Today we said goodbye to our little exchange student, and we are bereft.

Wrung out.

We miss his big smiling face.  His lively dance moves.  The way he said, “What? Huh?” In a high-pitched voice to everything he found surprising about Australia, and anything we said that he didn’t understand (which was virtually everything).  We miss the way he made us laugh and the way he helped us see our town as if for the first time.  To appreciate the natural beauty, the weather, the faint scent of sugarcane and salt, the heaving sound of the waves.

We miss his enthusiasm to try new things, to stretch himself in ways we couldn’t even know.  He was afraid of many things, here in this slightly crazy space of a country.  The startling insects, the furry animals, the earthiness, the brightness of the stars.  He was surprised by the casualness and the warmth of Aussies (Ozzees), but he allowed it all to infuse, and brew and become.  We called him Watters, and he sent his Mamasan an email saying, “I’m an Ozzee boy now.”

Our throats got lumps in them.

We knew we only had him for a short time, so we stacked the days with experiences and we held nothing back.  We told him what we thought of him, and we allowed him to bury deep into our hearts.  Kind of like the way you do when you know your Dad is dying of a cancer that grows by dissolving vital organs, one by one by one.

But with more laughs than cries.  Because nobody was actually dying.  Even if you might not ever see each other again.

And that’s the thing.  What I found today, is that grieving is not about the death, it is about the missing.  Coco was beside herself when we were saying our final goodbyes.   She is seven years old, so she didn’t want to do it, wanted to just leave without the sting of the final glimpse of her friend.  I suppose she thought she would avoid some of the pain if she avoided the situation.  Which is what we often do.  Liam was completely different, because he said he knows he will see Watters again.  A different protective mechanism perhaps.

And me?  Well, I drove those emotions down nice and deep, somewhere down near my big right toe, where they can stay a while.  I’ll take them out every now and then, have a little look, and slowly and slowly the feelings will become more bearable.  A sense of creeping acceptance will begin to take over, until I can look at the whole experience safely.

I know how this works, by now.

Eventually and eventually you can smile with your eyes again.

And remember the people who scored your heart with their enthusiasm, and the way they could always make you laugh.

Watters.

Thanks for coming Watters.  We’re gonna miss you and your crazy stunts.

…From The Ashers xx

Oh yeah, it’s Hit Time… Here they are, the hits of the week:

1.  The quote of the week.  It’s not a newie of course, but I was having an internal whinge one day this week, and it popped up in my Instagram.  It’s from ‘A League of Their Own.”  I think it bears remembering.

2.  A fab girly lunch today for the launch of Nikki Parkinson’s new book, Unlock Your Style (you can get yours here, even if you missed the launch).  It was held at Berados (a fancy word for, well, fanceee), and as always the service was impeccable and the food: delish.  Nikki was gorgeous and funny, and very down to Earth, which I guess is what you would expect from a Sunny Coast girl, but still, it was nice to see, and wonderful to be there to help get a book written by an Aussie Blogger on it’s way.

I went with a fun group of ladies: Bigheart, Barbiegirl, DownToEarth, Arty, Lovely, LeadMeAstray and Buzzybee.  And then, of course, there was me: Little Truthful One.  See if you can guess who is who:

The eight dwarves ladies

And here are the rest of the hits of the lunch-launch:

The Stylish Nikki

Books ready for launching

Did I mention there was dessert? Oh YES there was. It was a veritable health food with all that fruit..

3.  Watters, the Happy little Jappy Chappy.  As you know, we have been having a ball with out little fella.. Sunday is just too close (we want to keep him).

It was even more fun tonight because a friend who is a Japanese teacher came over and was able to have a big chat with him, so we found out all sorts.  Yes, he is having fun here, No, he doesn’t want sushi for dinner, Yes (little bugger) thinks he is a better dancer than me, Yes, he liked meat pies, but best of all, he dissed us over the Evil Geniuse’s bedtime.  We have been putting them to bed LATE this week at 7.30pm, but apparently Watters thinks this is ridic and is lying in bed awake for hours (apparently).  Sorry Watters, but when in Noosa….

4.  Decisions.  We all know we have to make them.  We think and think and list and agonise and then, somehow, we make a choice.  It seems that the bigger the decision seems to be, the harder we make it for ourselves until we can be paralysed into indecision.  Yet strangely, as Kelly Exeter points out in her book Your Best Year Yet, we will be happy with our choice.  That is how we are wired.  So why do we even stress about it?

Who even knows?

Regardless, a big cheers to making choices.  And even more, for living in a country where having choices is possible.

5.  The sound of the waves outside.  As I’m sitting up here, super-late (I’ve had a big work-day), I can hear the smashing waves.  Swell must be picking up.  I’m not a good surfer, so it’s not like I need big waves.  I just love the sounds.  Reminds me of Summer Hols down the coast.  Long days.  Sand in your bathers.  Peeling skin on your nose. Hot chips with gravy.  Melting Choc chip ice-creams.  And the comforting rhythm of the sea.

Got any hits?

Have you got your copy of Unlock Your Style or Your Best Year Yet, yet?

…From The Ashers

Sunrise Beach today

After the eggs ‘eggsploded’ all over the microwave and I spilt the kids smoothie (thick with raw eggs and protein powder) all over the floor, I decided to have a do-over.

I went back to bed, got all cosy, and started again.

There have been a few balls in the air over here at The Asher’s this week, and frankly, I’m a bit a’scairt of dropping one some all of them.

So I did what I always do when the overwhelm threatens to whelm me all over the place: I consulted the Oracle (a Doreen Virtue Daily Guidance book).  I flicked and fiddled about with the pages, until my fingers decided on #197.  Amongst all the claptrap and hoohar, the affirmation was this: “I make time for activities that I find fulfilling and fun.  The energy I spend on myself is a wise investment in my happiness and health.  I am a perfect role model of self-care for my friends and family.”

Sweet.

I had a shitload of stuff to get done today.  All of it boring and uninspiring.  So instead of racing about like a headless chick, and causing the cortisol to course through my vessels, I chose a different course.  I slipped on my comfy Saucony slippers (some people know them as ‘runners’ or ‘joggers’, but mine aint seen any of that action.) and headed off for a walk.

Now usually, a walk means a WALK.  I’m fast.  Maybe as fast as your light jog.  And I’m focussed.  Maybe as much as your ten year-old kid playing Minecraft.  And I’m sweating.  Maybe as much as a Sumo in a sauna.  Because I am WALKING for EXERCISE.  And that means my teeth may be gritted, my fists might be clenched, and my eyes will be looking at some spot in the distance.  Somewhere that I will be going TO.  I won’t be where I am, that’s for sure.  At no point will it be fun.  The fun will come later when the endorphins kick in.

I set out on my walk, but as it was a walk under the heading “Make Time for Yourself”, I decided to let my slippers choose the path and the pace.  I allowed my eyes to look in directions other than straight ahead.

I noticed things.  Like the feeling of the sun on the back of my neck, just beneath my hairline.  And the sensation of the wind playing with the tiny hairs on my arms.  I heard the squeaky-crunch of the sand under my slippers.  I listened to the sea call me, daring me to take off those slippers, and allow my winter-feet taste the cool salt of the sea.  I noticed the little pods on the path down to the beach that were usually just an intrusive burr to the soft arches of my feet, and saw that they are really quite intricate and interesting in their construction.  I saw the ripples in the sand, created by the wind I usually despised, and saw how something annoying could create something pretty.

Pesky pod

Pretty patterns

After a time, I sat on the seat that the para-gliders use to check that pesky wind, and listened to some music.  They weren’t cool songs or new songs or even my favourite songs, just songs that give me feels.  Beth, The First Cut Is The Deepest, The Sweetest Thing, Loving Cup.

By and by, some people came past me: some were hurrying with their dogs, others were rushing off to work or some important place, patting their hair into place and squinting against the sun.  Most of them were on a mission of some sort.  On purpose.  And purposeful.  But my purpose was to be still.  I don’t think any of them even noticed me.  I usually like to think of myself as an intrepid adventurer, treading the road less travelled, but today I was like a Hobbit.

The road goes ever on and on,  Down from the door where it began.  Now far ahead the Road has gone,  And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet,  Until it joins some larger way,  Where many paths and errands meet.  And whither then? I cannot say.

I liked the not knowing.

It may have taken off some years.

No makeup, bad hair, a photo not fit for sharing… Ahh, screw it.

Will you do something just for you today?  Just because?  What will it be?

…From The Ashers xx

I just watched a little news break thingy.  You know, one of those little briefs, with the top five stories of the day.  None of the little bites were things that I want in my head.  Not one.

Then I went over to Twitter and I saw a whole lotta ugly.  For some reason, there is some nasty stuff going on tonight.  Trolling.  Unnecessary and horrid.  It left a foul taste in my mouth.

And it got me wondering, what is that all about?

What is it, that compels one human to behave so despicably towards another?  How? Why?

Over on Facebook there’s a thing going around about sharing gratitude.  Which is lovely.  I keep a gratitude journal, have done for quite a while now, writing down at least five things every day I’m grateful for.  Sometimes it’s a pretty shitty list, and other times it is insightful.  Or interesting.  Or humbling.

But the thing that always underpins the whole thing, is a gratitude for life.  This life.  This one chance we have.  This here and now.  I’ve had too many people I care about die, and if I’m lucky enough to live on, there will be more.  So many more.  So I’m grateful to be alive in this time, this town, with these people.  Singing and dancing along.

Perhaps if everyone on this spinning blue globe could be so grateful, the news bulletins would be something inspiring to watch.  People on Twitter would play nice.  And Facebook?  Well there’d be no need for gratitude reminders, because we would all be thankful all the time.

I reckon that would be something newsworthy.

…From The Ashers xx

I had a funny blog (hilarious even) all mapped out in my mind to pop up here, but I’ve just watched Q and A, and now it all seems a bit frivolous.

Did you watch it?  I usually can’t stand it, mostly because of Tony Jones and the fact that my Twitter blows up with all the #qanda tweets and I’m too lazy to mute them.  But also because of all the grand-standing and posturing, that I can’t help but think is all for show, and that they might all go out for a beer together afterwards.

But tonight was different.

There was a reflective reverence to the panel.  The answers were thoughtful.  The interactions respectful.  No yelling.  No name-calling.  Perhaps it’s because the panelists weren’t as polarised by politics as they usually are, or maybe it’s because regardless of the methodology in which each one believes change can best be implemented, there was a commonality of intention.  A bigger picture that each one, in their own way, would like to work towards.

And there was a warmth.

As it ever is: treaty is one of the goals, as is creating the best outcomes for families- children in particular, as well as encouraging bilingual-ness (I’m not sure what the correct term would be).  These issues were only just touched on and then moved along.  There was much to discuss and very little time.  Not enough for any actual deepening of understanding.

I’m sure there will be tirades on blogs tomorrow, for example: the maligned Noel Pearson will be praised from one side for being eloquent and sensible and caring for the rights of children, and criticised from the other for being simplistic with an ‘either/or’ policy and of course for being Toned Abs’ right hand man.

And so it goes.

For if you care enough about an issue to go on National television and state your opinions outright, and are then following up those ideas with your life’s work, you will expect that someone, somewhere to have an opinion that is both equal and opposite.  And they will voice it.  Most likely without you being in front of them, to have the right of reply.

I can’t help but think: why are there still sides?

I have no idea what the best course of action is for Australia as a nation right now.  This big warm-hearted country steeped in guilt and shame, and yet still unable to back down and apologise, and make change on a meaningful level- and not just with a few words of acknowledgement before a seminar, about the traditional custodians of the land- but with real action.  I don’t pretend to know what the next step is, nor do I think I’m alone.  Even the people intimately involved in putting forward suggestions seem to be lost on where to go.

So instead, we sit on our hands, or throw them in the air, afraid to weigh in, lest we say/think/do the wrong thing.  Offend someone.  Over-simplify.  Make the wrong choice.  Be seen as too white or too brown.  Yet we know, that every single time we don’t make a choice, we are making a choice.  Not choosing is still choosing.

And still we wait.

And yet again, the little children are taken away.

A little dude from Japan has come to stay at The Asher’s for a couple of weeks.  I call him Watters.  He looks at me blankly when I do, even though I have explained that Aussiefying is name is imperative.

He has a little English at his disposal, and we have virtually no Japanese, despite the Evils (they shall no longer be called Geniuses) learning it attending classes in it for five and three years respectively.  My Mum gave us a translation book, which has been both useful and a source of great mirth, as he pisses himself every time we speak Japanese to him.  Personally, I’m a little affronted, as I’m pretty sure my pronunciation is excellent.

I have reverted to doing what I find most useful when someone doesn’t understand me: talk loudly, so they can now not-understand me with sore ears.  As an added bonus, I also use sign-language.  My grandparents were deaf, so in my family that’s what you did if words didn’t suffice: Auslan.  So, yeah, I was signing my little fingers to the bone for Watters, until Liam said, “He’s Japanese Mum, not deaf.”

We were also using a translator App on our devices, but have given that the flick since I used it today to ask him, “If there’s anything else he wants to do in Noosa?” and he nearly wee-d in his Abercrombie and Finch designer jeans.  I suspect I may have asked him something to do with my substantial mammary glands or Nathan’s gastrointestinal ablutions.  He wouldn’t say.  But every time he looked at me for the rest of dinner, he giggled.

He has a great laugh, our little Jappy Chappy, so we try to do things to make him giggle.

So far we have made him laugh at: urinals in male toilets, sparklers, meat pies, toasted marshmellows, a heat bag in the bed at night, kangaroo spit and koala poo, gravy, peas, Coco’s violin playing, five minute showers, the spa at a local resort, warm Nutella on ice-cream, Vegemite, weird rocks on the first Groyne, pelicans, driving a boat, Cheezels on fingers, ‘cranky’ tacos, blue-tounged lizards, our kids not eating their dinner, bacon and eggs cooked on the barbie, Woofa the shitcat, our footy team’s score today (we were NOT laughing), Nath’s singing, various Aussie stuff in shops, Liam’s speedos, pretty much everything at Aussie Zoo and my use of chopsticks.

However, the thing that has made him laugh the most is my dancing.  Again, I’m shocked.  Because I’m pretty sure that my dancing is tres fantastique (I may not have any Japanese, but by gawdy I know me French).

Last night we got out the “deck” which is a pumpin’ little speaker with a DJ function.  We logged in our iPods and went to battle.  Watters has a penchant for songs that are newer and boppier than a woman of my maturity can safely boogie to, and still keep the contents of her bladder retained, but after an aural arm-wrestle over “Blurred Lines” (Him: Yes, Me: Hell NO) we found common ground with Michael Jackson.  Turns out this stylish, crazy, funny little dude from Tokyo knows the words to Thriller- including the Vincent Price bit- almost as well as me (not bad considering it takes fifteen minutes to find out where he went on his last holiday), but, even better, he knows the dance at least as well as The Wacko himself.

So Watters laid out the moves, and The Ashers followed along as best we could.

And his gutsy laughter rang out across our blue, blue seas.

GoodonyaWatters

…From The Ashers xx