To market to market.....made with love

I have been up for half an hour now, it’s Saturday morning 4.30am. Having waved my hubby goodbye, I now wait a little while allowing our youngest to sleep a couple more hours and then the two of us are off to join my hubby at my Saturday job……I have a handmade greeting card stall at one of our local markets. To say I enjoy my Saturday job would be a gross understatement…..let me make it clear to you all……I ABSOLUTELY LOVE GOING TO THE MARKET AND SELLING MY HANDMADE WARES! It’s absolutely true.

Let me take you back to where this love affair began. Hubby and I have always been ‘into’ buying our fruit and veg from the markets and have frequented many of them here in our fabulous city of Brisbane. I began protesting against the Big Two grocery chains due to the fact that media coverage was exposing the dubiousness of the freshness of their produce let alone the ridiculous prices they charge us all. Hence markets became the obvious choice and so the weekend consisted of a visit to the market for produce.

Along with these lovely weekend outings and it was about four years ago now, I had become pretty clever at making my own olive oil-based soaps. I went into this craft for the purpose of wanting to secure a soap that was going to be good for my family’s skin disorders. We have eczema, dermatitis and psoriasis in our family, certainly not bad cases of it I hasten to add. Regardless, I had been told by the medics over the years to ‘steer away from’ mass produced commercial soap and to use alternate products which I purchased in the local chemists. Sorbolene had been the recommended medical choice and is a fabulous product but in our hot summers, it felt like you were wearing a sheet of plastic on your skin at times and hence I wanted to find something more appropriate. After much and I mean MUCH researching and seeing the various soaps on offer at the markets and trying many of them, my research always pointed to olive oil soap though there was little of this type on offer so I found a recipe and off I went. Five years on, we haven’t looked back. Okay, I skipped a bit so let’s go back.

After about six months of positive results with my soap, my hubby and I decided to ‘get it out there’ and the markets seemed the obvious choice. By law we needed insurance to sell the soaps, packaging, labelling and it became a bit of a logistical nightmare. Regardless we went ahead with it, secured a stall at the market and enjoyed ourselves. The soaps became quite popular. However we were to be challenged by the ever increasing rent rates which seemed to be happening far too frequently for our liking and hence we ‘pulled the plug’ after looking at our books and realising we were not accomplishing our goal financially. By the way, hubby was and is gainfully employed so it wasn’t as if we were reliant on this product to survive. I, however, often dreamt that maybe one day we would be self-sufficient in our business. To date that hasn’t happened but wait there’s more..

Regardless, after a year or so of not holding a stall at the markets but continuing to support our local producers, I began researching stall availability. This time, it was my intent to sell my handmade greeting cards which I had been making off and on for years but had become a little more serious about them, giving them to family and friends and with the responses always so lovely and positive…..yes, the markets were calling me back!

So nearly a year on, we have been attending a market here in Brisbane each Saturday as a permanent stallholder. Hubby is absolutely marvellous and helps me tremendously by packing up his car with the trestle, boxes etc etc and leaves to be there in time to ‘clock in.’ I dutifully follow him, sometimes with child/ren in hand. We both ‘man’ the stall and have realised over time that hubby enjoys sitting under the sky as much as I do, in the fresh air and chatting to our customers and the passers-by and oh how it is good for the soul.

My cards have proven to be very popular. My aim was to create a card more attractive than you would purchase retail along with a handmade ‘feel’ about them, but also cheaper than retail too and I think I have achieved that. Leading up to Christmas we were selling 80-100 per Saturday, yep I am serious. I have many regular customers who give me so much positive feedback and I appreciate each and every comment. I am known interstate, well not me exactly but my cards, and I am known internationally, OK, again, not me but my cards. Yes, I work from home five days a week restocking, yes, I make them all by hand, yes, the work is extremely labour-intensive and yes they are all made with much love and buckets of it.

Oh well, it’s time to go and get ready for the day. The weather forecast is for a fine day which is great. What will the day bring? I have no idea but I know we will thoroughly enjoy it.

Let's have a chat and it'll be OK

I recall my nursing days where Psychology was a mandatory subject and as I stick my chest out now whilst typing away here, may I say I did extremely well in this subject (I wish I could say the same about some other subjects but hey we can’t all be good at everything right?) I found this subject fascinating. However I didn’t realise just how important this area of science really was back then and was to become today and to me. As a student it was simply a subject we were to utilise and apply to our patient’s situations as they confronted their illnesses and how to use psychology in being as supportive and understanding as possible. May I say that we also had qualified psychologists ‘on tap’ at the hospital and it was they who dealt with the ‘heavy’ stuff and I guess that is why I took a slightly laid-back attitude back then.  ‘Tis true, I loved to chat to my patients, and clearly still do love to chat and be supportive. There is no doubt in my mind that these amazingly helpful and interesting people have studied an area of human behavioural science with the intent to help others and, quite frankly, I take my hat off to them.

I have found it very interesting for years now, along with being a little sad too how some of the world still views psychologists, counsellors etc as people to fear. Well, they deal with ‘crazy’ people I hear some of you say, drug addicts and all of the really negative and bad situations in life. How wrong and toxic this attitude is. Why is it that there are a plethora of workplace psychologists now in existence? Is it that only ‘crazy’ people adorn the corridors of our workplaces? Absolutely not. There is clearly a legitimate need for these people or workplaces would not have the need for them.

It wasn’t until later in life I really came face to face myself with counsellor. For personal reasons I sought some advice when I was dealt a heavy blow and needed some help trying to find some answers to my many questions going through my mind. Friends and family were all too emotionally involved for me to really get to the ‘nitty gritty’ of my situation and give me unbiased opinions so I rang my GPs office. The lady kindly referred me to someone who was to become not only my helper but also a friend too. I had no hesitation in seeking out this lady and I guess I could thank my nursing training for my acceptance and my need to talk.

Dr V was a God-send to me. Not only was she a GP but also a counsellor and we ‘got along like a house on fire.’ Over a period of time she guided me through the realities of my life and gave me fabulous insight into my situation and ways to deal with the challenges that were to follow. I really looked forward to ‘dumping’ my woes on her lap each visit and remember walking out of her office each time feeling so much ‘lighter,’ content, happy and capable. My usually happy demeanour was constantly being attacked by an external source and I needed to regroup and get back to where I had been and knew I was heading there and in time all would be manageable. After my sessions with her and realising I had sufficient insight into my challenging situation, she asked if I would assist her with a research paper she was to present to her colleagues. I agreed with delight and then we parted ways as she moved to a new city.

 I met up with this wonderful lady socially not so long ago and thanked her for her assistance ‘way back when’ and she hugged me and assured me she enjoyed each visit too. Oh how sweet!

For years later I would talk much about this fabulous lady to friends and family, and some would shy away when I mentioned the word ‘counsellor’ or ‘psychologist’ whilst observing a little fear in their eyes. However I would also receive ‘secret’ phone calls from some, asking me the name and number of this lady as they had some things they would like to chat about or ‘had a friend’ who could use some guidance with a situation or two. Naturally I shared Dr Vs contact details with them with delight. Clearly I had helped open some eyes.

Some years later when, finding that this lovely lady had retired, I needed to find someone to do some more 'dumping,'  let’s say I needed a refresher course and 'tracked down' a very nice lady. I find it so reassuring knowing I can go to that neutral person who will listen to me, and offer some guidance in dealing with these situations and I can do nothing but praise these amazing people and the fantastic work they do.

The media and course consultants have made it clear that never has there been a more evident period in time when these wonderful human beings are in great demand. Schools now have on site psychologists.  Crises such as 9/11 and the Brisbane floods, the Victorian bushfires, the ever-increasing divorce rate and the affect it has on families have brought to fruition the need for human psychological assistance. I had even contemplated studying the subject as it fascinates me greatly.  I had bought the books and was about to enrol but decided against it.  I think it is one thing to have the gift for sitting and listening but to deal with the realities of some lives where children are affected by family issues or counselling people through the death of a loved one or dealing with criminals and their behaviour or toxic parenting etc. etc. is just too much for me to contemplate and hence I have left it to those who are very gifted in this area. I think I made a good choice.

The fear factor still very much exists with so many when it comes to the words psychologist and counsellor. I do feel however that this is also a generational problem and in time it will dissipate and it is doing so already. I understand that the fear comes from the thought of sitting in a room with a complete stranger and divulging your thoughts, fears and joys, needing to be open and honest with this person and I 'get' that. I, however, fear none of it and expose my 'warts and all' and it’s really OK. I have always liked chatting to anyone who would like to listen and I know people like chatting to me and that’s a good thing in my mind.

Ralph Lauren.....the designer and the gentleman

I have had one of those days, you know, when life has been so busy with so many things going on that you decide to take some ‘me’ time, some ‘time out’ and basically do nothing to try and rejuvenate mind, body and soul, albeit for just one afternoon.

While sitting and flicking through the TV channels, accompanied on the sofa by our West Highland Terrier, Gus, I was lucky enough to come across an interview by a well-known American lady and Mr Ralph Lauren, American fashion and home ware designer.

To say that I thoroughly enjoyed the interview is an understatement. So I will share some of what went on for that hour with you all.

Ralph Lauren (born Ralph Lifshitz, The Bronx, New York, 1939) is a gentleman and a very nice man. The interview took place at his ranch in Colorado and we were privy to various rooms of his house as well as the magnificent countryside surrounding, what he and his lovely wife Ricky claim is spiritual land. Having seen the wonderful filming of the countryside I can do nothing but agree.

Born to Russian-Jewish immigrants, his artist father painted houses. Ralph grew up in a middle class family who had little but the bare essentials. He attended the Camp Roosevelt (Monticello) where colleagues pronounced his clear talents when it came to colour and colour boards.

Ralph explained he commenced his world of creativity by making men’s ties and approached Bloomingdales (USA) and asked them if they would be interested in purchasing his creations. They communicated their interest in his fabulous ties and accepted the offer under the condition that they put their own Bloomingdale name to them. Ralph refused the offer and walked out. Six months later, Bloomingdales rang him and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse and that was the beginning of the beginning.

The father of three, two boys and a girl came across as an extremely caring and loving dad and a dedicated husband to his talented wife of forty-six years, Ricky. Their ranch in Colorado is magnificent including the homestead and guest areas, all adorned with Ralph Lauren Home wares. His sons, one a film producer, one working for Ralph Lauren and the daughter who has her own candy stores, all appeared as simply lovely adults.

What does Ralph Lauren wear? Yes, his own label but he has also been known to wear other labels, “I wear things I love” stated this talented and humble gentleman. What are you most proud of? “My family, my kids, my wife and the fact that I am still working.” Why a horse and polo player? Being a sports fan, he was more into basketball but he figured a basketball wasn’t international enough so he decided on the Polo player. What inspires you? “Team work, challenges, my wife and kids and the world around me.” What was your most serious purchase as your empire came to fruition? “My house, a car, sending my children to good schools and as I worked harder all of these things improved.” Ralph clearly stated that he wasn’t about fashion, he is about living and clearly this is when his home wares too came to fruition.

It hasn’t all been ‘lollipops and roses’ for this talented guru. He suffered a ‘benign brain tumour’ approximately half way through his now seventy-one years and to anyone who has experienced that frightening halt in what appears to be a healthy life, including me and mine, you can never take life for granted from that point and clearly he hasn’t.

To say I was impressed by this gentleman is an understatement. He sat surrounded by his family and it was very evident to me that these children respect and love their parents, are grateful for what they have been given and for what they have all achieved in life thus far and I could do nothing but feel the love that was emanating from that calm and spiritual room where they all sat, in that lovely ranch house in spectacular Colorado.

Lamborghini vs T-Model Ford

There has been much media coverage lately about the importance of men's health issues and indeed anyone who has lived with a male will know that most men, and I am not talking about all men, would rather put their heads in the sand than man-up and have an annual medical check-up.

Prostate cancer has come to the forefront when it comes to health concerns with the over forty-year-old men. I think it is fantastic how the medical world has seconded male celebrities to help spread the word through the media and of the seriousness of this killer disease and how, with early detection, this disease can be treated successfully.

The symptomatology of prostate cancer includes ‘waking frequently at night to urinate, sudden or urgent need to urinate, difficulty in starting to urinate, slow flow of urine and difficulty in stopping, discomfort when urinating, painful ejaculation, blood in the urine or semen, decrease in libido (sex urge) and reduced ability to get an erection’ (Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia website.)

The detection of prostatic cancer is usually achieved by a simple PSA (prostate-specific antigen) blood test. This is a protein produced by the prostate gland and found in the serum of men however it is elevated in cases of disease. Sometimes DRE (digital rectal examination) is undertaken by the doctor to detect enlargement of the prostate gland.

I recall in my nursing days, having my ‘stint’ in the male surgical ward and may I add that this was my favourite ward during my three years of training. Why? Because men seem to walk this earth with a mental attitude that hospitals are meant for extremely ill or dying people (ridiculous but true) and therefore you must get in and get out in the fastest possible time, a bit like being in the grand prix. It’s this ‘get the hell out of there’ and get home attitude that drives them to have an extremely short time in hospital and hey it seems to work for them in my opinion.

Many a day would TURP procedures be carried out in theatre on our male patients from this male surgical ward (transurethral resection of the prostate - the fancy medical name for the surgical removal of part of an enlarged prostate which has been blocking the flow of urine from the bladder.) My patient’s would return from surgery with a variety of fluid bags poised high on their steel stands five feet up. These would be ensuring they were receiving enough intravenous fluids compensating for their lack of oral fluid intake for the time being whilst being Nil By Mouth post-operatively and some bags would be helping flush out the bladder via a catheter (tube) which, I must admit, looked a little horrifying for those seeing this myriad of bag and tubes for the first time.

These ‘men of steel’ would want to show us that there was nothing wrong with them and seem to want to prove their manhood far too early in our nursing opinions. It was like being on holiday in the ward, ‘let me help you out of bed Mr Smith as it is only a few hours since your surgery” to which Mr Smith would reply, as he gingerly makes his way to the edge of the bed, looking pale and dizzy, determined to do it all solo “no thanks love, I’ve got it all under control.” Yes, I would stop and wait for the inevitable “oh, I feel a little odd” verbalised from ‘the terminator’ as he swayed on his feet and collapsing back onto his bed, finally asking for something to lean on……which would be me! Yep, it would happen just like clockwork and I would admire each one of them for their determination.

Recovery for these male procedures is pretty fast…. of course it is, it involves men in hospital wanting to ‘get the hell out of there.’ So with all the treatments out there to help our wonderful men, personally, I would opt for the regular check-ups and a PSA blood test for early detection if I was a guy.

Regardless, as much as I loved nursing this wonderful species of manhood, I really wish men would be more confident when it comes to being tested for medical conditions common to their sex. By having these tests and having you ‘sorted’ earlier in life instead of behaving like Neanderthal man with club in hand, searching for the next beast to kill and drag home to woman is so yesterday guys! Come on, prevention is better than cure, you know it, I know it. Let’s keep you looking like Lamborghini’s instead of you turning into old T-model Ford’s before your time just because you don’t like medical tests!

Girl power!

The definition of a woman is: - human adult female. A simple definition however I believe that this definition may have sold us a little short. I think maybe in the words of Freud it may be that simple, however in my eyes and in the eyes of many of us it is much more and let me tell you how I see the power of female friendship.

Recently, I had the privilege of catching up with many of my long term girlfriends some of whom I don’t see enough and some whom I see regularly. My excuse and though I dislike the word ‘excuse’ as it has an intentional ‘neglectful’ ring to it which is not the case, is that our lives are simply varied and very busy and catching up seems to sometimes involve a military manoeuvre and even then sometimes things don’t work out. Some of my girlfriends work full-time, part-time, or don’t work at all, have children who have completed their education and are now in the working world and some of us aren’t quite there yet and so our lives are scrambled a little however the intent to get together is always there.

Oh and don’t get me wrong, I have some great male friends too but there is a line you have to draw when it comes to discussing certain topics with them and sometimes it just comes down to a topic where they have absolutely no idea what I am even talking about, like……..brands of lipstick and lipstick colours. There has been many a social occasion where I have felt compelled to leave my circle of female acquaintances and meander to the male section of the room for some far more intellectually stimulating conversation whether the topic is football, the state of the economy, the stock market or whatever. I have no trouble contributing to any of these topics and at times find it far more exciting rather than discussing the price I would pay for the latest Givenchy dress seen in the latest magazine costing $3000 (of which I own none of and would rather sew up my own look alike – yes I do sew - than pay a king’s ransom for a piece of fabric who’s price could feed a small nation. Look I am the granddaughter of a Scottish lass and am married to a Scot……some would say ‘tight’……I say smart.)

Friendship is a self-chosen act and female friendships are incredibly powerful. I have had friends in my circle that I have moved on from due to choice and I think I can say that of most of the population. I have a dear friend in my circle of friends whom I started year one with and so it is what we are left with for the majority of our lives that we hold dear when it comes to true female friends. Those ones you can discuss just about everything with; you know like…….how the eldest child has just been given the old family car and how worried sick my girlfriend is every time he picks up those keys and the “oh, I know exactly what you mean” coming from the mouths of those who have experienced the same; or discussing who is going to which rellies (relatives) house for Christmas and how stressful that whole occasion can be and how we are sure that JC’s intentions were not to create such chaos at his birthday time (we Catholics are a funny lot); or how our hubbies spend so much time at work and are exhausted and can any of you suggest the best place to go for a weekend break, just the two of us, preferably where there is no internet connection so that work laptops have to be left behind etc etc. Ladies, you ‘get’ what I am talking about. Of course, our conversations get far deeper than these and some girlfriends will talk about anything and some of us do have a line that will be drawn and that is OK. It doesn’t matter what the topic is or whether the rest of us have had any experience in that area, we are all hear for each other and will offer the best solution we can, because we care and we are female and we give birth and we love our families and we are fearless and we are awesome.

I often say to my girls that boyfriends will come and boyfriends will go, but girlfriends, true girlfriends, will always be there for you. So nurture those friends and be choosy and if there are some who don’t give you the right ‘vibe’ then it is ok to move on from them because others will come along and join you through your life.

So to all of my gorgeous girlfriends out there, I just want you all to know that I do cherish our friendships, regardless of how often we catch up; I do treasure your honesty and love the individuality of each of you; I do appreciate your advice on a variety of so many of life’s situations from lipstick colours right up to dealing with hardships we all experience at some stage. For all of this, I say thank you for being at the end of that phone, or replying to those emails, or turning up when invited and making me laugh. There is nothing like the power of true female friendship, in my eyes anyway.

Textaholic, textiety and textaphrenia.....it's true....these words exist

Don’t you hate it (oh, a word I use reluctantly as I hear my darling father telling me as he has all my life, ‘you should never hate, you can dislike intensely darling but never hate’ and though I love you for it dad, sometimes it just feels better saying that word) when you remember certain situations in life when your parents or friends having previously warned you about something you are involved in having a negative outcome? Those words “I told you so” smugly fall out of their mouths much to you intensely disliking (for you dad) hearing it from them and knowing they were ‘right on the knocker’ with their warning? Well some time ago I gave my loved ones a premature warning about how I felt mobile phones and texting had the possibility of getting ‘out of hand’ and how right I was.

I remember chatting to a group of parents in our front yard one evening after waving our sixteen year old darlings off to their semi-formal. The subject was mobile phones. Yes, we had all ensured that each of them had ‘theirs’ on them for the ‘just in case’ situations which could occur during the evening and knowing we would be contactable. The conversation then turned into how reliant we as parents were becoming and how reliant our teens had already become on these pieces of technology. One parent said something which I totally agreed with and that was that these mobiles were, in his eyes, starting to cause anxiety in teens. Gosh how true that statement has become today.

On researching this topic I have since discovered that the words textaholic, textiety and textaphrenia exist now in this massive texting world. ‘Anxiety, insecurity, depression and low self-esteem have all been identified as symptoms common among text-addicted teenagers’ according to researchers.

‘A researcher at the RMIT in Melbourne stated that texting had become meshed into teenagers’ lives. The word textaphrenia is thinking you've heard a message come in or felt the device vibrate when it actually hasn't. Textiety is the anxious feeling of not receiving any texts or not being able to send any. "With textaphrenia and textiety there is the feeling that 'no one loves me, no one's contacted me,” Dr Jennie Carroll stated’ (information extracted from the Herald Sun, June 30, 2010.)

In different articles I have read on this disturbing topic, one teenager was found to have sent 4000 text messages over a nine day period. Another stated that she had to change her mobile plan as she had received a bill $800 one month.

Not only do we have some serious problems arising but also ‘repetitive thumb syndrome’ is also becoming a medical complaint from over-texting. Can you claim on your health insurance if you suffer from it? I will not be surprised if, in the future you can!

So what do we do from here? I wish I knew. I know that asking your teen to surrender mobile phones each evening to our kitchen bench to ensure a good night sleep for them though requested is often not adhered to. I have always used pre-paid plans and advised my teens how long I expect that amount of credit to last and should it be used up prior to the designated time then they are without credit on their mobile until the following month’s replenishment. As I have always made it clear to them that their mobile phones were purchased first and foremost so they could call me and vice versa at any time in any situation for safety reasons and not for the purpose of texting their friends five minutes after they have left their friends at school to tell them about the ‘hot’ boy they had just seen on the bus.

In my opinion the telco’s are no help to us caring parents as now they are offering unlimited texting plans and as far as I am concerned are simply escalating the problems.

I am wondering if in time legislation will be required, like age limits for alcohol accessibility, where plans are only obtainable for the over 25 year olds. Neuroscientists remind us constantly that the ‘reasoning’ part of the brain (prefrontal cortex) which is responsible for impulse-control, judgement, decision-making, planning, organisation and involved in other functions like emotion does not mature until 22-25 years of age. Let’s change the drinking laws and at the same time introduce mobile phone accessibility limits until these teens can indeed think reasonably.

Alternately, now I am feeling a bit James Bondish here so how about a self-destruct button we concerned parents/guardians only are privy to, where, due to excessive text usage by the teens, the adult can then press this magical button, destroying the phone and the only way the phone can be returned to normality is if, like a defensive driving course, the teens have to pass a self-control texting course.……hey I like it, I like it a lot. ‘It’s Bond, James Bond,’ oh and please bring the gorgeous Scotsman Sean Connery back while we’re at it!

Cyber world...hang on and enjoy the ride

In my younger days I thought I was pretty cool when it came to working our VHS video machine; I had a cassette player; read books printed on paper; had a Walkman (I hear Gen Y say a Walk what?) and loved buying my CD’s and always had a road atlas in my car. This was the world I lived in and I thought it was hip and happening back then.

Now, I download ITunes from my PC to my IPhone but need to convert these MP4 files to MP3 files and save them to my USB to play on my kitchen T-Hub enabling me to listen to my music whilst cooking in my kitchen (deep breath and…); I use a PC and a USB along with my internet to communicate with other humans; I have to remember to push the HDD or DVD button when using the DVD player and own three (TV/DVD/Foxtel) controls; I download personal photos and send them all over the world; listen to audiobooks on my IPhone; I say hi to my friends via Facebook and invite them for a coffee via Facebook too; I use a GPS navigation system in my car; I text or email my children and hubby if I can’t get hold of them on their mobile phones; I download recipes from the internet and seldom use my very expensive and very loved recipe books purchased with my hard earned money over many years; I use Google as my dictionary instead of my printed Oxford Concise; I sell any unwanted ‘stuff’ on EBay to anyone all over the world and write this blog and send it through the internet and have readers all over Australia, Alaska, USA as well as Europe which blows my mind and makes me smile all at the same time (hi to you all) and I know this because I can check my stats on my blog and it tells me this information. This is just AMAZING!!!!!!!!! I could go on and on and on but won’t for the time being (another deep breath). This is the world I live in now, Cyber world, oh and so do you.

I guess if my parents had told me in my younger years way back then that this is where we were heading I would have told them to get a grip on reality! Now I say to my two teenagers I have no idea where we are heading so just hold on and enjoy the ride girls!

You can find potential parents for your future children via dating websites without having to cruise bars and restaurants like the good ol’ days; buy food, alcohol and indeed houses without getting out of your chair not to mention book international flights, accommodation in oh let’s say Edinburgh, Scotland (guilty as charged) and order what I want to eat for breakfast there at the same time. My head spins whilst at the same time enjoy the fact I can do this all on my own without using the ‘middle man.’

The downside and let’s face it there has to be a downside to all of this and that is as the media has already advised us, welcoming complete strangers into your life as some have via social networks such as Facebook can have tragic results. This brings to mind the event the media brought to our attention of the young Australian lady who met up with a stranger who had befriended her on her Facebook only to fall into his deathly hands and lose her life. This makes me shudder.

As well, we have had the recent circumstances of emails arriving from Nigeria asking for your back details and wanting to deposit monies into your account, declaring that “you” have been chosen to be the recipient of large amounts of monies and if you send them your bank details………are you serious? Or that there is some sad little man somewhere in the world who wants you to save his life of misery if you send him X amount to the account he requests. Danger Will Robinson, Danger!

So as wonderful as our new Cyber world may appear at times, there, lurking around a corner, is a world of underhanded, criminal behaviour luring the unsuspecting into their webs of destruction and heartache which sadly many out there have experienced. You can never be too suspicious and trust me I am, in fact my motto is often ‘trust no man’ when it comes to the internet or for that matter any situation I may be in where I am receiving negative vibes. My youngest is also watched very closely when utilising her computer, as the media and schools constantly advise parents to do, and this I do vigilantly.

On the lighter side, buying perfume as cheaply as possible on the ‘net’ without leaving the house is, as any woman would admit, a fabulous and exciting event and it is these positive outcomes which I like to focus on in this new and ever advancing cyber world of ours. Oh and the time when I found a lipstick that I thought was no longer available, it arrived from USA to huge excitement and which I treasure very much. Not to mention sending my handmade greeting cards to, well, anyone anywhere in the world willing to pay me for my creations….and oh how this makes my heart sing.

Clearly there are ups and downs of this ever growing Cyber world and I for one have both embraced it and also question much which I think is essential.

Now, I am off to check out the best price on……now what was it…….oh never mind, I’ll just do some cyber surfing and I am sure it will come to me eventually.

The buck stops with you Messrs Murdoch

I sat and watched a small portion of the parliamentary testimony live broadcast of the News International phone hacking scandal question time at about 1am this morning, along with my daughter and student of Justice 'Quentin Hepburn.' This is my eldest's self-chosen blog name, (Quentin due to her admiration for our first female GG Quentin Bryce and Hepburn after the very gorgeous and much loved actress Audrey.)

Mr Rupert (actually Mr Keith Rupert) Murdoch, 80 year old Chairman and CEO of News Corporation and his son Mr James Murdoch, 30, Chairman and Chief Operations Officer of News Corporation, Europe and Asia, were the star attractions, having owned the now-defunct News of the World tabloid paper, the newspaper in question.

In my opinion, Messrs Murdoch were dealt very easy questions and I am not the only one. Now I am no ‘legal eagle’ though have 3.25 family members in the legal profession and have ‘employed’ a lawyer now and again. The repetitive answer provided by these two very powerful men was to the tune of: I had no idea that this hacking was going on. Mr Rupert Murdoch confessed today to having 52,000 employees. Where does that buck stop? Surely he has the responsibility of keeping an eye on what is going on by communicating with his people down the ladder who are supervising these 52,000 people. Crikey, can you imagine what the Christmas parties are like and does he send each one of them a Happy Birthday email via the work PCs…..I am guessing no!

Mr Rupert apologised to a certain family for the atrocious behaviour where a private investigator was paid by his newspaper to hack into the voicemail and deleted messages of a young teenager’s mobile phone that had gone missing and was later murdered.  Mr Rupert declared he was “shocked, appalled and ashamed” with this information. Rupert, you have a massive media corporation out of control and you are supposed to be the boss. As well, hackers involved with this newspaper were involved with hacking phones of British family members who had lost their loved ones in the 9/11 event in America. Where is the line drawn for investigative journalism Rupert?

According to the media there are in fact around 4000 cases of phone hacking Messrs Murdoch’s newspaper are responsible, allegedly, including the phones of the now Duchess of Cambridge, Hugh Grant, previous British PM Gordon Brown and The Queen no less to mention but a few!!

Whilst sitting watching this broadcast, it was to be interrupted by a certain Mr Marbles who somehow managed to make his way from the public viewing area to the area where Messrs Murdoch were sitting and threw a plate of blue shaving cream into Mr Rupert’s face whilst exclaiming his dislike for Mr Rupert’s wealth and power. But wait this gets better. Whilst this was occurring, the third Mrs Rupert Murdoch, Wendi Deng, 42, managed to leap from behind Mr Rupert and took her right hook to this protestor, pouncing toward her husband, 32 years her senior, like a Ninja. It was a classic!

I recall when the now Mr and Mrs Rupert Murdoch became an item. Ms Deng was an employee of Mr Rupert working in Hong Kong and happened to be at a staff party where Mr Murdoch was in attendance, according to internet information. They married very quickly after Mr Rupert’s divorce from wife number two and have two children together. I certainly hope Mr Rupert has his legal paperwork in order, presuming that his offspring will be handed the reins of his empire because I am getting a feeling of discomfort from the current Mrs Murdoch. Wendi’s right hook may be pumped and in readiness for other situations too so watch out Murdoch children! Hey, I was a Girl Guide once and still live by the motto ‘Be Prepared.’

Geoffrey Robertson QC, UK lawyer and hubby of Australian writer and funny girl Kathy Lette, advised he would hope that Mr Rupert was not left in charge of any superannuation fund, having clearly displayed his alleged non-involvement and ignorance to his newspaper’s phone hacking. Good point Geoffrey. When asked by one of the parliamentary members if he felt he should resign as head of New Corp, naturally Mr Rupert declared that he should not.

A parent is legally responsible for their children up to 18 years of age; a principal of a school is held responsible for their students; so will Rupert be held accountable for his 52,000 family members? These people have helped make him a billionaire. ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely’ as the saying goes and I think Mr Rupert knows more than he is letting on.

So where does the buck stop Mr Rupert Murdoch? US president Harry S Truman was the man responsible for making the saying ‘the buck stops here’ famous, taking responsibility for the governance of his country. Mr Truman was president of the people of the USA Mr Murdoch, you only have 52,000 under your governance and still won’t take responsibility. Interesting don’t you think?

Menopause.......shouldn't that be womenopause?

Now here is a subject that you men who read my blog will be about to scroll away from, up or down, anywhere but here though I wish you wouldn’t leave. The subject: Menopause or Change of Life or call it what you will. No wait guys, don’t go anywhere, it isn’t that bad (for you anyway) and quite frankly as a nurse, wife, mother and female, I ask for a few moments of your time to hear me out, so take a deep breath….you will be OK I promise. Ladies, this won’t be anything some of you don’t already know and have felt and for the rest who have not hit this fork in the road yet, I welcome you into my world of peri-menopause.

The definition of menopause, having read many articles on this fact and which is fabulously inevitable for us girls though a little sad too, is:  the ceasing of menstruation/the period in a woman’s life, typically between 45 and 50 (though it can happen earlier) when this occurs. Personally just the fact that it is called MEN opause, leads me into that world of sarcasm wanting the men to have to endure this instead of WO men. After all, surely childbirth is enough to go through with the massive hormonal ups and downs nine months prior and yet, some years later, we endure these cruel hormonal swings yet again. I can hear some of my ‘sisters’ out there saying ‘well the men wouldn’t be able to handle childbirth so menopause is just asking way too much.’ I am hearing you girls, though I must stand up for my ‘brothers’ and say I think there would be a number of them who could endure childbirth, not many, but some.

So I found myself in peri-menopause in my late forties having been advised by my GP after blood tests confirmed my situation and that this indeed was inevitable (this is the stage leading up to menopause where hormonal levels and moods start changing without any real warning whatsoever, thanks so much!) I accepted this fact gracefully and was also advised by my GP that I was to surrender The Pill. I obeyed as any good peri-menopausal girl would.

What was to come I must say was to say the very least, unfair, cruel, below-the-belt etc etc. The extreme tiredness was probably the first and worst thing, oh, no, that with my mood swings oh and not to mention the hot flushes oh and I forgot to mention the weight gain too plus the lapses in memory. Have I got it all? Probably not. Oh being peri-menopausal is a real party I say with much sarcasm! I just wished I hadn’t been placed on that guest list.

Having read much about this subject, I sought some assistance not opting for the hormonal replacements; instead acupuncture appealed more to me which I receive from a qualified friend who has also been treating my back pain for many years (two slipped discs and some scoliosis thrown in for good luck.) This acupuncture has certainly helped me along with the Chinese herbs he suggested I take occasionally when things seem to get the better of me.

Months have passed and the flushes come and go but not very often now thank goodness thanks to the herbs (for the moment anyway.) I am guilty of lying in bed at night, eyes wide open unable to sleep, though this problem is becoming less and less, with my left leg hanging over the side escaping the bed covers, trying to cool down and hence regulate my body temperature. Apparently this is very common with my fellow menopausal friends and something we often giggle about when chatting about our girlie ‘stuff.’ Yes as I said previously, I am forgetful occasionally but that is why they invented children and Post It note pads. Both help remind me of many things and I love them dearly for it, the children this is, not the Post its. My moods have settled pretty well (for the moment anyway) and life seems to have turned a positive corner.

I have been open and honest with my girls and hubby. I think you really need to do this. Look I am not suggesting you tie them each to a chair and MAKE them listen utilising the nearest megaphone you have at your disposal whilst blasting into their ears questions like……”Do you know how lucky you are having a mother like me?……Do you appreciate all the things I have done for you over the years?....Well, do you?” I do however feel that you owe it to them to be up front and honest to establish some sort of understanding. I recall during our summer months whilst standing fanning myself with anything that could do the job whilst asking my girls “is it hot or is it just me?” usually it was just me and my hot flushes. My girls have accepted and are understanding of these changes, hubby is as interested as I can expect any normal man to be and he has come to lend a sympathetic ear when I ask him for a hug or when he sees Mt Vesuvius slowly releasing the steam through her aural orifices. Hey, I never said I was perfect!

For the time being I sit and hope, I really really do, that I am on my way to being able to proclaim to the world in the distant future that I have experienced menopause and therefore have legal permission to use this word in my vocabulary and joining my other menopausal sisters roaming this world. As it stands, I take each day as it comes, some are good some a little less than good but that is OK. I am only human after all and I have little control over this thing called peri-menopause. So I wait and wait.

Are you still there guys? Well done if you are.

So so proud soccer mum

I can stand up and say that I am a very proud soccer mum to a fabulous young lady who for the purpose of my blog shall be called Nigella Beckham: Nigella due to the fact that this blonde bombshell is a fabulous cook, even at the tender age of thirteen and Beckham as she is as “keen as mustard’ when it comes to her soccer.

Nigella’s keenness for this fantastic game does have some bearing on the fact that her step-dad is a keen soccer fan and is a retired soccer referee. (Here is my prediction…..as an Australian who loves to follow all codes of football in this country I predict that this skilful game will eventually become THE football game with the greatest following in this country...gulp, there I said it,) also my darling brother played soccer in his younger days whilst we lived in Mt Isa, goalkeeper no less and a very good one and this was my introduction to this fabulous game. Hence Nigella showed interest in the game and I was keen to move her into a sport and she asked to play soccer. I investigated various clubs around us and decided on one which was not too far away and which my soccer-mad hubby recommended having heard good reports about the club during his refereeing days. After ringing and finding out the details and then registering her, I was advised that she was to attend no less than three training/grading sessions prior to selection into a team. Soccer boots were purchased along with the uniform and we presented at the first grading session.

We both arrived only to be presented with forty two boys and one other girl at this session, Nigella would make up girl number two! As I stood watching these forty four youngsters desperately wondering where the other girls were, assuming that they would be constructing all male and all female teams and it became clear to me that I was wrong as I took a step back, stepping into the world of reality. Clearly one should never assume. Nigella was keen to join in, though I thought a little pensive to begin with though I think that was not the case at all and was simply in my imagination, she managed to pair up with the other lovely young lady and off she went…..doing whatever soccer players do. But what had I done? I stood there watching my darling in amongst this plethora of pre-pubic boys as they kicked many round balls around with my inexperienced soccer girl, my little darling, in amongst it all. So there I stood amongst the other parents, pretending I knew exactly what was going on and what I was doing. What a fraud.

After the game I decided to ‘man-up’ and explain to Nigella that I had no idea that the teams would be mixed and I apologised repeatedly to her and how I had no problems in understanding if she decided to give soccer ‘the flick.’ She sat, listened to me patiently whilst I presented her with my apologetic babble for the next five minutes finally asking her to forgive me. Her reply was something that blew me away and shut me up well and truly. It went something like this: “Mum, it is OK. I don’t have a problem with being one of two girls with all of these boys. I really want to play mum and I really do want to come back to the next session.” I sat, inhaled and exhaled slowly, realising what an incredibly courageous and wise young lady I had sitting next to me in the car. I was so proud of this comment from her and wondered how I managed to produce such a sensible and accepting little lady.

So, three years on, we have attended a plethora of games with virtually the same team members, winning some and losing some but always enjoying being part of this wonderful team. Stepdad has contributed fabulously too as on occasion has refereed for the team when the official refs do not turn up. I think this has been a fabulous contribution to the team and one which Nigella is very proud. Nigella has been the constant female representative over these three years. This young lady has gone from strength to strength as a soccer player and I am so proud to sit in the stand each weekend as her mum with the other parents and gloat at this gorgeous blonde, blue-eyed creature running around the field whilst she ‘does her stuff’ with her male counterparts.

Next year this doll is required to join an all-girls team due to her age which she is comfortable with, though will no doubt miss the boys and we will miss the parents as well as our fabulous coach who has also been constant for the last three years. As much as we will miss all of this, we have realised that when it comes to dances, semi formals and formals, Nigella will have her team of guys to choose from and you can’t complain about that can you?

Gone gaga for Gaga

Well that 25 year old dynamo from New York City has ‘graced our shores’ once again to visit her ‘little monsters’ here in Australia and let me say as a fifty year old mother of two teenagers who both LOVE Gaga, I do too. I know many find her over the top, outrageous, weird, bizarre etc, and I agree, however I admire her uniqueness and authenticity not to mention her very ‘catchy’ songs.

Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta (born March 28, 1986), New York City of Italian Catholic descent, is one amazing entertainer and song writer in my eyes. Her younger life included attending a school of arts where she demonstrated her musical talents. Gaga released her first album The Fame in 2008 and I guess this is when the world, including myself and certainly my two music-crazy teenagers, sat up and took notice of this Lady Gaga, listening to great songs like Just Dance and Poker Face. Little did any of us know how this New York City dynamo would create music bedlam all over the world in the years to follow. Having been bankrupted no less than four times (so the internet says anyway) this is a young lady who seems fearless and I envy her and admire her for her strength and her beliefs. She is a practicing Catholic and has many references to her Catholicism in her songs, prays every day and always before a concert, has experienced the drug world but is clean now and has been for a number of years, was ‘hell on wheels’ as a youngster and supports gay marriage. This overt admittance of pluralism is admirable in my eyes.

I attended her concert here in Brisbane during her previous visit and must say I have never been to a concert where the music was so LOUD (accompanying my teenage daughters who were gracious in allowing me to sit next to them oh and I wasn’t the only over 40 something either, in fact there were many of us.) These complaints of possible audible damage is coming from someone who has also experienced many concerts over the years including The Black Eyed Peas, Gwen Stefani as well as The Rolling Stones at Wembley, London and those lads were loud but not to this degree. It was an experience and I admit if I could have asked the sound guys to decrease the volume I would have. It ruined it a little for me though my daughters can’t understand me at all (as if I haven’t heard that before.) Clearly I am showing my age so I sit and lament about that for a minute…..........okay I am finished with my lamenting.

Interestingly, there seems to be a number of these fabulously talented ladies in the music world of Catholic upbringing, Christina Aguilera, Cindy Lauper and that infamous Madonna to mention a few. Being a proud Catholic, I think it is fascinating that these larger than life ladies have taken the world ‘by the horns’ and stepped out and  become fearless of world opinion. Don’t get me wrong, Madonna has a history even in my pluralistic eyes having displayed behaviour I didn’t back then and still don’t condone now. I just hope that Gaga doesn’t end up in situations like Madonna….we’ll just have to wait and see I guess.

Regardless, as you can see I have gone a little gaga for Gaga and have a variety of her songs on my IPhone and can be found singing along to her songs such as Judas whilst driving in my car as well as singing in the shower, standing cooking in the kitchen and in fact wherever the mood grabs me.

I love ya Gaga and I hope you keep entertaining us with your fabulous voice, incredible writing skills and those ‘out of this world’ costumes for years to come…..”I’m on the edge of glory,” No, I think you are already there Lady Gaga <3

The 7pm Project, Mr Hinch and Me

I was privileged to be asked to present myself for an interview two days ago, after emailing my application, as a potential panel guest for one night next week on The 7PM Project, Channel 10, to help celebrate the show’s second birthday. As you can imagine, the phone call, which was from the Creative Producer came the day after I had sent my application and quite honestly I thought the call was a prank. There must have been thousands or even tens of thousands of applications and I thought my chances were; well you can do the math.

Interestingly I was extremely calm about the actual interview which occurred the following evening at the Mt Coot-Tha studio. I sat with four other ‘hopefuls’ who quite frankly were just as interesting as me, well, maybe not quite, hahaha! Under the studio lights, with cameras rolling and with the boom microphone hovering over us, the Creative Producer fired current affair questions at each one of us and as the mother of a liver transplant recipient, naturally, I felt more than qualified to comment on my question “should those who abuse alcohol receive a liver transplant?” Don’t think I haven’t thought about this many times over the years. Larry Hagman (Dallas and I Dream of Jeannie American actor) was in the same position as Mr Hinch, the central figure to this question I was to comment on.

My response :- I am a nurse by profession and took the the Hippocratic Oath at graduation. The Oath basically states that as medical professionals we are to treat each man equally and we must not play ‘at God.’ I am also a mother of a child who when she was listed on the transplant list at the age of fourteen months, was told that we would not wait any more than six months for her transplant. Six became seven, seven became eight…..after a wait of ten months and watching my first born’s health slip away in front of my eyes I finally had to question the medical team about the delay. Priority was protocol along with blood type compatibility they advised me and I knew this, but surely as I watch her deterioration escalate it had to be my precious girl's turn?

A couple of weeks later we received THAT phone call advising us that the hospital had a ‘potential’ liver for her, that they were still confirming that it was of the standard the surgeon required and for us to make our way to the hospital in readiness with our gorgeous child. I kissed this gorgeous creature good-bye as they wheeled her into the operating theatres and then waited an agonising and I repeat agonising nine hours to be advised by one of the incredible nursing staff that surgery was complete and all was looking good thus far. Not long after this information, the surgeon approached remarking “it was one of the easiest transplants I have been involved in. We didn’t even need to transfuse her which is rare.” Yes, my tears flowed and flowed and flowed.

However, I knew and had been told many times that this little darling was not cured, that transplant is NOT a cure, simply a form of treatment for her condition, that life was going to be filled with ups and downs, she would require medications by the truckload initially (fourteen in actual fact for the first few months) and then medication for the rest of her life. Alcohol will be a no-go for her etc etc. What did any of this matter; she was now a recipient and not on that waiting list and life was fabulous.

I was vigilant and will always be with her care as my daughter is. Being both a nurse and her mum I was determined that this child would receive A1 treatment from me and I was to do this also for the surgical team too, not to mention, and I sigh deeply now as I have done regularly for the past sixteen years with incredible gratitude, for the selfless family who lost their loved one and saved mine. There are still no words in the dictionary I could use to convey my thanks for this incredible act in giving the gift of life.

Fourteen years down the track, my daughter is fit, well, a very clever young lady, incredibly gorgeous and is in her first year of university who was transplanted not for abusing her liver but because she was born with an autoimmune disease.  Would I ever want to go through this again? Absolutely not and oh how my heart goes out to every single one of those families waiting for that phone call that we were fortunate enough to receive in time to save our child’s life.

My reply to the creative producer of 7PM Project was just that: I can’t play “at God” and say Derryn is not eligible to have his life saved because we clearly can save him with transplantation. I do not know the current protocol for eligibility but clearly it includes alcohol abusers. I do know that my transplanted daughter says it is wrong that he received a transplant because too many are on the waiting list and are dying waiting and that it is not their fault that they are ill and she is absolutely right. Mr Hinch and Mr Hagman, I think that someone is clearly ‘on your side’ and may God help you appreciate and treasure every additional minute of your days left on earth because of the incredible generosity of the gift of life from your donors.

Oh and did I make the final few chosen for the show next week? Either way, it doesn’t matter because life is great.

Rains of terror

I can’t believe that it is six months since the three of us stood watching on our balcony in amazement many floors up here at Toowong, as Mother Nature was at work during the Brisbane floods. It is something that I think if I hadn’t seen I would never have believed and quite frankly I never want to see again.

I remember chatting on the phone to hubby whilst I stood watching what I felt at the time was abnormally heavy rain on the Thursday/Friday prior to that dreadful Toowoomba weekend. I clearly remember thinking and telling him that the rain was falling so heavily that I literally could not see the buildings across the road from us and at the same time I had a feeling of fear about the ferocity of these rains falling from the sky. My fears were about to come to fruition.

Watching the news that weekend (not realising that in two days’ time our power would be off for ten days and I would miss a hot shower so much, not to mention having to walk up and down ten flights of stairs during these ten days….yes weight was lost much to my delight), and having been an avid watcher of the news since the commencement of north Queensland’s floods days prior whilst observing the colossal waters as they hit Toowoomba, we all knew that big waters heading down our Brisbane river was inevitable, we just didn’t know how much water Mother Nature was sending us.

My eldest was in London at the time these rains started to fall up north and watched it happening on their news. It was on more than one occasion when watching the flood devastation, she viewed our actual apartments which sit alongside the river, commenting to her fellow TV viewers ‘that is where I live.’ Her London friends would respond yes we know you live in Brisbane…’no that is where I live right there where that blue thing is, that is our pool.’ Our pool sat in the middle of our complex as blue as blue and was now well and truly surrounded by brown water and would be for two days! Gasps were heard around the TV room, she remembers this clearly.

Daughter was due to touchdown on the Friday night after the river peaked the day before. Not knowing how long we would be surrounded by the flood waters, I pre-empted ‘life’ and I went into ‘be prepared’ Girl Guide mode and emailed her asking her to present herself to the Royal Free Hospital to stock up on her life-dependent transplant medication. I knew her supplies would be low by now and not knowing how or when I would be able to drive to the Royal Children’s, her then hospital here in Brisbane and I knew I had to think ahead and of all possibilities. Here is the email I sent her Jan 12:

“Hi darl. Don't panic if you are trying to ring my mobile. I will be turning it off during your sleep time to conserve the battery. They may need to turn our electricity off today which is why I am sending you this and hence will only have mobile access. We are fine. Coro Drive is not flooded as yet but expected to be today. Internet may go down due to possible no electricity later today. I will email you again tonight if electricity is on. Anyway the plan is 1. Get meds from Royal Free 2. If we are not at airport (which we expect we hopefully will be) go home with Vanessa 3. If my mobile is off, leave a message. We are fine. Love you buckets XXX” Yes I was fine but also I was fearful but there was no way I was going to convey my fear to her.

After this email was sent via Facebook that day, power was lost here for ten days, our landline was lost for six weeks, my car went under five, yes five metres of water in our car park, I lost count of the plethora of boats, pontoons and debris which flowed down our ferociously fast and ever-rising river. I sat on our balcony, marooned for two days watching this happen before my eyes but all was OK considering what other Brisbane residence were going through. My daughter arrived home safely two days later, 14 Jan, which was the first day our roads were open in Brisbane.

What was to follow watching the clean-up could do nothing but renew my faith in humanity. The hundreds of volunteers who courageously came out to help those of us who had suffered; watching the army arrive by truckloads clad in their khaki uniforms armed with shovels etc.; observing our amazing police force in action; Wellington boots, rubber gloves, buckets, brooms, mops, disinfectant sales sky rocketed; Toowong K-mart stocking up with truckloads of torches and batteries are to mention but a few of the ‘goings on’ I observed and which went into getting this fabulous city back to where we were before that power force of water found us that dreaded weekend, having left its path of destruction.

Is life OK? Life is more than OK….we can’t control Mother Nature but we can certainly appreciate what we have and as the saying goes ‘what doesn’t kill you, only makes your stronger.’ Thanks Mother Nature for making me stronger.

Where have all the standards gone?

I am often asked by medical professionals and various friends who know my background as a nurse, why I don’t go back to nursing “because you would have been a good one Lou”. This is a lovely compliment however I think I have drawn the line with returning to the best profession in the world (don’t you love my biasedness) especially at the age of fifty along with having a hereditary weakness in my lower back.

I have a gripe with the current training system of the nursing profession that currently exists and in my opinion, dare I say, there is a not-so-professional attitude of current nursing standards compared to the ‘good ol’ days’ when rules were to be adhered to and respect was to be respected. Mind you I was trained at THE Catholic hospital which was known for its incredibly high standards of nursing and where you practically had to be related to the Pope to be accepted there to study. I know you are asking so why me? So am I.

I recall with delight and pride having taken care of an elderly single lady living alone in Ascot. I discovered that her background was nursing and that she trained at the Mater in Rockhampton. On advising her that I was a Brisbane Mater nurse, her response went something like this: Wow, so you’re a Brisbane Mater girl. Gosh. When we were doing our training, if there was ever a nurse who had trained at the Brisbane Mater in our surrounds, we were advised to watch and learn from them as they were the elite! To this day, I gloat at this memory.

I was one of the last intakes accepted at the Brisbane Mater Misericordiae Hospital prior to nursing becoming a tertiary degree. I graduated as being a State Registered Nurse and trained on site rather than the current day Diploma, Bachelor etc. achieved after some three years being based at a university. To this day, I have never been able to work out why the ‘powers that be’ ceased the hospital-based learning.

I spoke recently to a young lady who had commenced her university-based nursing training. I was told that her practical work during her studies equalled approximately three months. In comparison, my practical experience equated to more like two years and this is where I believe, nursing has really suffered. Sadly, this girl pulled out of her studies as she stated to me “Lou, there is not enough patient/practical contact and I am not enjoying it.” I was clearly saddened.
From memory, Queensland came after the other states when it came to the changes of the nursing degree and I was exposed to the differences in quality of nurses of these two different training types.

I was a third year nurse,1981, working in the male medical ward and I was pulled aside by our charge nurse and advised that there would be a new “sister on the block” coming from and trained in Sydney, was a tertiary degree graduate and hence a fully qualified nursing sister and who needed to be supervised as this was her first year out after her degree. You can understand how I sat there scratching my head wondering why a third year nurse who still had 12 months of her training to go, was having to supervise an already qualified nursing sister with a degree. Regardless, I was humbled to think that I was chosen to be the supervisor of her by my charge sister and naturally agreed with pride.

This graduate was a really lovely girl and we did get along really well, however her practical skills were HOPELESS. It was like being back in my first six months of training, watching her start from scratch. I realised that my workload, which was really busy anyway, was now doubled but then having an extra pair of hands to help me make my plethora of patient’s beds etc. was an advantage.

I had to give feedback to the charge nurse after each shift and yes I was brutally honest. Our charge agreed with me to which she told me that this type of training was possibly around the corner for Queensland nursing too. We both shook our heads simultaneously but how right she was.

I was not so long ago working for RSL and remember attending an elderly lady whose husband was a patient in one of the local hospitals. I was not working as a nurse but as a general helper for RSL. After chatting to her about various things, including her husband’s current care in the hospital, she said to me “Louise, you are a nurse aren’t you?” to which I admitted. I asked her how she knew. She advised me that she could “just tell” and she knew that I had trained in the “good old days” as she called them. I advised her that I had graduated in 1982 to which she nodded and smiled, “I thought so, and you know they don’t make them like you anymore.” I was flattered but saddened at the same time because I believe the same and my fellow nurses who trained with me agree with this lovely ladies statement. I am even advised by my gorgeous nursing girlfriends with whom I socialise, “don’t go back to nursing Lou, you’ll wish you hadn’t, it’s not the same anymore.”

So I guess I will heed my girlfriend's words of wisdom and keep away from hospitals and I know many of you reading this will disagree about the standards of nursing today and that is OK. May be one day we will return to the ‘good ol’ days,’ I am not sure. However one thing I do know is that I chose the best profession in the world and utilise my nursing knowledge every day as a mum and as a mum of a transplant recipient and I am so proud to be able to tell those I meet that I am a Mater girl.

Where my love of cooking began....with my grandparents

My appreciation for good food I have acquired mostly from my darling mum who is an excellent cook (and who has passed her fabulosity of cooking prowess down to her most grateful children including my only brother who is an equally keen cook). As a youngster however, I have more memories of me observing and learning from my darling grandmother's exceptional culinary kitchen skills.

I recall my school days with delight when grandmother and poppa used to have us stay overnight with them on the occasions when Mum and Dad had a social function to attend. My sisters and I were able to catch the school bus home from our primary school, Mater Dei, to my grandparent’s front door, which I always so looked forward to, opposite the Ashgrove Golf Club here in Brisbane. Poppa was a very good golfer and I clearly remember him winning many raffles at the golf club and bringing these home to grandmother. These wonderful treats would include magnificent meat trays, copious amounts of alcohol, hampers of food etc. It was always an incredibly good experience being with my grandparents. Their house always seemed to have an aura of positivity and love (the same as life at home). Along with their love of home cooking and Pop's obsession with purchasing every new electrical gadget that ever came onto the market (he was an electrical engineer), there always seemed to be experimentation of each new cooking gadget he acquired resulting in something cooking on the stove or in the oven as we entered their loving home each visit. Both of them enjoyed cooking. Amazingly scrumptious meals would include roasts with homemade Yorkshire pudding (yes, I can make this myself too and have done so many dozens of times), Pop's famous Rhubarb pie, scones, apple pie, fabulous fish and chips, chutneys, grandmother's amazing bbq sauce which is a secret family recipe still to this day and a huge hit at all of my bbq's, to mention a few. Life certainly was and is delicious thanks to this love of cooking.

These feelings of the love of good food continued throughout my seconday school life when I was at boarding school in Brisbane for years 11 and 12 as Mum and Dad had moved to Mt Isa and hence boarding school was required. Again my darling grandparents always came to my starvation rescue, appearing at our school grounds each Sunday fortnight of the week-ends we had to stay in at school. They always seemed to arrive just in the nick of time and just as I thought I would be having to commence auto digesting because I could not stand the breakfast they served us that morning (which of course was ridiculous as the food they served at school was perfectly edible). There they were laiden with a plethora of gourmet goodies for we poor, starving boarders to get "stuck into" and consumed with joy! Always bringing along far too much food so some of it I would then distribute to other more junior boarders only because I could not have possibly eaten another morsel and as I am a good catholic girl, sharing is in the book of catholic protocol!

Of course I miss them terribly. Every time I cook fish (and grandmother was fabulous at cooking fish) I feel grandmother is there standing beside me observing me proudly and that is something I experience on a very regular basis and which makes my heart sing.

And so the story goes

I have always been good at verbal communication (some may even say I suffer from verbal diarrhoea). My much improved scholastic writing skills I acquired through life; my introduction to computers/emails/Word documents; the fact that I have been blessed with a father who, throughout my life, has demonstrated his skills as a great orator/story teller and having received much praise from my email recipients who, having enjoyed my banter on the general goings on of my life, have encouraged me to put fingers to keys stating "Lou, you should write a book".

Due to all of these factors and my 50 years of life's experiences (and yes I know they haven't finished and never will be) I have now agreed, not to write a book, but a collection of short stories.

I hope you will allow me to indulge you with a collection of these stories, which will be sprinkled with maybe a few tears as well as lots of laughs....Enjoy the ride...oops I meant enjoy the read :)