Return of the Pep

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You know that feeling when you’re staring down the barrel of another year, and you wake up and realise it’s already here?

That’s me this year.  Somehow, 2012 got away from me.

One minute I was looking ahead at a glistening oasis of holidays…

Apollo Bay Pan

The next, I’m scowling at the pile of unaccounted for receipts sitting where I left them from the year before.

Office

Where did it all go?

Okay, so I have some photographic evidence of a holiday…

The camping trip that was downgraded (or was it upgraded?) to an apartment by the beach.

Apollo Bay Apartment

(Some dubious iPad quality photos).

Xmas lunch

A chilly Christmas with hers truly and some friends (who won’t be photographed).

Me and Ms

And that promised ‘Aunty outing’ to the zoo – my Christmas gift to the neephs.

Kids at Zoo

My photos of New Years Eve didn’t really work out.  But I can tell you as I sat with Ms, sharing sangria and tapas, that ours wasn’t the only table wildly entertained by the 9pm city fringe scene.

The group of girls, all wobble between the their too high heels and too short shorts, as they hurried for a tram.

The noble beer wielding knight, dragging his girlfriend up from the middle of the road, as they staggered to their next venue.

The pulp fiction pin up with the guy no one remembers striding by…

Then there was the crowd at the kooky bar we later frequented.  Frat boys in glittering top hats, big bottomed girls and Gangnam Style Indian boys (along with the rest of us), doing our best to groove to the most non-rhythmic and unrecognisable tunes from the eighties, nineties and now.

We all deserted it before midnight in preference for fireworks on the beach.

The highlight was returning to our hotel bar just in time for the DJ to play Dear Pepi’s favourite song – the one we threw the squeaky toy to, singing “Return of the Mack Pep”…

Pep

Now, as I stare at my pile of receipts on the thankfully sunnier side of 2013, I realise the reason for the blur.

26 December marked three months in the absence of fur!

Yes, Pepi was just a small scrap of dog.  But sometimes you don’t realise the space they take up until they’re gone.

He was the reason for some complicated work-from-home employment decisions.

He was my excuse reason for escaping social engagements and family obligations.

The reason for my choice of “pets welcome” hovel home.

If you let me, I’d probably say he was the reason I didn’t travel or achieve anything more in my life.  But seriously, how much can you pin on one small dog?

The truth is, in three months of deafening quiet since his absence, my mind has roamed anywhere except the places that it ought to be…

This is more than a New Year.  It’s the end of an era.
It’s time for change.

2013 is a year of no more excuses.  Time to quit hanging on the fringes, time to get back in the flow of life.

So, as well as blogging, I’ll be on the search for an uncomplicated job with a workplace and a break out room.  I’ll be working on a change of residence.  Maybe planning an overseas trip.  And one of these days, I’m pretty sure, I’ll get back to the gym!

Not New Year’s resolutions, as such, but definitely a new theme.  And a new direction.

“Pump up the world…
watch my flow…
here I go…
(Return of the Mack Pep)…”

– Mark Morrison (1996)

What’s your theme this year?  If it were a song, what would it be?

A Season’s Wish

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As the sun sets on another year
In a world we thought we knew
As we honour memories
And we say goodbye
May our world be filled with
More than just a little Love
And may we greet with brave resolve
The path toward
Horizons unexplored

Pepi

Camping with Pepi, Johanna Beach, Victoria, December 2010

There will be no new posts for the next couple of weeks, as I will be recharging with friends and family, and in the great outdoors.  I’ll also be catching up on some reading!

Thank you to everyone for your support, and friendship through this year.  Looking forward to seeing you in 2013.

Life is a Dance

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There’s a lot being said lately about the end of the world as we know it.  We all feel it – from the economy to the Antarctic, a world on the edge of meltdown.

It’s almost reassuring to flirt with the idea that the Mayans might be right about The End.  How good would that be?  No Christmas, no New Year’s resolutions to be broken, no more difficult life changing decisions to be made.  Most importantly, no more fear, uncertainty or guilt.

I wonder.  What is it about doomsday prophecies that find us a little unhinged?

Near where I live, there’s a place I like to go and walk.  In many ways, it’s an unremarkable beach in what was once a working class village on the ‘wrong’ side of town.

But at a certain spot, it’s possible to pause and look across the bay, and imagine you are standing on the edge of the world.

No people in sight.

Altona Panorama

It’s like your brain opens up, and all of a sudden, you can breathe again.

In those moments, when it’s all stripped back and there’s nothing but you and the swans who’ve come to nurse their young, you remember.

This tired earth on which we stand – it all comes back to her.

Earth.  Water.  Fire.  Air.

In the flurry of our busy, elaborate lives, sometimes we forget how much we are in need of her.

Need is not a word we like to use.  It connotes weakness.  Dependency.  Responsibility.  It frightens us.

It means there’s a chance we could get hurt.

But it’s also the moment when we acknowledge we can no longer take her for granted.

When we see we have a role to play.

When change and renewal can begin.

Manly

Doomsday prophecies offer freedom.  But they also suggest things may be out of balance, and perhaps we are to blame.  In the words of Buffy’s sister, Dawn…

“The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.”

– (Once More with Feeling, 2001).

As we approach holiday season, and if life as we know it doesn’t end on 21 December, this is the perfect time to begin anew.

To remember the loved ones whom we take for granted.

To breathe in the air, and thank the earth for what she gives.

To see ourselves as one among the elements.  And remember our steps in this dance we call Life.

Do you have any plans to get away this Christmas?  What will you be doing to recharge?

The Origins of Friendship

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This week I am very fortunate to be a guest on Coleen Patrick’s beautiful, inspirational blog, Read. Smile. Repeat.

coleen-photoColeen is a YA author from Virginia who has been with me on this blogging ride since I started back in May.

She is not only a great blogging friend, but also a woman who I very much admire for her ability to see the extraordinary in life’s everyday moments.

Please join us over there today, for an inside look into the origins of Pepi the Dog and the Million Little Things of Friendship…

Sunshine in the Rain

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If you’ve ever visited Melbourne, you may be aware of our obsession with the weather.  Four seasons in one day is more than just a cliché here.

But in the past couple of years, since La Nina paid her visit and ended a decade long drought, winter rains have lingered into murky grey summers, only to return another season of gloom.

It’s been feeling like one endless winter of the sun-starved mind.

With the recent announcement that La Nina is officially over, we were just beginning to believe that summer’s on its way.  But then she struck again.

Without warning, in the middle of the night, we woke to a bone shattering thunderclap.  The heavens opened, and there came the rain.

It poured and thundered through the morning, only to be mirrored in our collective mood.  With one mind, we thought – will La Nina never end?

But then, as suddenly as the storm had come, it departed.  By the afternoon, its traces were erased by gleaming sun.

Sometimes, life is like that.  There are people we meet for whom winter is especially long and cruel.  We witness in their eyes a never ending rain.

It’s impossible for them to see the parting of the clouds, or the shards of sunlight peering through.  And yet, for us, the miracle is plain to see.

This post is written for someone I care deeply about, who this week has been lost within the storm…

For anyone in pain today, I wish you Sunshine in the Rain.

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Credit for images is as follows:

Storm Warning by Katrin Blumenschein, courtesty stock.xchng
Rainbow Field by Jason Wickens, courtesy stock.xchng

The Circle of Change

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As America celebrates Thanksgiving, I can’t help but reflect from the Antipodes the way in which the blogosphere is changing us.

The moment we arrive in this brave new blogging world, the landscape is vast and unfamiliar.  There’s so much to see, so much to read, where do we hope to begin?

Yet, as we sit there, staring into cyberspace, someone takes us by the Avatar and bids us, “Don’t be Lost!”  They welcome us to Twitter, and their sacred Facebook spaces, and pretty soon we find we’re on the inside, looking out.

This place is home.  And our family is diverse.

There are women who explode into our living room – worlds apart and, yet, singing the same tune.

There are men, so kind and brave in their humility, searching for their place on this unravelling path.

There are boys who beam at you from their corner of the globe.  Others who paint moonbeams in the sky.

There are those we cry with, and others we get high with.

And then there are those precious souls who, despite their own tragedy (or perhaps because of it), are always seeking ways to make us smile.  Again.

This is just some fantasy.  It’s not real – they say.

But at the blink of a button, someone close bids us farewell.  And we know that they are more than just an Avatar.  They are people who reached through their world and touched ours.  Uplifted and changed us.  Made us strive for better than we are.

This is real.

This is the stuff they don’t teach you in writing school.

This is the ancients, who by moonlight wrote their futures in the stars.

It all starts with a dream.  And you know that dream is real when it brings you back in touch with people from your past who say, “So glad I found you here”.

But where is here?  It is everywhere and nowhere.  It’s a place where what we have in common is greater than our individual parts.  It’s one looking glass, with a million different points of view.

This place has changed me.  YOU have changed me.

I was that person, at a dinner party, who’d take a breath to say something, and find the moment missed.  Spend the rest of the night clutching my drink and watching other people’s mouths move.

I didn’t believe in the goodness of people or the universe.  Almost never accepted a gift or a compliment.  Even less knew how to say Thanks.

Maybe I’m less afraid to make my voice heard these days.  Or maybe people are listening more.  I don’t know.  But one thing’s for certain – things are different now.

Now I can speak.  Now I have faith.  Now I believe in the principles of give and take.

So today, I’m giving thanks to each of you…

For listening, for sharing, for daring to dream.  And, most of all, for being the change.

Has blogging changed your world?  How?  Or is this just some wild fantasy?

There was a little puppy…

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…With a coat of raven silk,

A lightning splash upon his chest

And paws of peppered milk…


ANNOUNCING

the Release of

Hello Pepi: A Toy Dog is for Real

A series about the special friendship
between a toy dog and his most important person.

Based on a true story.

Books 1 to 3

Out Now for 99 cents on Amazon!

To my beloved followers:

In celebrating Pepi’s joie de vivre, and in appreciation of your support, the first book is Free for You until the next blog post is out.

Just leave your email address in the comments, and I’ll gift you the book from Amazon 🙂 .

Alternatively, email to: alarnarosegray (at) gmail (dot) com.

If you’re new to this blog, it’s okay!  Subscribe now – as long as it’s before the next blog post, the offer stands.

Thank you for joining me in honouring the memory of the little Pepi being.  May his spirit be with you…

This Filly Needs Her Downtime!

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Spring Racing Carnival season is upon us here in Melbourne.  That time of year when we are reminded of Australia’s love affair with horses.

For those of you who don’t know, the first Tuesday in November is Melbourne Cup Day, the day of the race that stops the nation.  This is followed by Oakes Day for the ladies (also known as Blokes Day for reasons I won’t explain) on the Thursday after.

If you’re like me, this simply means the first public holiday since June (yay!!), and the nationally embarrassing cocktail of women, champagne and high heels.

The first time I made a bet on a horse, the name Jezabeel caught my attention for all the wrong reasons.  I won seventy dollars, which was immediately blown on several rounds of drinks.  I’m not sure what happened after that.

Since then, I’ve gone off betting – not just because of the pointlessness of Cup Day hangovers, but because of the uneasy feeling I get every time a horse is shot for broken limbs.

Of course, this immediately labels me completely un-Ostralyin, for which I can only be entirely unapologetic.

But the surprise is when a piece of information actually sticks.

A few months ago I caught a news item about the latest Australian favourite mare, Black Caviar.

As the trainer fervently explained the challenges of international travel and her exercise regime, he almost gave a plea, “People always come up to her and want to pet her and say hi and all that – but sometimes they just got to understand, she needs her downtime!”

It’s a theme we all know well, yet struggle to put into practice: to be productive, we need rest.

On Tuesday, when I cast a glance over this year’s Cup Day contenders, I was surprised to see Black Caviar not listed.  What happened?  Didn’t she get enough rest?

That’s when Andrew Hawkins taught me a crucial lesson in Racing 101: the difference between a sprinter and a stayer.

Black Caviar is a sprinter, competing at distances of less than 1,400 metres, whereas the Melbourne Cup is a 3,200 metre race.

Suddenly, it all makes sense…

All I can say is, if Black Caviar needs her downtime, then how much more the stayers in the game?

So this is the part where I acknowledge I’m way overdue in my giving out of blog love.

There are wonderful posts to share, supporters to be thanked, gift cards to be written, books to recommend and blog posts to be read.  And while I’m at it, some conversations I would love to have with all of you.

If you’ve noticed my game slipping, I can only say one thing:

This Filly needs her downtime, too!

With the Hello Pepi launch coming up next week, I am anticipating a return to sanity and blog love soon.

Until then, I hope you will bear with me, and know – I’m with you for the long haul, not the sprint!

What kind of filly (or colt) are you?  A sprinter, a stayer, or a different kind of player? 😉  Ever been inclined to bet, and did you win or lose?

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Credit for images is as follows:

Spring Carnival Ad courtesy Five Starr Photos
Race by Andrew Jabs courtesy stock.xchng
Horse and Girl by Belovodchenko Anton courtesy stock.xchng

Sketching Memories

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Since my loyal blogging buddy passed away, I have to confess to inspiration having been in short supply.

Left to my own devices, I’d have put the fictional Pepi aside for a future never-never date, and wallowed quietly alone.

Instead, I found myself mid-way through illustrations for Book 2, with an artist waiting to be paid, and a crazy goose unleashed upon the world.

The show must go on!

At first, I felt guilty and disturbed.  But as the lines between fiction and reality blurred, there came a peace.

It’s as though he is still here with me, in the fullness of his youth – and I am comforted.

The process of illustrating Pepi has had its challenges.  No matter how many times you rearrange words on a page, all you have in the end is an approximation of the picture you might like to draw.

With very few photos to reference, the question remains how to convey the pictures that exist inside your head?

To this end, I’ve been fortunate to work with a very talented illustrator, who is not insulted by my lame attempts at storyboarding.

Instead, with a little magic, she has transformed the vision of a shy, dorky everygirl and some squiggles on a page…

…into Mona, an unpretentious city girl…

…a peppy little puppy…

…and precious fragments of shared memory.

Anyone who knew Pepi, and cared to see past the exuberance of a little yappy dog, saw in him an undeniable spirit of love and positivity.

It was his sixteen year long gift to me.

Was it unconditional?  Hell no!  Like any feeling creature, he had his pet grievances and gripes.  It’s just that he refused to be quelled.  (And I can tell you, he would not have wanted to be kept inside a drawer…)

So, in honour of his unquellable spirit, I’ve decided to set a date for the launch of Hello Pepi.

Fingers crossed, ready or not, Books 1 to 3 will be out on 16 November.

There will be plenty of opportunities to grab a free copy, for more than anything, I want to share his joie de vivre with you.

If you could sketch a memory of the joy of life, what would it be?

Skeleton in the Closet

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Since many of you in the Northern hemisphere are celebrating Halloween this week, I thought I’d break from the norm and offer up a ghost story.

Sadly, I wasn’t born with a sixth sense, so I can’t really say I know what its like to see ghosts.  However, what I lack in psychic abilities I seem to make up for in my freaky dreams.  If they’re anything to go by, I’m rather glad I missed out on that sixth…

Dad and I arrive at a place a long way from nowhere – bare paddocks of dry grass and thistles.  And as Dad proceeds to share his vision, I feel a rising sense of unease.

It’s not bad…it’s got a good outlook.
The ground’ll need a bit of work, but – bit o’ lime an’ blood an’ bone – away you go!
A market garden here, an’ some fruit trees over there.  Maybe a bramble bush or two…
The house is not too bad, either – a bit of patching up, that’s all.  Good as new…

By now we’re standing among the ramshackle remains of an old farmhouse.  And by that I mean, ruins.

There are remnants of an old stone chimney, and nearby, half a house where the roof, in parts, has fallen in.

“Are you sure you want to go to all that work?” I ask.

It had potential, maybe.  Once.  A century or so ago.

We wander through the house as Dad dreams the Great Australian Renovator’s Dream.

There’s a dark dining room, and a servery window to the kitchen – a place for Mum to serve the meals, it seems.

“Where will you live in the meantime?”  I ask.

Absentmindedly, I pull out a long drawer from under the servery window.

“…elp me, help me…” come the pathetic cries of a sinewy body, dressed in a white bonnet and frock, that lies in the trundle shaped drawer.  Boney fingers claw at my face, too weak to lift her frame, “Help me!”

I shriek, jumping back from her reach.  She slumps and rolls her sunken eyes at me, fingers weakly grasping at the air.   “Help m-.”

I slam the drawer shut, unable to breathe.  We have to get out of here.

I rush through a gaping doorway to what once might have been an open, thriving kitchen.

Half of the room adjoining an outhouse is now a weed infested courtyard.

The other half – the corner with the servery window – still has a roof.

Dad stands there.  He talks as if nothing is wrong.

It’s quite alright.  A roof over our heads, that’s all you need…

But in the corner, below the servery window, where a benchtop should have been, is the sinewy body of a woman lying in an exposed drawer, dressed in a bonnet and frock, clawing at the air and crying, “Help me!  Please, help me!”

“Dad, you can’t buy this place,” I say.

Only, in his own trance, he was deaf to the tune that invaded my waking nightmare.

I realised then what happens when we find ourselves trapped in someone else’s dream…

Work your fingers to the bone, whadda ya get?

Boney fingers…
Boney fingers…

–Hoyt Axton, 1974 

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Do you see ghosts?

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Images under public domain by Vincent Van Gogh, courtesy wikipaintings.org, appearing as follows:

Barn with moss covered roof (1881)
Kettle over a fire and a cottage by night (1885)
Head of an old peasant woman with white cap (1884)
Skeleton (1886)