McArdle's Mind (fragment)

May 17, 1926. As McArdle rode his mare out through the morning fog, he turned his eyes away from his well defined and self-sufficient farm and looked inward, instead, to the places were there were still mysteries.McArdle’s lids were closed as he allowed the mare to amble slowly that particular late-autumn morning, but his eyes were very much awake.

They were searching inside his mind, darting left and right, spinning in their sockets, seeking out the hotspots of emotion, the green and verdant ideas, even the dark places furthest hidden where waited the angry jealousies of which he was most ashamed.

He rode on the border, the very cliff’s edge between What Seems and What Is: To McArdle's right, sun rose through fog-pockets over well-managed fields.

To his left, darkness oozed and crept and whispered through the time-forgotten bush, a thousand rustling Somethings still clinging to night while the day yawned and stretched.

Straight ahead, yellow light glowing in the windows of the manager's house, warm with Mrs Anderson’s breakfast sizzling on the stove.

But inside and behind, mysteries. A vast and shadow-filled landscape-of-the-mind that, if ever it were unfolded, would spread and smother the breadth of this continent in its arteries and thoughts, as well as half of Antarctica and a goodly portion of Asia, then stretch and extend its eastern edges, slowly, island by island, towards the shores of Argentina. Eventually, if left to its own devices, McArdle’s mind turned inside out would wrap itself over the entire globe. All its edges would meet and merge and smother the land until nothing of Earth would appear as it once was.

Space travellers would find in their journeys through our galaxy not a blue planet but a red-and-purple one, filled with blood and a visible pulse, electric thoughts sparking emotions and ideas across the surface with such startling frequency and force that our world would appear beset by deadly and impregnable storms. Text: McArdle's Mind, a fragment from a story I've been writing about a man who gets so lost in the world of his own thoughts that he becomes trapped, unable to return to the 'physical' world of action and community and time.

Images: gorgeous, ghostly bush photos by Irene Suchocki of Eye Poetry, who kindly gave me permission to use them here. Irene's blog is linked above, and you can buy the stunning photographs at her print shop.

Oh hello, dark nights

Daylight savings ended on the weekend and I couldn't be happier. Not only do we get a bonus hour to sleep in of a morning, the end of daylight savings also heralds the imminent onset of winter, my favourite season. Winter means reading books by the fireside (or the heater, now that we've moved). Hot chocolate and honey crumpets. Snuggling on the couch under a woollen blanket made of crocheted squares. Ugg boots. Candlelit dinners at which the candles are actually needed because the sun has set. Mandarins, beets and persimmons. Cuddling Mr B through the night. Morning walks wrapped in coat and hat and gloves, watching my breath form clouds.

The autumn weather hasn't been entirely cooperative lately, climbing to the high 20s and even 30 during the day, but it's slowly dipping overnight. This morning it was just 9 degrees when I woke up. I grinned as I shivered.

Winter also means cosying into soft, gorgeous woollen sweaters, and I am seriously crushing over these knits from Pugnat. True I'm not sure I could carry off a Princess Leia-esque knitted bonnet. But I love the unusual sculptured shapes of these pieces, the romantic-yet-futuristic drapery, the unexpected play of materials. They put me in mind of Brontes, and moors. What do you love most about winter?

Have you ever met your hero?

Have you ever met your hero? The closest I ever came was sipping a Bloody Mary in Bar Hemingway at The Ritz, Paris, thinking, "Ernest Hemingway probably sat right here. He looked out of that window onto that almost-unchanged view." If only time could have compressed, turned back in on itself, or simply rolled backward Midnight in Paris-style, I would have been sharing the same space, breathing the same air, as my greatest literary hero. What would I have said to him? What would he have said to me? Anything at all? Would it have been a glorious moment to treasure forever, or a bitter disappointment?

On Friday I was privileged to be part of DPCON12, a massive blogger conference in Melbourne hosted by Digital Parents. But the program wasn't the least bit limited to parents: we covered topics from using blogs for social good (particularly by partnering with not-for-profit organisations) to the process of going from blog to book (with folks on the panel who had done just that), and workshops on how to use your blog to generate other paid writing work.

For me, this conference was also an amazing opportunity to meet new bloggers and, through them, to hear new voices. I haven't been part of the Digital Parents community, so it was all very new to me: they are a cohesive, self-supporting unit bonded through familiar experiences (and regular reading), with their own language and subtle morays and behavioural expectations.

It could have been intimidating and by the eve of the conference, I confess I was feeling the fear. However, the reality was that I was warmly accepted into this world, and my relatively different life experiences and blogging style did not stop this lovely group from making me feel part of their family. What really got me thinking was when a certain speaker would be called to the stage, or a certain blogger would stand up to ask a question, and the room would erupt with screams and cheers and applause.

Not having been part of this community, I rarely knew the one speaker or blogger from another. But almost everyone else seemed to, this close-knit family. And I realised that, for many people at this conference, they were meeting their heroes. Bloggers they had admired and sometimes even interacted with online were here in the flesh (or "IRL," an acronym that I learned stood for "in real life," but you probably knew that already).

And I thought, what if some of the big bloggers I'd known and admired in the past year had stood up there? People whose words I'd read and lives I'd watched through Internet windows, hearts that had opened to me, the anonymous stranger: how would I have felt if they then materialised, "IRL," as part of a panel? What if they had been there to chat with me later over cake and tea? I'm pretty sure I'd have been cheering like the room was on Friday, for people I didn't know. After all, it'd be a little bit like meeting my own heroes.

I guess that's the crossover that blogging, blogger conferences and meet-ups offer: we are no longer just reading words, as we would in a book. On a blog, we are reading words, glimpsing lives, being invited into hearts... yet all the while we remain strangers. But a blogging conference - something entirely new to me until Friday - means stepping over what remains of the "stranger" boundary and into "friend" or, in some cases, "family." It's pretty special.

Favourite things - words & letters

Happy Friday, dear friend (brought to you by Thursday night since I will be up at the crack of dawn to attend DPCON12 tomorrow). Have a lovely one! 1. Words for strangers I am such a big, big fan of Hermine Van Dijck of journal de jours, I don't know how I missed this wonderful project of hers, Words for Strangers. Hermine says, "Sometimes people need a secret message. A word from a stranger." And she is so right! She hangs little messages for strangers wherever she goes. And now, through the magic of the world wide web, her words are being left all over the world. I think Melbourne could do with some words for strangers. It may be time for me to join in.

2. Hand-drawn letters These letters just pop with personality, don't you think? I want to drink tea and toast crumpets with them. By Mary Kate McDevitt via Parcel Post.

3. Masterful understatements from literature "I realize now that there's a lot to be said for travelling if you want to see something new." Jules Verne, Around the World in Eighty Days

4. The Note Swap I was alerted to this adorable Note Swap project by Brandi of Not Your Average Ordinary but the time differences between us meant that by the time I woke up and clicked through, the project was full. If like me you missed out, you can always join up with Katie of Letters from Strangers.

5. Sent well And finally, if all these posts on words and letters inspire you to get back to hand-writing letters to friends (or strangers for that matter) but you simply lack the time, Sent-Well is your answer. It's pretty simple: choose a card from the website, give them your message, and they will hand-write the message and post it to your friend for you. It's the personal touch, without the hand-cramps! Nifty, huh?

One year

One year ago on the Monday just past, I stood on the back step of my old home in Enmore, Sydney, in front of a freshly-painted blue door and before a vegetable-garden full of my nearest and dearest, and became a Mrs.

I have often pondered what that means, other than making me think Mr B's mother is in the room whenever someone says "Mrs Bulger." What is it supposed to mean? Why did I need it? Did I need it? Ok, why did I want it?

Mr B and I were in love and fully committed to one another long before we decided to turn our relationship into a marriage. We lived together, we owned houses together (read: we bent our backs under mortgages together). I left New York to be with him. I had been deliberately brought into the lives of Mr B's children, and he jokingly told them to call me "Mama-Na" (still does). I believed then and still believe now that no ceremony, no piece of paper, could have made me love this family more or commit to it more fully than I already did. I was utterly entwined with them already.

And yet I did want this marriage, and I love having it. I guess I wanted to articulate promises I'd already made in private, in front of my beloved friends and family. I happily took on a new name, although that had less to do with romantic notions or patriarchy (Mr B couldn't have cared less) and more to do with practicality, including thwarting an identity thief (yes! but that's a story for another blog post, another time).

This has been a massive year for us, emotionally, professionally, financially and even geographically. I think both of us are still reeling from it and, despite the pending arrival of Baby B, it almost feels like the next year will be a holiday by comparison. Under all that stress and strain, we had our fair share of disagreements (oh, what a polite word that one is). More honestly, we both exhibited our fair share of childish tantrums. And yet it has been such a happy time. I feel like we have grown to know each other better, understand each other better, and become more patient and loving with one another this year. We are better at overlooking one another's faults and each of us is better at building the other one up. I am more in love with Mr B now than I ever was.

Why is that? It can't just be that piece of paper.

Whatever the reason, I am sure our love will continue to grow in the years to come. Certainly, we will put in the effort. But if it was to freeze at today's levels, I still think I would be a damn lucky lady. Happy anniversary, my darling Mr B.

Starlings

(This print by Laura Ruth on Etsy)

Last October, this glorious video of a murmuration of starlings over a river in Ireland went viral. I missed it, what with our overseas holiday and my somewhat surprising pregnancy (and subsequent morning sickness). So just in case your attention was elsewhere, too, I'm sharing it here.

[vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/31158841 w=525&h=420]

Murmuration from Islands & Rivers on Vimeo.

What did you think? I am touched by their collective beauty and precision and, in particular, the mystery they hold. Still nobody knows exactly how these birds create such glorious patterns, en masse, like clockwork.

Starlings are all over Etsy, too. Here are some lovely pieces I found. Top L-R: starling doll; starling migration map; starling & roses woodcut Middle L-R: starling greeting card; starling pin; starling skirt Bottom L-R: starling bag; starling print; starling light-theatre photo

As long as our hearts are beating

A simple gift for you today, from husband and wife duo Jenny and Tyler(first seen on The Ardent Sparrow). Just lovely! [youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBh-gMR0OW0] Thank you for your heartfelt comments, emails, Facebook messages and phone calls about this post. They truly meant the world to me. I feel so blessed to have such a wonderful community around me, near and far.

The foodies' fete

The Lee Street fete was on today, the annual fete of the Carlton North Primary School. Affectionately known as the "foodies' fete" because so many of the restaurant owners around town run stalls on the day, it is such a sweet day out for the local community.Top Aussie chef George Calombaris (of Masterchef fame) made a popular guest appearance to judge the kids' cupcake making competition. The children were incredibly excited (and their cupcakes looked very impressive).

George picked out the top 10 cupcakes to taste, before announcing the winners. When the event was over, I laughed to see several of the kids whose cupcakes weren't tasted sneak back up on stage to retrieve and eat their efforts. In this competition, everyone was a winner! Mr B and I split our time according to our interests. I revisited the book hall three times (thousands of second-hand books AND new books at half price), while Mr B was in country fair heaven, entering spin-a-wheel competitions, book raffles, lucky lolly-jar dips and silent auctions. We bought a sweet little yellow cardigan with a matching hat for Baby B, knitted by one of the grandmothers at the school. But baby had to try it on first, which was apparently a rather entertaining process. We took our burgers (Mr B), vegetarian dumplings (me), home-made lemonade with fresh mint and our lemon cupcakes to the front of the stage to watch the talent quest. The kids were absolutely adorable. The whole day was like a walk through nostalgia-land, triggering memories for both of us of our own school days. The excitement of being at school on a non-school day. The joy in the children's faces as they raced each other, pieces of fairy-floss sticking to passers-by, en route to the giant slide.

And we indulged in a little game of "imagine when." Like, "Imagine when our baby is at this school. What stall will we run?" And, "Imagine when our baby is four, racing ahead of us to the fete knowing that next year, this will be 'big school'."

How was your weekend? Will you join me here next year?

On authenticity and blogging and fear

Often I debate with myself how much to reveal on this blog and how much to keep hidden behind that secret garden door in my heart. On the one hand, this is a place where I deliberately curate wonder and beauty. Little surprises, thoughtful creations. That's why I call this blog "messages in bottles." I am a writer and I blog to share with you what I do but also what I find. What inspires me in the world. And so very much inspires me. On the other hand, I want to be honest with you. And just because wonder and beauty continue in the world every day doesn't mean my life is 100 percent wonder and beauty all the time. Far from it! I don't edit the other parts of my life out of this blog to build a fake impression, it's just that I believe there's a time and a place. This is not my personal journal.

So finding authenticity on this blog is something I have been struggling with for a while. How much do I reveal? How much is appropriate? I know I'm not alone in wrestling with this question, and have had some wonderful email conversations on this issue recently with Brandi Bernoskie of Not Your Average Ordinary, who is a lot wiser than me and has taken more time to ponder this issue more closely.

A few nights ago we had a friend staying with us, so we took the dog on a lovely walk as the sun set, up to Lygon Street. Rain began to spatter as we got there, so we stopped for dumplings (I've always loved dumplings but they have become my #1 go-to food since I've been pregnant), eating at the tables outside under the big umbrellas. While we were there the rain came down in earnest, followed by a storm. At one point, one of the umbrellas tipped up in the wind, much to our consternation. But it made for a fun adventure. "Just like camping," Mr B said. He doesn't get out of the city much. We walked back home in the rain, and listened to it pour outside all night while we stayed cosy and warm in our beds.

Just as I was at the point of drifting off, I was woken up by heart palpitations in my throat. Severe, choking palpitations, as well as trembling, difficulty breathing, and a vertiginous feeling that I was going to pass out. Dramatically. My legs and feet felt strange and not-quite-numb. I felt for the baby, who would normally kick at this time of night, but Baby B was quiet. I made myself relax and try to sleep.

The heart palpitations and other symptoms happened several times more that night, and I can tell you it is very strange to be woken up by the very sense that you are going to pass out. Baby kicked once or twice in the wee hours of the morning but then went quiet. Things got easier when the sun came up, but as I took myself back out to Crafternoon for lunch that day, it happened again. The palpitations. The uncontrollable shaking. The waves of dizziness and nausea. I was so afraid I would pass out or have a fit or something right there in the cafe, that I abruptly paid my bill and almost ran out the door. They must have thought I was very strange.

Back home, I looked up my What to Expect book. I looked up Dr Internet. Again and again, a thyroid condition came up. One to which you are particularly prone when you are pregnant. One that if left unchecked can cause disabilities in your child, or even miscarriage or premature birth. I called my obstetrician. She didn't hit the panic button, which was a relief, but she didn't dismiss my symptoms either. She told me to get my blood pressure checked. She asked when baby had last kicked. She added a few extra tests to the standard blood test I was booked in for next Wednesday. She told me I could call or come and see her on the weekend if I needed to, or come by on Monday if I was still worried.

Things compounded yesterday. The dog had damaged his back legs and couldn't jump up, and I worried he had a tick. (We took him to the vet who did a procedure I won't put down here because it was gross, but fingers crossed the dog seems better today. No tick.) I had my blood pressure taken and it wasn't high, but in fact a bit on the low side. Still I was very worried. All day I managed without the heart palpitations, but had more than one wave of severe dizziness, followed by the sense that I was about to pass out. I poked and prodded at my belly. "Wake up baby, are you ok in there?" No response all day. That was the hardest part.

I had a deadline but I had to stop work early because I kept getting dizzy. The dog was subdued. By night time, Mr B started to get all agitated and angry out of the blue. I didn't understand what was going on, and in my overwrought state I ended up in tears. I realised later on that the stresses of the past few days had weighed on Mr B, too, and rather than react to those (he had been wonderful and was trying to be calm for me), he was over-reacting to tiny irritations instead.

It is such a fearful time when you are responsible for a tiny life, and you do everything you can but some factors are out of your understanding or control. I remember very early in my pregnancy, a friend of ours said "I looked for blood every day of my pregnancies, and now I worry about my children crossing the road or eating something bad or meeting someone evil." Strangely enough, that comforted me at the time. I guess worry is as much a part of the entire parenthood journey as is love.

I barely slept last night, but that was because Baby B kicked me like a champion from about 2am until I got up. I guess that, whatever is going on with my body, things are A-OK in that little life. I'm still going to see my OB on Monday and take the extra tests, but I feel a little more like myself again today. Those precious, precious kicks.

My life is full of beauty and wonder, and I am incredibly lucky. But, probably just like yours, my life is also full of stress and sickness and trips to the vet and bickering with people you love and the great, gory fear of the unknown. I guess you can call this post a confession. Or perhaps I am using you as my journal, after all. Either way, I feel better for sharing. So thank you. Our regular programming will resume shortly.

Easy mod fashion: Emerson Fry + my mum

This weekend, my dad sent me these photos of my mum and me when I was a baby. Isn't my mother absolutely stunning? I just love her easy 70s style.All those mustard tones aside, my mum's mod look is still gorgeous today. Take for example the new spring line from Emerson Fry New York. Have you seen it? There's so much in this that I love. I hope my post-baby body can carry some outfits like these off in time for the next Australian spring. 1. Braid Trim Mod Dress 2. Emerson Navy Dots Blouse 3. Tie Waist Dress 4. Blazer Trench Little Navy Pinstripe 5. Yes Dress Long 6. Tuxedo Shirt 7. U Dress 8. 4 Button Jacket 9. Paper Bag Skirt