Fairy food

Today I have been thinking about these, rose and violet creams. They are so delicious.  

I love them because Haigh's make them. Haigh's chocolate is superior to all other makers of chocolate*. I have loved chocolate for as long as I've been alive. Extreme chocoholism is a proud tradition on the Brebner side of the family. My Pa was always causing Patsy (my grandma) grief before her elaborate dinner parties when he'd hunt down the after dinner chocolate, which had been hidden from him, and eat it all.  He'd do this just before the dinner party started, so all the shops would be closed and it couldn't be replaced. 

When I was about 2 years old my parents left a block of chocolate broken up in a bowl on the bench for the babysitter before they went out. When my parents were getting reading, I climbed up onto the bench and ate the entire bowl. In the process, I got quite a bit of it smeared on my little face. Mum asked me what I had on my face, I replied sheepishly, "Somening chocnate." 

(In an early flirtation with my own will power, I was swapping all my "Ls" for "Ns" when speaking, hence chocnate, I became Eniza, I barracked for the Bnues etc. I did it for about 6 months straight and my parents fretted that I'd developed some kind of developmental disturbance. Eventually they worked out that I was just doing it because I could and tried to trip me up, but they never did. Until one day, I just stopped it, just as suddenly as I started it.)

The other reason I love rose and violet creams is because they taste like flowers (duh). Katie and I spent most of time between the age of 1 and 8 dressed up as fairies. Our very talented Mum made us many beautiful fairy costumes over the years, which I felt were far superior to some of our friends shop purchased ones. Mine were always pink, while being the second child Katie's tended to vary more in colour. Like lots of little kids, Katie and I spent a lot of time tearing the sheets off our beds and making tents between the two sitting room armchairs and then doing anything to avoid packing them up. We spent hours hiding under blanket tents playing our own little games in our own little world. My inner 5 year old self thinks that rose and violet creams are exactly the kind of food "real fairies" would nibble on at the bottom of their whimsical English gardens.

Katie (2 1/2) & Lizey (4), circa June 1995

I love this photo, you can see how well loved our costumes were!

In other news, thanks so much to my buddy Kate, who awarded me a "Forget me not" award. I have displayed it in the right hand side bar. You can read what it's all about by clicking the link embedded in her name. 


*The images are not of Haigh's, as all their images are copyrighted and can't be used without written permission. This is a shame, as they make a better looking chocolate than these!

Hey megalomaniac!

Due to last night's headache, I only survived the first 4 sets of Nadal and Djokovic. Little brother has kind enough to record the last one fore me. Talk about an epic match, I can only imagine the cramps you'd have after playing that kind of tennis for just under 6 hours! I felt sorry for both of them during the presentation, eventually someone worked out that they should probably get them chairs. I have nothing but admiration for both of them. I think the French Open will be an interesting tournament. Nadal is clearly only a whisker behind Djokovic on hard court, so I will be very interested to see how they match up on clay.

These two athletes had me thinking about confidence. It's plain to see that to succeed in elite level sport takes a huge amount of confidence, bordering on arrogance. That's probably because to achieve something that has such low odds of happening on average, you have to have a tremendous amount of self belief that can fuel overcoming those odds. 

In the right dose, confidence is a wonderful thing. I don't imagine it's possible to live a fulfilling life without it. Whilst it's a good thing that the world isn't full of ego maniacs, everyone needs enough confidence to get the best of themselves. Confidence drives us to work harder and get the best out of ourselves. Confidence is the voice inside us that tells us to dump the boyfriend who treats us badly because we deserve better or to forget about the 'friend' who is only ever around when they need something. 

The best kind of confidence comes from self worth. Demanding better of ourselves because we know we can be better than we are. Demanding more of the people around us because we know we are worthy of more than what they are giving us or what we are settling for. 

People settle all the time. For a job that gives them no satisfaction, for friendships that provide them with no support, relationships that do not adequately validate and respect and to compromise on things we once thought were non-negotiable. When we make a habit of settling in one area of life, the pattern spreads to other areas. This is why confidence is importance. 

So don't turn into a crazy ego maniac, but have the confidence to respect your own dignity. If you are not doing yourself justice, do better. If someone in your life is not respecting you, demand better of them or find someone better. 

Everyone should watch this video, because I say so and because it's fantastic. Have a great week =)

Nearly as good as tetris

Little brother came home from Adelaide this morning. He managed to see the entire Indian cricket team at Adelaide airport and wrangle a photo out of Sachin Tendulkar. Just his luck! 

Mum and I did boxing again at the gym this morning. It was a good workout and the instructor pulled her up when she tried to cheat by doing lazy frenzied upper cuts. We were working in pairs and there was a lady next to us who would not shut up about her sore shoulder, how she'd already done another class beforehand then ranting motivational 'no pain no gain' type phrases. It was very annoying, very noisy and she was too busy ranting away to notice how far over she'd moved and that Mum and I were getting pushed further and further into the wall. Self-awareness is a beautiful thing.

It was very warm today in Melbourne, 35 degrees. I am a St John Ambulance volunteer and I foolishly volunteered to attend a duty this afternoon. At the time when I said I'd do it, it didn't occur to me that the men's singles final would be on. As usual and thankfully we did little more than hand out stingoes and bandaids. There was one lady who requested our help. She had been in the sun for a few ours and was feeling dizzy. She will be 92 this year and is still living independently, which is pretty amazing. Her daughter is a doctor and told her not to go out in the heat today. She should have listened! The poor lady just needed a bottle of water and air-conditioned surrounds.

I have a splitting headache so I won't write anymore today. I saw this quote on a lovely girl I went to school with's facebook page and I thought it was pretty accurate:

"Considering how hard it is to change yourself, you'll understand how little chance you have in trying to change others."

(Thanks, Sneha Rakheja!)

I hope you are all in for a productive and enjoyable week!

Help! I need somebody

Congratulations to Victoria Azarenka who dismantled Maria Sharapova 6-3, 6-0 to win her first Grand Slam and become world number 1. She came back from 0-2 down in the first set to absolutely tear strips off Sharapova. I love that finally, the WTA will have a reputable number 1 player. I quite like Wozniacki but it was rediculous that she was number 1 for two years without winning a slam. The screeching was horrible but the thing that irritated me the most is that women still only have to win 2 sets not 3. The professional players have the fitness and the skill and having to win 3 sets makes for longer and more varied matches. 

My exercise plan is just all messed up. Yay, another win for planning! I did a boxing class on Friday with Mum and today I accidentally subjected myself to a horror cardio session at the gym, then stretched. 

Getting stuck in a rut is no fun. If I know anything about getting stuck in a rut, it's that the only thing harder than being in a rut is the process of trying to get out of one.

I have a buddy who has been stuck in a very serious rut for a while. He's at a cross roads in a life he's not enjoying terribly much at all. He isn't enjoying his job, he isn't enjoying his home life, he isn't enjoying his sport, he hasn't enjoyed studying a higher degree and his relationship with his girlfriend has been rocky at best. 

What I have seen from being around this buddy of mine and from other experiences closer to home, is that when you are getting little joy from any part of life, it is hard to muster the energy or the motivation to make changes to improve your own circumstances. In simpler terms, you lose hope and you're too exhausted and drained to care. It feels like your cause is a lost one and that you are not worth your own effort and energy, let alone anyone else's. You retreat to the inner most crevasses of your own mind, where the darkest thoughts reside. 

Trying to help a person in this kind of state is challenging. It is hard enough to help a friend through a breakup or a relationship issue with another friend or family member, but this person's  issues are systemic to both their lifestyle and their thinking. There are some components of my buddy's issues that I am simply not adequately qualified to deal with. There are other parts of the problems that only my buddy himself can address. 

My buddy is a really nice guy. I find him easy to get along with and friendly to be around. He has his strengths and is certainly capable of greater happiness and success than he is experiencing at the moment. 

I don't know if there is much I can do. But buddy, you've probably worked out that I'm writing about you, I'm happy to help however I can.

(this image has been included because I find it hilarious and no other reason!)

"I think I drooled into my ice cream."

Photos from Katie's iPhone 2012 ©

Ah the tennis... Needless to say, I love it. Last night Katie and I were lucky enough to attend the first men's semi final, Rafael Nadal versus Roger Federer, vying for a place in the 2012  Australian Open men's singles final. I've had the privilege of watching Federer play at Rod Laver Area before but until last night, I hadn't seen Nadal. 

The first thing that struck me about watching the tennis live the first time I went, is how small and intimate the stadium feels. Compared to watching a football or test match at the MCG, it seems so strange to be so close to the action. If you threw something down onto the court, you'd have a decent chance of hitting someone. If you make too much noise, the players can hear you. If your phone goes off, everyone will stare at you. The crowd behaviour is most similar to the MCC members' area; more excited than golf clap but do anything that disrupts the play and you'll find yourself waiting for a tram.

By 7.30pm the Arena was full and it felt all for the world like it could have been the championship match. Seeing the players walk out on court was a bit surreal. Nadal and Federer are such incredible athletes it was almost surprising to see that they are, in one sense, just people. You almost expect them to have wings, a superhero cape or magic powers. But I guess that's part of the beauty of it, they are just two guys who are incredibly skilled with a racquet and a little neon yellow ball. 

A young boy got to toss the coin and both players were really warm and friendly toward him.  The boy looked pretty pleased to be out in the middle of the court with two of tennis' greats, but a giant goofy smile was plastered to his face after Nadal playfully ruffled his hair as he ran back to his seat. 

When Federer won the first set in 56 minutes after a tiebreaker, I knew we were in for a treat. Nadal gained a lot of momentum and won the second set pretty quickly, 6-2 , after the game had to be halted for the Australia Day fireworks. The last two sets were the ones I enjoyed the most. 

Federer's technique and finesse is exquisite to watch. His ground strokes are perfectly timed and graceful executed, hitting the lines with pinpoint accuracy. His footwork is brilliant creating the balanced base for his technique to shine through. He moves quickly and lightly around the court, his coverage at the net is impressive and the racquet head doesn't drop. Federer has clearly done alright for himself and his family out of this tennis business. I caught a glimpse of his wife's watch and zillions of diamonds nearly blinded me.

Nadal's technique is solid but power is the name of his game. Particularly on his forehand, his work is less beauty, more brawn. His accuracy in his shot positioning was equally as impressive, picking off the lines with equal ease, but the mode of transmission is very different. His on court demeanor is very intense and his focus is almost palpable. Nadal's footwork is not a good as Federer but was able to chase down deep angled ground strokes better. Particularly when returning serve, he stays lower and more grounded into the court, whereas Federer is more upright. 

Nadal won the third and fourth sets 7-6, 6-4. The rallies were long, entertaining and of exceptional quality. The tension built steadily throughout the match and it wasn't until late in the fourth that I felt that Nadal would win. The momentum shifted often as each player produced moments of absurd brilliance. Nadal was animated in victory. The rivalry between the two greats seems to mean a great deal to them. Nadal was eloquent, humble and charming in his interview with the highly irritating Jim Courier.

Watching the tennis on TV is great but it is nothing like being there. No annoying camera angles, no add breaks and no irritating, mindless commentary. It was such an enjoyable match and I felt like I was witnessing part of something historically significant in world sport, the rivalry between two very different, very great champions. 

Oh, and Nadal changed his shirt at the end of every set and his skin looks even more perfect in real life. *Drool* The man is perfect.

Straya Mate!

I am now laughing at myself for trying to plan an entire week of exercise in advance! Today turned into a 'rest' day after I slept in. I went to the golf club with Mum and Dad around lunch time. The course was really busy so we just hit a few buckets of practice shots. My fairway shots were extremely inconsistent but my chips onto the green were on fire. My current state of inconsistency gives me no joy. If I ever get thrown out of the club it'll be for a Marcos Baghdatis style rage incident.. My clubs are lucky that they are inanimate, I grip them so tight that I've now got a blister on each thumb. 

It was a beautiful day in Melbourne, so I had a swim when I got home which was lovely. After my swim I was lucky enough to be able to go to the tennis to see Rafael Nadal beat Roger Federer in the first men's semifinal. It was a fantastic match and I thought it was pretty special to be able to see part of one of the greatest sporting rivalries of our time in person. Katie and I took some photos so I'll write in more depth about the tennis experience tomorrow.

Today was Australia Day. I'm all in favour of public holidays and late January is a great time of year for most people to enjoy a day off. The cricket and the tennis is on and the weather is usually beautiful. However, I find the whole idea of Australia day to be immoral and hypocritical. I feel really uncomfortable celebrating the anniversary of the occupation and genocide of a people. The state of Aboriginal health and welfare in this country is absolutely shameful and the original "Australia Day" was the day that suffering started.

I also think that Australia Day serves to promote some of the really negative aspects of our culture. One of those would be binge drinking. The police and ambulance services deal with more alcohol affected people on Australia Day than any other day of the year. I think it is really sad that our "national culture" seems to amount to little more than intoxication.

The part about Australia Day that I find most hypocritical and disturbing is that it serves to promote an Anglo -Saxon exclusive view of how Australia "ought to be". I think the Australian flag and the Southern Cross are increasingly becoming emblems used to promote an extremely racist and intolerant view of what acceptable Australian-ness means (remember Cronulla, anyone?). White, English as first language, lazy, tall poppy syndrome, meat eating and alcohol consuming. 

Unfortunately, I think there is an inherently racist element to modern "Australian culture". It was created out of genocide and continues to be used in an attempt to exclude people based on their race and culture. At the moment it is anyone of African or Middle Eastern appearance, 20 years ago it was anyone who looked Asian and 30 years ago + it was those of Mediterranean origin. The excuses for this are pathetic and haven't changed. 

"They don't work hard" 

"They're taking our jobs"

"They don't want to assimilate" 

"They're not trying to fit in" 

"They're in our country so they should do things our way"

It's pathetic because the excuses for the racism hasn't changed but the target group has. Australia seems to be like a child who is a fussy eater, it takes many years and many attempts to get to know and like something that they had no real reason to fear or reject in the first place. It's called xenophobia and it's immature. Australians of Greek and Italian heritage seem to have been accepted into a category of acceptable 'Australianhood' after about 50 years. No one is outraged if Italian or Greek lessons are on the curriculum in schools or are reluctant to eat if they are served pizza or pasta (unless they're trying to avoid carbs!). How long do the current groups of recent migrants have to be discriminated against before the masses get the message that they just want to live safe and happy lives?

I think the migrant population is fairly similar to the rest of the population. Most work hard and want to participate in their communities, whilst others do not because they have no interest or because they are struggling with some kind of barrier that prevents participation. 

The hypocrisy of this is that the Anglo-Australians who seem to determine to "preserve" their culture seem completely ignorant to the fact that the very culture of which they so starkly defend was created by a group migrants. Australian culture is flexible and whether the racists like it or not, every group of migrants will contribute their own unique practices, food, music, religion and talents to our society. This should be what makes our country great but it seems to be what divides the community.

I would love to celebrate the day of Kevin Rudd's apology to the Indigenous population, or the birthday of a great Australian humanitarian. Coming together with family, friends and  local or broader community is a great thing, so long as the spirit is one of inclusiveness. I think if our nation is to have any chance of moving away from its racist past we ought to move our national holiday away from the start of a genocide.

1000, Boom!

Katie and I babysat our young cousins today. It was fun and they are great kids. They are a boy, a girl and a boy aged 3, 6 and 9. Katie is an excellent babysitter and caring for kids comes to her really naturally. I wouldn't say I'm terrible with children, but caring for kids definitely isn't one of my gifts. I'm finding it easier as they get older and now that I can interact with them on a more meaningful level. 

So much for the exercise plan. I deviated again today and went to an Attack class this evening. It was the same cute, fun instructor from last week. This guy is some kind of group fitness instructor genius, he is so upbeat and he does these funny little actions and dance moves in the tracks. I've never laughed so much whilst working so hard. 

I would love to be one of those people that only look mildly flustered when they exercise. However, I really don't understand why anyone would slather on a full face of makeup before going to the gym. I guess I don't understand for two reasons. Firstly, I'm lazy and I tend only to wear makeup when going out or I'm working and need to look presentable. The second reason is that for me, the gym is not a social activity. I am so unattractive when I exercise. I'm not exactly supermodel material the rest of the time, but when I exercise I go so red in the face I look like a human tomato. I come, I sweat, I leave... and I hope that I don't run into anyone I know in the process! 

I’ve been so surprised by who has been reading this blog thing. My Mum has started following it! I'm excited and a little nervous about that prospect. (Hi, Mum if you're reading!). The blog clicked over 1000 views today, which I've found to be very flattering. I'm chuffed that there are people out there who want to read what I have to write and have enjoyed it enough to make a return visit. Thank you so very much for reading. I will try and reward you for your loyalty and support tomorrow with a more inspiring post!

Skinny Bitch, full of sh*t

I booked my health and fitness assessment today, so I can cross that one off the week's to do list. I failed to complete my planned exercise =( I blame Novak Djokovic, if he had beaten Hewitt faster, I would not have slept straight through my alarm. I did do 45 minutes of high intensity interval training at the gym as well as 40 minutes of walking there and back. I will consider that passable, so long as I do harder classes at the gym tomorrow. Fitness assessment, I will be ready for you!

My Mum bought me a dress yesterday and I love it. It was the perfect gift because I hate shopping for clothes and avoid it as much as possible. If she hadn't just bought it for me there is no way I would have agreed to go into the shop and try it on.

Today I discovered that I am the author of a 'top review' on www.bookdepository.com. I reviewed a diet book called "Skinny Bitch", which was one of the worst books of any kind I have ever read. 

At the time of purchasing it I was studying philosophy and had subsequently read some of Peter Singer's work. Singer founded the Bioethics department at Monash and is now a professor at Princeton. One of the cornerstone arguments of his work is that the best thing a person can do individually for global poverty is to become a vegetarian. The idea is that animals who a bred for human consumption consume a huge amount of grain in comparison to the amount of food they produce when they become meat. For every 8 or 9 kilos of grain consumed only 1 kilo of meat is produced. Meat is expensive to produce and is an environmentally damaging process, the animals serve no other ecological purpose and are usually not native to the area they are farmed. Furthermore, meat is not essential for human survival. 

Singer argues that meat production simply isn't necessary in terms of human mortality and that the grain currently used to feed these animals could feed the entire developing world. 

I respect Singer's work and find his argument to be both logically coherent and compelling. I came across Skinny Bitch because whilst it is marketed as a diet book, it is really a book about transitioning to a particular brand of vegetarianism, something I was contemplating doing. As I said before, it is the worst book I have ever read and in my review I detail most of my main objections to it. If you are looking for a book about weight loss or a book about ethical eating, I implore you to choose something other than Skinny Bitch. Oh, and you can't borrow my copy, it's in the recycling bin!

Read me.

Hello there. I thought I'd write a little blogging postcard, if you will, now that the real author is back in town. 

I must admit I was very surprised at how addictive and even enjoyable filling in for Eliza was. It was also quite kind of her to let me run wild on her project, so thanks for that. I probably owe her slurpee for finding a relatively productive way to pass some time, and you too for actually reading it*.

In my absence from daily blogging, I have been thinking a lot about ATTENTION. 

There is no doubt that everybody needs it, to a certain degree. In these modern times we have oh so many ways to get it.

It's no secret the internet gives anyone who wants it an easily accessible platform to project anything we damn well please to friends and strangers alike. I'm doing it right now. News and current affairs programs enjoy shoving THE LATEST STUDIES down our throats about how reliant 'the youth today' are on the horror of SOCIAL NETWORKING SITES. 

I am the first to admit, like anything, there are definitely legitimate dangers to the internet. Like many other facets of our lives, having balance and common sense are vital. 

The all-too-easy way to post every photo or update all your pals makes it easy to advertise how amazingly fantastic one's own life is. I am as happy as anyone when good things happen, it's the egotism that often comes along with it that is dangerous. The response to the general conceited tone of Social Networking these days is where the trouble begins. The emotional pendulum can swing quickly online. This is the heart of the Social Networking Issue that sends my brain into very complicated, scout style knots.

Where is the distinction between attention-grabbing stunts and real asking for help?

This is something that gets me into a true state of confusion often, my brain has an elaborate argument every time I see one of these extremely emotive status'. 

Initial reaction: stop trying to get attention

After thought: what if this is legit?

There tend to be two categories for these sorts of displays. The first kind; where people proclaim in broad sweeping statements how absolutely terrible their life is in every way, to evoke sympathy in fellow friends, and revel in how bad their lives are. Or the second; the kind which are not necessarily the most dramatic, but have a definite dark undertone to them, posted under the belief that an internet platform is the only forum where they will actually be noticed.  

The difference between the first type and the second is significant. Unfortunately this doesn't mean that it's easy to distinguish which type a particular post falls into.  

And regardless of the motivation, there is a level of responsibility upon those who read it, like it or not. I feel super duper uncomfortable when I see any "fuck this" or "why do I even bother?" status'. There is no way of knowing with these ambiguous statements whether the author is upset about losing their phone or their father. 

I'm hesitant to respond to these posts. I don't want to encourage those who need to be the centre of 'drama' to feel important. But I don't want to ignore somebody who needs real support. It's tricky business, trying not to interfere when the culture is over sharing, while also trying to care about the people you know. I don't like buying into the Validation by Likes and Comments mentality many users of this media fall victim to. It's a fickle and superficial way to attest your self-worth.

So I am going to ask you, Y O U the charming, good-looking reader to do me a favour. If you post extremely ambiguous emotional status' (and even if you don't)or about your problems - just ask yourself when you're posting something 'would I yell this in public?' before you post it.

--> If you answer YES - step away from the social media. Looking for validation through 'likes' and comments won't fix the problem. It can even make it worse. Talk to a human, don't project it out into a faceless crowd and hope someone will notice. 

--> If you answer NO - please don't post it anyway, it's these attention grabbing antics that make spotting somebody who needs actual help almost impossible to find. They're wedged between fights with best friends, lost wallets and bad haircuts (not that these aren't legitimate problems).

Besides, if you're having such a fantastic or dreadful time as you may be claiming, logically you should be too darn busy with your life to be posting about it.

Enjoy the sunshine (if you're  indeed in the southern hemisphere)

K x

*NOTE: I will not be offering actual slurpees to anyone who claims they have been reading this, sorry pals.

Frankston

Monday's exercise: completed!

Today was just fantastic. I traveled 50 minutes via train and bus to get to my new uni campus. I had my uniform fitting which lasted all of 15 minutes. I just can't wait to get my hands on my stylish navy blue jumpsuit with alluring reflector panels and my bloodstone work boots! Rafael Nadal will fall at my feet when he sees me dressed like that. The best part was waiting 25 minutes for a bus then sitting on the train for another 50minute trip home. 

Today the universe, in the form of public transport in Frankston, was screaming at me, "GET YOUR DAMN LICENCE!"

Universe, I am compelled to agree.

There is very little about Frankston Railway Station that is pleasant. Highlights from today included seeing an anorexic looking teenage girl board a train her a pit bull, the irony was both delightful, puzzling and horrifying. The police were about and a young man was trying to get out of his fare evasion fine by telling the officers about the brawl he was in last night. Interesting tactic. The very drug affected looking mother, who looked no older than 21, carrying her tiny little baby was the part where I stopped judging and started being thankful. 

A large part of me wanted to kidnap the baby and take it home. It reminded me that I did nothing to deserve being born to parents who planned for me, loved me and had the means and support to nurture me than that little baby did to be born to a very young, very addicted mum. That child will face challenges that I can't properly comprehend. She or he will have to work really hard to have a chance at receiving half the opportunities I have had available to me. The chances of 'falling in with the wrong crowd' for that child will be so much higher than it was for me. Plus, what the 'wrong crowd' would be getting up to in Frankston would be so much more serious than the 'wrong crowd' naughty private school kids I came across. The difference would be between visits to the local Magistrates' Court rather than the Principal's office. 

Each time I've been to Frankston the reality of how sheltered my life has been hits me, as well as how lucky I am to be able to board the train, fall asleep, wake up 45 minutes later and stroll off into the leafy suburbs again. My family have had their ups and downs financially, which has meant that my siblings and I have been made aware of the work that goes into providing things like a nice house, music lessons or a sound education. We are not what most people I know would consider 'rich' but going to Frankston reminds me just how relative that kind of terminology is. 

I think we can sometimes get caught only looking up at the next bracket above where we are. Whether that is in our career, social standing, educationally, musically or athletically. Most of us have a fair idea how far away we are from moving up a 'level' in life and Frankston reminds me that sometimes we ought to look at the gap between the level we are currently at and the one below it and be grateful.

Pump it, peanut butter cup!

I had a bit of a lazy week this week after my holiday. This week has to be productive, so I'll share my plan with you in order to increase the accountability factor.

To do list:

- book uni medical and fitness assessment

- make doctor's appointment to gather my vaccination records

- locate 'baby book' vaccination information

- force my resume upon every business owner in the local area

- return outstanding forms to St John Ambulance

Exercise schedule:

Monday: 6.30pm Pump, 30 min cardio

Tuesday: 9am Abs, 9.30am Attack, full stretch

Wednesday: 9.30am Pump, 10.30am Step

Thursday: 9.30am RPM, full stretch, 6.30pm Boxing 

*subject to timetable change for public holiday*

Friday: 10.30am Attack, full stretch

Saturday: 8.30am Pump

The exercise schedule might seem a bit nuts but I had a pretty lazy week in the gym this week. I have always enjoyed exercising and a standard week for me involves 4-6 gym sessions, though this week I only managed 3. I love feeling fit, strong and flexible. I like working really hard and pushing through pain for the endorphin rush after I'm finished. Sport is great, I love learning and improving new skills and, of course, winning. The happy exercise hormones help keep me mentally healthy and without regular, strenuous exercise, my mood plummets. These days, like a lot of people, I basically use exercise as a substitute for therapy. 

Also, I need to pass a physical fitness test in order to be able to go on placement for uni so I'm trying to get as fit, strong and flexible as I can be. The test is an Ambulance Victoria requirement. I will have to do push-ups, sit-ups, ride an exercise bike, the 'sit and reach' flexibility test and have skin fold measurements taken. You receive a score out of 5 for each activity, it doesn't matter if you fail an individual component as long as you get at least 13pts over all and score at least 3/5 in either the push-up or sit-up tests. 

The idea of someone coming at me with body-fat calipers makes my skin crawl. I thought once I finished compulsory high school P.E. that I wouldn't have to face this kind of physical assessment ever again. Wrong. I really loved P.E. overall, but like many, I hated anything that involved someone who didn't really need to know weighing me. 

It's such a bizarre thing, that number on the scales. One day I hope to be the kind of person who truly doesn't feel that that number is of any particular significance. I don't want to be the kind of person who invests a large amount of self-worth in that number and is only too happy to tell the whole world how small that number is or who is completely destroyed by how great its magnitude may be. I would love to meet a person, in particular a woman, who honestly does not place any microscopic particle of self-worth on what they weigh. It's a pretty sad world where our social commodity as human beings, particularly for women, is valued against our size. That being said, I don't think social acceptance of greater bodily diversity should used as an excuse for people not to take care of their health. 

I will report each day today whether I kept to my schedule!

On an unrelated note, all day I have been thinking about these... 

Two of my most favourite things, peanut butter and chocolate. Thankfully for my health, they are not too readily available in Australia!

Have a lovely week, wonderful readers =)

Cougar territory

The prodigal cat is settling in nicely, she's beautiful and so affectionate. My brother didn't make many runs today, but there will be other days. He's gone to Adelaide to watch the test match. 

Days like today remind me that I'm going to have to make my life far more interesting if I'm going to keep up this blogging everyday business. My job hunting will step up into serious mode tomorrow. I have my uniform fitting on Monday and that gear will set me back about $550. Then there are books and equipment which will easily total over a grand. Oh uni, oh reality. My period of retirement is over and as Dr Phil says, "When you're unemployed, your full time job is finding a job." 

I also have to work out whether I want to go on first year camp... On one hand, it could be really fun and there might be a hot, male, 18 year old physio student in  need of 'advice' regarding adapting to university life (everyone needs one of those, right?)

On the other hand, it will predominantly be 18 and 19 year olds... That beautiful age where all of a sudden the little munchkins have way more legal privileges than common sense. I really enjoy that I no longer have to hold my friends' hair out of the way of a toilet bowl every time they lay eyes on something mildly alcoholic. Also, there will be ones who are young for their year, like I was back in the day, who won't be 18 yet... (Note to self: if you decide in favour of attending first year camp, be sure to ask for proof of age from anyone you look like "befriending" before you "befriend" them). 

Oh the joys of being a non-year 12 entry first year! I'm not even that old. I'm 2.5 months too young to be officially 'mature age' and I'll be the same vintage as the kids who started school when they were 6 and took a gap year. So it's not so much my biological age, but the fact that I'm mentally 65. I should just turn up at uni wearing slacks, pearls and a cardigan. 

Surprise!

The strangest thing happened today.

This morning Mum got a phone call from a veterinary clinic in Cranbourne saying that someone had found our cat (for non-Melbournians, Cranbourne is an outer suburb about 50 mins drive away from where I live). We had a look around the house and our cats were accounted for. We were puzzled. Then it dawned on us...

When my family moved over to Melbourne from Adelaide one of our cats never settled in our new house. The one of the other cats we brought over with us was her best friend and was sadly run over leaving her heart broken. It was after her cat friend's death that she ran away. The last we saw of her she was scrawny, thin and very aggressive. She wouldn't let us pat her and she'd growl at anyone who came close. That was five years ago and we had long assumed that she had probably been killed. 

When Mum called Dad to let him know what was happening, he thought she was joking.

She would have only been about a year old when she ran away and now she's all grown up! She is very affectionate, very healthy and has been eating well. I wonder where she's been. I think she probably was unofficially adopted by someone or a series of people because she's clearly been looked after.

We are keeping her in a laundry for a few days to give her a chance to adapt to her new environment by herself. Ironically, the currently laundry hadn't been built when she last lived with us! The other cats know something is going on and keep sniffing around the laundry. They are completely confused and it's pretty amusing. The next test will be integrating her with the other household pets!

It just goes to show that the pet micro-chip registration system does work. It's all pretty surreal!

In other news, my brother will be opening the batting for his local club first XI for the first time tomorrow. It's quite an achievement to be selected in this capacity, especially as he is 16 years old. I hope he'll have a great knock. He's a very mature and technical left-handed batsman and handy spinner. You've all got to know a bit about my sister; my brother is equally as special (and insightful), I'm very proud of him and love him a lot. 

Lastly, thank you! Yes, you. I've had some wonderful feedback about my blogging and I'm so grateful that someone is taking the time to read my writing (Shout out to Tam and Sarah who were lovely enough to compliment me today!). Please feel free to leave a comment with your feedback, I'd love to know what you do and don't enjoy about my writing. I love discussing ideas, so please challenge me if you disagree with something I write! Also, if there is something you'd like me to write about, let me know.

May your weekends be full of lovely, unexpected surprises!

So you've got an arts degree, now what?

Today I am writing about everyday empowerment.

As most of you know, I've had a significant change of heart about my course of study for next year. The process of deciding my course of study for this year involved facing a dilemma that presents itself to many arts students and graduates; whether to study law.

Like so many arts students, my ambition and intention was to eventually study law.

Initially I saw my arts degree as something I would put up with for a year until I could transfer into the Arts/Law double. What I did not anticipate, however, is how much I would love arts. By the time it came to the end of first year, I hated the idea of giving up a chunk of my degree in order to do law at the same time. I loved everything I was doing and didn't want to give any of it up. I told myself, "This is fine, you're young and not in a rush to finish studying. Finish the degree then apply for graduate entry law."

My 3rd year of arts was, in many ways, like a second round of year 12. I had decisions to make about my future and I wanted to get the best grades I could in order to maximize my opportunities. The decision making process was very different the second time around. I was no longer dealing with the prospect of studying law as means to fulfilling long term goal and becoming a part of my family's law tradition.

Gradually over my arts degree, I realised that I had become snookered by my own and others expectations. It is no secret that I have a fair amount lawyers in my family. My interests and abilities seemed lend themselves to being a lawyer. I loved debating and have always been the somewhat irritating person in the class who always ends up in a heated argument. I have been interested in politics and social justice issues for as long as I could remember as I would watch the ABC news with my parents before I had started school. The school I went to in Adelaide produces an extraordinary amount of lawyers. Whilst I was at school, I never seriously considered another potential career and no one suggested that I should consider anything else. My grandmother, Patsy, had even said to me that I "need that law degree". The logic all seemed to point in one direction.

Working at a law firm part time since I finished school had given me a front row view of the reality of being a lawyer. I saw batches of wide-eyed, bushy-tailed graduates learn the ropes, some of them to start their careers as lawyers, others did not make the cut. I got to know lawyers that I came to admire tremendously and others whose behavior did not indicate them worthy of much respect. I saw it as an environment that I could survive and potentially thrive in. What I also saw were a lot of things about the politics and the lifestyle of being a lawyer that I thought might have a negative impact on my well-being and my character.

This week I got accepted into 3 law courses across 2 states. I'm proud of this because I worked hard to make it possible.

I'm not tempted by any of these offers but what has surprised me is how empowering getting them has been. I feel freed by the fact that I know that I can. I'm not speculating that I "could have if I wanted to" to make myself feel better or to justify my decision to outsiders. I know for sure that I can and I have the proof. It has given me the facts to put some doubts to rest; I am smart enough and I can work hard enough. I no longer feel like I have anything to prove to myself in that regard.

I caught up with my beautiful friend Anastasia today. She is an incredibly bright girl who excelled at school and got into Arts/ Law at Monash easily. As an 18 year old, she was as certain as anyone could be that that was what she wanted to do. Ana has recently made a big decision about her future too, to discontinue the law component of her studies. At uni she has fallen in love with theatre and I've seen her flourish as a person due to her involvement with it. She is exceptionally capable but it has become apparent that law is not her deepest passion and has taken the courageous step to follow her heart.

When I saw her today, she too seemed empowered. She seemed free of the worry and stress of trying to do what she felt obligated to do, but did not have a passion for.

Please don't misunderstand, I'm not anti-law. It just isn't a path I want to want down at this point in my life.

There is something wonderful about feeling empowered in your own life. Everyone seems to be qualified to give their opinion these days and sometimes the people closest to us can be the least helpful. I'm very introverted in my thinking, I set my standards looking inward with little regard for comparing myself to others. That being said, I have found myself very overwhelmed at times trying to work out what the best choice is for me, trying to sift through invited and uninvited opinions to find my own belief. I hate to think how hard it must be for extroverts!

I think the reality is that if we are not empowered in our own lives, there is usually someone around who is willing to take our power from us. We each see this in abusive romantic relationships, tyrannical bosses or even just with overly agreeable "doormat" friends who always compromise and never stand up for themselves. The right choice is often the hardest one. It is the one that makes us feel most vulnerable and provides us with the least superficial support. I think the right choice is often the hardest because we need to show the discipline, strength and courage to choose it, in order to be worthy of its rewards or to prepare us to fight on. Have the strength to live the life you choose, not the one that happens to you.

"The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any"

 - Alice Walker

Swaky

I had a really nice day today. My family, minus Katie, have taken up golf and I had a golf lesson this morning with my Mum down at our new club, which was really fun. The coach, Ben, brought the fitting bag so we got to play around with all these different composite clubs as well as hitting with our own. The fitting bag is the golf club chemistry set. It is full of different handles and club heads which are all detachable, so you can mix and match to find the perfect club. 


Then I had a lunch in the city with a lovely friend. I was able to talk to this friend about a problem I've been grappling with and she seemed to have all the answers I needed and was very generous in offering me her support. I went to the gym in the afternoon and went to the most enjoyable BodyAttack class I think I've ever been to. The instructor was a young, very cute English guy whose energy was infectious (thought I suspect women may be of no significant interest to him). 


There wasn't anything particularly special about my day but I think those days are the best kind. The days where nothing remarkable happens, you just enjoy your life. 


Today I will be writing about legacy. 


I was prompted to think about legacy from reading the blog of a very dear friend, Kate. I came to know Kate when I was 12 or 13, in high school and still living in Adelaide through, of all things, dating her younger son. I was going through a very rough patch in adolescence at the time I came to know Kate. In particular, the relationship between my Mum and I had turned septic. I was either giving Mum the silent treatment or we were ripping each other's throats out in verbal stoushes that would put federal parliamentarians to shame. For a period of time I effectively adopted Kate as a surrogate mum. Ironically, when my family moved to Melbourne her family bought our house.


Kate is an incredible woman. She is intelligent, witty and charming, with a natural warmth that draws people of all ages to her. She is empathetic, generous and very funny. She has the kind of insight into humanity one can only gain from experiencing acute hardship and seeing the seedier side of life close up. She is one of the most passionate and courageous people I have met. You would struggle to find a person with a better track record for overcoming adversity than Kate. She possesses more resilience, courage and strength than anyone I know. I admire her immensely and love her dearly.


Kate has been unwell the whole time I have known her. She has confronted so many life-threatening conditions in the time I have known her that I'm not going to attempt to remember them all. The condition pertinent to my discussion of her is that Kate has early onset dementia. Her blog gives tremendous insight into her experiences as a person who is slowly and uncontrollably losing the cerebral functions most of us take for granted. 


Kate is not a passive sufferer of her disease. She is fighting it, through advocacy. 


I think she is creating a legacy. By recording her experiences, Kate is articulating her own unique life as a person with dementia and voicing some of the fear, anger, hurt, frustration and love that affect all sufferers would feel. Through her advocacy work and her writing, she is drawing attention to the inefficiencies in global health care for caring for dementia sufferers and the elderly with the dignity and quality of life everyone deserves. 


I hate to contemplate a world without Kate in it. Unfortunately, I have grappled with the idea for some time. Mortality is a challenging concept. It reminds me that whilst human beings are capable of so much we are each still just a cog in the wheel of life or death. I think a legacy has to do with how many people still feel the affects of your cog once it has stopped turning. 


Kate reminds me that each of us has the chance to build a true legacy with our lives. We can each be the kind of person who works to change the world they live in so that the next generation will reap the rewards without ever having met you. We are each capable of building something remarkable that will exist beyond ourselves. 


My life is profoundly impacted by her involvement in it and I am so grateful to be able to call her my friend. 



"I want to leave my footprints on the sands of time.
Know there was something that meant something
That I left behind...
Leave something to remember
So they won't forget
I was here"
                                                                      (Beyonce)

Why I don't miss being the boss's daughter

I'm still on the search for a job. Job hunting is just no fun and as a casual/ part time applicant, it seems to all come down to being available to start on a particular day. Inevitably, that day is always when you have the dentist appointment you can't move, the holiday you've had booked for months or some other engagement you can't rearrange in an otherwise free week or month. It's frustrating. 


My last job, overall, was the creme de la creme of student jobs. The pay was well above award, whilst it had it's moments the work was generally interesting and I got to work with some lovely, interesting and capable people. Working in an office whilst being a student gave me a fascinating insight into the "real" working world. The egos, politics and hierarchy of a business are a special kind of beast. 


One of the most rewarding and challenging parts of the job was the fact the my Dad is one of the "bosses". I gained an insight to a side of my Dad that I hadn't seen before, the business man, in his natural habitat. I had a fair idea what Dad did when he went to work everyday, but it is a whole different thing to witness and participate in it. 


It was initially a funny experience getting to establish my own working relationship with the characters Dad spoke about over dinner each night. It was almost like I'd jumped into a story book that I'd read hundreds of times. 


Being the "boss's daughter" certainly had it's advantages. Dad being known by most as a nice and intelligent person certainly worked in my favour. I also knew exactly where he kept his minties and Tim Tam stashes and I probably got a few more "chauffeur driven" rides to work than most.  


After a while I couldn't help but feel like I had some kind of social Glad wrap stuck to me. You couldn't see it, but there seemed to be a thin, transparent and non-permeable barrier between myself and some people. There was one young bloke who, regardless of how I behaved, spoke to me like I was an entitled, spoiled brat. Rather than conversing with me, he threw statements at me that assumed that I had been born with a silver spoon in my mouth. It annoyed me not only because of how false his assumptions were, but that he never really wanted to engage with me properly to figure that out for himself. It was easier for him to pigeonhole me. 


The thing that annoyed me most was that lots of people assumed that if I made mistakes, there would be no repercussion. That couldn't have been further from the truth. I like to be good at the things I do and my job was no different. In that sense, I was personally motivated to do the best I could. I was also aware that my work reflected on my Dad, as well as myself. I never wanted to be in a position where I made a mistake which reflected negatively on him. Plus, for most people, if they make a mistake at work they don't have to explain or justify it to their partner, housemates or family. I did. 


Being the boss's daughter gave some people an excuse not to recognise how hard I worked and that if I did have some kind of get out of jail free card, I never needed to use it. 


The conflict of personal interests inevitably arise out of working in an environment where your parent is in a position of power. It makes it very difficult for people to feel they can trust you. This was something I actually had a lot of sympathy for but sometimes it was difficult socially. I heard so many things I wasn't meant to from many people from all levels of the hierarchy. I had to be very careful to remember what things I could discuss with whom. 


I did not have these problems with everyone, most of the people were lovely. My immediate supervisor was fantastic and I really felt my efforts were appreciated by her. I made some wonderful friends who took a chance and invested a lot of trust by involving me in their personal lives. 


I learned that I didn't want any of the privileges that some perceived I had. I don't need them. I want to be successful in whatever I do based on merit, not on nepotism. I like the real world, where people are not afraid to tell me what they really think and don't look terrified if they swear in front of me I might go tell my Daddy. 


I'm really proud to be my Dad's daughter, but outside the family I'm Eliza Brebner Griffin, not someone's little girl.