Re-tox...

Okay so at lunch I may have added a few extra toxins:

However I was assured it was organic and had no preservatives.  And it was a hot (for Hobart) day.  And my husband, Mr V, decided to take me for lunch so I could hardly drink water now could I?

On the upside, from the perspective of my health, I also dropped into my favourite health food store, City Organics. 

Mainly to get the Coconut Aminos which are meant to replace soy sauce on the Cleanse but of course there was more room in my bag so I grabbed myself a new Butter London polish for my mani tomorrow - Toff - I love their names although think it's a bit of false advertising to be called Butter London and be made in the USA.  Oh and also a bit of 75% cocoa no added sugar chocolate.  And some lentil chips.  Plus some kale chips.  Which, despite the smart modern packaging, still looks like this

And tastes like kale.  I might sprinkle the remains over some brown rice tonight.  Or not.  I think I probably have green bits in my teeth now.

But in the best detox news I have had all day, when checking my reading list I found that Romy has drawn me as the winner of her comp for a free pass to Bikram yoga.  Romy is another blogger whose stylish wardrobe and home decor I covet (in a  non creepy way!) and who swims in the same small yet perfectly formed pond of Hobart.  Funnily enough my beautician was just raving about Bikram last week too.  Given that Mr V and I moved to Tasmania specifically to avoid the heat we endured for 30+ years, he will laugh a lot about my going to yoga in 38+ degrees. 

He will also laugh about my doing yoga full stop as I can hardly put one foot in front of the other without falling over some days, coordination is  not my best skill.  But new things are good.  And "the chick" used to be able to get her head to her knees due to regular Pilates and Callanetics so getting some of that movement back is part of the long self-improvement list.

I'll shoot you an email Romy, thank you so much!

Spring

Ah spring in Hobart; how can you possibly not have a great day when the first thing you see in the morning, just as the sun is making its way over Opossum Bay is this lovely visitor on your back deck.  A heron, I am reliably informed.  Very happy that the animals of the house were not around to bid it welcome.

Although they are such sooks I think they would have run away, as the bird was bigger than they are.  After that it was down to the garden for some carrots to go in my juice (day 2 of a half-assed detox before Christmas - but I feel better for it!)

I am still as excited as a child being able to pull things from my own vege patch.  Having come from Queensland where nothing grows without constant water, coddling and probably regular conversation a la Prince Charles and his plants, it is a joy to almost ignore parts of the garden and still have them prosper. 

So in the spirit of recapturing the chick I referred to in my last post, and buoyed by brilliant sunshne reflecting off the water, I pulled out one of my prettiest blouses from Tory Burch, 80's style pussy cat bow and all, to wear to the Governmentorium, together with standard issue black pants #17.

And I did my toenails even though I then hid them in my Dorothy shoes.  It's a start!

And then...

And then there was the realisation that my iPad does not like the idea of long blog posts, refusing to let me go further than the photo of those two reprobates (names withheld) on the prior post.  Maybe its delicate sensibilities were offended

Actually on reflection, having taken over an hour to get that post done, I suspect Blogger and Apple may not the the best of friends.   But I shall valiantly go on.

This has to be the favourite of all the surprises this box of photos has thrown up at me.  This is me, age 3, with the hair colour I miss terribly and the father I miss beyond all possible description.  Singapore I think, I remember the heat, nothing else.

And then I found this:

Dated 1994, it was a few weeks late for my birthday, from my then best friend and her new, now ex- , husband to be.  Obviously from the condition of it, it's been through a couple of challenges!   Rather like me, her, and the friendship itself which after a number of twists and turns ended soon after, as they often do when two flawed people become close through sharing common hurts and unhelpful coping mechanisms.  I look back on the time with fondness now.

But the inscription brought tears to my eyes.  Somewhere in years of depression and G.A.D. and failed relationships (my fault, see the previous diagnoses) that "chick" disappeared.  She was fun and generous and loving and up for anything.  She rocked killer heels and awesome frocks and had spirit that wouldn't quit.  I would have loved to read her blog.  And it's time to find her again.

Blogworthiness

So. One year (give or take) since my last blog post and two years since starting a blog. I think of it often but in a recent period of life that has been, at best, humdrum, and at worst, a litany of minor and major sadnesses, I have simply felt that very few of my days were "blogworthy".

Then again, I probably had my bar set a bit high. The first blog I ever came across, way back when, was La Divina - Faux Fuchsia - who is blessed with all the Gods have to give in terms of family, humour, drive and a wardrobe that is what I imagine heaven to be like if I died having not committed too many fashion sins. Mine is a little more fly by the seat of your size 14 pants.

Jumbled

I was one of her first hundred followers with a long gone google id and from her discovered Mai Tai who makes my suburban love of Hermès look rather petites patates.

Orange

My next blogoddess was A-M from the House that A-M Built. Divine decor, an uncompromisingly positive attitude to life, even when threatened with a once in a lifetime flood. And two gorgeous boys to boot - where were boys that sweet when I was growing up! I make do with a two cats, a niece and a nephew.

And that was a good 20 years ago now, he has multiple piercings and tattoos these days. Sigh.

Then of course I discovered mega- bloggers like Sea of Shoes (no need for a link, surely, when you've featured in Vogues around the globe and parlayed your blog into an invitation to debut at Le Crillion. In Chanel.). Ohhhh to have been that cool at that age, and to have had the technology to capture it instead of Mum's trusty Kodak. Not to mention the availability of international labels at an age when I was not long graduated from Shetland knits and kilts.

My mother was also rather fond of taking photos on the diagonal.

So in contrast, I found it hard to think of anything that was worthy of a post. As a recovering perfectionist, my post also had to be witty, glamorous, laid back and homely all rolled into one. Which was probably aiming a bit high.

Anyway, today, laid up with the lurgy, I decided a good use of my time was to sort through a box of photos spanning three decades. And I found photos that I would love if I saw them on someone else's blog. There was me in London, already with the rebellious hair that I am known for and still fighting at 40

There's the lovely beach shot, back when I was 18 and carefree and the worst thing in the world was a boy not liking you, or not being able to fasten your size 8 jeans after an overly generous serve of pasta.

There were these two, from an 80s party held in 1999, who may or may not now be a highly respected corporate counsel and barrister respectively.

Mary-tales

All is abuzz here in Hobart as "Our Princess" will be arriving any time now...or this afternoon...or maybe tomorrow. 

It has been over a year now and I've learnt a lot about Tasmania as I have fallen more and more in love with it. 

One thing I have discovered is that EVERYONE in Hobart has a Mary-tale.  Or more than one.  They went to school with her.  Their brother had her Dad as a lecturer.  Their ex-boyfriend now owns the house she grew up in, and gets gentle flak from all his friends about it.  Not to mention the dilemma of whether, in his upcoming renovations, he destroys or salvages the piece of wall in the basement where Mary and her sisters all scratched their names into the brick.  (I did not make that up and would dearly love a photo). My very boring Mary-story is that you can see the roof of that same house from my kitchen window.

There is one thing that stuns me about Mary and the marriage.  Not that she met Frederick in a bar, happens every day.  Not that she was his pick when there were younger models around - that happens too (good thing, or I would still be single!).  Not that she has taken to royal life and protocol so well, she seems to have the brains to work it out.


No, what amazes me is no-one has a bad word to say about her.  No-one.  Not a "oh well she was a  bit of a b**ch at school".  Or "she glided through Uni a bit and didn't work very hard, probably only passed because her dad was a lecturer".  Or she ran with a bad crowd there for a while, or dated a complete douche, or any of the things that would come up in a background check of an average Aussie girl.  Is she truly perfect or are people here just so nice that they don't say anything bad?

Anyway, my favourite Mary-tale has to be from a bartender at what was our local.  His sister was a great friend of hers at school and even went to Copenhagen for the big day.  They have kept in touch, and when Mary was last in town they caught up.  His niece, four years old and knowing none of the razamattazz surrounding her Mum's friend and who she was, was introduced to Mary with the family looking on.  Mary crouched down to say hello and the little niece just looked at her wide eyed and said "You look like a princess".  I bet that was the nicest thing she heard all day.

If you blog it, it will come

"I want to move to Tasmania."

I can't remember exactly when my boyfriend (now husband) said it first.  I can't remember exactly when my mother said it.  But it crystallised years of dreaming of rugged landscapes and sighing over houses and their reasonable prices on realestate.com.au.  So we're moving to Tasmania.

Using a different slant on creative visualisation for goal achievement, here is my blog. Better than photos on the fridge.  An anonymous message in a bottle to cyberspace.  People think we're crazy, leaving Bris-Vegas just as it is coming of age complete with Valentino haute couture exhibitions and Aria restaurants and $6million apartments.  But doesn't everyone prefer being a teenager to being an adult?  Why not choose a home base that's still growing up too and enjoy a second childhood?

Hobart reminds me of Brisbane when I still loved it, but with better weather for someone who wilts at 25 degrees.  And how can you go past that harbour?  I want to get away from spending thirty minutes in a car to travel 2.5 kms.  Away from twenty years of recorded personal history.  A new page, some fresh air.Ditch the old furniture and rent out the house, shed our skins and let's get started.

Here's to a Bigger Life in A Smaller Pond.