Restless Dolly Maunder: A Book Review

Restless Dolly Maunder by Kate Grenville

… is a fascinating tale of a woman whose life, in essence, reflects that of any woman in today’s world. How is that so?

Passion comes with a price

Restless Dolly Maunder is an excellent read. Grenville takes her reader on a journey through Dolly’s childhood, into the tumultuous waters of her marriage all the while portraying her ongoing passion to make a life of her own. In the face of a heavy-handed father, and betrayal by both her mother and her husband, (on the same issue), she gives up the best of her life to live according to the belief that enduring marriage is her duty. There was no place for a divorcee in her time: it came with a great deal of societal conditioning and baggage, too hard to bear.

My great aunt was of the same generation as Dolly Maunders — My Great Great Aunt Polly

What’s in a name?

It’s a story about a woman whose name isn’t really Dolly. It is Sarah Catherine. Just like my great grandmother’s sister. Just Aunty, or Aunt Polly, was probably the same woman, christened Margaret. And her sister, my great grandmother, who was always called Cissie, was Eliza. I figure that a christened name is often superseded by a term of endearment. Cissie for ‘Sister”? Unlike Restless Dolly, I do believe my great great Aunt Polly was always cheerful. To my knowledge she never married. (Make a link, if you dare!)

Of the same generation as Restless Dolly, my great great aunt. — Just Aunty or Aunt Polly, as she was known to family.

Where is a woman’s place?

Is it truly ‘in the home’?

This theme is ever-lasting, it would seem. Today’s woman isn’t so different to Restless Dolly. I’ve encountered many who long for the freedom to carve a niche in this world; to contribute to it in some measure that is ‘good’ and are thwarted by our patriarchal society.

As I see it, Dolly sought to fulfill her life in two key ways. Firstly, to experience the joy of creating a child together, within marriage, and to raise her child or children in a loving family. Secondly, to create a life of her own; to find her niche beyond the home, to serve within the wider community. It’s commonplace now, in western society to endeavor to achieve both, and it is not often questioned as heavily in the modern world I know even though there are still silent and not so silent barriers that women need to overcome.

Ahead of her time?

In a way, Dolly is ahead of her time. And in a way she is typical of her time. She is like so many women who sought to break free of traditional expectations.

I am reminded of my mother. She belonged to the generation after Dolly’s. Yet, in her time she created her own family, raised it in a loving way and was of greater service to the wider community.

My mother established two businesses and undertook several positions in the work force in pursuit of an income. This supported her as a young single woman, and subsequently assisted in supporting her family. Her primary goal, as I understood it, was financial. And, like Dolly, she found an outlet for her passion. My mother’ outlet was the love of plants. She ran two successful garden nurseries, on from a farm, the other in a country town. Restless Dolly undertook transformation of local pubs.

My mother stepped up and into her self-chosen role as a nursery owner with her husband’s support, and dare I, say approval. She became well-known for her willingness to go above and beyond in providing service to her customers. She sought out the right plants, searching suppliers’ ranges of plants and garden ware by personally visiting city outlets. This meant a 6 hour return trip, or longer, plus travelling through the city with a trailer in tow. No mean fete for a farm girl! Restless Dolly would have been proud of her!

Grenville’s nuanced portrayal of restless Dolly is in keeping with her meticulous research of the time, place and social mores of her day. She depicts her grandmother in a combination of family memoir and re-imagined history, creating an enjoyable read.

Learn more about Restless Dolly

You can listen to Kate Grenville talking about Restless Dolly here. And find numerous resources here.

In conclusion

Restless Dolly vividly captures an essential segment of Australian pioneering days, where women needed to stand up to the strongly patriarchal society. It is an ongoing issue, an ongoing fight for place, and the current generation strides ahead. As a 4th generation Australian, I see my children and grandchildren, today’s 5^th and 6^th generation Australians living in a very different society.

Please leave a comment below or by clicking here and scrolling to the end of the post.

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1 January 20241 January 2024

Monet in Paris in Perth WA

An amazing exhibition!

What a fabulous day out with my dear friend Maureen Helen at the local exhibition of Monet in Paris. Good company made the occasion ever so much more enjoyable.

The display of works from so many artists was impressive! I simply like art and frequent art galleries and exhibitions! Where permitted; I am snap happy!

My dear friend at the Monet in Paris Exhibition in Perth WA — Creating precious memories with my good friend Maureen Helen.

Monet et al

Brief overviews, many more of individual artists than shown below, greet you as you enter the exhibition, relating key facts about the artists who inspired Impressionism.

Inside the main exhibition

Enter through the colourful garden into the pond (without getting wet) and amble through the archway of hanging flowers. It all creates a sense of wonder and pleasure.

Grab a space and enjoy the Sound of Colour

A beautiful display of oversized images from the artists’ works rolled across the many screens in the main exhibition. Written explanations covered the bare facts in the lead up to the period in history when artists’ tools and colours were available to use outdoors. The gradual shift to small visible brushstrokes that gives the impression of form and the use of colour to capture light in the unique style earned the term “impression” and subsequently Impressionism. As Paris redefined itself in the nineteenth century, the artists captured unique expressions of the life and times of that period.

Favourite!

Monet will forever remain one of my favourite artists. I am intrigued at the skill required to see the play of light, and the ability to choose just the right shades and tones to capture it and, to create an image!

As a key Impressionist painter, he masters small, visible brushstrokes that offer the bare impression of form, unblended color and an emphasis on the accurate depiction of natural light. (Source: here)

Love of art

For many years I had copies of a couple of works of Impressionists’ art. My mother bought them for me for around $25 in a garage sale in her hometown. They graced my walls for many years, until I chose to update to original paintings by local artists. You can read about local artists here.

Bucket List

One place on my bucket list is to visit Monet’s Gardens in France. We almost got there once, but it’s time to revisit and fulfil the dream!

In the meantime, my reel on Facebook captures an impression of the exhibition in Perth. You might like to check it out before it closes in February 2024.

Please feel free to leave comment below or clicking here and scrolling to the end of the post.

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27 December 202327 December 2023

3 things I celebrate

At this busy time of the year, I wish you a happy and safe festive season.

Over the years I’ve become increasingly aware of multifaceted celebrations that arise from personal beliefs. This was especially highlighted in the short period of time I spent living in the London several years ago.

Angel Wings, Islington, London. A beautiful sight when I first arrived.

Traditional notions

It came to light with a bang, literally, when London’s horizons sparkled with fireworks that celebrated Diwali and Eid. Many celebrations flashed across the sky for about a month around about October and November. They lit up tiny apartment backyards as close as my neighbour’s and those in the far distance.

I also learnt how strange particular customs are to some. I distinctly recall how amazed one student was in a south London school. He exclaimed, It can’t be Christmas if it doesn’t snow! I’d just shared about how we celebrated in Western Australia in our blistering heat.

Another child asked what would happen if Santa wasn’t real. He was struggling with whole notion of the jolly character. Would he get any presents? So much of what I’d been raised with and took for granted was utterly new to some students.

Festival-mania

With festivals so commonplace in our city now – whether they are religious or not – there is an ongoing and heightened hype to be on the bandwagon of selling and buying. Selling to celebrate. Buying to celebrate.

I know I am not alone in ruing the commercialized demise of the simplicity of celebrating one’s beliefs, whatever they may be.

With the tradition of family getting together, and exchanging gifts that are supposedly meant to represent the gift of life given by the central figure of the Christian tradition, I see less joy and more stress in so many people’s eyes as they comply with current expectations to give as they pile their shopping trolleys high.

So what do I celebrate at this time of the year?

(i) I celebrate family

As a family we choose to celebrate this traditional festive time throughout the year. If we see a little something another might like and if it is affordable, we may buy the gift and give it to the person next time we see them – no expectations though. I hear fervent traditionalists decry the notion, yet I know it means we focus on the spirit of love throughout the year and let the commercialism slide away.

At this time of the year we make a point of catching up with those we haven’t seen recently. We give a little something – often a long held hug – if we haven’t seen each other for some time.

For those who cannot travel to join us on tradition’s designated days we make a point of catching up throughout the year, as often as possible and we remind each other how much we are loved.

If visits are not possible for whatever reason, we keep in touch through the ever-convenient channels open to us these day via social media. This is my last recourse but in some instances it’s the only way we can be in touch to let a family member or friend know we are thinking of them.

From London snow to Australian heat – social media closes the distance

(ii) I celebrate friendships

In the bustle and flurry of everyday life I seek to slow down and remember those whose paths have crossed my life. The festive season is a good opportunity to send that note of thanks or to simply say ‘hi’ and let that person know I am thinking about them. Some may slip through the net and I can only hope they are the ones I’ve been in touch with throughout the year.

(iii) I celebrate as I take stock

-not of the contents of supermarket shelves but of how fortunate I am to have family and friends who I love in my life. I am grateful for another year with family and friends and for the opportunities that come my way. I celebrate my journey in life.

As I quietly celebrate this festive season

I wish you good health and happiness

peace of heart and mind

much joy

throughout the year to come

and the next one

and the next …

Please feel free to leave a comment below or here and scroll to the end of the post.

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18 December 202318 December 2023

Broken Lens

In a year forever imprinted on my mind, and more significantly, in my soul, I will always remember the year of the broken lens: the year that I now know to be my own ‘spiritual awakening’.

Just over a couple of years ago I was talking with an acquaintance who commented, ‘You always seem so… ‘ and then she paused. As she looked down, I heard the unspoken ‘together’ in her mind.

I wanted to say, in response, that while I had always been ‘together’ in the past, I was aware at that point in time, that my life as I knew it had begun to crumble. The lens through which I was accustomed to viewing all that went on in my life, was breaking.

Moments and steps along the way

All my life I’ve been aware of a spiritual dimension. It’s been something I’ve taken for granted. It was a powerful presence after my father’s death many years ago. And when my mother passed away a couple of years ago, it was a time of increased understanding of the power of presence, of the healing touches to the soul’s longing for understanding of what happens at the transition between worlds – the physical and the next world.

In the years before and between those events there were significant moments of heightened awareness, usually associated with a deep need for something beyond me to alleviate a sense of being very alone.

I grew up in the wheat-belt. Farmlands reaching to the horizon bring a deep sense of peace.

Love and warmth

I was a teen, attending university. One holiday, I chose to travel from the city to the coastal town of Albany, in Western Australia and stay with my grandmother. It was a rare visit, and one I recall for the significant experience I had there. My grandmother held a very strong conviction of God’s presence in her life. I knew this, as she often talked about God as if He was simply there, that He understood us and so on. Perhaps that is why I sought her out that holiday.

The city was a terrifyingly huge place in which I felt very lost and alone. Brought up in the central wheat-belt of WA, isolated on a farm, to be thrust into a lifestyle of living with a stranger as a landlady, no family and hundreds of students whom I did not know on campus, I was very frightened.

City living and a busy campus were daunting.

The comfort of a grandmother’s warmth and love would be and was reassuring. Yet, more profoundly on that holiday, when I asked God if He could just show me that He was real, and that I wasn’t alone, I recall the warmth of love that filled my small bedroom and the golden glow I sensed with it. I was held in that love, and it filled me with a reassurance I so badly needed at the time.

So why the significant shift barely 12 months ago?

Over the years, I lost sight of listening to my intuition. I struggled to understand what I had to do: how to live. I had never known ‘how to’ and used to ask God to guide me, and just leave it to the universe to do so. I’d step into my day and follow what arose, choosing the most comfortable path. Gradually, however, over the years, I slipped into uncertainty and couldn’t hear my inner voice, or whatever intuitive guidance was being offered. My life became unstuck. My lens broke into pieces and shattered itself far and wide.

I could state the circumstances at the time. Yet, to add any weight to one situation, event or person is not really the point. It is what happened when I crumbled. That was the most terrifying experience of my life.

I had reached out many times over asking others for insight. Some heard this as me asking for help. It was and it wasn’t! If they chose to help, fine, so long as it fitted my need. And that’s the thing. Insightful people knew instinctively that my journey was my own, and ‘help’ as it is often termed, is not what is needed or wanted.

What I wanted the most was insight on how to live my life. I got none until after the night that I will term, in words often quoted, ‘the dark night of the soul’.

What was significant about that night?

Years of losing sight of what my intuition was and living according to my own decisions left me exhausted. I forgot how to prioritize caring for myself, and always put others first. I knew no other way. In hindsight, my efforts to be selfless were in fact, often misled and selfish, though not always. Seen as a caring person, I thrived on doing for others.

Problems in personal life were thought about on an endless loop. Overthinking, always questioning what I did, believing I could do better, led to utter exhaustion.

I forgot to take care of my personal health, insofar as I became physically exhausted as well. Deficiencies in my mostly vegetarian diet led unwittingly to low iron counts and I became seriously depleted of energy. Confusion clouded my thoughts. I’ve learnt a lot since!

How do I convey the impact of that night?

It seems superficial to commit these thoughts about a process that was deeply significant. It was uniquely my experience, yet others may resonate with some aspects and maybe there will be an aha for someone who has questions about their own experience.

What happened in my body

One of the weirdest and most frightening things that happened is I felt as though my inner organs were being pushed around inside my body. It was like clothes in a washing machine. An intense need to allay my mounting fear arose. I wanted to talk with someone who I knew had experienced this sort of thing, but she wasn’t available. Desperate to understand it, to know what to do.

I simply curled up in bed and held myself to find some comfort, unsure if my body was going to implode or explode! My whole body hurt and ached. For me it was worse pain than childbirth, something I’d done twice without painkillers! Looking back, the only explanation I can arrive at is that energy was trapped in my body and needed releasing. I recall lots of crying. Eventually I fell asleep, and when I woke up, my whole world was different. It was quiet. My body was still. My mind was still. This sense of stillness in me was something I’d not had before.

Over the next few months

I gradually made sense of what happened. My whole world took on a new outlook. I began to listen to Eckhart Tolle and found his teachings resonated with me. I know that what I experienced is termed a ‘spiritual awakening’.

While I had many mini awakenings during my life, (and I’d like to think that if I’d stayed the course, it may have been a far gentler experience! Who knows?!) it is nevertheless, what happened and is part of my life now.

I am on a very different path now to what I had been. It is filled with peace. And as time moves on from that night, I know I am grateful for the connection to the universe that I now have. I know it will never shift. From this there is no going back. It was not a mini moment like the moment in the bedroom as a frightened teen. This experience changed me forever. My lens is no longer broken. I no longer see life through rose-coloured glasses, nor through a jaded green lens. My new lens is now crystal clear and I am deeply grateful as I now see how to live life with greater clarity.

I may don a pair of sunglasses now, but the image is crystal clear!

Please feel free to leave a comment below or here by scrolling to the end of the post.

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27 November 202327 November 2023

Cubby-houses and tea sets

When I was about ten years old I played in a huge cubby-house in the back yard of our home. My brother, who was a couple of years younger than me, and I, used to set up the interior as rooms mimicking a real home. We created spaces for a kitchen, a lounge room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. In true playful fashion, as only a pretend home allows, we changed the floor plan at will, and I sometimes frustrated my brother with requests to shift the kitchen from one end of the huge space to the other and replace it with the lounge room, and so on. We partitioned the rooms with fabric as curtained walls, possibly on stretchy wires, the sort used, once upon a time, for lightweight curtains.

The cubby is in the background. My mother and her sister are behind my brother who is in the foreground with a friend behind him.
My younger brother has his back turned and that’s me, photo bombing!

I had three dolls: Sophia, Pollyanna and Mary Anne. With my brother, we played at being mothers and fathers. I’d rock my babies to sleep in wooden cots and make-shift beds. Of course, the babies (dolls) all came back into the main house afterwards, to be safe from the cold, damp winter nights, or from the excessive summer heat. I recall the heat generated by the roof. From memory, I think the roof was actually old lino flung over wooden supports! It made the cubby into an oven and reduced the time we could play in it during the long, hot summers in the central West Australian wheatbelt.

What was our cubby made from?

The great things about our cubby-house was the size. It was big enough for a car to have fitted in – because it had been a car crate. Long gone are the days since cars were delivered in crates such as this one. I don’t ever recall seeing a car in one, but I am told, on good authority, that our divine space, made from planks of wood, with a window and door cut into the side, and with a pitched roof added, was indeed the means of transporting a new vehicle to either the owner or the business from which a new owner could purchase it.

When I Googled ‘car crates’, I only found one image that remotely resembled the skeleton we played in. It concurs with the practice of transporting cars by Ford, according to an article aptly named Crate Expectations by Nigel Mathews, who claims ‘the combination of wooden shipping crates and automobiles date back to at least 1908’, and that ‘The practice of shipping cars in wooden crates continued until the mid-1960s.’ It may, therefore, have carried the Model T Ford my grandparents owned, and if not, clearly someone else in the district had purchased a car, otherwise it would not have arrived on our farm, sixteen miles from the nearest town, to be converted into a cubby-house that gave many years of pleasure.

My Rockery Garden

Outside the cubby, in an effort to resemble a true home, I had my own garden rockery. Occasionally I’d plant some flowers or rely on hardy succulents surviving lack of water. These leftovers from my mother’s garden occasionally burst into a vivid display like in her garden beds. Sadly though, I never acquired the green thumb my mother had and a few tough cacti and a plant with the inglorious common name of ‘pig face’ were the only survivors in the hardened soil. Much later I learned of other hardy plants, like daisies, lavender and a purple papery flower, as in the images below!

Inside the cubby, I had a child-sized kitchenette. Smaller than actually appropriate for the size of the cubby house kitchen, it nevertheless was more than adequate for our make-believe purposes. On this kitchenette I placed my tiny cups and saucers, plates and cutlery, all of which intermingled with overlarge offerings from the main house. My tiny kitchenette was thick with coats of chipped, pastel green (or was it red?) paint. It had tiny cup hooks, a shelf and cupboards below. I suspect it was the same one my mother used in her childhood.

The tiny dormice on the cups, saucers and plates seem stuck in time and certainly in my mother’s memory banks. They provided hours of childhood play for her many years before I used them. She ‘oohed’ and ‘ahd’ when I discovered the tin in the spare bedroom where I sleep when I visit her.

A single setting of the tiniest cup and saucer brought my own ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’, as I recalled a set of gold painted china that was my very own.

I see myself in my cubby, at our child-sized wooden table and chairs, some with dolls seated on, serving tea and cake. The cake or biscuits were real, the tea, rather watery. Fingers were held out in grand fashion and with man a giggle! Afterwards, the cups, plates and saucers were washed in a large green enamel bowl which I still own, dried and hung on their hooks or placed back on their shelves.

It was, in fact, a perfect playground, teaching my brother and myself how to keep house, redecorate, enjoy tea parties. and so on, having fun while doing so!

Grandchildren and their Cubby-houses

I wonder how many children today enjoy a special cubby-house space, and items to with it.

I create temporary cubbies with my younger grandchildren – rugs over chairs, hideaways in huge cardboard boxes and so on.

On a property in the hills we inherited a cubby-house that stood the test of time, until the roof leaked and floor boards gave way. Hours of fun were had by the grandchildren in this space with old pots and pans, kitchen cabinets and mini items.

My older grandchildren liked the freedom of repainting the cubby-house to make it their own.

What has this to do with a vintage tin?

I found the tea set wrapped in soft cloth in an old tine. I will pass these onto my granddaughter in due course. Right now, they belong with other pieces of memorabilia until memory is played out. When the time is right to relinquish them, maybe for play, I’ll bring them out again.

All the items are packed away for safe keeping. I plan though, to bring them out when the children visit over the Christmas break and hold a tea party.

Please feel free to share about your memories at the end of the post. If the comment box is not visible, click here:

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5 November 20235 November 2023

Soothing the Soul

Troubled times and self-soothing go hand in hand. What does that mean?

There’s a lot of ‘gumph’ on social media about self-care and self-soothing. What do you do that ‘looks like’ as the saying goes today, self soothing. I prefer to ask myself, what can I do today, right now, in this moment, that is caring for myself?

Coming from a legacy of putting others before my own needs at almost all times, I find self soothing and self care novel. Now that I increasingly see what the benefits are, I realise I’m happier because I understand why it’s not selfish. It might seem selfish to another. However, without sufficient rest, downtime, doing ‘nice things’ for self, making that appointment for that niggling health issue, stopping to rest when needed and so on, self-ish goes out the window.

It’s often said one cannot give effectively to others without taking care of self. Naturally we take care of ourselves in certain ways. We eat, sleep, earn an income, and so. It’s more than that, though. It’s about prioritizing self. And once one’s own bucket is full, then giving to others can be done without draining one’s own reserves.

Self-soothing merges with self care. An easy way to access what works for me is to think of the five senses: sight, sound touch, taste, smell. In fact, a quick visit to my nearest doctor, Dr Google, assures me this is exactly what self-soothing is about!

Reading – Sight

How can reading soothe? Easily, if one allows self to be absorbed in the story. With the mind creating visual imagery that brings the narrative alive on an inner movie screen, it is a festival of self-care! So long as the topic, or the book of choice is based in the positive, it can be a pleasurable ride into wonderland.

Sound – Music

Listening to music, whether classical, jazz, meditative, or any other genre; or playing a musical instrument – flute, piano, drums – whatever appeals, can bring one deep into a restful space within. I’ve tinkered on the piano, dabbled with the flute, briefly strummed a guitar and had a drummer in the household. Yet it is others’ renditions of pieces that I enjoy the most. Quiet mood music, a piano played well, the haunting notes of a pan flute, just ot name a few instruments, bring much pleasure.

For some, like one of my brothers, music is the go-to. It calms the mind and has a trickle effect into the heart. In letting self become absorbed in the beauty of the sounds – whatever one’s taste, there is a ‘switching off’, a ‘sense of calm’ to be had.

My granddaughter is now almost 21. She has tinkered on the piano all her life, finding delight in creating music.

Touch – Craft

A love of craft, of doing something, of creating, can be a huge investment into self-care, self-soothing. It can be sitting quietly at a sewing machine; crocheting a baby’s jacket; knitting a scarf; recycling tea-bag strings into stunning designer garments that are one-offs, (a unique up-cycling craft I learnt about only this weekend while conversing at a party)- These few examples barely scratch the surface of this vast field. I have a room filled with fabric, haberdashery, sewing machines and books of ideas with the potential to provide endless hours of pleasure!

Sewing, a favourite past-time, giving many hours of pleasure

Taste – A delicious soothing cup of tea or coffee!

A long standing favorite, though I must say I’ve recently cut down on the caffeine! Self soothing with delicious drinks or a something delectable to eat is an easy way to go. Sharing a fun occasion over ‘a cuppa’ is just as delightful.

High tea – a teddy bear tea party with my youngest granddaughter. Simple pleasures!

Smell – Seaside Walks

The ocean is a blessing! Breathing fresh sea air into the body is a sure recipe for calming the system. The feel of sand slipping between one’s toes; the rush of cool as the water washes over one’s feet; the sound of seagulls circling nearby – all are gifts of mother nature that soothe the senses.

Being exposed to natural sunlight carries a multitude of benefits. With proper SPF protection, the sun gives you a good dose of vitamin D, which can help fight depression as well as instruct the cells in your gut to absorb calcium and phosphorus — two minerals that are essential for maintaining strong and healthy bones and preventing osteoporosis. according to science based benefits of living by the ocean.

There’s vastly more ways to ‘stop and smell the roses’ than I could ever enumerate.

Whatever your way, it is worth it’s weight in gold, having a few trick up one’s sleeve, for that odd day when out of sorts or deeply troubled. A little bit of self love goes a long way. It spills over to others. There’s no need to give before receiving! Be kind to self, first.

How do you self-soothe?

I’d love to hear how you self soothe. Please let me know by clicking here and scrolling to the end of the post for the comments box.

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24 October 202330 October 2023

Art in the Hills

On the weekend we followed some of the art trail exploring open studios in Perth’s hills. We found magic tucked away in hidden retreats, open homes and purpose-built studios.

It was a challenge choosing a mere handful from the 65 artists who showcase their extensive range of media. In a neighbourhood we discovered some hidden gems. Each artist I spoke to happily gave permission for photos to be taken of their work. Here’s a mere handful of the extensive range on display at some of the studios.

Hidden Gems

We started our trek with a visit to The Sound Temple in Sawyers Valley. In a stunning setting, (one home is built in the style of a lodge), works by Brenda Stovell and Mike Moore were captivating. With a Celtic background of my own, I was fascinated by Mike’s sculptures of the Celtic Cross. Also on display were his works which captured his in-depth knowledge of Mesopotamia, areas in South America and Byzantium imagery.

Creative Journals

A different approach to creating and saving memories, Brenda’s beautifully crafted journals inspire me to create my own. I have heritage lace, doylies, sheets of music, old paper from the early 1900’s, ribbons, buttons and fabric that would be a great start! Perhaps, one day….

Brenda’s art included a brilliant rendition of our iconic red-tailed cockatoo. We have many of these birds in the hills, often sitting in the gum trees, targeting anything below as they peck the honkey nuts from the branches! Beware! It pays to be wary if they are in a tree in the back yard. It can, quite literally ‘rain’ gum leaves and honky nuts that have had no opportunity to break out in blossom!

Brenda’s creative Journals inspired me to attempt one of my own.

We peaked inside The Sound Temple. As there were people already inside, we chose to appreciate the deep resonance of the drum as it vibrated through the space within.

Art connects with literature

Beautiful landscapes and a stunning portrait graced the Fly My Darling Studio. The artist, Johanna Zeelenberg, shared some of her family stories and experiences during her time living in the West Australian town of Wittenoom, a town now completely dismantled due to the risk of asbestosis. We shared stories, mine in the light of Michelle Johnston’s novel, Dustfall which captured much of the life and outcomes Johanna spoke of. A somewhat sobering reminder of a harsh reality lived in a harsh environment.

Johanna’s art reflected the environments she has lived in. A beautiful work of art capturing the family matriarch stood out as a lone portrait.

Stunning Grass tree by Johanna Zeelenberg

Love of the Land

A drive further into the hills, almost on the other side of the Darling Scarp, we discovered Leith Street Studio. Here I fell in love with Kat Hardwick’s art. Only the week before, in conversation, had I realised a desire to explore abstract art and Kat’s spoke to my heart. I’ve no doubt it has everything to do with being a girl who loves the land, meeting another! I could sense the stories and connection in her work – that magical space where an image touches one’s soul. I am delighted to give Petrichor a new home!

Art & Hot Beeswax

I was intrigued with Melissa De Winter’s encaustic (hot beeswax) works. For a wonderful few minutes, she gave a short demo of her technique. Much patience is needed as the process is repeated many times in creating a complete image.

Melissa De Winter demonstrates part of the process of her encaustic artwork

Heading back to base

On the return trip, feeling quite sated with the few studios we’d seen, we visited studios in our immediate neighbourhood. Katey Cunliffe’s Intuitive Art is a delight with its detail and bright colours. Magic comes to mind, as her work illustrates and captures the connection of one’s inner world with all that is, in the physical world.

Some of Katey’s art is mounted on aluminium

Playfulness in art

Our final port of call before walking back to our base, (yes, it is very close by!) was Jeremy Holton’s Peach Tree Gallery. I have a few of Jeremy’s paintings in my home. His vivid, playful renditions capture my imagination. From his varied range two I chose are a vivid pastel and ink flowers and an acrylic rendition of daisies in a bowl.

Check out more inspiring talent in Mundaring Hills Open Studios!

You may be lucky enough to find a slice of apple pie – more like delicious apple strudel, a Fly My Darling Studio special made by her mother.)

Some studios are open all week from 21^st – 29^th October, 2023. There are many more than we managed to visit. As you head along the Great Eastern Highway, take a left or right turn into the suburbs along the way.

Stop and enjoy a drink and chat on the deck at The Sound Temple.

Or be fortunate to catch a brief demo at The Hive.

Or simply share a conversation with a total stranger about the wonder of art and how it connects to one’s soul.

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15 October 202315 October 2023

Moving Forward

How do I move forward when faced with challenges?

For many years, way too many, I stagnated in dealing with difficulties. Stuck in a place of unhappiness and increasing frustration, it took a shake-up that rocked me to my core.

I knew I had and still do have much to to be grateful for. I simply needed to find a way forward that resonated with who I am. I wanted to “be good for something…” as Marcus Aurelius’s said: Death stands at your elbow. Be good for something while you live and it is in your power.” I wrote about it here.

Moving forward

In a year of deep inner transformation, in which I learnt a great deal about self-care, I wrapped it up with a deepening sense of who I am through attending a retreat and travelling across a country I fell in love with on my first visit, nearly 20 years ago.

Travelling

I travelled across Canada by train. In so doing, I ticked three items on my bucket list, to –

(I) travel across Canada

(ii) see Niagara Falls

(iii) visit Anne of Green Gables’ cottage.

An adrenaline rush, feeling the spray of the Falls was a once-in-a lifetime opportunity. I’d repeat it in a heart beat!

My purpose in travel

How does a trip contribute to moving forward, to achieving one’s purpose in life, to being good for something?

Travelling solo threw me onto my inner resources, providing numerous opportunities to deal with change positively.

Not having travelled overseas for several years, I spent a lot of time navigating the many changes to how to do almost everything in a post-pandemic world! Booking tickets, hotels, train trips, airfares, finding a brilliant agent* in Canada, cancelling and re-booking was a steep learning curve. Problem solving was key!

Eckhart Tolle at Becoming a Teacher of Presence

Thrown into the mix of bucket list items was an opportunity to attend an Eckhart Tolle retreat at Lake Louise. A beautiful experience that left an indelible print on my soul, that carried me forward in the following months.

Accustomed to sharing past journeys with a travel companion, I developed a renewed sense of confidence and resilience as I resolved to make my experience memorable.

Pluses of travelling solo

It surprised me to realise how many people I encountered thought it brave to travel alone. I always felt safe! I enjoyed the freedom! Yes, there were times I’d love to have shared the moment with a companion, like when I was feeling the intense spray of the Niagara Falls.

In travel I find my soul. The journey within is of equal measure in importance to the outer journey. One reflects the other. I discover an inner capacity to deal with life’s challenges. that carries over into daily life. Travel is a journey into discovering more of who I am – and therefore, more of whom I can bring to others.

Photography and travel

My love for amateur photography means I have hundreds, maybe a thousand or more images of my train trip, of things that caught my eye. I enjoyed ‘being present” / ‘in the moment’ appreciating beauty wherever I found myself, whether in the country or in a major city. I now have four albums of images to recall places I enjoyed seeing. Above all, I found ways to maintain a greater sense of peace and confidence which I now harness in solving issues that arise.

Niagra Falls spray is a wonder to experience! — Anne and Diana chatted to visitors at Anne of Green Gables house on Prince Edward Island.

* Brilliant agent: Fresh Tracks Canada

2 October 20232 October 2023

A walk along memory lane

Where do I start?

It’s time! Recently I began my journey of sharing family stories: I shared what I’d captured in writing and photos about my mother’s life with members of the family. Her request to withhold sharing her stories until she after she passed on has been honoured.

Questions around making family stories available to the wider circle, and ultimately to the wider community, is knowing what to write, where to draw the line in what is shared and when to publish.

Tough decisions

Shortly after my mother passed away, I wrote a short piece testifying to an energetic approach that helped both my mother and myself manage those last challenging months. It was a tough call, having responded to a request to write it and being entrusted to let it go forward to publication, to unexpectedly heed a clear and loud message from my ancestors to not publish.

You see, at first, I thought it was fear. Fear of putting self out there. Fear of what others might do with my story. Fear of not being understood. And not knowing how to handle all that, I pulled back. Yes, I’d been burnt before. This response predominated, yet it was much deeper. Sharing one’s life story and those of others is a journey of trust.

Honouring Values

In fact, it wasn’t fear at all. After deep reflection on why I prevaricated, it was honouring my mother’s wish for privacy, something that unfolded with increasing awareness in the days following her passing and my decision to hold back. In part it is called grieving. It is also called honouring family values. An incredibly private family, it is a wonder I am even writing this! Let alone thinking I’ll publish it!

But the time has now come. As poorly written as the memories of my mother are, (I could offer several excuses for that), they are nevertheless, precious memories. I know that she read and re-read what I wrote: they reminded her of who she was, of the life she had lived, of her input into life. They are now shared within the family, where they matter the most.

My mother takes a walk along the historic path in her home town. — My mother walks along a historical path in her home town.

What happens from here?

It is now time for me to move forward by looking back. How on earth does one do both at the same time?!

Naturally reflective, I like to learn from the past. As I enter an era heralded by a number I am loathe to disclose but glad to have achieved, I know I have more years behind me than ahead of me! It is time to write the stories, share them with family and prospectively publish them. That is my goal.

I’m now ‘keen as mustard’ to write my stories

Where will I find my stories?

My 50 crates of family history stored in a shed in our back yard need to be distilled into family stories that I can pass on to my children and grandchildren. Over the years I created both wonder and disappointment in family expectations to participate in family gatherings, collect history and so on. I’d wax and wane with enthusiasm.

Capturing other people’s lives on paper or in making sense of photos of people long gone was far less important than current matters. I was caught up in raising my own family: I just wanted to live my own life. Even so, my mother relentlessly fed me family history from a young age. Now, I am, in fact, deeply grateful. Oddly, now that she is gone, I am more able to focus on writing about the photos, memorabilia and stories that I can share from memory and uncover from research. I guess it comes down to having more time to do so.

I have made inroads and I am now writing, once again. I’ll share the process. I’ll share snippets, photos, possibly some of the stories, along the way. Wish me well on my journey.

CS Lewis Quote “… we write in order to understand”

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11 July 202312 July 2023

The Promise by Rob Redenbach: Book Review and Interview

Recently I felt honoured to receive a signed copy of The Promise by Rob Redenbach. With my interest piqued in a discussion with the author just prior to publication, I promptly found an hour or so to read the novella from cover to cover.

I found the story deeply moving. While some of my life experiences are the result of the legacy of war, I am far removed from the immediacy of harsh realities on the battlefield. The mental, emotional and physical legacy is difficult to capture in words, but after reading the compelling descriptive passages I came away with a heightened awareness and intensely realistic insights.

The great many nuances in the story captivated my interest. The interconnection of the parts that make up the whole of The Promise weaves a profoundly insightful and compelling narrative that commands a place in the hands of readers of all ages post primary.

In his responses below, we gain insights into Redenbach’s journey in writing the story about the promise made by an unknown soldier to his dying mate.

What is the inspiration behind your book?

I have a good friend who is a Legacy Club President. He told me about the legend of a soldier in the trenches of the Western Front saying to his dying mate, “I’ll look after the missus and kids.” This became known as The Promise – and more than a century later it lives on in the work of organisations such as Legacy, RSL, Soldier On, Mates4Mates, the Bravery Trust and Cor Infinitus. What’s fascinating about the original promise is we don’t know anything about the soldier who said those words. So, I thought I’d fill some gaps and create a backstory that explores the limits of courage and the legacy of sacrifice.

Why is it important for the message of your book to be heard today?

Soldiers aren’t sports people playing a game or athletes swimming in a chlorinated pool. In most cases, soldiers are ordinary people doing extraordinary (yet necessary) things that many people would not only prefer to avoid, they’d prefer not to think about. If a community/society is to better appreciate the different facets of itself, it’s important to understand the sacrifices made by elements of that community/society.

Why did you choose to write the story as a novella?

About half way through the writing journey, I realised I was more focused on building the word count than telling a story in my natural style. At that point, I re-read two novellas* I’ve always liked and then did some serious editing of my draft. In the process the story became clearer, more concise and altogether more powerful. The fact that the end result happened to be a novella was more a healthy consequence of conscious editing rather than an initial literary goal.

Do you have a demographic for your book, or do you want your book to resonate with everyone?

Ultimately, I think readers determine what demographic a book is suited to. That said, I’d be satisfied if young readers in high school, through to anyone who has served in the profession of arms or anyone who wants to better appreciate what it’s like to serve in the profession of arms, valued reading the story.

In what ways do your own life experiences inform the narrative?

A reasonable amount. For example, the scene presented as a dream where the main character’s new born daughter starts to convulse describes what happened to my own daughter shortly after she was born. Other experiences such as providing armed protection to aid-workers in the Middle East also informed some of my understandings of what it’s like to operate in a war zone.

What part did research play in constructing the story?

Research was 80% of the work. When I wrote about “pale red brandy that smacked of methylated spirits” I described it in that way because that was how one of the soldiers in the trenches described the grog they used to put in their canteens. Similarly, when I described a German soldier recording 149 insect species in his leather-bound journal, that’s because I read the diary of a German soldier who recorded 149 insect species in his leather-bound journal.

In constructing your book, did you work with anyone to solidify your thoughts and ideas?

Yes, and no. In chatting with friends and veterans I’d sometimes introduce a thought or a topic related to the story but I’d do it in a conversational way rather than say “I’m thinking of putting this in my book”. I found this approach more natural and spontaneous. Afterwards I’d replay the conversation in my mind, reflect on how it unfolded and then when I next sat down to write, the memory of that conversation would influence my thoughts and my writing.

Is there another book you might recommend to read in tandem?

All Quiet on The Western Front would add a worthwhile layer of understanding. So too would Storm of Steel. Both books are written from the German perspective.

(*The Shepherd by Frederick Forsyth and The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway.)

I extend my thanks to Rob, for his responses and insights.

For further information about ROB REDENBACH visit www.redenbach.com

“The Promise is such an important story. Beautifully written, it brings history to life.” Melissa Doyle AM – author of 15 Seconds of Brave

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