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A Milestone Celebration

My baby girl celebrated her 21st birthday yesterday, inviting her closest friends and family to our home for a champagne brunch.

For me it provided the perfect opportunity to reflect on how far we have come as a family over this time, and also on the meaning of this milestone in the modern world.

Given that the age of consent is 16, and a person is legally considered an adult at 18, what is it about turning 21 that is worth celebrating?

In Australia it was not until 1973 that the voting age was reduced from 21 to 18, so perhaps the acknowledgment of turning 21 is a hangover from another generation, representing the traditional age of maturity?

Or is it that by 21 most young adults have settled into a clear path into their future, determined by their immininent graduation from University, experience in the workplace or traveling, depending on their family background and circumstances.

In my case I was mother to an 18 month old by the time I turned 21, yet invited a cast of thousands to join me in marking this rite of passage. And everyone who I invited was happy to be there to celebrate with me, most likely because of the free flowing alcohol but still it was nice to be the centre of attention for the night.

The sad thing about the brunch for my daughter was that less than half of those who accepted the invitation actually made it to the gathering.

Not that she was bothered, those who did make it were inspiringly authentic and genuine in their friendship, and happily left with delicious treats leftover from the hoards I mistakenly catered for.

My opinion of those who didn’t attend is that chances are they got a better offer, weren’t enticed to attend by our comparatively low key celebration, or perhaps were too hungover from celebrating the end of Semester but at the very least common courtesy would have them send their apologies.

But of course that would have been the mature thing to do.

#thisisWA

Today is a Public Holiday in my hometown, historically known as Foundation Day but more recently renamed WA Day in the land of the long weekend.

Apparently the freeway was a carpark on Friday, crammed full of carloads of locals heading away on our last long weekend until September. Until today the Autumn weather has been sublime, but this morning I see clouds building up outside and can feel a change in the air.

So apart from a short week at work, what does WA Day mean to me?

I guess it’s a time for reflecting on the way of life in what’s referred to as the world’s most isolated capital city, which in my lifetime has grown from feeling like a big country town where riding a bike from the beach to the city was an enjoyable pastime to a sprawling suburbia full of cars.

Memories of a childhood growing up by the beach, walking to school swinging my bag above my head to ward off the marauding magpies. The excitement of dressing up for a day in the city, the iconic Swan River snaking a path from Freo dividing local loyalties into North versus South.

The feeling that no matter where you are, chances are there’ll be someone there who knows you from somewhere.

The isolation is travel motivation but also a source of frustration because of the amount of hours and dollars it takes to get anywhere. And the long flight home when it’s time to return.

For me it’s the sunshine and clean air that refreshes my soul that is not comparable to anywhere I have traveled to. Our beautiful beaches, West Coast sunsets and abundant opportunity to enjoy the great outdoors; these are a few of my favourite things.

They say that familiarity breeds contempt, and maybe that’s why I have such a thirst for learning and wanderlust. You never know what you’ve got til it’s gone …

G’Day from WA, a little pocket of paradise in my opinion.

A Thousand Words

Forgive me if this post is somewhat melancholy, attending a funeral has the tendency to cause me to stop and reflect on my own life journey and contemplate what there would be to show for and what would be said about me at mine.

The old adage ‘A picture tells a thousand words’ never rings more true than at a funeral, when along with personal recollections by friends and family it is the lifetime of photos that tell the story of a life.

At forty five years of age I consider myself to be halfway through my story, and it is the circle of friends and family I have acquired who love and support me unconditionally and for whom I do not hesitate to do so in return that mean more to me than anything I have achieved or purchased.

I will admit to feeling a twinge of jealousy when entering a beautiful home, and well done if you have achieved your savings goal, but if that is all there is to show at the end of a lifetime I personally feel that to be a waste of life.

It is not the photos of property portfolios and possessions, or even bank balances that bring memories flooding back, it is the people and experiences that define a life, and I think that’s what’s driving me to see and experience more of the world in my lifetime.

The home pictured above was built by my husband’s grandfather and hosted a lifetime of stories, but at the end of the day it was sold when the Carn family links to the house ended and is now the setting of a whole new family story.

Sincere apologies to anyone I may offend by expressing this sentiment, but life for me is a journey not a destination so while I am still healthy and mobile I choose to live, and anyone who’s feeling stuck on the treadmill should consider doing the same.

First Day Blues

Well I did it, got out of bed before midday even though it felt like the middle of the night, put on my work face and made it to the office on time. Granted my day wasn’t terribly productive thanks to all the emails I had to read through and two catch-up meetings I attended, but it felt good to know I was missed and my return to work is valued.

So why do I now feel so flat?

The feeling started when I pulled down my holiday itinerary from the office wall, was reinforced after being asked about my personal highlight of the seven week holiday (seriously?), and set in with vengeance after my second cup of coffee.

The amazing holiday we planned and saved for and counted down the days to is really over, so apart from reading through my journal and blog, and revisiting the amazing places and faces in my mind there is nothing else on the horizon for me apart from work, friends and family for the rest of the year.

Don’t get me wrong, I like working and love spending time with my family and friends but that doesn’t stop me scrutinising every cruise email and travel website and fantasizing about a life where I get to work while I travel.

To paraphrase a Slim Dusty song my husband plays, ‘looking forward, looking back, I’ve come a long way down the track, got a long way left to go … making sense of what I’ve seen …’

Leaning forward to see what’s coming, the anticipation and excitement of venturing into the unknown, for me that’s a happy high that’s hard to beat.

The Fog of Fatigue

Today is the day I am meant to have returned to work, but I have been forced to admit defeat and call in sick.

Admitting weakness is not a strength of mine, my usual approach is to soldier on no matter what, but today I simply could not face the day with focus and can guarantee I would have been a waste of space at my workplace.

The long journey home from Lisbon to Dubai, Dubai to Singapore, Singapore to Perth, in combination with the sad news immediately prior to our departure, was simply too much for my ‘middle aged’ mind to manage.

Amongst the many benefits of cruising is the fact that time is adjusted in increments by half an hour to an hour at most overnight, meaning that by the time we had cruised from Singapore to Southampton our body clocks were already adjusted to the local time when we arrived.

Flying from London to Porto was also cruisey as they are in the same timezone and the flight is short and sweet. Thankfully we also managed to avoid the stress and chaos caused by the pilot strikes so I have nothing but praise for the crew of the TAP Portugal flight we caught, and likewise the Alpha train from Porto to Aveiro.

Emirates were wonderfully accommodating, allowing our party of four to be seated together in an exit row on our first flight home and even to lay across a whole row each on our second. Sorry to say that never ever again will I settle for a cheap flight on Jetstar,our final flight home; definitely cattle class conditions in comparison.

I have received mixed advice from fellow Travellers about how best to overcome the fatigue fog that is overwhelming my brain right now. All I want to do is sleep and right now it feels like it will be at least a week before the fog lifts.

A Little Too Ironic

Like rain on your wedding day, ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife, nurturing a souvenir in your hand luggage only to break it at home.

Yes, really.

The Legend of the Cock, about a man from Galacia who appeared in Barcelos on his way to Santiago De Compostela in Spain to fulfill a vow, condemned to death by hanging despite protesting his innocence to committing a crime, pointed to a roasted cockerel and exclaimed:

“As sure as I am innocent that cockerel will crow if I am hanged!”

You can see where this is going, and why the rooster is so embelic of Portugal, and how it was so special to buy one from Barcelos, the home of the legend, and not any number of tourist shops and even a service station when we were there.

In my haste to tidy up after sharing my suitcase stories and souvenirs I managed to drop this little cock, straight onto our tiled floor, also ironic given the status of tiling to Portugal as well.

A little too ironic.
Not happy Jan.

Eternal Flame

Today is officially the last day of our holiday and it’s definitely going to be the most memorable thanks to the terrible horrible very bad news we received from home.

My husband’s grandmother, the matriarch of a large extended family I feel privileged to be a part of, passed away earlier today on the other side of the world from where we are right now.

Nana was the most wonderfully loving and generous person who loved nothing more than sharing memories of her life and the achievements of her clan. She joked that every year she lived beyond 60 was a miracle yet despite the myriad of health issues it was still a shock that she so suddenly passed away so close to her next milestone birthday.

Thinking of her brings tears to my eyes, because she fully accepted myself and my children as part of her extended family from the first day we met, without judgment or assumption. Too many other people I have met on my journey have not been so unconditional with their love and the light that shone so brightly from the top of the family tree will forever be a reminder to me to do the same.

Old Habits

Despite the tap water in Portugal being perfectly palatable, old habits die hard for some which is how we ended up driving around the outskirts of Aveiro yesterday with a boot full of empty water bottles and only a vague idea of the location of a local font.

With Mother Maria in the back seat giving directions in Portuguese, and after stopping three times to ask locals for directions and close to an hour of driving we located Fonte Da Guia and proceeded to refill twenty five-litre plastic bottles with water from the local spring.

Conveniently located at the rear of a local church the water gushing out of a number of outlets was cool and clear but the sceptic in me could not help but be wary of the source and it’s properties.
Apparently this is a ritual the elders of Portugal refuse to give up, perhaps they have faith in it’s healing properties or they are reluctant to pay for what is freely available.

Given how much we pay for bottled spring water at home perhaps there is a lesson in there for all of us?

Last Goodbye

So sweet to find a little note from my daughter on my phone this morning, a wonderful keepsake to take with me and remember why I am going away and also what I’m leaving behind.

So proud that my wandering spirit has been inherited by my daughter who has already been to Europe, New Zealand and Japan and is planning and saving for her next adventure.

From little things big things grow; thankyou so much sweetie, I won’t have ALL the fun but I’ll have fun trying x

Mixed Emotions

Well my bags are packed and I’m all set to head off before sunrise.

Feeling mixed emotions, mainly because it’s looking likely that this graceful lady won’t be here when I return.

Shadows on a scan now reveal why Cracker, who’s been a family member for close to 18 years, is off her food and fading fast.

I spent time with her and have said goodbye but knowing she’s not likely to be here when I return makes this new beginning bittersweet.

Rest in peace my sweet.