My Rock

There has been a lot written about ‘rocks’ of late with a rare pink diamond selling for a record 47.2 million to an English jeweller and Kate Middleton sporting a whopping gem after her engagement to Prince William. Then of course there’s the usual influx of catalogues with bling to buy for your Christmas sweetheart.

I like simple and elegant jewellery so it was quite out of character for me to choose a Ceylon sapphire as my engagement ring centrepiece eleven years ago. It’s such a beautiful ring and the memories of the day it was slipped on my finger still sparkle.

My hub proposed to me at Squeaky Beach, Wilson’s Promontory. It was the first beach I took him to as a backpacker and we liked the fact that you had to walk twenty minutes to reach it. Cuts out the beach bogans and whining kids (who we had little tolerance for pre-children.)

The sand at Squeaky Beach is pure white and contains silica. Ironically it’s almost the same quality as zirconium, which is the poor man’s diamond. The sand squeaks because the particles are all the same size. Recently, Squeaky Beach was named the most romantic beach in Victoria. Sounds like others had similar ideas to my hub.

It’s a mysterious ring and changes colour with the seasons and in this humid stormy weather we are experiencing, it has become an ice blue. I decided to write about it.

You sit majestically upon my finger. Your giant blue eye, encased in its golden arms. Diamond friends glisten with clarity and carat on your shoulders. They are the keepers of the secret of this eternal bond.

I could leap into your kaleidoscope. Brilliant blue, smoky. Sometimes a mysterious shadowy grey. You never look common to me. You never look dull, watching me from your rose gold filigree throne.

You garden, you clean, you wash, and weather all my storms. Beaming up at me, my beautiful Ceylon sapphire. Strong and constant.

Amazing what flicking through a few catalogues can inspire. Diamonds (sapphires) are a girl’s best friend after all!

Your Name Is?

One of the smartest things you can do in your personal and professional life is to remember a name. I do well on a personal level and know my postie Bob, my neighbours (and their pets) two doors each way, Denise and Marlene who scan my shopping items and people I attended primary school with. However, when it comes to remembering authors I can occasionally draw blanks.

Doing the banking this morning a blonde haired lady who didn’t look remotely familiar to me, chatted about the business and asked what we did as I was depositing the company cheques. As I bid her good day she said clearly, “Have a great day Sam.”

Now, that’s stumped me and I have no idea how she knows me. Did she just guess it was Sam from signing a ‘s’ in my signature? Did she overhear the kids telling me something on another occasion? Did I accidentally have a Sam name-tag stuck somewhere? Perhaps she knows my Mum? I never got to ask her, but walked out of that bank impressed that she knew my name. Now that’s the way to do business.

A name is so important so why do I often forget an author or singer’s name? I get so absorbed in the book and the words that I am oblivious to the two words emblazoned on the front cover. This is the one person who deserves the accolades. It is this person who has made me cram their collection of carefully chosen words into my busy day. It’s only another two names to recall.

Who wrote On Jellicoe Road? Tom Sawyer? Anne of Green Gambles? Memoirs of a Geisha? The Lovely Bones? The Colour Purple?

Good for you if you have the authors’ names entrenched in your memory, but if you are like me and struggle to remember names of people you’ve never met face to face, try and say their name aloud every time you open your book and you will remember it. This is especially if it’s a book worth recalling.

A name is something everyone identifies with, love or hate it it’s ours until we are dust. Remembering how important it is to remember is a step in the right direction.

P.S.

·      Mellina Marchetta

·      Mark Twain

·      Lucy Maud Montgomery

·      Arthur Golden

·      Alice Sebold

·      Alice Walker

Merely Peanuts

I remember a little Snoopy wind-up toy that my great aunt Elsie brought out as a special treat when we were young. We use to get excited as he mechanically marched across her kitchen bench. After his parade, Snoopy would be put back into his box until next time. I derived great pleasure from Charles  Schulz’s characters, wanted a Woodstock toy to snuggle with in bed, and watched Peanuts on T.V, but never really read and appreciated his writing.

The following is the philosophy of Charles Schulz, the late creator of the 'Peanuts' comic strip:

You don't have to actually answer the questions. Just ponder on them.

1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world.

2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners.

3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America pageant.

4. Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.

5. Name the last half dozen Academy Award winners for best actor and actress.

6. Name the last decade's worth of World Series winners.

 How did you do?

The point is - none of us remember the headliners of yesterday.

These are no second-rate achievers.

They are the best in their fields.

But the applause dies.

Awards tarnish.

Achievements are forgotten.

Accolades and certificates are buried with their owners.

Here's another quiz. See how you do on this one:

1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school.

2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time.

3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile.

4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special.

 5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with.

 Easier?

The lesson:

The people who make a difference in your life are not the ones with the most

credentials, the most money or the most awards. They simply are the ones who care the most.

Happy Birthday To Me

I don't know how I could possibly top this birthday. I know I say it every year but my family and friends are amazing!


Handpicked garden flowers and homemade cards, a call from my brother in New York, harmonious birthday choruses from Mum and Dad and my sister and bro in law. Delivered flowers from my sweet friend from mother's group and my dear husband. A morning cuppa with a kinder friend and lunch cooked by a special friend. Calls from old friends, new friends and neighbours. A pedicure to treat my gnarled old feet. Two home baked cakes and a tray of delicious chocolate muffins. Lots of special treats. A surprise visit from my brother from Phillip Island (and with that comes a New York Cheesecake) and a Japanese feast to devour tonight...and that's only today. Who am I to deserve such love and lavishing?


There are so many words to describe how I felt today: enriched, joyous, privileged, humbled, lavished and above all loved.


It doesn't usually rain on my birthday but it is pouring - just like my day, I am bucketed in goodwill. THANK YOU!

Christmas Cheer - One Month To Go

I’m not annoyed that Christmas decorations have been on sale since October. Business has to make the most of the build-up and give children time to view their material desires and write their wish lists before the man in the red suit arrives. What I am miffed about is that traditional red, green, gold and silver are being outshone by baby blue and pink (yes pink) baubles in the Christmas shop this year. I could have been walking past the toy section but it is apparently the best Christmas decorations on offer at this major department store.

If the shops are spreading Christmas cheer already, albeit a little colourfully, then it can’t hurt to look at a book that epitomises the spirit of Christmas – A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, with original illustrations by John Leech.

We are all familiar with this tale of Ebenezer Scrooge who is visited by the ghost of his former business partner Jacob Marley who died seven Christmas Eves ago. Marley warns Scrooge that his shrewdness has had consequences in his afterlife and that Scrooge will be visited by ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future to help him mend his ways. Scrooge is a spend-thrift who believes that Christmas is “a time for finding yourself a year older, and not an hour richer.”

As Scrooge journeys through the night with the ghosts he sees his clerk and his crippled son Tiny Tim and the poverty they live in due to his miserly salary. Christmas future shows the inevitable death of Tiny Tim if Ebenezer fails to act.

Like all heart-warming Christmas tales, Scrooge realises how selfish he has been and delivers a turkey, raises wages and visits an estranged nephew. He finally realises that Christmas is about giving and being in the company of those who care for you.

Charles Dickens started writing this classic at the end of August in 1843 and had it printed and bound and ready for the public by Christmas Eve. He set the price at five shillings so that everyone could afford a copy and subsequently only made a profit of £726 for the year.

Dickens story was inspired by the poverty of his childhood. He had four children with one on the way and a hefty mortgage on his home. He had to write a story. Sounds a bit like J.K Rawlings. As he walked along the Thames he was shocked by the prostitutes, filth and beggars. People were living well below the breadline out of his privileged area.

As Dickens wrote this masterpiece he had a transformation and was affected by the story and reluctant to lay it down. The spirit of his book was not only impacting Scrooge but the Dickens’ heart as well.

If you get the chance to read this tale or even watch it, it may just remind us of what Christmas is truly about. Not the pink and blue baubles or the electronic gadgets (even my daughter asked for a pink D.S and admitted she has no idea what it is.) We all know what Christmas truly means and have one month to spread that Christmas cheer...

Dear diary...

Dear diary….

The first diary I kept was of my annual family trip to Mooloolaba, Queensland, and it revolved around what I ate for breakfast, lunch and tea and came complete with empty sugar sachets and chocolate bar wrappers. Let’s face it; seven year olds don’t have much emotional baggage to offload.

Tummy Pains of the Mind (I became a little more creative – and tragic) documented the highs and lows of my adolescent love life. Even now, it can induce a tear or two if I re-read my flurry of thoughts. I worked three jobs, went to university and fell hard when rejected by a suitor but there were some amazing highs.

Here’s a tragic snippet to myself:

“Dave*, I’ll always love you for what you gave me, how you made me laugh and I [sic] felt as though I had a true evergreen friend – well I got that wrong you deciduous prick!”

I have quite a collection of travel diaries and still can’t believe that I whitewater rafted down the Zambezi River at Victoria Falls, Africa, despite being terrified of being dumped by a wave. Rapids are waves!

Last year, I started a journal again and worked out pretty quickly that when there were big gaps I was contented and had no need to blurt all over the page.  When I write a diary it gives a voice to my raw emotions. I’m not interested in writing about what I eat or the trivial stuff anymore.

Then there is my 24-7 diary that I live by, marking sport training, meetings, dinners, appointments and kinder and school events. Anything and everything gets scribbled in.

The diary is a versatile medium where we communicate our inner thoughts. Some like to sweat it out at the gym, tune in to their IPod, tie themselves up in knots at yoga and others like to grab their diary and disappear behinds its pages. You can always look back on it when you are in a more subjective mood and you have the written memories forever. Smile. Cringe. Cry. Laugh

Tummy Pains in the Mind is already a collectors item – for hopeless romantics anyway…

* Not his real name of course – that’s between my diary and me

Vootball Kid

Megs and the Vootball* Kids has been sitting on my son’s shelf begging to be read by a seven-year-old sports fanatic. Sport begins on my bedroom door every morning with the thump of a tennis ball or downball, continues in the playground in the form of a football, soccer or basketball game and resumes in my parent’s backyard as a cricket match nearly every day. A ball is my son’s constant companion. It makes sense that he would want to read a book about soccer. After all, his dad is English!

This junior novel deals with the issues of being the new kid on the block and finding your niche in a foreign country. It explains the basics of soccer and sheds light on Megs’ nickname. It also looks at remorse and effective ways to apologise. Both adult-to-child and child-to-child friendships are explored and parallels can be drawn with the movie Goodwill Hunting and the discovery of a genius school janitor.

I like to read junior novels for my book-writing course while noting ones that suit my son’s interests. Books that will sustain his thirst for reading and generate discussion are ideal. He took to Roald Dahl’s books easily. The vengeful Mr. Wonka with his sorry end for Augustus Gloop and Veruka Salt , four elderly adults top and tailing in a bed, and the magic of a chocolate river, were a great combination for a bedtime story.

I believe my son may also take a shine to Megs and the Vootball Kids, written by Neil Montagna Wallace from Bounce Books and assisted by Mark Schwarzer. If he does, there are two more books published in the series that follow the adventures of Megs, Paloma, Atti and the rest of the ‘vootball’ gang.

Typical of me, I am remotely connected to the author because we rented Neil’s brother’s house for three years and got to know his parents who popped in now and again and updated me on the book and the characters that resemble some of their family members. It’s great to see that it has become such a hit with young readers and parents alike.

No doubt the windows won’t be safe in our home when our son tries to do a Megs, but it’s a well-rounded story that teaches children about respecting all cultures and age groups and enjoying sport.

I rate this 8.5 out of 10 and you don’t have to love sport to read it. A sports nut kid would probably give it 10!

* Vootball – plays on the accent of Atti pronouncing football

Expired in Writing

I always know my birthday is nearing when it’s the expiry date stamped on the milk. Not that it reaches its sour end in my home with the lavish pouring over cereal each morning.

All good things come to an end though: special offers, movie tickets, parking meters, memberships, perishables, medicines, perfumes, friendships, contracts and passports. Some expiry dates we read with necessity, others we turn a blind eye to and some we ponder on the missed opportunity to see that Gold Class movie we never ended up using, or gym membership we didn’t really complete.

In my life I am currently grappling with some friendships and interests that may have met there expiry date and just like the Rev that begins to whiff around the edges so does my connection to the above. The slight hint of being ‘off’ is a prelude to the offensive odour that will hit me after expiry. Expiration is the end but sometimes the thought of wasting the opportunity to experience it is enough to halt its demise.

Often we are oblivious to the small purple or black print on our expendable goods and services. A written code that says enjoy me now before it’s too late doesn’t always catch our eye. But today I got great pleasure in pulling out a just about to expire voucher. Phew – better book that massage. And for the record, age-wise I am still very much in date.

40 reasons why we love Lani...

Today a bunch of the girls are going out to have some Thai, bubbles and a good laugh for my friend’s 40^th birthday celebrations. My friend is the complete package and you will see just how amazing she is when you read the 40 Reasons why we love Lani…

40 reasons why we love Lani

1.     She turns a 4-minute phone call into a 45 minute one

2.    She makes a gingerbread house for fun

3.    She is a creative entertainer

4.    She drives a cool Volvo with rear seats

5.    She smiles with her eyes

6.    She is a ‘more the merrier’ type of person

7.    She is incredibly thoughtful

8.    She has hysterical stories to tell

9.    She is a go-getter

10.    She can build a Mr. Squiggle rocket

11.     She is a wildlife warrior

12.    She cooks a mean mud cake

13.    She puts everyone else before herself

14.    She wears funky jewelry

15.    She always supports and encourages her children

16.    She has dinner for 6 on the table every night

17.   She does special deeds for friends

18.    She is honest

19.    She is humble

20.   She is the best multi-tasker I know

21.    She is always loveably late

22.   She never turns down a cuppa

23.   She has a passion for the outdoors

24.   She has wonderful friends that reflect the person she is

25.   She makes every day different

26.   She looks great in aqua and burnt orange

27.  She knows when to reach out to people

28.   She never forgets a friend’s problems

29.   She gives her family everything she’s got

30.   She has a great laugh

31.    She goes raspberry picking to support the bushfire community

32.   She always listens with her heart

33.   She loves spending time with John and the boys

34.   She adores her pets and treats them like humans

35.   She juggles, 2 at kinder and 2 at school with a smile

36.   She is so appreciative of the small things in life

37.  She is rich in spirit

38.   She is smart and on top of everything (lucky John..ha ha)

39.   She is a gorgeous friend

40.   And she is such a beautiful and individual woman

HApPy BiRtHdaY dEaR LAni

IKEA Acronymns

What comes to mind when you step into IKEA? Workers in loud yellow and navy shirts. Colours and patterns that clash in the average home, and useless accessories that have funny curves. Not to mention a labyrinth of displays when all you want is the bits and bobs at the end.

IKEA could stand for I Kan’t Endure Another maze or Iritating Kaleidoscope of Ergonomic Accessories, but really it is the initials of its founder Ingvar Kamprad and the farm he was born in Elmtaryd and a nearby village Agurriaryd.

How do I know that? My dear hub use to manage the top floor at IKEA, Richmond, in his period of retail management. My house is full of flatpack furniture from the days when staff got a damaged box for $10 and I’ve even read most of Ingvar’s Book, Leading by Design: The IKEA Story.

Bertil Torekull, a Swedish journalist, interviews Ingvar to gain some personal depth in the book. Ingvar, a Swedish furniture retailer started selling matchboxes from his bike as a five year old, moved on to fish, Christmas decorations, seeds and ballpoint pens. He then became involved in furniture and grew IKEA into a global company with over 41,000 workers in 150 stores in 30 countries with a global turnover of $6.25 billion in goods.

Ingvar had a dalliance with past Hitler supporters and neo fascist political groups in Sweden and in this book he described it as “the greatest mistake of my life.”

The book gives you a good grasp of his philosophies and the highs and lows of business. He must be doing something right because today IKEA was booming (almost unbearably for my friend and I on our annual pilgrimage for Christmas decorations and useless bits and bobs.)

With his billions, Ingvar lives in a modest home with (you guessed it) IKEA flatpack furniture and accessories. He flies with Easy Jet, drives his 15 year old Volvo and shops around for a cheap haircut. Cheap but solid – just like his furniture.

The Business of Poo - Book Review

What is our fascination with poo? Shit, droppings, crap, bowel movement, turd, stool, or bog. So many names that all equate to the same thing – the end product of our food.

Human feces revolts most of us and we have all sorts of sprays, fancy toilet brushes and ergonomic bowl designs to eliminate any contact whatsoever with it. Animals on the other hand leave their droppings out in the open for us all to see, step in, or perhaps use in our gardens.

Chicken poo, cow manure and horse poo are great for kick starting our veggie patches and citrus trees because of their organic matter. Animal dung is used in farming and residential gardens to enhance soil structure and its ability to hold extra nutrients and water. It’s cheap and it’s environmentally friendly to use it.

I saw two little girls selling bags of horse poo by the side of the road. What happened to lemons and home-baked biscuits? The site of the bagged poo made me think of a picture book story, The Story of the Little Mole who knew it was None of his Business, by Werner Holzwarth and Wolf Erlbruch

If you usually cringe at poo comments or jokes, this book is not for you. It is about a mole that is defecated on by another animal and his quest to identify the culprit.

The reader learns about the shape and size of various animals dropping and even gets an insight into sounds of the different poo: “splish, pish” and “flump,plump” and “rat-a-tat-tat” and finally “pling.”

It goes against my parent’s ‘two wrongs don’t make a right’ warning with its ending, but it takes children on a journey with clever descriptions and makes them laugh about something that is a natural part of every day.

If you’ve got a boy – he’d love it. My kids affectionately refer to it as the Mole Poo Poo Book.

I was heartless and didn’t have time to stop for a bag of the girls’ horse poo (plus I was worried about the fumes and mess in my car.) I did however return the next day and take a picture of their beautiful handmade sign.

Horse Poo for sale $2 – a bargain for any garden!

Parenting Conundrums

I got the odd smack on the hand, or hairbrush across the backside as a child and I turned out all right. However, after reading my current parenting book, it’s not acceptable to use this excuse as a justification of a backhander on your misbehaving child. O.K so this Parenting: A Practical Guide for Raising Preschool and Primary School Children, by education consultant, Kathy Walker is going to make me feel like a bad Mum.

I read on and I get to the refusing to eat dinner part. Luckily my children eat their veggies first and know that dessert will not precede a full plate (another blackmail no no.) I had to laugh because Walker said that so many parents/carers use the 1960’s line “the poor starving children in Africa have no food.” Just last week, I had to show my kids some images of starving children on the Internet so that they would understand. Firstly we had a lesson in geography and then in poverty. My son decided it wasn’t too bad because the poor children got to eat porridge (gruel) his favourite cereal Perhaps a little early to feel empathy and now that Kathy said it’s a tired old line, I may have to think up something more exotic.

Walker’s book cover is attractive with its cluttered hooks and hanging school bags and coats. Each chapter is clearly set out under headings and separated into four parts: Understanding Yourself and Your Children; Proactive Parenting; Trouble Shooting and; Looking After Yourself.

Walker highlights the need to have normal non-costly interaction with your family by going for walks, reading books, gardening together etc. She touches on building resilience in our children and on providing a safe, predictable home life. Giving our children opportunities to try new experiences when appropriate and avoiding burdening them with high expectations.

Up to this point I’m ticking boxes. No entertainers at parties, lots of family time, trying to get the kids to resolve their conflict (not always without intervention) and eating together as a family. Then I read about reflective listening and every time I read it in educators books, the words ‘patronizing’ flash at me: “I can see you’re angry with me because I have told you not to do that.” My current comeback: “Don’t you dare speak to anyone like that.” Hmmmmm not that reflective on reflection

Then Walker lost me at “If the household is out of control, the children’s behavior is more likely to be erratic.” Try the house is out of control because of your devotion to your children. A cluttered home is a cosy home and one where children feel free to explore and express themselves. It means you have thought it was more important to read a story, cook together and draw pictures than mop, dust and iron. It means you have dumped your stuff on the bench so you could get dinner ready to eat together at 6pm and listen to the readers beforehand. It means that you have other important things to do than cleaning.

I really like Kathy Walker and her approach to parenting but like a newborn baby, sometimes you have to do what works for you. Having said that, I recommend reading this book if you have preschool and primary aged children. There is a big section on starting school and some of the stages associated with this new learning curve. Walker is practical and in touch with Australian parents and indeed very supportive of this full time role.

I avoid parenting blogs because my free time is time for me as an individual and I limit myself to reading one parenting book a year. I wasn’t going to buy this book and loaned it from the kinder. However, my daughter left her open water bottle in the front seat next to Walker’s book and let’s just say there wasn’t much reflective listening from me…but you’re welcome to borrow it.

Recycled Bride

My recycle bin is wheeled out each fortnight chocked full of boxes, kids art work (that I’ve managed to sneak in,) and plastic containers and tins. Its garden waste mate is crammed full of grass clippings, leaves, branches and snails I haven’t been able to heartlessly crush. Veggie and fruit scraps are split between composting and fodder for the kindergarten chickens. Even our rainwater is being gathered in two water tanks on our property, nurturing my veggie patch and roses. We try to make a clean footprint on earth when we can, but I draw the line at showering with a bucket. Luckily with young children I have the ‘kids safety first’ excuse.

Recycle is the buzzword of the 21^st century and most households are trying to do their bit for the environment. Companies make an enormous amount of money in recycling and reusing materials and impressing the government with their ideas to access even more funding. Take Visy Recycling for example. They recycle 1.2 million tonnes of paper and cardboard a year and use the raw materials to make boxes, displays, beverage packaging etc. It's great to recycle but forget about how much they are emitting in the process!

Kindle is trying to pulp our books and get us all onto e-books. Again, how much electricity do our laptops and Ipads burn? The only burning with a book is the ‘midnight candle’ so to speak.

I try and recycle something every day. The kids’ soggy cereal gets recycled into Wonka’s breakfast. Opened envelopes transform into shopping lists and any unstamped postage stamps get another trip in the postie’s satchel. I can even recycle leftovers into a whole new dinner while still adhering to the five food group mantra.

Architect, Shigera Ban, built a cardboard bridge out of 250 recycled cardboard tubes and paper, with plastic stairs. Perhaps The Three Little Pigs makes us skeptical, but this bridge can hold the weight of 20 people at once. Don’t believe me? Check out ecoble.com for other creative recycling ideas.

The reason I chose to explore recycling was a friend’s sister-in law had the best recycling statement at her wedding and looked stunning too. Ever heard of a wedding dress made of recycled paper and metal? Gone are the days of crepe and satin. Here comes the bride with the environment in her stride.

What do you recycle? What could you be more creative at recycling?  Children are our best educators at recycling and reusing. They also say that many people meet their future partners at weddings and this bride is trying to give us all a future.

P.S. The beautiful bride married on a very rainy day but her dress remained in tact. Not sure how she went with airport security though.

Paid in Spirit

My hub likes to call me a serial volunteer, but simply put, I know it’s what I was meant to do and it makes me genuinely happy.  Just don’t tell anyone.

Like a surgeon to a scalpel or a landscaper to a garden, a force draws me into this world of good will and great people.  When you volunteer you gravitate to like-minded people and occasionally meet or hear about those who blow you away with their compassion and selflessness.

A friend of our family, Fr. Kevin Mogg, is a close friend of Moira Kelly. Moira is a gift to the world of volunteers with her tireless work with Children First Foundation. She is more famous for rescuing Trishna and Krishna from inevitable death as conjoined twins, but has been reaching out to poor, indigenous and marginalised communities since thirteen years of age.

I’ve done the odd shift at Ozanam House and worked on soup vans but couldn’t imagine the impact of being around such squalor in the third world. It takes a unique person like Moira. She doesn’t even think she is that special. Moira is someone I will never be, but I can aspire to be a worthwhile volunteer in a different capacity.

My vice presidency term at the kindergarten is over and I have started as team manager of my son’s cricket team. My son knows a lot about cricket and my knowledge is limited to that barefoot tippity game we play in the backyard.  Rosters and emails aside, I love helping these young boys play a sport that they enjoy and help to make the process easier for them and their parents…with the odd bottle of champagne for the spectators.

I sat there in the Friday twilight (and yes we even have a Cullen on our team,)

and thought this is not volunteering, this is pleasure. It’s a joy to coordinate the team’s activities and help in any way I can, especially when the volunteer coach and scorer make you feel so welcome. Like minded people.

When I returned home I received a touching email:

“…I just wanted to say what a great job you did tonight – it was lovely to meet you.  Let’s hope we have a lot more Friday afternoons like the one we had today.”

Right there is my payment and like the bank CEO’s rubbing their hands with glee at their bonus cheques, I get a rush from volunteering and being appreciated.

Sometimes you don’t even realize you are giving of your time and energy for free because you are enjoying the responses of those you are working with. As a social and fundraising coordinator at kindergarten, I could have just followed suit and penciled in chocolate drives, trivia nights and raffles. I knew I had to explore the parents’ social connection to the kinder. Kinder is an experience that can be unnerving for both child and parent. I felt it myself when I started.

All or nothing, “O todo o nada,” is a special saying my late grandfather Jacko and I shared. I gave it ‘my all’ in this social capacity. My main objective was to bring people together with nights for mums to let their hair down and opportunities to take part in fun activities. As a bonus we made over $35,000 in the three years I was involved. I met some solid friends who also volunteer and I admire them for getting on with the job without having to be as flamboyant as me.

I am also a firm believer in ‘new blood’ and fresh energy and ideas and left that post to fill other roles and allow other volunteers to get paid in the same rewarding spirit of gratitude. My husband can jokingly call me a serial volunteer, but it wouldn’t be possible if I didn’t have the wonderful support network I have. You wouldn’t find too many husbands that voluntarily clean the dishes when a meal’s been baked for a friend, stand-in for their partner when she can’t volunteer herself, or run the house for six weeks prior to a major event. Behind every serial volunteer is a ‘serialously’ great husband!

There are many books about volunteers on a far grander scale than my trivial roles. I have highlighted two that I have read. One is about human suffering and the other is about rescuing downtrodden animals in the third world:

Heart of Darfur by Lisa French Baker

Lisa, an Australian nurse, writes about her heartbreaking journey in war-torn Darfur and the dignity and determination of the people of Darfur. It’s not a story about happy endings but there are glimpses of hope.

Christine’s Ark by John Little

Christine founded Animal Liberation Australia and went on to run an animal shelter in Jaipur, India. This is her story.

A book I haven’t read but sounds good is also listed (below)

Teens with the Courage to Give: Young People Who Triumphed Over Tragedy and Volunteered to Make a Difference by Jackie Waldman


Retells the personal stories of thirty teens who overcame difficulty in their lives through the help of volunteers, or who changed their lives through the act of volunteering. It's apparently an inspiring read, told in the words of the teens.

Poppy

On the 11^th hour on the 11^th month, on the 11^th day our clocks whisper as we pledge a minute’s silence in our busy over-subscribed worlds. A minute to thank men and women we never knew. A poppy is the symbol of their eternal spirit.

Colonel John McCrae, a professor in medicine and a medical officer with the first Canadian contingent went to France as a WWI medical officer. He wrote this famous poem:

In Flanders’ Fields

In Flanders’ Fields the poppies blow


Between the crosses, row on row,


That mark our place; and in the sky


The larks, still bravely singing, fly


Scarce heard amid the guns below.


We are the dead. Short days ago


We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,


Loved, and were loved, and now we lie


In Flanders’ Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:


To you from failing hands we throw


The torch; be yours to hold it high.


If ye break faith with us who die


We shall not sleep, though poppies grow


In Flanders’ Fields.

Colonel John McCrae

I have written my own poem that pales into insignificance after reading McCrae’s words, but it was a great exercise in reflecting. This is mine below:

Poppy – Remember Me

Fields of red. Black hearts weeping,

Where men were slain and now lie in keeping.

A father’s son and a mother’s child,

Once were men, marched in file.

Earth eternally embracing their fall,

Poppies now echoing their ghostly call.

Called to arms to protect the nation,

With hope, pride and jubilation.

Slouch hats at tilt, guns on hips,

Loved ones tracing their empty lips.

The war was long and blood was shed,

Poppies emerged where our heroes bled.

To their death they went as young women and men,

Extraordinary courage in their promise to defend.

Oh poppy grown of this quest,

Under your shadow now at rest.

Our men and women of this land,

Entrenched in this earth’s stretching hand.

Poppy – remember our comrades. Poppy - Remember me.

On this Remembrance Day – help us to truly see.

The men and women we strive to be.

By Samantha Catherine Clifford