*ded*

My first photo on my blog as a new wife is just like me - classy.

So I am back from my wedding, which wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I had some horrible people treat me in some horrible ways (see "I am not a Bridezilla" and then add another 20 crappy things, only from 'friends') right up until the wedding so I was nervous, stressed and basically on the verge of calling the whole thing off. ("Why get married if nobody will be there!?" I cried.)

It was worth it and I'd do it 100 times. The people that were there... well, they were the ones that mattered, now weren't they? Some of my closest friends came hell or high water, risking even death (!) to come to my wedding!

But now, now I know I have surrounded myself with quite possibly the world's best people. I have great taste, I think. Looking around at my wedding at all the people that were there for me just made me realize that it really isn't about quantity, but about quality and damned if my wedding was based on quality guests, I'd get a fucking medal.

At one point I was standing in the aisle and we all realized nobody had my music! My music! What were we going to do? All of a sudden one of my closest friends says to me, "Wait, I have a solution!" and whispers to me. I forgot. My friend.. is an opera singer. And only usually a drunk one. But there we go, stone cold sober and she sings for me. Sings loud and clear and beautifully for me to walk down the aisle. Screw iPods. Screw predone orchestrated music from a speaker system. I accidentally had a live opera singer sing me down the aisle. Beat that from your friends!

I am looking forward to writing out thank you cards. Wedding gifts rule. So thoughtful, really. I want to describe the things I got but I fear if I forget one, I will be just distraught with horror at the idea of offending someone who gave me a fantastic gift. Let it be known though that there wasn't a single damn gift I either didn't need, didn't want or couldn't use a million times over. And I'm hard to shop for!! Some people actually got me kitchen things I didn't have! Who can do that? My friends!

So now it's all over and my mother is gone, the coffee machine broke during the wedding so it's not on the counter, the dishes are all over the place, my candles are in a box in the garage... and sadly when we got home, one of our parrots had to be taken care of until she passed on, so her cage is missing as well. The house feels eerily empty and like we just moved into it - what with living out of laundry baskets and plates on the counter. I'm working on fixing it up - but we're still missing my adorable parrot sounds.

So it really IS like a new beginning for us, I suppose. We're putting away all our beautiful gifts (sheepskin rugs! two person woven picnic sets! digital photo frames! Tupperware! blankets! booze! GOOD BOOZE! Money! Shit I did what I said I wouldn't!) and even our own stuff so it does feel all brand new.

I feel different, the boy doesn't. I feel older and more mature. Possibly because I nearly killed myself with stress. I think I aged 6 years. I also lost some hair. Okay, I lost a lot of hair. But nobody noticed. Nobody even noticed my missing earring (except just before the wedding one whole person did). I stressed for nothing.

So now it's time for peppermint tea and naps. With kangaroos.

Duck Duck Duck

Back in farming news, I'm really excited spring is here. It's warmed up enough that strawberries are in season. I only have a tiny bush so there's only one strawberry a day but there it is, a nice ripe fresh red one each afternoon, warm from the sunshine. My tomtatoes have hundreds of flowers and quite a few small green fruit. My capsicum have started to fruit and change colour on some branches. My oranges, mandarins and blueberries are flowering. And best of all, my ducks are laying eggs!

It's so warm I'm getting my usual 7 eggs a day with the chickens, most of which I'm finally selling to pay for the food I give them (and still keep eggs on my table) and now, duck eggs! They're not fertilized because the boy duck doesn't know what mating is yet, but he's eager to be a daddy. He eagerly urges her to build a nest and protects her as she settles in on the chicken's egg, leaving her own unfertilized egg in the middle of the yard for me to find. They really don't get it.

Mangoes will be in season again soon. Lychees will be in season soon. My tomatoes will be bursting. I've grown asparagus from seed. I've got three lettuces coming up. My potatoes are an entire new tyre tall. My chicks are getting fat and mature and may lay eggs later this year. It's warm and beautiful and it rains just enough at night to make me dance at not having to water my lawn. I'm lazy! Yaaaay!

I'm trying to learn to be more frugal so I soaked beans to make veggie chilli last night and had leftover beans when I was done. I am mashing them with breadcrumbs and herbs and am turning them into bean patties for 'ham'burgers. Hopefully the boy won't notice.

Today a friend came over and I had no bread so I thought I'd make tortillas to make veggie wraps for her. They turned out perfectly. Seat of my pants, baby.

The Price of Food

I've been thinking lately about the price of food. How expensive homemade food can be if you don't have access to either land or money. The former of which costs a lot of money, as well. Slowly the world has started to adapt to more local means of eatins farm to city (CSA boxes and the like) but mostly, if you want a good fresh meal, it's going to cost you.

This is where little things, like windowsills and rent-a-gardens come in. For a minimal amount, you can rent little plots to grow your own food within the city. Finding a place on your way to work or other regular ventures (the gym, if you're stronger willed than me) is beneficial to finding the time to go and tend to it, as it may need watered daily in high heats.

I have about 200 mandarins I got two days ago. I juiced over half of them, and am leaving the rest to work on later. All these mandarins came from one tree. I thought about how much this juice costs. Should I have purchased the mandarins in the store, it would have been exceptionally cheaper to just buy pre-packaged juice, even the good kind. Getting it direct off the farm was just getting someone else's glut that would've rotted anyway; however it would've also cost me land to produce myself. Both things are pricey. So something like the most basic, fresh squeezed orange juice, is actually quite an expensive thing to produce. Not everyone can make it for themselves.

Of course if you can start getting to know your local farms, you can start getting a little bit of free excess as well. Usually for the price of some labour or something you have to offer (maybe your backyard has a mango tree) you can get the overstock of another's. It's just going to rot anyway, so the farmer is quite happy to get some stuff done in return for the over-abundance he'll have when entire trees ripen at once. Get to know the farmers at your local markets so you can start asking them when certain things will be in season, then you can start preserving them.

Eating in season feels so good. When your body adjusts to it, it feels 'right'. It feels like your skin is clearer, your mood is higher, your eyes are shinier.. I don't know. It could be because, automatically, eating in season tends to mean a person also eats healthier. (You're not really eating in-season packet chips, are you?) It just feels great to me.

Of course eating things you got in season in another season is awesome, too. Especially if you got yours direct from farm, you'll have preserved it at it's peak so it will taste much better than anything you could've bought, which was probably gassed, had a bunch of funny things added to it, and came from unripe berries and some other fillers that aren't on the label. Plus, with homemade product, you can always make 'twists', such as kiwi and papaya jam, which you could never get in the shops.

So, obviously I feel it's important to think about where your food comes from and how you can save money buying in a more direct manner. Food can be expensive but it doesn't have to be, if you know what you're doing and where you're going and if you're willing to put in a couple hours labour for it. It's totally worth it. If you had spent the money, you'd have never gotten that much plus the hard work makes you feel extremely content and productive for relatively easy work.

I have no point.

This Story Explains Me Pretty Well

I'm starting to think I might be a tad impulsive. Ah, who am I kidding, we all know I'm impulsive. I have the natural self-preservation instinct of a chicken. Anyone who's owned chickens knows they'd most probably just sleep as their beloved was being murdered next to them by a fox and then act surprised when they get eaten next - if they actually wake up for it. I'm fairly certain when a chicken is being eaten alive at night, it opens an eye and goes, "Gee, I'm being eaten. Oh well, as long as he doesn't wake me." So yes, my point is, this appears to be the level of self-preservation I have.

So this introduction leads me to my next story; where I somehow ended up in the rainforest with a complete stranger showing me around with a machete. Logically, this would be a very bad situation, right? Like - hello, 24 year old woman by herself with a strange man in a forest - clearly I have no sense of danger - or I have an incredible sense of adventure. My mother prefers the word 'wrecklessness'. Whatever you call it, it's gotten me into some crazy situations. Not all I've loved, but most of them I have.

So let's back up. My fiance has been talking on and on and on about this excavator he's been wanting for ages that's bogged down in some guy's back-alley hidden farm. $1500 and if he can fix it, he can have it. Apparently this is an excellent deal for excavators are expensive. I have no idea. All I know is The Boy asked me if I could go drive 2 hours after what amounted to enough sleep to barely function in normal society. So of course, by the time I get there, my already meager sense of not dying was lowered below it's usual reserves.

So we meet these two swagmen, right. Now, for Americans - swagmen are Outback bush ranger types without the ranger bit. They love the land and wear big boots and cut down trees and sleep under the stars and grow beards and, well, are men. Think Brokeback Mountain, but less gay. Or more gay - I haven't really figured it out. But these are the men that eat out of cans of beans they heated over a fire and since they don't have a fork, they just use their dirt-encrusted hands to scoop the beany goodness into their mouths. Those kind of men. Real men.

So they meet us with our white ute and trailer carrying a boat (this is another story) on their own four-wheelers. As they lead us through this huuuuge pathway between state forests, I start noticing bizarre looking orange trees. Bumpy little oranges dot the pathway. So do bizarre animals, trees, rivers and funny-shaped natural structures. Point being, I wasn't in Kansas anymore, Toto. As we're following these two swagmen on their four-wheelers, they are using a machete to cut down overhanging trees and branches, leading us up this windy dirt road for miles.

So, again, just to be clear - I don't know these men's names. I've never met these men. Neither has my fiance. My fiance's father, who is with us, is probably the only person who has someone at home waiting for him in case he turns up missing - but since my fiance had the address, she probably didn't really know where he went. So as we're bumping through a rainforest path following two men with machetes I came upon the realization that, hey, they could kill us and nobody would even begin to know where to look for us.

We finally get to the destination and, lo and behold, there really IS an excavator for my fiance to look at. Well, I'll be damned. So - not being one for digging things I got a bit bored and started poking at the four-wheelers, which the men had gotten off at this point. I mentioned to one of the bushmen that I saw some really funny orange trees and did he mind if I picked some oranges.

"Ah those be bush lemons mate! Not oranges. I've got a million of 'em. I'll chop down 10 trees and you can take 'em home with ya if ya want!"
I was a bit taken aback, "Uh that's not, er, necessary. I'd rather just pick a few."
He looked at his partner and pointed up to the hills, while still talking to me, "Well there be some juicy juicy lemon trees up in the mountain but you need the fourwheeler to get them. Hey Sammy, take the girl on the four-wheelers to get some lemons from the good trees!"

So, let me elaborate again. Bushman #1 says to Bushman #2, hey.. take this lady on a strange vehicle up a mountain, far away from us, so she can pick lemons. Oh, by the way, she doesn't know your name, my name, or if the machetes we use have ever killed people. Did I mention I'm impulsive?

Instead of the normal human reaction of, "Oh this is probably a bad idea." I went, "Cool!! I can drive a four wheeler and pick lemons!? Awesome!!!" Logically, at the time, this made perfect sense to me. Now, mind you, we're in a fucking rainforest. So there's no paths, no tracks... and a lot of logs, creeks and bumpy things. Oh, and I've never driven a four-wheeler except once and it was on flat land. I have, however, ridden dirt bikes. Once. So logically, I think, "This can't be much different, can it?!"

So after ten minutes trying to figure out why the clutch was actually a brake, I got the girl going at a level that was reasonable. However, my first task appeared to be 'cross this 6' deep gully with a river in the bottom of it'. "Okay!" my lack-of-proper-judgment-brain said to me, "I can do this!"

So. Riding a four-wheeler is pretty much exactly nothing like riding a dirt bike. Except the part where you hit the throttle and pray for the ever loving grace of G-d that you're going to make it over the top of the bend without falling over backwards and ending up underneath a four wheeler, in a ditch, covered in river, on fire. There's a joke in that last sentence.

Before I decided it was a brilliant idea to make my first trip on a four-wheeler to cross a freakin river, my fiance decided to give me advice.

"Now remember, when you're going down, lean back. When you're going up, lean forward."

Yep. That's it. Not, "Hey and if the jolly swagman decides to cut off your neck, be sure to roll your head this way so we know to run." or, "If the river starts to carry you away, hold your breath as long as possible." No, this is not the advice he gives me. "Lean forward on the up and back on the down," was the best he could do.

And me? I thought this was excellent advice. Because, apparently, as compulsive as I am - he is just as equally trusting. Go! Go risk your life crossing dams so you can pick lemons with an unknown swagman carrying a myriad of knives, but just rememeber, lean back on the down and forward on the up. Yep. That seemed good advice to me.

Glynn's father, who is probably a bit more logical than us, handed me a knife 'for the lemons' he said. So I pocketed this tiny little golden utility knife feeling perfectly safe that against a man with a machete, this would be adequate protection. Did I mention I'm impulsive?

I don't know how I managed, but I crossed the gully with the river in it just fine. Maybe it's because I leaned forward on the up. Most likely it's because I just went, "Shit shit shit shit shit," and hit the throttle. And of course LEAPED over the top edge of the gully. Which, if you've ever done it, is exactly what makes you love the damn vehicles. So, with a renewed sense of "Fuck yeah I can totally do this!" I followed the jolly swagman deep into the jungle to pick fucking lemons, man.

You know what's awesome about open-air vehicles that cover raw land? That the thing you want to do, as opposed to the thing you should be doing are two completely different things. So when you want to lean into a corner, you really...really...shouldn't. I wish I could draw you a picture but imagine me, young redheaded female, on a massive 4-wheeler, pretty much sideways on the side of a mountain leaning into the corner before going, "Shit, I think this is how you fall the fuck over." and suddenly trying to counter balance in the opposite direction.

I guess just picture a redheaded praying mantis stuck to a flying rock, sideways. Got that picture in your head? That's what I looked like. Oh, and I wasn't wearing a helmet. Of course. I was in the damn jungle and in the damn jungle YOU DON'T WEAR HELMETS. Got that? Although I don't know why I'm mentioning this. There's fucking machetes in this story - I don't think the helmet was really my biggest problem here.

So we got to the lemon trees. I know, I'm a bit surprised they existed too. Did you know that bush lemons are absolutely covered in spines? Yeah well I didn't.

(Photographic Evidence I am not dead)*

So we come back with our bags filled with delicious bush lemons and my man is still checking out the escavator. I tell Swagman #1 that I really loved his land and it was very pretty and I thanked him for the lemons. This is when he said to me, "You should see the waterfall!"

"Waterfall? There's a waterfall!?"
"Yeah mate, up in the forest on the mountain. She's a beaut. 8 feet deep and just beautiful."
"Do we have time to see the waterfall!?" I look at Glynn with big sooky eyes, just begging him to let me go out with a strange bushman carrying a foot-long blade once more into the forest on a vehicle I've never driven up a mountain over rocks with no helmet. Yeah, read that again. Glynn said, "Yeah sure, you can do that!"
What a good man.

So Swagman #2 takes me back up the mountain, but this time on a different path, a much less travelled path. Okay, it wasn't even a path. It was a bunch of broken twigs leading the way; and every now and then the swagman would stop and break more twigs 'to help guide the way again'. So when I say I'm in the middle of nowhere, I am not kidding.

Once more I am sideways praying mantis. Upside down praying mantis. Downhill praying mantis. Basically, I was slowly climbing a barely-trecked mountainside on this vehicle that couldn't go past 14km (because, yes, at this time I also thought "how fast can this thing go?" - however it might go up to 15 or even 16, considering I was going uphill on wet rocks at the time). This is when the swagman stops and points, "You see these trees lining the path? Yeah they're poison, I'd put on me jacket if I were you. This is why I wear gloves, mate."

Poison. Trees. What. The. Fuck. Australia.

Also, at this point I'm really praying the cut on my head really DID come from the lemon tree. After what seems to me to be about half an hour, we have to get off the vehicles and start walking because the four-wheelers valued at around $17k each couldn't go across this part even though they had just trekked up a fucking mountain. Dude.

Next thing I know I'm jumping down huge gullies, skipping rocks across gushing rivers and at one point I kid you not, I had to cross a beam of wood the men had cut around a rock to serve as a 3" deep platform you could hold onto the rock for balance and cross to get to the other side. Mind you I am wearing little platform shoes made of rubber and a trenchcoat, along with a glittery studded Guess top. Mind you, Swagman #2 was wearing steeltoed boots, utility pants, a Drizabone coat, thick leather gloves and was carrying a fucking machete. I still had my tiny gold utility knife. You know, for the lemons.

Finally the swagman says to me, "Here she is."

In front of me is quite possibly the most beautiful natural thing I have ever seen. A giant slab of water-worn rock rests atop a carefully balanced boulder, a sheet of thick crystal clear water slicing across the air. The rainforest trees, with their thick wet foliage and thick twisted vines encased the entirety of the waterfall in it's roots. Soft green luscious moss splattered the shiny gray wet rocks like something carefully painted by only the finest of French artists.

The best part. The best part was the sounds. If you closed your eyes you felt like you had turned your favourite Sounds of the Rainforest CD on surround and managed to have million-dollar speakers. It was the live version of a natural symphony. The music of the rainforest was incredible. Cicadas wrote lovesongs in the trees. Parrots played among the twisted vines, announcing their adoration for the waterfall in playful clucks. The waterfall pounded on the rocks in front of me, the sounds of rushing water heavy and thick and so incredibly close. The hairs on my arms stood on end.

"Cleanest water you'll find. You should try some." he said as he pointed to the fall with his knife.

I couldn't help it. I had to do it. I climbed down the last couple feet to the base of the fall and skipped the slimy slippery wet rocks across the gushing river and shovelled both hands directly into the gushing water. Three times I drank from the beautiful pure rainforest waterfall, the splashes soaking my coat and hair with beads of crystalline droplets. Feeling as if more than three mouthfuls would render me 'greedy', I pulled away from the moment. I swear I could hear the ripping sound of my brain being snapped back into the real world.

I climbed back up the fall, back across the wooden plank, back through the rivers and gulleys, back onto the ATVs, back sideways down the mountain and back into the real world.

So this is the story of how I followed strangers into the rainforest without knowing a thing about what I was getting into and having one of the most beautiful moments imaginable. I'm fairly certain that when you do something so wreckless, there should be consequences, not rewards. So I'm guessing this will end up being the story of how I got Cholera. Watch.

*Textual evidence I exaggerate greatly.

Ramblings.

So I guess I haven't really updated this blog for real since I got my diagnosis from the specialist. I suppose it's because I don't really want to write it down. I don't want to say the specialist thinks my immunity is compromised. I know what diseases there are that are autoimmune and not many of them are simple. The majority are pretty bad.

As it turns out, I was so sick my friends in health (Doctors and Nurses, I know personally) didn't even want to tell me they thought I had HIV. I don't, thank goodness - but they honestly for awhile thought I did. That's a terrifying thought, especially considering my lifestyle. I don't sit there swapping needles or bodily fluids with people. At least I'm not contagious - so whatever it is, nobody else will get, and that's reassuring.

People are being hard on me and it's difficult. I've gone some people asking me if I'm lying about the whole damn thing. Of course, these are just people on the internet and not people visiting me asking where my weight went, or why I've suddenly and uncontrollably started shaking, or why I need a nap so early in the day. So, really, who cares if they think I'm lying? I suppose - I do. It's a stress I don't need, people being cruel and accusing me of lying as I stand between sheer joy I'm alive and utter sadness I don't know what's wrong with me.

Oh I did't actually say that, did I? They diagnosed the liver failure but, apparently, the continuously being sick is the real problem - not the liver. You know it's scary when liver failure is the lesser of the evils going on in my body. The specialist even seem unconcerned about my liver at the moment and was more concerned with my health this last year. I can't even begin to imagine what I have - but rest assured I've already imagined everything.

The bright side is I'm finally reading all those wonderful books I love. I also was super meticulous with the taxes because, well, what was I going to do sitting at home all day? So we got a very nice refund coming in, and that eases my stresses quite a bit. Plus my fiance got his raise and I got paid for a couple things I did in the past - so surprisingly, I'm still managing to 'pull my weight' (I don't think I am most of the time but the fiance tells me to slow down all the time) around here and make some money to help out.

I'm allowed to do simple easy stuff. Doctor said I was allowed to putter and do household chores and even leave the house for short periods of time (to say, like, get 4-5 things from the shops or get videos from the video store but not like a giant grocery trip or eating out). I've been planting a lot of seeds in my garden because that's fairly easy. Just sit there and poke holes in the dirt. The chickens even broke out of the backyard and scratched up all the dirt in the front yard for me to make it a little easier.

It's interesting, I can actually pinpoint the exact time I've used too much energy in one go - when I start shaking. I can start to control it a little or feel it come on and I know to slow down. When I slow down, the shakes stop. I have no idea what the shakes even mean. I'm eating, so it's not from hunger. I've started digesting again, so it's not that. My E/LFTs are still incredibly high, but not as high as they were. Perhaps that's causing the shakes? No idea.

I admit I jump back and forth in my emotions a lot these days. Super extremes too. Not like me. I have highs and lows but they're usually situational. These days I look around me and just burst into tears, wondering if it's all going to go away. Wondering and praying whatever I have is managable or curable or non-existent (Maybe they made a mistake! I cry.).

I am redoing my will, and I'm updating my living will, in case I end up in a coma. Scary thought. I'm also contemplating upping my life insurance, but I worry they will notice I saw a specialist before I upgraded and only a few weeks before I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. I don't want them cancelling on my fiance if he needs it because I felt the desire to raise my limit at a bad time. Does anyone know if the insurance will do this? I'm not diagnosed with anything yet - but I probably will be.

I just... I want to live, damnit. Not live, look my blood is still running in my veins but LIVE, get out there and live. Live life, have fun, enjoy what I've got... I also want to pretend I never got this diagnosis and ignore it completely and pretend I'm healthy and just never go back to the doctor. I was supposed to make an appointment on Friday for this week. I can't bring myself to do it. I have a few blood tests still waiting for me to hear the results to - and I can't do it.

I know there's a few of you shaking your heads at me for being so stupid as to not make that appointment to see those last results. Stupid girl, you think, if it was me, I'd be in that doctor's office this second. Would you? Really? Because I'm stuck in this limbo between "It's really bad not knowing" and "What I don't know can't hurt me"....if I bury my head in the sand long enough, the world will pass by and everything will be okay. What I don't know today could be the worst news I get in my life tomorrow, you know?

People get mad at me because when they see me, I am laughing and joking. Even about the doctor's results and diagnosis... I joke and laugh. How dare I! How dare I? What else am I supposed to do? Break down in tears every time I bring it up like I do when I'm alone? Am I supposed to be sad until I get my autoimmune diagnosis and then be sadder still? Sometimes I begin to wonder if people just want to see me cry.

So I laugh and I joke and I keep my spirits up because, well, because this sucks. I'm NOT happy. I'm NOT in the mood to laugh - but I'm going to do it anyway. Even the simple act of making the joke or pretending to laugh eases the stresses a little. It satisfies me that the world is normal and happy and the pain will, in fact, go away. Laughter, jokes and smiles give me the hope I need to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

If I can laugh, then I haven't lost me. I won't lose myself in this, I refuse to.

So, I'm on bedrest for another 10 or so days. I can handle that, right? In 10 days, I'll join the world again - like nothing bad ever happened. That will be nice.

Honeymoon

I'm thinking about my honeymoon right now. I keep telling everyone my fiance and I plan to see Greece but I'm not entirely sure anymore. I wanted to go to Prague awhile ago but money problems arose from my last relationship. So I seem to have a general lust for Europe. I just switch sides.

However, I thought, why does a person need to do all the stereotypical things on a honeymoon? Why can't I go out and do something completely different? Something that might change my whole perspective on life and freedoms? Well, maybe because that's not like me at all. Of course not! I would never go randomly into a new country and follow a road less travelled. Of course not. Never done it before.

So I present to you, my idea. I want to walk the El Camino de Santiago, the Way of St. James, to Santiago de Compostela. I have been studying it here and there over the last couple years and it's something I definitely want to do before I die. I've spoken about it often to friends and even made pacts with friends I deemed 'good enough to spend a few weeks hike with' to travel this road together. I promised even if I did it, I would do it again just for them and be their guide. This is the way of the road.

I read stories of the Templar Knights and of the promises made to the people and of how it all came crumbling down. I've read about the scallop shells and the protection and magick (though the Christians might not like that part) surrounding the road beneath the Milky Way. Follow the stars, follow your heart, follow your dreams - travel through history and become a part of the world as it once was.

I want to earn my Compostela, which is a certificate presented to pilgrims who have travelled 100km or more by foot. I want to do a little more than this, as this is one of the shorter routes, only taking about a good strenuous 2 days hike or 3-4 days with stops and relaxing. I would like to collect all the stamps possible in a two weeks period, before ending up in Santiago, with a prayer and a compestela.

Not your classic honeymoon destination, I wouldn't think. However, it would be one you would never forget, not for a moment. "Remember how after we got married, we strapped backpacks to ourselves and walked the Road to Santiago?" And we'll display the stamps and compestela in the glass cases of our house and speak fondly of those days until the road calls us back to be guides for the next pilgrims.

Sure, in my head it's fantastical and romantic. I know it's rough and complicated and dehydrating and the packs are heavy. I know it's a lot of walking. I know it's a lot of remembering some semblance of the Spanish I was once fluent in. I am fine with this. I would be proud to undertake the challenges of the Road in the name of Gd and feel history beneath me feet.

If not for my honeymoon, another day. I hate saying 'another day' though, because that's what people always say before they tuck away their dreams for a day that never comes. Still, I speak fondly of taking this trip every time the topic of travel comes up. Maybe it's not the worst idea I've had. But then again, I've had some pretty bad ideas.

C'est la vie.

Such is life. No more, no less. Such is life. Why then, are these words considered so negative? Never are they used to describe happy events. And yet, in an of themselves, they are very neutral. So why do we not say, "Today I relaxed on the beach with my toes in the sand. Ah, c'est la vie!"? I think we should. Change the drudgery of our daily expressions to be just that bit more positive.

This goes for a lot of things - and it's also advice I myself need to take more. In and of themselves, words, people, objects and feelings are neither negative nor positive - it is simply the projection of our own bias we use to make them so. I vividly recall "horrible" events in my life that I woed over for many days before they magically seemed to turn into great wonderful things.

Take my meeting my fiance, for a small example. I met him because my motorbike decided it was not going to turn off. Ever. The ignition had broken and I was devastated. I had only had the bike for a few months! I got a couple offers from some dirty old man to fix it, but declined out of some sort of fear he might hurt me. When I continued to look for a new ignition I was met with much resistance. Bike shops had closed down for good. Parts were hard to source. Excuses were made.

Finally the dirty old man said to me, "I have the part right here if you're willing to come and get it." I so was not. I was scared, I admit, that he might use this way 'in' as an attempt to sleep with me. I was right, I suppose. Turns out the dirty old man was actually rather young, but still dirty (not minded! just dirty! covered in it!). He fixed the part for me, somehow convinced me to see him and again and my horrible messed up motorbike turned into me begrudgingly meeting some man I didn't want to meet - only to be marrying him in near one hundred days now.

Obviously the 'bad' in this example is not very bad, but I make a small point still. I have had much worse things happen in my life that have also turned good (one of these days I'll tell you how I ended up in Australia) but at the time, I didn't think they were good at all. Ranging from the time I was homeless to my husband leaving me for a teenage girl - those horrible things would not have put me in the place I am now.

So, I'd like to make a small suggestion. Not to you, not to me, just to the anyone who wants to think about it or consider for a moment their own lives. All those moments you sighed longingly and said to yourself, "C'est la vie," in frustration at something plaguing your life - that it didn't end up so bad after all. Even the worst things in life have meaning - this I know from the bottom of my heart. So perhaps we need to change not the definition but the feeling behind the words we say.

C'est la vie. Such is life. And it can be great.

Memory, all alone in the moonlight. I can smile at the old days. I was beautiful then.

I'm not one to fondly remember my past and talk about it in length. It's not that I don't like my past, it's that once things are over - I tend not to really think about them much unless it comes up in conversation or someone reminds me (such as my Bill Bryson Down Under and my Racehorse Billionaire posts were both because someone reminded me).

So I was a bit surprised last night when I found myself looking through old photos of myself. I notice the distinct lack of any photos Pre-Australia, but hey, Australia's been a fun place. I never really took full advantage of America while I lived there. I saw a lot of it - the entire West Coast, the entire highway down the Mississippi (which hits like, New Orleans, Detroit, Little Rock, Chicago and a whole slew of other landmarks I can barely remember at the moment, and definitely not in that order).

According to my mother, I saw a lot of the middle too, but I don't recall a moment of it. Nor do I have photos of my numerous trips to Mexico, Canada, or the Redwood forests. A pity, really. I simply did not appreciate what I had enough to feel photos were necessary. Now, I'm almost an obsessive photo taker. Who cares, though? I have a million wonderful funny things I probably would barely remember had I not taken photos, gone through them and smiled at the memory. So my camera might annoy some people - it's been worth it.

So - I leave my photographic memories to those of Australia, simply because that's when I started taking photos of things. I would like to share some with you. A little piece of my past, to greater understand the person who does all the things she does - or just to mock the silly lifestyle I have had. Either one.

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This photo is the first photo I ever got with my new motorbike. I remember my 22nd birthday was fast approaching and I was really upset that between the ages of 21-22, I had done nothing to improve my life. So I decided to get a motorbike licence. As you do. I decided on Kiki, the beautiful 1989 Honda CBR250R. She's my girl. She's a bit small for me now, but she's going to be with me forever. Someday soon I plan on teaching learners how to ride on her.


This photo is from the time I married myself. What? Yes, you heard me right. After a particularly nasty break-up (those who know me will remember the time I was BILLED for my relationship) I decided I wanted to marry myself! What better use for that dusty dress I had planned on marrying someone else in? This photo was taken by the amazing Greg Morgan, a rather colourful-looking but down to earth fellow who just likes to smile and have fun. You always know he's around because he jingles from his multiple piercings. Anyway, I really had this shoot to sell the dress - but figured while I was in mourning over a relationship AND on Facebook, I'd make a fake me and marry myself. I posted this and some others as proof I married myself. The dress is still for sale. Damn resale value.


For a few months, an ex-pro motorbike racer took me under his wings and taught me how to ride. He worked with me on simulators (this photo) and on my own personal bike. He taught me how the pros do it, but from a newbie viewpoint. He taught me all about camber of the road, how to read a road and how to properly lean in the corners. I will forever be grateful to him for doing this for me. I still, to this day, ride in a very much racer-position (I even get mocked for it by other riders! "What do you think you're doing? racing?!") thanks to the positioning he taught me. Without him, I would be an exceptionally poor rider. He literally saved my life on the roads. Thank you, Redroo!

This is from when I decided to convert to Judaism. This is the shul that yes or nos you in Melbourne. This time I was no'd. Repeatedly. Seven times, actually. (That three thing? yeah, turns out, it's a MINIMUM, not a guarantee) I was really happy to have come all this way to see this beautiful shul, so I took a photo in front of it. I spent much time on this trip studying Judaism so I could convert. It was a major turning point in my belief in Gd, my diet, my lifestyle and my faith. I am so proud of myself for undertaking this experience and connecting myself to a higher power - even if it's not for everyone, it really did help straighten me out a bit.

This is the day Glynn proposed. This is my first photo ever where I'm wearing my new ring. I like this photo because it shows the love we have for each other in something a little crude like a public kiss. I remember when I picked out my ring, the silly male was given it by the clerks to give to me and he turns to me, holding the ring in the palm of his hand and says, "Here ya go!" and hands it to me! So romantic! I also remember running back and forth along the Queen Street Mall in 5" heels so I could transfer money over to the credit card so we could buy the ring (no I didn't buy it myself, my fiance had his money in my account after selling his house - trust, man) and the shop was closing. They opened JUST so I could have my ring. It was a terrible idea, as I spent the entire drive home in peak hour traffic staring at my hand instead of the road.

This is from when my girlfriend and I were Indy girls, about 4 years back. We found, of all things, celery in the bathroom of our hotel. So we thought we'd be silly. This isn't a huge memory, but it's a fun one. I recall a lot about Indy and generally getting my teenager wild-on a few years too late. I didn't do drugs or anything, but I had a good time. With celery in my ear, apparently.

This is just from the time I mud-wrestled the dog and won. WHAT? It's a good memory. I won, didn't I?!

I remember when my girlfriend (not the one shown above) and I decided to take up belly dancing. We decided to try to find one in my area before the city but were a bit, um, disappointed. Some moves were so basic, we already knew them and at one point, the lady was counting beat and said, "1...2... what was the next number? Geeze it's okay if I lose count at 8, but at 2?!" Ha. It was quite adorable, really, but not for us. So we learned via Ambyr in the city instead and last year did a show for my partner's birthday where we bellydanced for him and took him to dinner. You never saw a man so happy - two bellydancers on his arms at dinner. He looked like he won the jackpot.

And finally, from the time my fiance and I went on a 3 day getaway to the mountains. This is honestly one of my best memories. I was really woo'd on this trip by my wonderful partner. We went to the markets and got gourmet foods and soaps. We fell in love all over again, really. It was just after we got engaged. An engagement-party if you will, just us. This is the Escarpment Resort on Mount Tamborine. We went on picnics and watched the sun set over the countryside from the top of the mountain.

It's the little things in life I remember most fondly. Kindness, love, passion, learning - all those things are what really made my life these last few years truly special. I will treasure these times as long as I live.

Wow!

I just realized how insanely awesome yesterday was. Woke up to a letter from my favourite chef, bought a new outfit for nearly nothing, dyed my hair back to bright bright red, got a well-paying job in Melbourne in a few weeks (I absolutely adore Melbourne) and then my husband took me on a dinner and date movie which was fun and enjoyable and then when we got home I pretended I was a real estate agent trying to sell him our house. It ended well - but I don't think he's gonna buy it. Ha.

I've been having a LOT of fun with life lately and am seriously looking forward to attending more events with people. Problem is I don't like common events. I hate huge crowds and lots of drunk people - just like being at work. yay. I prefer things like dinner parties and sunny days with gardens and drives to the country and wine tasting and things like that. It's hard to make friends like that - everyone in Brisbane seems to be caught up in this 'hip' thing - which is hysterical because I wouldn't say Brisbane is hip at all. It seems like an entirely new thing.

Melbourne is pretty much my exact type of lifestyle. Coffee, food, motorbikes in the city, trams, rainy days, tea shops everywhere, handmade jewellery stalls on the side of the road, gourmet chocolate shops every few feet and quirky little things like potato restaurants, wine and jazz nights in the city (nearly empty as well!) and the lovely Jewish communities. I really feel at home in Melbourne. I just wish my husband wanted to live there.

Brisbane is not like that at all. I feel, lately, Brisbane has been getting into the 'must like rarer music than my neighbour even if it's bad and must only like local art and talent and can't like anything from anywhere else as I dye my hair purple but only in a shade nobody has'. Seriously it's all come out of left field, too. Nobody wants to have quiet drinks at a smooth jazz tapas bar anymore... well, they never did in Brisbane. It went from bogan to trendy-scene in a matter of a year. Bizarre.

So I don't think I mentioned this but I'm actually not married yet. I'm getting married in November. I call Glynn my husband because, well, we're already like a married couple. Insanely in love. Insanely!! I'm talking people make movies out of our life kind of insane. We're just wild about each other and we're almost on year two! Woohoo. We still do tickle fights and pull faces at each other and dance randomly in the livingroom to a cool song. We rarely argue, if at all. So maybe he's not a husband! Ha.

The thing I think that makes the best relationships is a sincere desire to see the other person happy. Glynn hates ducks. If you haven't noticed... I have a duck. I hate having huge things in the garage that never get fixed. And yet, there's a broken down car in there. Been there for months. LOL. Neither of us are mad about it - because I know he'll someday get around to fixing it and replace that with another thing that makes him happy... and I'll be happy with my duck. It doesn't really feel like 'compromise' to me.. just a sincere desire to see him happy, so I go "Meh, what's a broken down car?" and he goes, "Meh, what's a duck?"

Life is... good.