2018 Advent Calendar – Making a Difference

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I am looking forward to Christmas. Not like in my younger years when we counted the days until Santa showed up leaving gifts below the tree in our family lounge, our belly’s stuffed with Christmas goodies, roast chicken and pudding. I am looking forward to spending the time with my three girls, even though it may be fleeting now they are spread across the land.

In my time away from regularly working this year I have taken time to reflect about what is important.

  • Is it the money?
  • Is it health, contentment and family?
  • Is it turning up to a job that might not quite align with your personal values?
  • Or is waking with purpose each day and focussing on work that fires your passion?

I will let you decide which answers I have chosen. But more on that in the new year.

In the lead up to this Christmas I would like to highlight opportunities for us to give, with gratitude. There are many people and issues that are asking for our help, both in our home country and across the world. I often feel our political arena is creating walls where we should be creating openness and acceptance. I am privileged, and I know that. I have little need for more ‘stuff’ – how about you? Do you think its time we spend some time making a difference to those around us that might just need a hand up?

Don’t get me wrong, there will be presents under our tree as we come together as family and we will be eating some gorgeous food but I do think there is room for some thought to others that may not be as fortunate as me, or possibly you.

So lets start this 2018 Advent Calendar of Making a Difference. Over the next 24 days I will profile charities that are close to my heart and align to my values. You may like to consider giving to one or more of them, or it may inspire you to put some effort into donating to a charity that is close to your heart and speaks to your values. You may even like to make your gift purchases from some of these charities. Its up to you.

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Day 1: Share the Dignity.

This is an Australian charity that I have supported for a few years, founded by Rochelle Courtenay. Rochelle learned of homeless women going without basic sanitary items during their menstrual cycle and instead of saying ‘the government should…’ or ‘someone should…’ she asked ‘What’s stopping me from doing something’. This has become Share The Dignity.

“WE BELIEVE ALL WOMEN MATTER AND ALL WOMEN DESERVE DIGNITY AND JUSTICE.”

I have started with Share the Dignity as their current Christmas campaign, #itsinthebag finishes on December 2nd, though donations are always welcome. Up to December 2nd you can drop off a handbag at a Bunnings store that contains basic women needs like personal hygiene products, shampoo, tissues, deodorant, items to make a woman feel special. These will be distributed locally to homeless women, women at risk or women experiencing domestic violence or poverty this Christmas.

Share the Dignity, like many charities also have a shop that you can purchase gifts for your family and friends, or even yourself and in return you are giving something back to those in need. Either way you will make a difference

You can find more information at www.sharethedignity.com.au

 

 

 

Image credit: © Can Stock Photo / ESchweitzer;

 

Spending time with my Tribe

I remember when she first asked me whether I would write a letter. It was over a wine and a chat in Newtown where she shared with me her idea – she was turning 50 and Olivia, her daughter was turning 16. She wanted to do something that marked this momentous time in both their lives…and knowing Amanda I knew a cake would not suffice!

I was a bit emotional to think that I was one of the 30 women that Amanda asked to pen a letter to their 16-year-old self, but oh what a marvellous challenge and inspirational project.

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Every letter in the collection shows emotion, reflection and a timelessness. You could be a 16-year-old girl in the 1960s, 1970s or in 2018 with the same self-doubts, questions and wisdom that are captured in the collection of letters titled Dear Me. As Amanda says in her forward “while I think young woman today face some unique challenges, many of the challenges are timeless and, you might say universal”

dearme_bookDear Me was launched this week, with many of the authors coming together to embrace the final product, party with Amanda and Olivia and celebrate with a tribe of girlfriends, old and new. It is a powerful feeling to be among your tribe, wrapped in a celebration knowing we had travelled similar but different paths to this moment in time. Those paths captured so eloquently, sometimes raw and forever etched in the pages of Dear Me.

The energy I savoured from this event, buoyed by meeting new inspiring women in my tribe then propelled me to another experience a few days later in my own home town. As part of Small Business Month, we welcomed Lisa Messenger, Australian entrepreneur and author to a luncheon. I have enjoyed The Collective, especially the mag for some time and was excited to enjoy the company of Lisa with other townsfolk to glean some brilliant insights as she spoke to local business people (85% women!) over lunch.

I was not disappointed.

Her hometown is Coolah, just down the road from here and she remarked it was like ‘coming home’ as she drove across the north west. It is that old saying you can take the girl out of the country, but you cant take the country out of the girl!

Her tomes of counsel resonated across the hall, such as – have an unwavering self-belief, just meet people as equals, make it easy for people to say yes, cash isn’t the only currency – sometimes sharing the same values and beliefs will be enough for a business relationship to blossom, dont be afraid to break a few things, find people that supplement your weaknesses, be nimble – be flexible – duck and weave until it works, always be curious.

Oh so many pieces of very sound, encouraging advice!

I was sold already however I almost wanted to leap from my seat and bear hug Lisa when she said with such conviction that…

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A bit of fan shot, with Lisa Messenger

“Rural communities are the single thing that I am most passionate about. Location isn’t an issue – as long as you have a laptop, kitchen table and vision you can do anything”

Yep, I know you want to hug her now too – don’t you!

She finds the BEST talent in regional areas. We have known this for decades, the secret is out and I’m OK with that.

I’m a believer in things happen or come in threes. What could my third be – what other revelations about the power of a tribe could I experience this week?

2pm – The Civic – Gunnedah – today, Sunday. I enjoyed an afternoon at the movies with my mother watching, most fittingly Ladies In Black. The underlying themes of women as second-rate citizens was such a yang to the ying of the tribal celebrations of earlier in the week.

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Spending time on a Sunday with mum!

I could not help but think what the women in the movie would write to their 16 year old self, or what they would think of Lisa’s advice. It was a serendipitous close to the week, a time to reflect how far our tribe has progressed, but there are similar challenges that still exist today.

Thank you to my tribal colleagues, I am inspired by many from the past, stimulated by those in my present and so excited about the vision I see for our future tribe.

Footnotes + Links:

Dear Me is available for purchase – head to www.xplore.net.au/inspiration/books/dear-me/ or on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/AmandaWebbAUS/

You can follow Lisa on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter

Ladies in Black is currently showing in cinemas – check out www.screenaustralia.gov.au/the-screen-guide/t/ladies-in-black-2018/35635/  for more information about the movie.

Thank you to Gunnedah Shire Council for arranging the Lisa Messenger lunch event, as part of Small Business Month – a  NSW Government initiative.

Thank you to Gunnedah Shire Band catering for a delicious lunch as well.

Taking time to understand mental well being

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“He says he is suffering from depression” she scoffed. “I don’t know what he would be unhappy about?”

I opened my mouth to respond, to clarify that depression isn’t about being unhappy but I couldn’t find the words to explain it. I just nodded and tried to change the subject. That was a few years ago.

Awareness around our mental health and well-being is improving with quite a bit of funding being provided for awareness campaigns, research and education.

But there is still a stigma and misunderstanding.

I have to admit that I have been in the denial and misinterpreting camp, though I have been willing to know more, understand better. I have read, I have listened, I have wanted to empathise.

Today I had a light bulb flash, a serendipitous moment that made sense. I wanted to share with you.

Why do we talk about our physical health and not our mental health? Why do we split them into two?

If I asked you “how are you?” most of you would think about your physical state like –

“I’ve got a bit of a back ache today” or “the arthritis is playing up, must be a change in the weather coming” or “my shoulders are aching a bit, must have been the way I slept”

And that’s what I expect the answer to be.

What if…we start to think about our wellness as our whole self? Mind and body. They are not separate, they function as one yet we tend to think about them as two separate ‘conditions”.

Our mind is a powerful element that can affect our physical state.

Our physical state, likewise affects our mind.

Did you just go aha? I did. (or you might already know all this and it is me that needed to catch up)

I know that when I am stressed I get headaches, I am tired and exhausted.

Stress is a state of mind – headache physical.

I broke my ankle 2 years ago. The hardest part about that mending was trying to manage the sadness and feeling of helplessness as the ankle healed.

Broken ankle physical – helplessness a state of mind.

See where I am going? They went together to make me.

This morning I attended a short course about Mental Health. In 90 minutes Kate from the Rural Adversity Mental Health Program provided a clear and for me, a different perspective about mental health.

She spoke about mental wellbeing (note I didn’t use mental health!) as a scale or continuum from not coping to coping well. All of us move along this scale, its normal. Where we are on the scale depends on our physical well-being, our ability to manage and juggle what is happening in our life and how much we are carrying the load of someone else, those around us whether family, friends or work colleagues.

Check out this great clip – Mental Health Wellness Continuum – it was another aha moment for me.

The session also included some snippets about how to ask the right questions to help others, where to go to get more help either for self or those we are concerned about.

And then some gobsmacking realities –

  • 25% of what our GPs see in a day is mental health.
  • 8 people a day die of suicide in Australia…eight. 6 of these are men. That is 2.5 times more than people die on our roads. I am still digesting this one.
  • The more rural and remote we get the greater the number of suicides and risk factors. There is also a greater lack of help and support opportunities. Gosh.

My take home I want to share with you is this:

Don’t wait for special awareness days to ask those close to you R U OK?

Don’t dismiss their physical symptoms with a light hearted “I’ve got a Panadol”.

Don’t say “have a few wines or a beer and it will be alright, it will pass”.

Take time to listen. Ask. Show you care.

E V E R Y D A Y.

And make the effort to learn more about mental wellbeing and how to help others. It could save someone’s life. It might save your own. We are all part of the same village, we should look out for each other.

If you are an employer, big or small, make mental well being part of your Work Health and Safety program.

Start by checking out the Rural Adversity Mental Health Program website. There are loads of tools, stories and contacts to get you started

Thank you Kate from RAMHP and the Gunnedah Community College. It was a day of discovery.

Image credit: © Can Stock Photo / focalpoint

Practising Resilience

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Staying cool – me in the summer of 1966/67. It must be on my grandmothers verandah – the pot plant in the corner is a clue!

It was heavenly. To the extent it almost took my breath away. After weeks of heat, the cooling change that swept from the south has been a most welcome reprieve.

If only for a short time.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the demise of our home air conditioner. While I am happy to report (so far) I haven’t had the third white good failure I am still without an air conditioner. It has been brutal and humbling.

Today the temperature has plummeted to a cooling 24 degrees celsius (75 F) at 11am (instead of around 35C/95F). There is even snow being reported in the high country to the south. My head is clear, my energy uplifted and perspective on life has reset to a positive course.

It is astounding how being hot drains one’s vigour and sends your drive plummeting to a level of boiling sloth.

I have tried to remain positive and upbeat, though I think DH may disagree. I kept telling myself that there are hundreds of people who do not have the luxury of an air conditioner, or cannot afford the electricity to run it, I’m not alone. That helped for all of 5 minutes before my resolve took another negative hit.

I remember when I was for pregnant, nearly 27 years ago. We were young and broke and air conditioners were still considered a luxury. I survived without one then, I can do this now…surely?

It has been a learning time as I attempt to be more resilient in the summer furnace. I have learnt or re-learnt a few things about keeping cool over these last few weeks, that I can share with you.

The opening and closing of doors and curtains around the house has become a daily ritual. Open in the cooler times of days to allow any zephyr of breeze to flow through the house, close in the peak of the day to shut out the brutal heartbreaking heat that rides on the summer westerlies.

The routine of each day also changes. I have become a walking temperature forecast and can recite what the temperature is going be each hour, having studied 3 weather apps for the day and week ahead. I plan my day around the what needs to be done in the cooler (not cool, just cooler) parts of the day versus what does not need to be done until about March when this summer will come to an end, or my air-conditioner is fixed.

Between about 3 and 8 pm little is possible as the living area turns into Satan’s boudoir. The better options are reading a book or watching the tennis and cricket – but that is what summer is all about isn’t it?

I had to search for a different novel to read. While I was comfortable under an air conditioner a story about the struggles of country Victoria in the summer drought of the late 1800’s was an interesting read. It became a little to close to my own experience post mouse-in-airconditioner and a novel set in the Arctic circle has been a worthier escape.

Dining outside in the evening is a pleasant experience. It has been a necessity for us as the house is like a mini fire of hell from about 6 pm. I tried to make light of it by saying “we will dine alfresco tonight, by the fountain” where in actual fact we have dined on the shady back lawn with the garden sprinkler cooling our feet.

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Keeping cool outside – January 1963 style

In my search through family photos I even found a pic of my grandmother, father and aunt escaping the heat near a water tank – outside was always cooler than in. the look on their faces says it all!

 

 

Wet towels are currently a necessary part of the wardrobe. Some respite can be felt if you wet your hair and then sit in front of the fan with a wet towel across your shoulders and/or your feet. In the heat the towel is dry in about 10 minutes but the short respite welcoming. Wet and repeat.

Buying an expensive fan does not provide you with better cooling. When its hot, its hot and no fan on this planet will be better than another. The fan that offered an additional misting function along with “new technology” cooling effects for about $150 did not blow the hot air around the room any better than the $20 pedestal fan from the reject shop. This has been an expensive lesson to learn!

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I have discovered that its OK to break out your inner child and run through the sprinkler on the back lawn. I have many childhood memories of playing in the yard with a sprinkler, or a home-made slip and slide.

When we first moved to the farm at Curlewis we had an above ground pool. It was bit of makeshift pool, with no fencing or landscaping, it had no filter or cleaning mechanism so after about a week it was time to drain and refill.

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Our pool. It must have been hot as my dad is in this shot – he rarely ventured into the water.

Water was abundant and cheap in those times and the routine of emptying overnight and filling the next morning became part of summer fun. We whiled away many summer hours in that pool, plopped in the backyard for easy access. Others around us all seemed to have similar in the yard – one friend had an old iron water tank cut off at about a metre, another used her dad’s fishing tinnie as a useful ‘pool’ to lay during the summer afternoon. We were inventive and unrestricted by today’s safety regulations.

Over the years my children discovered the joy of a hose during the summer months. Being held hostage by the air conditioner inside is not an enjoyable experience for a band of energetic children or the parent – a simple hose, sprinkler and large container can provide hours of fun.

I have survived, so far. It has given me time to search through old family photos to find past glimpses of fun under the sprinkler, but maybe that was just an excuse to sit longer under my mother’s functioning air conditioner!

I try not to call Air Conditioner guy Dave every day but I search for hope that the beast that taunts me from my living room wall will be functioning soon.

I wish that ‘soon’ will be this week, cross your fingers for me

Happens in threes…

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I love front loader washing machines. I know others that don’t – DH even prefers twin tubs.

Yes you can still buy the twin tub washing machine. On a recent trip to the local electrical store with Miss22 we spotted one – she had to ask what it was. When I explained that you wash in one side then manually take the clothes out, put them in the spin side, spin, rinse, spin, repeat she was a little gobsmacked at the idea of it! Really? People still do that?

It is quite manual work but less things break, though I do remember overflowing my first twin tub a few times as I chased the sock pairs around the house.

After years of top loader machines, I find front loaders are easier on the clothes, create less pill and use less water. Sure, you need to change your washing habits as once that door is locked you cannot open to throw that last minute find into the mix.

Or as I recently experienced once that door is locked it may not open again.

It is a terrible sinking feeling when the machine beeps its completion, you nonchalantly bend to open the door…and it doesn’t budge.

I check the lock light has gone off and try again

I turn it off at the wall, count to 60 and try again

I turn it back on, jiggle the controls and try again

I run a short rinse and spin cycle thinking it just got itself confused – I know how that feels – and try again

I rock the whole machine and try again

I pull on the handle and realise how plasticky and fragile it is and try again

I walk away, have a coffee and try again

I start to list all the pieces of clothing now a prisoner in the machine and try again

Nothing, nadda, zip. No offer of bail, no small sign the damp prisoners will be released anytime soon, they are locked up tight and starting to sweat.

A phone call to the local washing machine repairer puts me at ease

“Oh it happens a lot, Paul knows how to unlock it, I will get him to call round. Wait for him, don’t be like the guy last week that had his children’s school clothes in there and took to it with a crowbar. Just wait for Paul”

I was beginning to know how that poor guy felt! At least I have other clothing that I can use.

Washing machine repairer Paul bailed out the clothes with a bit of packing tape – yes highly technical stuff. A replaced part, a week of waiting and we are back on track.

Washing wise.

I froze as I glanced at the bill stuck to the fridge this morning. Things happen in threes – especially with household white goods.

Number 2 struck last night.

I had enjoyed a slow relaxing summer day in the cool of the air-conditioned lounge. It was a Netflix day as the summer January sun makes anything outdoor unbearable.

At about 7 last night, when it was still high 30 degrees outside I could smell something burning – crispy, electrical, smouldering burning. I smelt the stove, nothing. Turned off all the power points, nothing. Checked the roof outside to see if there was any smoke coming out, nothing.

Then there was a loud bang and a flash of red and orange from the air conditioner.

Oh crap

If you think having your clothes held captive in the washing machine is heart stopping imagine what the thought of no air conditioner at the peak of our inland summer feels like.

It is dead…and so is the mouse that thought camping on one of the internal power boards was a good idea.

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Thank heavens air conditioner guy Dave came to the rescue first thing this morning. I only hope the factory that sells the parts has returned from their Christmas break, though it might be a long, hot week ahead.

 

I now look at the weather forecast with different eyes, scanning for how hot it really will be rather than an inquisitive view to see if we will break more records this week.

A funny weather app that I discovered isn’t so funny when you need a wet towel around your neck while sitting directly under the fan.

I usually shop in the morning – I am now planning for the hottest part of the day and I will take my time.

I am starting to plan car trips – at least the car is cool.

I am scanning movie times – a second rate flick in an air conditioned cinema is worth the few hours of comfort, mid-afternoon.

I am listing friends and family to visit, in the afternoons.

I am hoping air conditioner guy brings the parts by the end of the week.

I am dreading number 3.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image credits:

© Can Stock Photo / dumayne;

© Can Stock Photo/godruma;

© Can Stock Photo/stuartmiles

WTForcast app

First Steps

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It took me some time to decide. I wanted to push myself out of my comfort zone every now and then but not sure this was for me. I had visions of being thrown in a foreign jail, not able to tell family and friends where I was. But maybe I just watched way too many movies.

The country had been a war zone in my lifetime. I have small recollections of learning about the events of the 1970s at school, even raising money to help the poor of the region.

But I said OK, lets do this!

YOLO …   (and I can feel my daughter rolling her eyes…50 year olds should not use YOLO she would be saying)

Off I go – to gain the fourth passport stamp of my life.

As the waters of Singapore came into view from the airplane window I contemplated the Australian bloodshed that had occurred decades before as World War 2 knocked on our door and annihilated the land now beneath me.

As a teenager I was fascinated by the World Wars. I watched countless TV series about prisoners in Changi Prisoner of War camp, of women who were captured by the Japanese in 1942 and of course Pearl Harbour and Gallipoli.

As the plane makes it final flight into the modern Singapore I’m taken back to a school assignment interview with a friend of my father who has been a prisoner in Changi and survived. He didn’t tell me much at the time and at 14 I was a little naïve to ask for the detail. As none of my family have a history of service in the wars, these were my only experiences of the bloody battles that ravaged southern Asia last century.

The city beneath me and modern airport, complete with indoor gardens was a stark contrast to what my imagination conjured of Singapore. I celebrated my first footsteps in Asia with a Singapore Sling – it seemed fitting and absolutely glorious after the eight-hour flight.

And then onto our destination, Cambodia.

My senses exploded as we exited the airport at Phomn Penh.

Lights from a herd of motorbikes galloped towards us, another line jostled beside trying to sneak past. The air was filled with a peal of horn blasts swirling in with the dust of the evening skyline.

The streets were a coalescent of old with new. A stooped woman slowly wipes the street dirt from a table covered in a plastic faded cloth, beckoning diners to take a seat while next door an elderly man sat on a broken chair minding bric-a-brac that covers every available corner of the shop in the hope a shopper sees a bargain or a necessity.

Youngsters kick an empty drink bottle dispersing other litter and discarded food across the street. A toddler wearing only baggy torn shorts watches, his face a flummox of his day with specks of food, tears and mucus staining his cheeks and running down his bare chest.

A car tries to reverse from an American clothing store, the security guard holding up traffic to allow the driver to enter the continual flow. A troupe of tuk tuks hang near a club, ready to barter for a ride in the hope of making a meagre wage from Saturday night tourists to finish early and maybe rest tomorrow.

Overhead I spy 3 storey buildings inclining on each other, seemingly built as an afterthought for family expansion. Spirit houses protect the occupants, the ornate gold coating catching the last of the sunlight, the fruit offerings keeping the spirits peaceful.

The streets are framed by a spaghetti of electrical wires looping around leaning poles and mixing with neon lights and dilapidated signage, a mix of local chirography and western advertising.

Our driver paints the political and social landscape for us as we bump and thrust through the city traffic. The herd continues to stream by, some laden with 3 or 4 passengers, even a baby slumped asleep over the handle bars. Others tow a small trailer packed with goods from vegetables, building materials to sorted rubbish. We learn there is a market for the rubbish – one person’s trash another’s treasure that can put food on the family table.

We hear the story of our driver’s family, a story we will hear retold by many we meet. The loss of family members in the 1970s, a country pillaged and ravaged through history, a people exploited with their spirit tattered yet unbroken.

Unfinished highways funded by other countries loom in the twilight, while displaced sleep in hovels in its shadows. Our car bounces along unloved roads and past the contrasting grandeur of others.

The grit of this city is smattering on us, our eyes seeing what our minds are not comprehending.

Our ears are hearing the chaos of existence yet our hearts will listen to the silence of oppression.

We steel ourselves for the days ahead. We step into the night, into the city.

Overcoming a Mob Anxiety

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Ahh Wide Open Spaces!

As I get older I seem to tolerate crowds less. When I travel to the city I know I have to get in amongst the masses but it is always a sense of relief when I get out of the city and back into the wide open spaces of home. Read More

List-stumped, plain and simple.

I’m a bit of a list person. At work on a Monday morning I start the week with a list. I usually re-do that list each morning, always with the best intent of crossing items off the list. Some weeks it works great, other weeks and days the wheels fall off quickly and the list becomes just a reference point, not a ‘things to do this week’ list.

But I have a list. Read More

Commitment to Exercise

Runners during the City 2 Surf    Yesterday Sunday August 9th the annual Sydney City to Surf was held. Over 80 000 people ran the 14 kilometres from the heart of Sydney, up Heartbreak Hill and down to the beach at beautiful Bondi. My social media feeds filled with friends carb loading at local restaurants the night before, nervous selfie shots in front of Sydney iconic buildings and then photos as they puffed up the hill and celebration images as they made the finish line. Read More