Inspiring women

A Prayer for Mothers

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It’s Mother’s Day in Australia on Sunday.

Sally and Betty from Mad Men

On this day, I’ll be remembering my friends who desperately longed for children but were unable to have them. Also, a beautiful mother who recently lost her only daughter in hospital unexpectedly. And my own mother, who has spent years caring for my very ill father and is a stoic inspiration to us all.

Helena Bonham Carter toy-shopping

Motherhood – it’s the hardest job in the world and hats off to all mothers everywhere!

Lovely Elizabeth Taylor

 

Witchy mum

I saw this post recently on Cherry Menlove’s Blog. It’s from Tina Fey. It seems a perfect piece for Mother’s Day, especially for those of us with girls. xx

Tessa and Sophie Dahl

 

First, Lord:
No tattoos.
May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be beautiful but not damaged, for it’s the damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes and not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design?
I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her own heart with the sinewy strength of her own arms, so she need not lie with drummers.

Grant her a rough patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day –

And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers and the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a ‘Bitch’ in front of Hollister, give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, for I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a mental note to call me.
And she will forget.
But I’ll know, because I peeped it with your God eyes.

Amen.

Taken from Tina Fey’s book Bossypants.

sally and betty image source here

helena bonham carter image source here

elizabeth taylor source here

Spring in Westminster

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Some moments I loved from the Royal Wedding.

Black and white floors in the Abbey

The cheers and and joyful energy  from the immense crowds.
How super-relaxed both Catherine (had no idea that was her real name – shows how closely I follow the Royals) and William seemed. We felt as if we were right beside them due to the close proximity of the cameras.
 
 There were cameras planted in flowers, which is surreal-sounding, and wonderful aerial shots from the heights of Westminster Abbey.  When William helped Catherine alight from the coach after the service, it was a totally intimate moment and we were RIGHT THERE.
The black-and-white checked floors of Westminster Abbey. What a truly glorious setting for a wedding.
All the pomp and ceremony you could wish for. And I felt like singing along to ‘Jerusalem’ too.
The dress. The new Duchess of Cambridge is so elegant and controlled that she’s in danger of being slightly boring but she did look divine. I also adore her for doing her own make-up.
I loved the Queen in yellow. She looked like a happy buttercup and she deserves happy things.
And the Middletons. What an incredibly photogenic family. Carole and Michael Middleton are both extremely attractive and Pippa is also a spunk. So skinny, all three Middleton women. I read Catherine and Carole followed the Dukan diet which I must get hold of a copy. I need Dukan!
 
Harry, looking like a cheeky scamp and somehow managing to come across as the brother you would have liked to have had.
Not sure what I thought of the Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie’s outfits. At least they were different. Everybody else was so stylish and it’s good to have a bit of a shock to wake us all up from all that beige elegance.
Samantha Cameron looked a bit under-dressed which is a shame when she’s so beautiful.
It was a beautiful wedding and I felt teary several times.
 
I’m a sucker for British tradition, pomp and ceremony and it was joyful to witness such a textured, historical rich event with all the trees and greenery in Westminster Abbey which gave the abbey a slightly pagan feel. The Spring floral colours and flowers gave a feeling of optimism and hope. 
  

Writing with mist

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I have taken the Summer curtains down at home and replaced them with the toile winter curtains. I am sad it is the end of the lovely Easter break. I do enjoy having Daisy at home even though it makes it impossible to write and I love not having to do the school run and lunches.

The Easter show is too expensive. Can’t believe for a family of three it cost nearly $100 to get into the gate to look at a few pigs and chickens. Daisy, of course, loves the pony rides and show bags, but for the same money we spent we could have had a night or two away in a good hotel.

A few photos from the show above. The print in the middle with the girl and bunny is one of the Emily Martin prints I have in Daisy’s room. I love her whimsical work. We did manage one day trip to the very misty mountains.

 I just need to get out of the city at times and walk through the bush, feel crisp, unpolluted air and escape air-traffic noise. I’ve carried the mist from the mountains back with me – it’s swirling around my laptop and through my mind, forming my current book in the Blue Mountains. I’m still plotting and feeling my way through the characters. When they’re ready to talk – I’ll begin. And last night I dreamt of Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski, which has given me an idea for another short story.

 As David said, ‘you’re always working, even when you’re asleep.’

Hats off to a great broad

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I’m totally shocked. Last night I dreamt about Elizabeth Taylor. We were seated next to each other on a train. She was incredibly beautiful and reading a fashion magazine featuring her on the cover  We were having a conversation about something and I remember saying how honoured I was to be sitting next to her which she brushed aside and continued talking to me. In the dream she was incredibly sassy and down to earth.

I woke to the sad news that she has died at 79.

Dreams are such strange and puzzling things. I’ve often dreamt lines and scenes from my books. But never have I dreamt about Elizabeth Taylor.

I remember Johnny Depp in an interview saying he had become good friends with Elizabeth Taylor and how down-to-earth and what a terrific broad she was.

They don’t make them like Taylor much anymore, alas.

RIP Elizabeth. Hats off to a great iconic dame. xx

I’ve been through it all, baby, I’m mother courage.
Elizabeth Taylor
image of young Elizabeth link
image of older Elizabeth link

The Nigella Effect

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Yesterday I took an impulsive break from my edit and attended the very packed Nigella Lawson book signing at David Jones.


When I say ‘impulsive’ I mean very last-minute decision to go. I literally shut the laptop and ran for the train wearing my comfortable writing clothes (read ‘scruffy’). I arrived at David Jones just as the signing was starting and thought I had found the end of the queue until the frazzled-looking security guard kindly showed me the end of the queue was way, way, way, way, way back snaking around the shopfloor.

Ever the optimist, I jumped right on the end and began making new friends as we waited patiently in line for the domestic goddess herself.

It was a lot of fun to observe normally too-cool-for-school Sydneysiders going slightly crazy over Nigella. She is obviously well-loved in Sydney.

In our house alone, David loves her, as does my Daisy and I have all her cookbooks. Well, I have now that I bought Express yesterday. My middle-sister who has been going blind for years is also potty over Nigella and has been following her movements from her country house in Tasmania since she arrived.  I think she admires her for her tenacity in tough times as well as her domestic artistry when it comes to the kitchen.

Amongst the madness and fun, the ever-game and smiling piano player played on in David Jones You can see a better post HERE where more shots were taken including of the smiley piano man .

A sales consultant had fainted. Whether from the excitement of Nigella or from the crowd, I’m not sure.

All good things come to those who wait. It was my turn to meet Nigella when the woman in charge realised I didn’t have my book purchased for her to sign. Total chaos! I quickly had to buy one from a valiant sales consultant.

And in the above image you see Nigella smiling at a scruffy looking writer as I threw myself at her like an excited puppy-dog. Note that big smile even though she has been smiling and signing for close to an hour by this stage.  

And for those who are curious of what she was really like, I can divulge she has beautiful, pale skin, intelligent, kind eyes, and a very down-to-earth and warm persona. I was thrilled. Too often, I’ve met famous people who disappoint in real life but Nigella is the genuine article. She may adopt a character for the screen but her charm was sparkling through as she interacted with the people who had queued patiently to have their moment with her. 

As I left the store, I was intrigued to see the staff member still lying on the floor nearly an hour later obviously waiting for the ambulance. Hopefully that woman is okay.

I remember when I saw Jerry Hall in the street once. I do love the very Sassy Jerry Hall and I was so impressed by her strut and the way she worked the gawking crowd. There were a bunch of workmen to who she waved and they began singing out to her. She was incredible. Being a person who tends to prefer to observe others, I’m often impressed by those who court fame. That Jerry Hall moment worked its way into my book when my bohemian writer, Pearl in the 1930s thread, struts her way down the main street of my Tasmanian sea-fishing village. Pearl may be clothed in the fashion of the 1930s but I was also seeing Jerry Hall as I wrote, long blonde hair swaying, high heels clicking as she sashayed through a modern-day Sydney street.

Who would you wait in queue for to grab a moment with? When it comes to celebrities it’s obvious I’d wait days for Johnny Depp, Tim Burton and Helena Bonham Carter.

But I was very glad I got a chance to finally meet the sensational Nigella!

Returning back to my edit, I submerged myself back into the world of Pencubitt in the 1930s and was surprised to have a call from the school. Was my daughter sick? No, she was waiting with the Office Reception as I had totally forgotten to collect her.

 Such is the effect of the brush with fame for us mortals. I’ve never forgotten to collect my daughter and so that’s what I call the Nigella Effect.  

 

In Praise of Women

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To celebrate International Women’s Day, here’s one of my fave inspiring women, Amanda de Cadenet in action.

I love this woman’s photography and the way she works to portray women through her photography of all shapes and sizes. Her lovely photos are always a joy to browse.  She has a wonderful  community site, for women which is located  HERE

And here’s a link to her official Blog as well which you can find HERE

amanda photo link

QUEEN OF PREENS AND AUTUMN FIRES

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How refreshing to know we have finally reached Autumn in Sydney. The humidity is still high but thankfully nowhere near the recent heat wave.

I’m also nearing the end of my edit for Poets Cottage, also an enormous relief. I’ve reached that stage where it’s becoming difficult to read the MS one more time.

 I’ve been busy planning my daughter’s sixth birthday party (Pirates & Princesses). This is taking enormous energy and is drama on a high scale. In fact I was so engrossed in my edit and life dramas that I missed a couple of very important medical appointments for Daisy.

Sometimes it’s hard to live in alternate worlds when you are working with fiction. And being a stay home mother has its own challenges of trying to juggle domestic artistry and a small child on top of writing. 

 And last night wasted a few hours of my life, which I’ll never get back, watching the Academy Awards.

I used to be a big fan of the Awards but there’s something repellent about the smugness and preening on the red carpet. For me the highlights of the night were:

Shaun Tan’s Award for best animated short film.

Penelope Cruz’s va va voom, sexy post-baby body and radiant smile. 

Helen Mirren who is always spectacular.

Florence Welch also spectacular with her dramatic hair, and pale skin in Valentino.

And Helena Bonham Carter who I adore and can do no wrong. I love the fact she wore a gown designed by Alice In Wonderland costume designer, Colleen Atwood, as a reminder of what the awards should be about.

Helena is a true original and dazzles – unlike all the over-plucked, waxed, bronzed, bleached and perfect tube women.

 I am being harsh here and last night David pointed out, as a couple of fashion commentators on FOXTEL heavily criticized some of the frocks and women, that this sort of attitude filters down to the school yards and results in bullying. Even though my retort was that the celebrities are over-paid squillions of dollars to deal with this sort of sniping, I concede that he is right. I should really have just turned the television off earlier.

Happy Autumn days if you are in the Southern Hemisphere. Hope this season is filled with abundance and fiery creative passion for you.

 

Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stevenson

In the other gardens
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!

MR TUMPY’S CARAVAN

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How exciting to read that a manuscript of Enid Blyton’s has popped up in a children’s book centre. Although Mr Tumpy’s Caravan doesn’t sound my ideal Blyton (I prefer Famous Five or the boarding school stories), there’s something so Blytonish about this lost manuscript suddenly appearing.

It’s grim to think in the future that, thanks to our technology, lost manuscripts languishing in dusty, spider-filled attics suddenly materializing may well be a romantic happening of the past. Computer files seem so impermanent, don’t they

And so I’m celebrating this historical moment along with other Blyton fans around the world with a toast of ginger-beer and keeping my fingers crossed the powers-that-be don’t decide to ‘modernise’ Mr Tumpy’s Caravan before publication.

In our house we read a lot of Blyton. My daughter adores the Faraway Tree and Wishing Chair books and never tires of them. She also loves Blyton’s books which are about children – rather than the modern trend of using animals in place of children. And I’ve been slowly collecting all my old Blytons that my mother sent to op-shops when my back was turned. Tony Summerfield of the Enid Blyton Society was quoted in the London Telegraph as certain there are no other Enid Blyton manuscripts sitting around. It’s still lovely to imagine that somewhere out there are early drafts of Famous Five or a mystery never seen. 

And so, if you are interested in a fantasy of a caravan with a mind of its own, a dog-headed dragon and a princess, then cheer along with me that Mr Tumpy’s Caravan has been discovered.  

You can read more on Mr Tumpy here    

 

 

Home

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Returning from Tasmania is always difficult. It feels to me like entering back to grey-and-white Kansas in Sydney from the sparkling Tasmanian Oz. But return we must for the big smoke is where David works. And yet, the Tasmanian soil seemed alive to me when I tread on it. The sea, the sky, the air sang and sparkled. Everything feels crisp, new and more beautifully shaded in Tasmania.

I spent an hour a day walking the magical Nut in Stanley. Here my only company at times were hundreds of pademelons, blue wrens. rabbits and air blowing from Antarctica, said to be the purest in the world. As I walked, the panoramic views stretched for miles of sea and sky. The landscape looks at times like the moors in Haworth and the coastline is very Cornwall in places. It’s an incredibly gothic, spectacular place and both David and myself are more than a little Nut-obsessed.

I was very proud that five-year-old Daisy climbed it one day and didn’t use the chair-lift. It was on the Nut, I received another idea for a book and a title. Stanley is a most inspiring place for me!

 And so I have come full circle. Poets Cottage began in 2007 with my last holiday in Stanley. Now I am editing it and it will be a published book.

 I spent some of the week in the Captain’s Cottage editing and it was a humbling experience to share the edit with that delightful cottage in the most enchanting of fishing villages.

I was also most fortunate to personally meet and thank several locals who inspired the book and provided material that I could use. Warmest congratulations to Marguerite Eldridge of Stanley for her Australia Day award honours in the creative arts. Marguerite and her partner Lin were very instrumental in Poets Cottage, providing the title, and also inspiring the character of Birdie Pinkerton. Marguerite’s books about life in Stanley were also of great help in my research. It is wonderful to see this talented and gracious lady be recognised for her creativity at this stage of her life. I’m very grateful I got to personally thank her and she didn’t object to my daughter taking over her house and biscuit barrel!

We visited close family and it was joyful to see Daisy play with her cousins and relatives and delight in the magic of houses with large backyards, trampolines and sandpits. Always hard to leave but this trip even more so. And every day I see myself back on the Nut feeling that icy wind rush through me and the earth singing as I walk on her. There’s no place like home.