Winter Solstice

I found this fabulous graphic on Witchy Wisdom webpage. I wish I could 'not speak' through winter, and just think, reflect and regenerate. However, for those of you who know me if my verbal torrents ever do cease, then is the time to worry. My mind is never still and it is as if all those thoughts just have to burst forth into the cosmos. Not that they are earth shattering or anything, it is just that there are too many ideas to contain in my head.

After my dear friend's performance last Sunday, I allowed myself to actually stop.. but as is always the case after being on the move so much, I succumbed to a niggling head cold, I am assuming I collected courtesy of delightful fellow Virgin Blue travellers and the recycled airsystems on planes. It happens nearly every time I fly (well at least in Winter).

Stay home I hear you say. Hibernate, rug up and enjoy the peace of winter. I would if I could guarantee avoidance of SADS (seasonal adjustment disorder). Yep, you got it, I am one of those lucky few who were in the same mental health line when the divine being gave out this disorder also.

Not bad, huh... I am becoming and ACRONYM... I hear you laughing K & S.... "typical".

So I am BMDSADS afflicted or is that blessed? I guess it all depends on how my brain chemistry is settling.

At my wonderful unnamed University yesterday I catered for Xmas in July as a social event for the other Postgrads. It was a fun night with a sit down dinner for 14. Really, I am glad there were no more as I was literally run off my feet. Ever tried to cook vegetables on the third floor of one building (whilst bread rolls crisping in separate compartment), steamed vegetables and gravies on the second floor in a microwave, roast lamb in one oven keeping warm (opposite end of thrird floor) and in a completely separate building (ground floor), a roast turkey and roast pork keeping warm. Add to this plum pudding ice-cream in the third floor freezer (same end as roast lamb), then arrange and serve hot soups (one from that same third floor stove top) the other for the vegetarians in the microwave (second floor).

Add to this dips, chips and bickies, wheat-based and gluten free, cakes and mince tarts (wheat and gluten free) and vegetarian option for dessert. Add to this the ususla predilections for alcohol and non-alcoholic beverages.

I am still exhausted today. One friend, S said just think of all the excercise I was getting... but I defy even the fittest normal sized person to do all those stairs (plus getting the stuff there, claened up and packed away, room decorated etc) whilst still carrying an extra 35 - 40 kilos in body weight. (Well that's according to my idea of goal weight). It is exhausting. Like an Olympic marathon.

No-one can know what it is like without ever having been obese... not that pesky little 10ks you need to shift before summer but those pesky 90kg to shift before death!

Add to this that at every social event of this nature there is an accidental smuggness on the part of the marrieds. They know they have someone to go home to and have these occasions regularly with extended family.

I usually spend Christmas Day alone (a hospitality Industry widow). It is nice to have a lie in and watch crap DVDs over one or more bottles of sparkling... but just occasionally I get the twitch for the seemingly 'greener' grass on the other side of the fence.

It is also interesting when a person queries your morality... and you need to step back and look at things from another angle. I pride myslef on being a feminist, yet when questioned about whether or not one should sustain/partake in an affair with a married man, I am decidedly hypocritical. the received wisdom went something like this... what about the sisterhood? What about his wife?

I would like to know just when the sisterhood ever put the needs of another woman over the needs of an individual member? Some of my worst colleagues in the workplace have been self-proclaimed feminists.

I also argue that the nuclear family is a convenient patriarchal model of control exerted over women, much to the benefit of men and detriment of women. despite the fairytale happy-ever after imagery, it is simply a structure which allows men to feel confident of the DNA of their offspring by having a 'captive wife/breeder'. She of course has no such reassurance that hubby is not randomly 'sowing his seed' elsewhere, as primitive mankind is designed to do... after all why so many sperm if that is not the case?

As the mother of a son who I would not have, had it not been for an affair I cannot regret my decisions. Nor should I feel I need to justify them, yet here I am attempting to do so.

The old joke (of mine) goes something like this. At my age, the only single men are gay or living at home with Mother issues. If they are divorced (one or more times) I can guarantee the problem was on the side of the bloke. If they are married they are probably the genetically superior of the species. And if they are out to play... then seriously if the wife is that unaware the marriage is not on the strongest ground in the first place. Also who's to say that there isn't an open relationship at work? Without the freaky couples' sex play, how can anyone know what happens behind suburban fences.

Just how many marriages are marriages in name only. Convenience economically, easier on the kids, easier than starting again, easier than braving the world alone. What ever gets you through the night is what I say, and I'll be damned if I will buy into that all older single women are cougars, predators or whores. Nor are we Nuns either!

All of this is so uppermost in my mind. After recently spending time with a friend in Sydney, we passed the time doing the 'writer-thing' and spent the day couple-watching. It was a revelation, just how much one could tell about the two concerned. She, possessive and insecure constantly playing out ownership marking rituals, the tidying of fluff from the jacket, for him the hand lightly placed on the small of her back when another male approached. I could go on for hours. My journal is bulging with such observances.

Then let's add today... I actually had breakfast at a hotel restaurant. I wanted some good nourishment (all 250mls of it). Every table bar one (and mine) was a couple.

NONE spoke to each other. The men read the papers, the women ate in silence. Perhaps the silences were comfortable... but there were no shared smiles or eyes connecting furtively, and after all this is a tourist resort and 'holiday' destination.

Of my God... spare me this slow death by apathy... but spare me my last years flying totally solo also.

Modern lives

It seems so easy to keep in touch these days with Facebook and email giving us the pretence of deep relationships and friendships. We know such minituae about our daily lives but this is no substitute for a good old face to face talk.

Why is it that our lives have become so busy, or so filled with appointments and commitments we find it near impossible to schedule quality time with friends? I am in Sydney and know it would be a great opportunity to catch up with absent friends over a nice meal at the Rocks or glass of bubbly in the Cross late at night, but it just seems that such a simple little social event cannot happen if it hasn't been entered into filofaxes, ipad or iphone calendars, or on the physical kitchen calender weeks in advance.

We are all now of a 'certain age' when our children should be independent but here we remain at their beck and call well into adulthood. And that's not counting the ones who are expecting the hands-on grandparenting and free child care!

Many of my women friends are struggling to work hard now that they are back on career track and that means not finishing work before 6pm at the earliest. Then for those with new or second partners, the push to ensure full emotional support seems to me a throw back to the 50s, when women would shower, change clothes and have dinner and slippers waiting for the 'husband' on his arrival home from work. Why do my professional female Sydneysider friends feel they have to do that as well as put in a 8+ hour day themselves? These second 'blokes' also seem to get quite possessive when confronted with a single female friend who knew their partner 'in the old days'.

What am I... the devil incarnate? Here to lure these (normally respectable and dutiful) females into sin and debauchery in 'sin city'? As if I would even know how, anymore. None of my theatrical friends are currently treading the boards so there can be none of those after show parties.

Also it isn't the 70s anymore... we have all slowed down!

It seems if I can subsitute a night on the town for a dinner during daylight/work hours my female friends feel more comfortable catching up.

Do I carry the 'singleton' disease or something?
Is this the related to the defect 'being welcome in a couple's home as long as I have a heterosexual male accompany me'?

Where at my age does the cultural script dictate husband predator? Too many jokes about beinga cougar one day... as if!
Sure I miss being in a committed realtionship, but hey if it is that constricting who would want it?

And I'm sorry to tell you my dearest girlfriends but it is also possible I don't find the love of your life to be Adonis in the flesh... Sorry they are never THAT Perfect Italiano cheese guy from the TV! Only then would you have to worry.

The other thing that seems to stick out in my mind, is that this was less of an issue 18 months (and 50kg) ago.

So dearest JG, I will catch up when you are performing somewhere (preferably in Melb) and DM we can arrange a proper scheduled luncheon. MK we can spend a nice weekend away when you decide this one wasn't quite Mr OK for now... I give you another six months... and a bottle of Cliquot on that one. I will be happy to pay up if I'm wrong (for a change).

Meanwhile keep the tacky email jokes flying and talk on FB real soon ya'll.

Thoughtful Thursday

Yep, another recap... sorry.

After spending some time on the PhD (yep that's right... I worked on it at last), and attending a hypnotherapy session with Dr Caroline, I had to change hotels. I had decided to stay in Melbourne on Thursday night after attending either (or both) the Alumni Chancellors lecture and/or a colleague, Geoff's book launch.

I was able to rest my feet as the new shoes I purchased in the sales killed me and gave me the usual new-shoe blisters. I had decided that I would do more than window shop and that new boots would be great when I met my two 'oldest friends' fo dinner at the Casino on Wednesday night.

I had hoped to eat at a trendy celebrity chef restaurant there or at Southbank and had justified it by saying we could use a pre-dinner special of two courses and wine, so that we would eat at reasonable prices. It was good in theory, until I forgot to do my research and arrived at the Casino without any clear directions.

One friend saw a sign advertising half a kilo of prawns for $19.50.

We decided that if our other friend wanted seafood we would dine at "The Pub", a horrid American style chain version of a British Pub.

Yep, you got it... and absolute horror in my eyes.

It used to be where Planet Hollywood once was and even that was bad enough but this one had cheap and nasty oozing from every hard wood surface! I scanned the menu... not a great option for a post lap-bander despite listing around 50 mains! Horrid old-style pub stodge. What's the bet that everything came with "fries" and the soup de jour would be seafood based or bad pumpkin? Panic set in. Our friendship has only just blossomed in all its former glory in the last twelve months and honesty is still an issue... as are budget concerns for two of us. The third has less of a problem with dollars but here common sense and practicality rule out impulsive spending like we used to indulge as younger women.

Suddenly, my mind remembered that Crown had two Buffet's and from my memory of taking my son there as a fussy eating pre-teen we always found suitable cuisine for both him and I, and at what I remembered were reasonable prices. We could at least check that out first before succumbing to The Pub.

So I had finally conquered my own impulsivity and thought through the options and decided the celeb chef bistros (Maze grill, GA&S, Nobu, Phillipe Mouchel's Brasseries or even Tutto Bene in Southbank, or MaHa Bar and Grill were off the list of options. Bugger!)

Hate this thing called common sense.

Anyway things turned out fine. The bloody buffet, Sante had the same prawn deal but with full buffet also included. Thus my dear friends could share 1.5 kilos of prawns courtesy of my share, and I could search amongst the traditional fare. ( I found mushroom soup, an old favourite, and some rice with tofu, salad and an Indian curry puff... so I was okay). The roasts and fried foods looked horrendously over-cooked and mass produced, but what sealed the deal, apart from the prawns was the dessert station... a girl's heaven. My friends had two large dinner plate assietes of mixed desserts before I had even risen for my main. Even the wine was reasonable, a $15 Sauv Blanc... just what two drivers and one hotel guest required.

A mandatory visit to the chocolate box, and one friend's ciggy break rounded off a great evening.

The conversation was again thought provoking after the fact.

Where both women friends were in sms contact with respective daughters, I too had a very brief call to my son, which was strange. I am usually totally footloose and detached from my domestic life when I am in the City. Son and I were actually discussing the fact that he could meet up with arranged service people and I could stay another night in town, given that I had not blown a fortune on alcohol and fine dining (or boots for that matter).

My feet would be so grateful for a comfy bed and a chance to get blister pads on Thursday morning.

Once back in my hotel room, I realised how very far our lives have travelled. One friend is widowed and working very hard but slowly building a solid wealth base for retirement once she has been able to stop supporting her two adult kids. The other is in pain. She actually needs us together now like no other time in the past.

Just in this one year, she has lost her mother, thus embarking on that frightening life stage as the adult orphaned 'child'. After dealing with Estate matters and family war zones over the will and inheritances, her former familial ties have unravelled. Add to this a final move to end her unhappy marriage and a tempting possible affair with an old first love (who won't leave his marriage), she has come to see that her life is suddenly very different. She has to face being on her own as her adult kids grow up and eventually fly the nest. And in a totally C20-21st century dilemma her mind is turning to her oldest daughters forthcoming wedding. The loneliness of the parents of the bride table, is the stuff of Hollwod B grade comedy movies. She beseeched us both to be with her on this fraught day.

So you get the picture, one widow, one divorcee and a bitter and twisted old feminist sharing this "joyous occasion" (yeah sure)... with the ex-husband from hell. Please let this next stage in our friendship be as fruitful as I am already imagining it to be... an Australian version of the Golden Girls rather than Sex and the City!

ASIDE: Vale, Rue McLanahan!

What a performance and six marriages... wow, move over Liz Taylor, why can't American women learn from their mistakes??

So Thursday was to be another Melbourne night... more material for booktwo or screenplay, and more chance at deep friendships with new colleagues.

The only whinge about Thursday was that I had to move hotels. Mine was fully booked and there had been no cancellation when I had returned from Crown. So whilst surfing and looking for the best last minute deals that would fit my remaining budget, I was drawn to the firey spectacle refelcted in the calm black Yarra waters.

I am alone and wishing I had someone to share this beauty with, and a good bottle of red whilst snuggled in fluffy white towelling robes I contemplate what the future would bring for me as a single woman. Would I become a career woman in the near future? Would I ever meet a companion who could look beyond my mental illness or my physical attributes and age?

Do I really have to become Bea Arthur?