Choice

So, it happened again two weeks ago. We had to go unfortunately, and it was not good. We’d just been having a discussion about how evil they are, the way they drive farmer’s prices down, freeze apples for months before showcasing them for sale, how grocery prices have gone up 40% in the last ten years, and I’m sorry but that is definitely not in line with inflation. The big two (there really is only two in this country) own thousands of pokies, bottle shops, service stations; driving prices up and pushing competition out of the market. Essentially, we discussed how they’ve taken over every aspect of our lives, and that there is no escaping their all powerful reach.

And there wasn’t.

Not this day anyway. With a bit more forward planning it might have been possible, but we didn’t plan and instead found ourselves entering a supermarket on Easter Saturday afternoon.

We tried the fruit shop next door first, to see if it could fulfill most of our foodie needs. We felt quite righteous going in there – look at us, aren’t we good, we’re supporting local business, we don’t mind paying a little bit more to support our local farmers and community.

But really we did.

And unfortunately their produce was not good. Cherry tomatoes were priced at $4.25/punnet, and looking in the plastic case many of the little puffs of red flesh had already exploded with the orange seeds rotting against the plastic. One of the great joys in life is popping a whole cherry tomato in one’s mouth and feeling the seeds explode, therefore this would just not do.

So, we sucked it up and recognised that the great ogre next door really was our only option at this point. It was N’s birthday too, and we were having some family for drinks, and supplies were desperately required. Therefore, as a birthday treat, I told him I would venture into the great beast and he could buy the wine next door (at a bottle shop owned by the same conglomerate).

I started the positive self talk as soon as I began walking towards the doors. “You can do this, it won’t be too bad, just get in and get out; it will be easy”.

It wasn’t.

I am never good in a supermarket. Recently on one Saturday afternoon venture for the weekly shop, so distressed did I look that as I was leaving I was approached by some Christian missionary-types who asked if they could pray for me. I said no, that I was fine (although even if I wasn’t, and if I actually shared their faith, would we really hold hands and pray together in the supermarket car park – does anyone say yes to such a strange offer, that seems extreme even for the extremists). Anyway, this incident is an indicator of my state within the supermarket environment.

So, back to the Easter Saturday adventure..... ....My positive self-talk did little. I got through the fresh produce section and then unfortunately had to face the deli. There were about ten customers shuffling their feet, waiting to be served, and six staff behind the counter. One staff member was serving, while the other five fluffed up potato salad, organised chickens in neat rows and chatted. Now, I am not normally one to really get frustrated over poor service at a supermarket deli.

I did today.

I basically stood there grinding my teeth in frustration, death staring the deli attendants, willing them to turn from their potato fluffing and attend to my bacon and olive requirements.

This is when the panic really set in.

Anyone who has panic attacks will know the signs (I am aware that it sounds completely ludicrous to many people that I have panic attacks about supermarket shopping, but I do, and it is very real, very horrifying ). My skin went all prickly. I ceased to exist in my body, and became a demon focussed only on the deli meat in front of me. My legs turned to jelly; my stomach was churning, and my mouth dry and floury. When the lady next to me at the deli counter ignored the number system and cut in front of me in the queue I felt bile rise in my throat as waves of anger flushed through me. I wanted to turn and unleash a tirade of abuse on her George Costanza style “We’re living in a society here”.

I said nothing.

On a normal day I am a very sympathetic warm person who laughs at those who yell over line-cutters, or do the ‘ups’ at other drivers, I feel sorry for them.

But, this is what supermarkets do to me.

Then N came and found me, he had finished the wine shopping and had come to assist me with gathering the remaining items.

This was not a good move.

His helpful suggestions of “let’s buy a dip” and “I don’t think we need another wheel of cheese” were met with eye rolls and foot stamping as my discomfort and frustration was misdirected at him. I then made the enlightened suggestion that I could make a quiche when we got home, N bravely pointed out that this may be a bit too much effort. I would hear none of it.

(Of course it turned out to be a great idea and really reduced my stress as I found myself slamming round the kitchen, lining a quiche dish, and beating eggs like a woman possessed - so much easier than buying a dip........)

Then it came to the check outs.

Of course, being Easter Saturday a decent line up had developed. N gently tried to soothe me, and instead I basically blamed him for us being there (why did he have to have a birthday on Easter Saturday) as he calmly and kindly helped me through the situation. I seethed at the cost of the food (I had to endure getting the stuff, why should I have to part with money for the experience), paid and left, vowing never to return again.

Every time I have this experience I make this vow. I convince myself that I will no longer engage with these places. I will shop at the markets, bake biscuits, go to independent grocers, and so on. Sometimes I do, but often the time and energy is not there. I try to always shop at a butcher, fruit shop, and bakery to reduce the amount of spending I do in these conglomerates. But it is not enough, they remain giant.

I was having my supermarket rant to some girlfriends on the weekend. They weren’t as disturbed about the 'supermarket situation’ and pointed out that they are really the cheapest and easiest option for grocery shopping in this country.

And, they probably are.

But, that doesn't seem good enough to me, that price is the only legitimate factor. But, really, unfortunately for me, there isn't a lot of supermarket choice in this country, no, in reality there are only two (choices that is), one is called 'a rock' the other 'a hard place.

The divine Ms Krall!

The other night N and I went to see Diana Krall. A very kind friend of ours gave us some tickets, and despite the laziness that had crept into our bones we extracted ourselves from the couch, closed our eyes to Seinfeld re-runs and headed out Boondall-way to hear some music.

When we first arrived Madeleine Peyroux was scatting around, revving the crowd with her quirky brand of jazz/blues/soul, it tasted good! Once she finished her set there was a little break, and we headed outside into the bizarre maze of the Brisbane Entertainment Centre to toilet and wine it up.

It was a very strange crowd in this 80s landmark. All of them were 45+ (which is fine, just an observation), we were the youngest cats around, but everyone was there for a love of music (they must have been because no one goes to Boondall unless something very compelling is on there). There was a great buzz about, a feeling of ‘what’s next’ in the air………

So, we went back to our seats, to see the stage set up with a grand piano, and stalls for the Queensland Orchestra who were performing with Krall.

Soon after she entered stage right with her band of key jazz musicians, and from the moment she placed her fingers on the piano she was electric.

And her musicians too! We watched the drummer play his solo with absolute fascination. He seemed not to have elbows or joints in his arms and hands; they were in fact jelly arms that just glided between the drums with such fluidity. Her guitarist and bass player too were just prodigious; their solos rocked and had the 10,000 strong crowd on the edge of their seats. Of course when the Queensland Orchestra joined in, it was just superb, a wall of beautiful sound emanated throughout the stadium.

But, it was Krall who was the cat’s pajamas of course. She was divine. Her blonde locks loose and flowing, a stunning black dress tucked around her tiny figure, and sky high heels……she looked the part and was the real deal jazz lady. And, when she played, wow! Her fingers tore up the piano, and that rich creamy voice got me right in the guts.

Best of all though was when Krall and the assembled musicians would finish a song she would burst into a glorious cackle, that would ring through the microphone and emphasized that as much fun as we were having watching her, she was having the time of her life performing.

We decided then and there, that our lives and life's work should make us feel like cackling with joy everyday too. It's a cliche now I know, but really life is too short to live any other way.

Oh, you were just divine Ms Krall and you did that truly magical thing a great artist can do, you stimulated, inspired and motivated us through your art to live our lives with joy. Thank you.

And then the scales fell from her eyes.

Today I started meditating again. It’s been a long time coming. We have been tossed about by the world for the last 12 months, we have raged against things, worried, cried, fought; but still I did not turn to meditation to calm me and really, goodness knows why I didn't?

The trigger for this act was oddly banal. On Friday night we were out shopping for shoes, and it suddenly became clear how much meditation was needed in my life.

I wanted to buy a couple of good pairs of shoes for the trip. Not the normal, cheapish, dress shoes I buy – but a pair of nice boots that I could walk in, and another pair of plain flat black ‘ballet’ type shoes, but with a decent sole and comfortable arches. The intention was that they would be really good quality, that I would spend a couple of hundred dollars on each pair, and then instead of lasting 6-9 months, they would last 2-4 years.

I was determined to do this, to find the perfect shoes and went to this task like a woman possessed.

A little truth I have to share here, that many people who know me would not know about me, but...... I hate shopping. I love clothes, books, music, and other goods, but I hate shopping. I like to make a decision about what I need to buy, go to the shops buy it (in two colours if possible) and leave, allowing me then not to have to shop again for another few months.

I have also become more anti-consumerism in the last few months. I cleaned out my wardrobe last week because in a couple of weeks we are moving, and then heading off on the trip a few more weeks after that. So, it seemed the time to trim the fat, and I was just shocked by the amount of ‘stuff’ I had accumulated that I never wear, don’t even like, doesn’t fit. I felt disgusting – why had a bought all this stuff, it was just stuff that looked pretty, made me feel good for about 10 minutes, so I bought it, but it served no other purpose in my life.

So the intention was with the new shoes and boots, that they would be good quality, I would have them for years and never need to buy more 'shoe-related stuff’ as the shoe situation would be sorted.

The lead up to my realisation on Friday night was also triggered by a pretty yucky few days at work I don’t want to discuss the details in this public domain but to say it wasn’t good kind of sums it up. As it all unfolded all I could think was ‘I cannot WAIT to be away from here, in our lovely van on the open road just N and I’, and even though this reality is really only a few months away, while I was in it it felt as if it were a hundred years away.

So I went shopping for shoes on Friday night with all this pressure weighing down on the one occasion. These shoes were going to fulfil all shoe requirements for the next 5 years, they were going to make me feel better after my awful week, and they were going to bring me one step closer to our marvellous trip together.

Hmmm, how does shoe shopping match such expectations.

Instead we rushed to get to this store that closes at 6pm on a Friday, but which sells all the brands of shoes I thought would fulfil my requirements. Of course, as happens with intense and unrealistic expectations this didn’t happen. Instead I flounced around the shoe store, whining like a 5 year old, feeling ugly, fat, a failure and that the weight of the yucky week was pressing on me. All the fears and anger that was sitting inside me started to swell and make waves provoking angry tears to spring in my eyes, and me to assume an ugly 'chook-bum' face.

Poor N then had to read me the riot act (which he did very kindly) telling me that I was acting like a goose, and if I was going to be so foul we would go home (my disgusting childish behaviour forced him to become the parent). And somehow, instead of spiralling into a flurry of tears and tantrums, I managed to pull myself together and go forth into an evening of lovely times with my husband but without the perfect shoe outcome.

I got home that night and realised how flabby I had become. Not physically necessarily (although I haven’t been taking good care of my body), but emotionally and mentally I was thick waisted. I was stressed all the time, five words away from tears and anger, all of my muscles – both physical and mental were slack from lack of use. I had been feeling this for awhile now, but had been able to blame the hard time we had been having for my ‘flabbiness’, but blame really only gets you so far.

So I woke up on Saturday morning, and started to practice meditation and mindfulness again. I sat for maybe 7 minutes focussing on my breath, I then did two yoga moves that I used to do daily which are about grounding yourself to the earth, and I must say I felt a lot better.

This morning I did the same thing, but with the help of a Thich Nhat Hanh book I purchased (sometimes consumption is helpful) to guide me through my mindful meditation. As I read his insightful words lights that had long been dimmed started flashing brightly, particular during the reading of one particular story.

Here’s the basics - it is about a man eating a tangerine, he’s eating it piece by piece, enjoying each quadrant. Then he begins talking about future plans, aspirations, intentions and gets so caught up in these thoughts that he stops thinking about the process of eating the tangerine and instead he eats the fruit like a robot would; like an automatic gesture. During that time he stops living, he stops enjoying the fruit, because he is not conscious, he is not mindful.

I am like this man every day of my life. I never focus on enjoying the task I am doing at any given moment, I instead flit from thing to thing, idea to idea and in this way lose myself, lose my life.

This is really what I mean by flabby. I am flabby with too much stuff and no focus, I eat beautiful food without thinking (or I eat not beautiful food at all, just to give me fuel to run to the next thing), I sprint from one thing to the next never enjoying the moments, I exercise just because I should do this, I don’t enjoy the process or experience. And, I keep imagining it will all change when N and I are off in our van together travelling along without any commitments or concerns.

I now see that these commitments and concerns are always present unless we live mindfully, and that I cannot put off living my life this way until it’s convenient, I must live it like this now.

Little life

We have not shared a lot of our everyday life on this blog. It tends to be about big moments, or reflections on events or experiences. But right now I am very much over big moments, changes and major events. I am instead looking forward to everyday life for awhile. Even some of the things I raged against after our holiday because I found them so dull.

Back in the routine of work and normal life there seems to be a lot of joy to be had in the experience of watering the garden, baking biscuits, folding washing, cooking a meal, listening to music and generally mooching around the house.

My grandmother has just given me her old sewing machine, I've just had it serviced and will pick it up tomorrow. I am so looking forward to spending nights at home sewing little handbags, scarves and quilts to give to people as gifts.

When I look at the lives of some of our friends I feel very old woman-y writing this. Like a boring married lady who cooks, cleans and darns. Yet I can't feel ashamed, it all sounds so perfect right now. After some big colourful and some very dark times I'm happy to live a soft pastel kind of life for awhile..............

N's big day............

Ahhh, it’s back in all its sweat reeking, dirty snotted, drink-ticket buying, toilet queuing glory. It’s that special time of year when 60,000 ‘kids’‚ cram into the Gold Coast Parklands for one day in January and witness live some of the world’s best bands. At the centre of this sea of peroxide blonde and unnaturally tanned coastal chicks alongside Southern Cross tattooed, sunburnt shouldered, singlet wearing coastal dudes, lies a music festival that is soon to notch up 100 shows - a 17 year musical history of mud and mayhem. Big Day Out.

Some friends and I joined the throng of ‘sun-stroked coastal crazies’‚ to welcome musicians and bands from every corner of the globe to this classic Aussie festival

Despite forking out $150 for this shock and awe fest I have secret feelings about the Big Day Out, not often revealed until it rolls around again each new year........... I actually hate the thing. I generally love music festivals, but the Big Day Out is different. It is hot, crowded and bustling beast with the stench of piss, sweat and stale beer thick in the air. It behaves like an untamed dog at the end of a long leash, it thrashes about seeking to streak forth into the night if you inadvertently relinquish your grip.

In the past the BDO organisers were prone to cramming far too many people into the relatively modest grounds, with a distinct shortage of toilets, bars, places to chill and things to eat, whilst gouging this captive audience for dollars at every turn.

So, you may rightly ask, why do I go?

Simple

The BDO attracts the best bands from across the globe and gets them to play a stone’s throw away from where I live.

Enough said.

This year was very different, though, the beast had evolved. For starters, they only served half strength drinks and as much as many blog readers may wish to deny it, let’s face facts, this was a stroke of genius. It reduced exponentially the number of young men observed staggering, red faced, desperately searching for a fight, to the point that I could count these gorilla sightings on one hand. In previous years the numbers would be so high that one was genuinely afraid of looking the wrong way for fear you would catch the animal’s eye and the gorilla would unleash their drunken wrath upon you.

The beasts’ cage was thankfully expanded this year too, creating more room to move and easier access to amenities than previous incarnations. But the stand out difference in 2010 was the organisation of BDO staff. The army of fluoro vest wearing helpers were out in force, on the ready to help us ‘hopped up’ youth avoid frustrations and confrontations. Everything ran like clockwork. With the headline act finishing 5 minutes early (!) and a spot-on police presence who focused their energy on ensuring people arrive and leave the festival safely, rather than a pre-Fitzgerald enquiry heavy handed ‘management’ of patrons once inside.

For me, it is all about the music. I avoided the superficial drunken interactions I had in previous years by playing the part of designated driver and staying well below that 0.05 limit. Boring, yes, but you have to make sacrifices to see your favourite bands these days, and the music was anything but boring.

Even when one is trying to avoid such an experience it seems that one of those ‘special Big Day Out moments’ always manages to find its way to you. I found myself in conversation with a 26-year-old bloke discussing Muse, the band rockin’ out at the time. He asked me if I had taken any drugs ‘today’‚ (as if the smile on my face could be caused by nothing else) and I said no, I had a beer or two earlier but was driving back to Brissy once the festival was over. His face swiftly fell into regret and he remorsefully spouted, “I’m weak. I just have to have the drugs; it’s a real problem. I’m really weak, man. How do you guys stay so level headed?”

Only at Big Day Out could I have such an intimate conversation with a complete stranger who clearly deeply regrets his destructive choices, yet the only reason he can reveal this is because he is high as a kite! The regret soaked moment passed, as did he, into the night, not wanting to linger with anyone so boring not to be wrapped up in the ongoing conundrum of addiction and excess.

So I salute you Big Day Out, for throwing people together from all walks of life, ensuring the sun beats down on us as we run about like mad folk catching those must see bands, and for then spitting us out the other side with stiff shoulders from head banging, the prerequisite tinge of regret (especially those drug takers) and most likely a sore head to boot.

Until next year.

The campers life.

So, we went camping last week - hurrah, hurrah! We headed south to Northern NSW, convoying with friends from Sydney, the boys in the van and the chicks following close behind in the commodore, until we descended upon Brokenhead for a week of gloriousness and pleasure.

Now, in truth, I am not a camper. But, 2010 is a year of change, experimentation, new frontiers and new experiences, so I sucked it up and took the challenge - because in reality, a week of camping is easy galore compared to the year we are planning to embark on in the van together.

I must admit I started to fade towards the end of the week. Currently our van is not converted to camper-styling, instead it is an empty vessel which we filled with mattresses and bags, and outside we had a tarp providing the living space filled with pots, pans, food, chairs, and just camping-arama generally. So by late in the week the mess and fuss of all the crap that camping involved was starting to bother me. Sandy sheets, dirty clothes, and damp towels, hmmm, wasn't loving it!

But, I didn't relent, I kept my cheerful face on (except for a small whinge) and accepted the camping life. Because, I realised something about camping, for all my hatred of dirt and mess, of poor light and grotty shower blocks, camping is an opportunity to step away from normal life and the blood sucking routine and responsibility of it. There is no Simpsons at 6pm each night to distract you from the workday, eating a meal prepared in a camp kitchen is MUCH more satisfying than packet pasta and sauce, and talking by torchlight for hours feels somewhat romantic compared to talking between the ad breaks.

Most crucially though you spend time with people - we really caught up with our friends, got to know them again, recognising the reasons behind the friendship. We also read books (like entire books) and talked to one another about plans, aspirations and hopes rather than what's on TV and what we need to get done that night before trudging to work again the next day.

I have always had this secret fear of the trip around Australia in the van. I have always been afraid that I won't know myself when I was away from my life - from the freneticism of it, from the things I should be doing, from the timetable and the responsibilities - these are burdens, but they are also the things I know about myself, I know myself in that place with all these goings-on around me.

I realised, that even on this short trip, I got to know myself better when I was away from the distractions and responsiblities that I fill my life with. Thinking about this makes me incredibly excited about the trip, because if one week away from 'normal' life makes me see such potential, imagine a year of this.............

A new start!

Well, it has been over a month since I wrote anything for Gilpies - which is truly a terrible effort. We are now in the lovely new year of 2010 which has crept up all too quickly, but I have already decided is going to be amazing.

After two years of pretty hard times I am ready for a different kind of year.

A year of wonder.

I remember in 2004 and 2005 I had a couple of years like that. They were amazing, I finished up my travels overseas in the February of 2004, came home and had two years left of my undergrad degree which I spent writing, reading and studying music - amazing stuff. I met my beloved N that year and made a number of now much adored new friends. It was a really fantastic time of change and of growing up. They were actually very, very hard years in lots of ways, with some terribly sad and difficult things presenting themselves. Overall though I felt my capacity as a person grow.

As I write this, and reflect on 2008 and 2009 they have actually been a bit similar to the adored years, in a number of ways. They have been so awful and so tremendously difficult to weather. I have never felt more tired, sad, fearful or overwhelmed as I did this year particularly. But, at the same time, I have grown up, again I've learnt my capacity as a human being, as a wife, as a child, a family member and a friend. I've recognised the highs and lows and how to truly relish in the high moments and really let myself sob it out and let go in the lows.

Now though, I am ready to reap the rewards of all this hard work . I'm ready for N and I to use all of this personal evolution to really now become the adult people we wish to be. I am certain that in another few years this intense period of change and struggle will come up again in our lives - but hopefully our experiences will give us the resources to deal with it.

Anyway, we have decided that 2010 is a new start for us.

2010 is the year of our big physical journey, as we head off in the van around Australia later this year. This will test us (me particularly, being a bit of a comfy bed and clean feet kind of girl) physically as people. I believe that we have been on the big emotional journey in 2009, we have learnt to band together as a team of two in those awful times, and hopefully this will stand us in good stead as we deal with the joys and pitfalls of travelling in such close quarters, for such a long time.

Let's see, shall we!

So, we will both get on Gilpies a lot more to write about how the planning is going, and how life is faring generally in this new year - and to prepare ourselves for the big journey ahead.

Our first little preparatory journey is next week - we are heading down south for a camping trip in the van. It is not yet fitted out with all the comforts of a camper van, instead it is just a big empty truck essentially - so this will be interesting.

I have planned our meals, and N has tried to organise all the bits and pieces we need - but things will have been forgotten, and if there's anything I learnt this year, nothing goes to plan.

So, bring on this first little journey and we'll see how we go..................