important than those we dedicate a minute's silence to.
Remember that.

We're often reminded to stop and smell the roses - but in reality, how many times do we do that? Our annually recurring celebrations are wonderful opportunities to pencil in some time for ourselves and those we love. If we can't stop to do that, then we really are walking past the most fragrant rose garden without taking so much as a sniff.

Since I started purposefully creating special moments in honour of celebrations, I have noticed that with each passing year the memories become cumulative.

It's like decorating a piece of fabric with beaded embroidery. Each day is a stitch and on the 365th needle, a new sparkly bead is added. While each bead is beautiful in its own right, it's their clustering that make them really spectacular. What's lovely is that they're all joined by a common thread - and that is the fabric of our lives.

Until tomorrow, may you continue to decorate your fabric and infuse it with the sweet perfume of roses.

Grace xx

The most inspiring family I know

Yesterday my friend Ryan celebrated what he described as his 34th lap of the sun.

Though I must confess, he didn't do it all by himself; he was riding on the coattails of planet Earth that did most of the hard work for him.

Ryan and his clan are currently doing a six month sabbatical in Spain. This is not the first time the family have uprooted themselves from the comforts of their own home to experience life elsewhere.

In 2004, they relocated to Nanaimo (Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada) for a period of two years. It was during this time that I realised the only thing stopping me from being anywhere in the world, was me.

If anybody could find an excuse not to travel, it would surely be a family of four with two children under the age of six. What might appear as insurmountable odds for some, turned into comic challenges for these transient vagabonds.

At the end of their sojourn, they spent three months travelling around the north American continent in 'Wicket', their beloved Dodge mini van (aka caravan of courage). With tales of freezing overnighters in the back of the car (a result of boycotting overpriced holiday parks) combined with their staple diet of porridge (which Jesse fought against with dry retching horror), loaves of bread, roast chicken and ranch dressing, one might be inclined to ask "Why do all that again?"

The answer is simple: Adventure.

Life is made up of experiences, which transform into our most potent possessions - our memories.

When it's time for us to go - we cannot take our house, our cars, our jewellery, our 'toys' and our collection of worldly objects. All we are left with, and what we leave behind, are memories. Our memories belong to us and those we share them with. We cannot be separated from them, they are ours to keep. They cannot be stolen, traded or sold. They remain with us till our final hour.

To Ryan, Jo, Zach and Jess, thank you for being a huge part of my life. Our amazing adventures are now some of my most fondest memories. From our time together in Canada (namely Stobie Pole, Fengi and ice cream the size of babies heads), to our Nubsical journey with our buddy, Mr. Tingwell - not to mention last night's hilarious long distance video call (pictured). You guys rock and continue to be an inspiration to me. Olé!

And to you, reading this blog... be sure to create great memories, for they will surely be the most valuable treasures of your life. Start a new adventure today.

Until tomorrow, "¡Ándale! ¡Ándale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba!"

Grace xx

ps. If you want to follow this family's adventure blog, just click here.

BTW did you know that it's 17,310km (10,670miles) between Madrid and Melbourne? Our 'space age' technology never ceases to astound me;
N-V-T-S nuts!