The Gratitude Series

I spent some time this evening going through the archives of an old Tumblr I follow – in fact one of the first blogs I ever read. Reasons I Love My Mother by Chris Kelly is a journal of 365 reasons why he – strange as it seems – loves his mother, who passed away from metastasised cancer in 2009. It’s a heartwarming/breaking reflection on what made her the most perfect mother in the world for him.

He talks about her gratitude journal, and how even during her battle with cancer she made a point of focussing on the things she was grateful for. I found it very moving, and I felt inspired by this woman I never met. So this year I am going to use this blog as something of the same. It won’t be every day, but every week I will pick something I am grateful for.

And you’re going to hear all about it!

 

The End of Twenny Fourteen

I love him.

My Mum, Me, Mr H and my sister. My Dad was also there, but I have my eyes spectacularly shut in the photo with him, so Papa, I’m afraid you miss out.

 

If you’ve snuck a peek at my Instagram account over the last week or two you may have noticed that a *rather* special chap has made a reappearance in my life. That’s right folks, I’ve just had two quite fabulous weeks here in Perth with none other than Mr Hello himself. Our year of the dreaded LDR was ended at disgusting-o’clock on the 18th of December.

We’ve spent two weeks gazing longingly into each others’ eyes and being unrepentantly loved up, celebrating his first ever Australian Christmas (the heat, OH THE HEAT), and more importantly, spending some quality time at the beach. It’s been delightful, truth be told. We even managed to have a relaxed engagement party last night at Matilda Bay.

I’m due to head back to the UK in three weeks, and so now that Mr H has made his way back to the cold before me, it’s time to knuckle down and get to packing (how I loathe the word). I’m excited to return, but also experiencing a strange kind of emotion…almost as if….I might….miss living in Australia? It’s absurd, really, considering the fact that I have more or less spent this year wishing I was back at home in Kent, but now the time is very nearly upon me I find myself rather reluctant to leave. The heat I can take or leave, and yes I am well aware of what a terrible Australian that makes me :), but it’s really the people here that I will miss dreadfully. Which is exactly what I said about leaving Rochester all those months ago. I guess the heart and head get used to living wherever they find themselves to be.

It’s been a wonderful Christmas. It’s been an amazing 2014. Here’s to more of the same and better next year.

Press On

Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence.

Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent.

Genius will not; unrecorded genius is almost a proverb.

Education alone will not; the world is full of educated derelicts.

Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.

***I found this pinned to a board in my late uncle’s house when we sold it earlier this year, and found it really moving. Turns out it’s by Calvin Coolidge.

In Which I Try to Be a Blogger

There seems to be, in my humble opinion, a certain type of status that comes with being a ‘blogger’. Not a person who writes a blog, but a blogger. I am rather susceptible to a bit of the ol’ green eyed monster every now and then when it comes to other peoples’ blogs, I won’t deny it. But every now and then I brought firmly back to earth, and to the knowledge that when comparing those who have blogs and the ever jealous making bloggers, I am most certainly in the former camp.

Take these series of photographs, for example. Several days ago I thought I would try out a modest photoshoot, to see if I too was capable of having swoon worthy photography gracing the pages of this here weblog.

Nope. Can’t see my face, too much shrubbery, and plus…that’s a decidedly strange pose you’ve got going there girl.

Also in the NOPE pile. Firstly, it’s an unflattering angle of a new top I dearly regret impulse buying, and secondly, that stupid look on my face is clearly the results trying to look natural while I fake brushing my hair off my face. 

Too far.

Too close. Plus a slightly deer-in-the-headlights-what-have-I-become look about me. Dainty finger pose too.

This one I admit, is acceptable. I like that my face seems to realise what a ridiculous thing I am trying to do. The top looks slightly better, and I’m doing something rather attractive with my shoulders. I like it. I like my one average photo!

I could say something calming and reflective here about how during this process I realised that I don’t need to strive to replicate other peoples’ blogs, because we’re all different and rah rah rah unique gifts rah rah. But I won’t, because if I am honest, I do wish I had a shiny pretty happy blog. I do wish I knew how to take great photos of my carefully curated life, but I don’t. More to the point I honestly probably wouldn’t, either, even if I had the requisite skills.

I feel very much a part of a huge blogging community, having blogged in some way or another relatively consistently for four years, but more so because I’m a consumer of blogs. Maybe my best role in the blogosphere is to support others who do it  better. To put some love out there for people who plan and publish content more regularly than I. I don’t feel bad about that in the least, and so for now, I’m reminding myself to be pretty content with my one average photo, and my average little blog.

 

Great Strides for Cystic Fibrosis: Race Report

Because I am what is known as a totally very serious runner don’t you know, I thought it would be vital for my loyal blog following to get an in depth report of my longest fun run to date. Jokes aside, what is a personal blog if not a space online where I can reflect on my life? I’m really proud of what I achieved today, and so lucky you, you’re going to hear all about it.

I spent yesterday dithering around and relaxing, which was much needed after an intense week at school rehearsing and then with 2 performance nights for my lovely drama girls. I felt pretty relaxed about the run, but a little bit nervous that I hadn’t managed to get out and train as much as I had liked, partly due to school and partly because of my recovery from shin splints. So I decided to myself that I wasn’t setting too many goals for myself, and was just going to take it as it came, so to speak. In my secret part of the brain – you know, that bit where you lie to yourself – I hoped to do the full 8kms without walking, and in under an hour.

I got to Perry Lakes Reserve at about 8:15, for a 9:15 start, as they’d cautioned crowds and for some strange reason I really wanted a race T-Shirt! I’d walked there, so used it as an opportunity to get a nice slow warm up. I’d had a niggle in my right ankle on Saturday, and I could feel it again this morning, so wanted to give myself as long as possible to get warm and prevent a further flare up. The walk took longer than I expected, but in spite of that I was ridiculously early and found myself at a loose end after the ordeal of the 30 second encounter of checking my name off and getting my T-Shirt. Glad I listened to their advice about crowds….er….

The crowd did perk up after a bit, and very soon it was time for a group warm up and we headed over to the starting arches, which were weirdly inflated, but resting on the ground. I don’t think they were quite ready for the hordes to descend! In terms of organisation, it would have been great for the MC to spell things out a little better for the racers, by pointing out exactly where the start line was. I managed to get to the right spot by following the crowds, but when you’re psyching yourself up for a run, feeling like you don’t know where you’re going is not the greatest!

The route was fantastically well marked, however, and this is the time where it can be quite helpful not being the fastest person there – you just follow the pack. There were heaps of helpers dotted around the course as well, armed with high fives and smiles – I never realised how much they actually help! I got a little cheer from the waiting 4km route crowd as I made my way past the half way mark, which was totally invigorating. At the very least, it made me too embarrassed to stop and walk – I just had to keep running!

Get ready for a photo of me looking SPECTACULAR mid-run:

believe it or not: I was trying to *not* look as bad as I felt

 

I found the second lap a lot easier, I found my stride and started to enjoy it more. Even though I walked part of the second lap, I used my Run Keeper app updates to keep me on track. I started the race with an average of 6:10 per km, which was great but I knew from the beginning was unsustainable. By the last couple of kilometres my average was up to 7:06 and I really wanted to try and get it down into the 6 minute range again by the end. Alas, not to be, but at 7:03 I’m not too disappointed. I was suffering terribly with blisters on the soles of my feet by then and so just remaining on the trot was a win!

The best lollipop in the whole world. Much needed.

I really pushed myself for the last 300m, and went from a shuffley jog to a proper run home. This is something I’ve taken from my primary school days – even if you’re at death’s door, you bloody well run it home. Finish strong. I was chuffed to bits to make it under the hour, and it felt great to raise a bit of cash for a worth cause.

Stats:

8km in 56:34

Average pace per km: 7:03 ~ PB!!

Course: Flat route around Perry Lakes Reserve, Nedlands Perth.

Dual Citizenship Baby!

Yesterday I received the happy news that my application for Polish citizenship has come through at last. I was lucky to be eligible through my heritage, as my grandparents were Polish refugees before they settled in Australia permanently. I pursued this route because I wanted to stay in the UK, where I’d built a life for myself, but I also wanted to be there on my own two feet so to speak, with the same responsibilities and rights as a British citizen. No immigration issues means that my marriage is focussed on the love I share with my partner, not my need to get a slip of paper from the government. This news also means that I can start to work in time for the UK Term 2, which will be fantastic and gives me the opportunity to settle into a job properly before the wedding.

Getting the news gave rise to some really profound emotions. Over this year, while back in Australia in my Grandmother’s house, I’ve reconnected to their history and the story of their journey. My great aunt wrote a memoir about their time in Russia, Kazakhstan, Iran and Uganda, which was incredibly insightful and made me realise how different my life could have been if my family had not been so resilient. It was hard enough choosing to become an immigrant when I knew I could always return home if I wanted: I can hardly imagine how difficult it must have been to realise you could never go home. Even if you did, the country you loved was no longer the same.

I feel so proud, lucky and grateful to call myself Polish. I feel as though I don’t really deserve it. I feel as though this is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’m looking forward to spending some more time in Poland once I’ve settled back in Europe.

Now for some photos of the people I have to thank for this great day:

 

My grandparents, Henryk and Halina.

 

 

Wedding Planning: So it Begins

I’ve told a little fib already, in that I cannot in all honestly claim that I (we) have only just begun to plan the wedding. When Mr Hello and I became engaged over my three week pitstop in England in July, we made the most of the time I was there and used the last few days to make some crucial decisions.

It all happened really quickly, easily in fact, in the beginning. We had a shared vision of the kind of wedding we pictured for ourselves: simple, elegant, modern, and that favourite chestnut of wedding blogland (don’t judge me) a day that was “us”. We found a reception venue first, a local art gallery and tearoom that we could hire over a weekend. It will be their first wedding hire, which is quite exciting too if I am honest, and unlike most of the other venues that I saw in Kent, neither a barn, grand estate house nor a village hall. We’re a pretty contemporary couple. Despite my love for all things vintage – Mr Hello has a bit of a penchant for objet d’art of time gone by too I might add – I just couldn’t picture myself in another kind of venue. It would feel like dress ups, and that thought made me wriggle uncomfortably in my skin.

So we progressed. We were unsure of the date, hoping for a little more time to save and recoup after our year apart, but being quite the international couple we had to take into account when family could travel, and so it began to seem more likely that 2015 was the year. I have to say as well, once we’d found the reception venue it was hard to not feel overwhelmed with excitement and want to plan everything right now. We took a little spin around some civil service venues in our town, and before we knew it, we’d decided. A local wedding. A local contemporary wedding, in the town where we live. With the people we love. What could really be more us?

Now we’re apart, wedding planning isn’t quite so straightforward, and decisions have honestly not been quite so mutual. There were disagreements and terse conversations, and all of a sudden the wedding didn’t seem like quite so much fun to talk about. It became something that was our default conversation, to the point that we sort of stopped having a relationship. It’s hard enough as it is to feel connected to someone when you live on the other side of the world, and damn near impossible because you’re mad at them for not budging on some insignificant wedding detail. A pause was most certainly required. So we paused, we waited, we stopped talking nuptials for a month or so. Now the talking is coming back a little, but not so much that we have nothing else to talk about, and slowly we’re finding a path forward together, making decisions we’re both happy with to a certain extent.

So. The fun part. who wants a sneak peek of our wedding motif? We’re not doing a theme as such, but have something that will be echoed throughout the day. Friends, esteemed colleagues, I give you:

That’s all, folks!

 

Mr Hello designed it (among other things) in over a week or so. Without giving the game away, I feel compelled to say that this boy is so damned clever, I think I might keep him. I know – it doesn’t really give you all that much information, but HECK, that’s part of the fun of it! More will be revealed soon…

What My Marriage Will Mean to Me

Very recently, I got engaged to a wonderful man. The proposal took place at home one evening, just the two of us and what I now believe to be some pretty special lemon cake. I’ve got mad baking skills, it appears! I couldn’t be happier with the way we decided to make a marriage.

Interestingly, I really don’t believe that marriage is a necessity anymore, and I know I’m not alone in that opinion. I am vehemently pro-gay marriage, however, because I believe that everyone should have the same civil rights. I did know, however, that marriage was a ride I wanted to take. Why did I feel so strongly that I wanted to get married? I’ve tried to answer this question over the last few weeks, and I’ve found there is no clear answer for me.

In part, it’s to do with the fact that my parents divorced. Their marriage, until now, has been the most important marriage in my life and as I’m sure you can imagine it was incredibly difficult to deal with, despite being (technically) an adult when their separation occurred.

I’d like to place a happy full stop to that marriage and start a brand new chapter with my own.

As I’ve grown and developed my own adult identity I’ve clarified in my mind the qualities that I really value. Commitment is high up on my list. You can’t have a marriage without commitment, although conversely it’s possible to have commitment without marriage. I’m excited to wake up next to my future husband every day and know that what we have is still there. That the default position is that we love each other and we’re there for each other. That we’ve given permission to one other person to slightly take us for granted. Your spouse is the one person who should be able to take it for granted that you will be there for them. That if times get rough (and they will) that you will be there beside them. That you are partners.

I also want to be a wife. I really want to claim that label for myself! It’s not the only word I’d use to describe myself – I’m pretty sure enthusiastic, passionate, somewhat absent-minded and untidy would also make it onto that list – but being able to say I am someone’s wife will make me feel incredibly proud. I’ll take that responsibility bloody seriously. As much as marriage is a private bond made between a couple, these titles we bestow upon each other are a public declaration of the choice we made. I am in love, and I want to be an archetypal lovebird and sing it out to the world! I am in love! I am a wife!

Marriage is not sacred nor spiritual to me. It’s a precious man-made ritual that doesn’t even necessarily last our whole lives. I’m ok with that, but I’m going to try damn hard anyway. To me, marriage is a living promise, that calls upon me to be truly present in my relationship. My marriage will be a touchstone, a guiding force and loving filter through which I can view the choices I must make in my life.

 

A Piece of Earth

For some reason, that phrase has always stayed with me, ever since watching The Secret Garden as a child. Well, I’ve been on the hunt for my very own piece of earth for just over 18 months now (who knew that allotments were so hard to come by?) and last week the chance to have one arrived.

The best part? It’s right on my doorstop. I could somersault there if I wanted to. I don’t want to, but it’s nice to have options. It doesn’t look like much right now but chuck in a few raised garden beds, some attractively helter skelter paths and it will look a treat!

It’s an initiative of Full Frontal Gardens (ooer), an organisation that is helping to greenify streets in order to reduce crime and foster community spirit. I’m super excited about it, although possibly-maybe-might-have-somewhat exaggerated the level of my gardening prowess. It seems I’m to spearhead the garden. Whoops. Oh well, nothing a few thousand emails to my green-thumbed father wont fix.

These awesome-looking arches are owned by the railways, and we want to approach them about possibly turning it into a SUPER cool shed, or even better, some kind of incredible music venue. Pipe dreams right now, but still….