outback odyssey

We've been on a week's holiday in central western Queensland. I loved it all - the wildlife (we saw emus, kangaroos, wallabies, wild budgerigars, an echidna, a red-bellied black snake and even a reclusive platypus), the quaint little towns, the barren landscapes and the dinosaur remains, displayed in unassuming museums.

This is a photo The Birdman took of the wild budgies.

Here Laura and I are stretching our legs, on the way from Winton to Richmond ...... a rough and ready sort of road. In a few places we thought we were going to lose something crucial from the car's undercarriage! - but in the end we made it in one piece.

Ben and I inspected dinosaur bones in Winton. It's amazing that these priceless bones, from millions of years ago, are kept in this tiny, dinky-di display. It cost us $10 (for a family) to enter. The museum was staffed by volunteers, who also sold jam, crochet-edged tea towels and doilies on the other side of the room.

The shops were unbelievably cute! This one is in Richmond - a gorgeous little town.

This gorge (Porcupine Gorge) is to be found at the end of another dodgy road, and appears as if out of nowhere in the flat, dry landscape.

I know I'm biased, but I do love our country, with all its extremes of climate and landscape. And although I enjoy overseas travel, there is something celebratory and patriotic about travelling in your own country. Yay for the Aussie holiday!

restraint

If you're looking to read about handcuffs, turn back now. This is not the post for you. I mean restraint in the sense of holding back, pausing before acting or speaking - not rushing in with an immediate reaction.

Restraint is not one of my better qualities. Those of you who read here regularly will have been subject to my lack of restraint at times, when I have commented on your posts with opinions or advice or 'helpful suggestions' which were, let's face it, unsolicited and possibly quite patronising. Not that I mean to be this way. It's just that lack of restraint kicking in. Where others might think to themselves, "Gee, I hope he/she does x, y or z. I'm sure they'll sort it out for the best", Jelly Overinvolved & Overopinionated will wade right in there and start rabbitting on about how what might help is to do x, y, and z, preferably simultaneously. I know, I know, it's not very attractive.

Because I am a godless heathen, and don't attend church or any other organised religion, I try to read books that remind me to keep working at my flaws. One such book I read about a year ago was Stephanie Dowrick's "Forgiveness and Other Acts of Love". It's a beautiful book, full of wisdom and compassion. There are chapters on courage, fidelity, forgiveness, generosity, tolerance..... and restraint. It's a shy, retiring type of virtue, and one I hadn't thought about much before. I mean, we all know about courage, about being faithful, about being generous .... but restraint? Isn't that kind of insipid? And is it really so important?

Lately I've become aware of my tendency to leap in and open my big mouth. I recently made a comment to a friend, querying a rule she had for her children which didn't make sense to me. And of course I had no right to. She is the parent of that child. I need to learn to shut up and butt out. I need to show restraint.

I've realised that when you care about someone, one of the most loving things you can do is to say nothing. You don't question their decisions unless they affect your own life in a significant way. You can listen, you can acknowledge a problem, you can offer empathy, but you don't need to offer advice. If you truly are a kind person, you show restraint. You hold your tongue. Where possible, you let others' mistakes go without comment, just as they let yours slip past. You don't say anything to cause unnecessary pain. It could be that restraint is, in its own understated way, the brightest jewel in the crown of virtues.

Which is something for me to consider while I'm restraining from eating a second scone.

reality check

There's nothing like a kid to keep one's feet planted firmly on the ground.

My daughter, aged 8 1/2, turns to me as I prepare to read a chapter of 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban' this evening:

"You're so beautiful Mummy" she sighs adoringly, and I smile because this means that at least one person in the world truly believes I am gorgeous, but then she adds, " ..... in your personality".

Darn.

rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated

No, no, I'm not dead, nor am I depressed. I'm sorry this blog has been so dull lately. I imagine it sitting here meekly, quietly, like an untended garden, lying fallow. Perhaps no-one is even passing by anymore to notice all the brown, shriveled plants and the crumbly dry soil. Nevertheless. I am watering a little and turning over the soil with a shovel, huffing and puffing as I dig and even getting a small smile on my face. Ahhhhh! I do still like this garden.

My brother is still away. I hear his news regularly, and he is doing it tough. There have been casualties close to him. His job involves a huge amount of responsibility. He is working horrendous hours and he has lost a lot of weight. I don't know what he will be like when he comes home. I miss him.

My brother's wife is enduring his absence with a determined good cheer, which wavers only occasionally. There is so little I can do to help from afar, and I hate that she is dealing with their two small children, house and dog, as well as worrying about her husband and missing him terribly. This is the life of an military wife, but that doesn't make it any better. I am just thankful that my sister-in-law is such a capable and courageous woman.

My Grandfather has turned 95!

My daughter has asked me about s-e-x. I tried to get away with the old 'it's a sort of very tight cuddle' line, but was thwarted by her query, "And then what? Does anything else happen?". Dammit. So I briefly and simply explained the technical details, and then paused for her reaction. "Okay", Laura remarked calmly. I asked if she had any questions; was she worried about anything? Thoughtful gazing into mid-air....... "No." Frankly I was prepared for incredulity, disgust, gales of laughter, even abject terror. But I was forgetting this was my lovely, laid-back Laura.

My son has declared himself to be gay, over breakfast this morning. After some inquiry, I determined that he really loves his friend Harry, and he's heard that if you're a boy and you love another boy, then you're gay. I explained that if you're a boy and you love a boy in a romantic, want-to-kiss-on-the-lips sort of way, then you might be gay. Ben pulled a face and quickly amended, "No, no, then I'm not gay!". So the coming out party has been postponed for now.

My friend 'Chooky' is having a baby next month - her first, and possibly only, child. I am so excited for her, and I can't wait to meet her baby. There is no miracle like the miracle of new life.

I wish anyone ambling by this poor, overgrown & wilted blog a very HAPPY EASTER! May you find peace and love at every turn this Easter.

something beautiful

It has been fascinating and entertaining and heart-warming for me to 'meet', and converse with bloggers from around the world. I often take comfort from a wise post or comment, I frequently laugh, and I sometimes find myself covered in goosebumps, or close to tears ..... all on account of what others have written. It is a wondrous world out there, and I am now connected to many other people on this earth via the internet.

I met Heather via her blog almost 4 years ago now. What first drew me in was that the things she wrote about parenting just resonated with me so strongly. She sounded like a firm but fun mother. She knew when to enforce the rules, and when to throw them away (like taking her two boys out late to the first night of a long-awaited Harry Potter movie). She knew when to cuddle and pacify, and when to get tough. She sounded like the type of mother I aspired to be. We exchanged comments many times, we began e-mailing, and eventually we became friends. Real friends.

Heather has a best friend named Sharon - an artist who is becoming more and more sought-after. She has had several gallery showings, and in fact has one this weekend. And when Sharon saw a photo of my daughter (from a beach holiday late last year), she had the urge to paint the scene. I told her to go ahead, and was excited just to think she was painting a picture from a photo I'd taken.

And then she SENT me the original watercolour. It is beautiful.

But what is even more beautiful is the generosity of this gift. A woman whom I have never met, who lives on another continent, who knows me only a little, has sent this precious piece of art to me. There was no reason, there was no ulterior motive, she did not ask for any money (and I know for a fact she would have been insulted had I tried to pay). Sharon painted this and she gave it to me, simply because she wanted to make someone else happy.

Sometimes things get me down, sometimes I feel weary with life's trials and tribulations. But every day, if only I take time to notice, there are all sorts of kindnesses shown - thoughtful acts, warm words, or even simply the gentle overlooking of my mistakes by the people around me. I am surrounded by beauty.

I am so grateful not just for the painting, but also for the spirit in which it was given. Sharon, thank you.

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Thank you also to everyone who offered words of empathy and encouragement in response to my last post. I was a little in the doldrums, and it meant a lot to me that so many of you took the time to verbally give me a boost out of the pit of self-pity I'd fallen into! Many thanks :-)

the error of my ways

I haven't had much to say lately - mainly because my mind's been on other things; things I haven't wanted to talk about. I've been waiting until a cheery topic came along, but I've decided hang it all, I'll write about this.

I made a mistake at work. (Although it is by no means the first time, I still get a small lurch in my stomach just to write these words down.) It was not an error due to lack of care, or laziness. It was not even an error due to lack of knowledge - the type of faulty diagnosis that haunts my dreams some nights. No, this was a simple case of misremembering routine guidelines, getting muddled, being wrong. I gave a patient incorrect advice, telling him that certain steps were not necessary. Thank goodness, due to an inbuilt follow-up system, I discovered my mistake. I have contacted the patient, and revised my advice. I have taken the appropriate steps, and, although the results are not yet final, it seems that the end result for the man concerned will be unaffected. However. What scares me is not so much the consequences of this particular mistake (although I won't truly relax until I know the definite outcome for this patient), but rather the failure on my part. My brain let me down. My brain let this patient down. And however sweet anyone I've told has been - telling me I'm only human, I should forgive myself an honest mistake - the fact is, I did wrong by a patient. Their health could have been affected. It's one thing to be, say, a travel agent, and stuff up a hotel booking for a client, but its another altogether to mess with someone's life expectancy.

Rationally, I realise I cannot be perfect, and that I will inevitably make mistakes. But a voice from the centre of my being shouts You can't afford to make mistakes! Your patients trust you with their very lives!

So what is the solution? How do I make this better, how do I sleep at night? I have recalled all my patients with the same condition in the past year, to check that they have been correctly managed. I have talked over my medical misdemeanour with colleagues; I have confessed to friends. I have felt anxious and uptight and distracted and ashamed. In the end, I can do nothing. I can try to do better, to be more careful, to read more journals. I just try to let the anxiety wear away over time, wear thinner and thinner until it is as fine as gossamer and I barely notice it.

Until the next time.

five senses on a Saturday

Overheard yesterday (a thirty-something woman talking on her mobile phone):
"Well, I knew this when I married him seven years ago!"

Spotted yesterday - a tiny tot down by the sea, skin brown as a berry, her hair the whitest platinum blond, wearing sequinned gold shoes.

Smelt yesterday - the briny sea air, blowing clean and cool in the late afternoon, despite the heat.

Tasted yesterday.... fresh crumbed fish and fat potato chips.

Touched yesterday - Fatty's warm hand in mine, as we walked out on the jetty, children charging ahead.