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The Principal’s Office

20/01/2020 / / 8 Comments

I don’t remember what day it was when I sat outside the Principal’s office.

The door was closed so I still had time to decide if I would run, or stay. The choices were simple enough. But what was behind each choice, made it hard to decide. To run was to give up – but to stay was to commit to something bigger than I’d ever done before.

I stayed.

It started with a dream

When I was five years old I made a decision to be a teacher. It was a dream that would continue to haunt me.

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay 

I didn’t think of ambitions the way other girls did, switching from Air Hostess to Nurse on a whim. I just didn’t think about it at all. If I couldn’t be a teacher, I didn’t really want to be anything. And at that point in my life, becoming a teacher was a long way from my reality. To continue my education, I had to change schools – again.

At the end of Year 10 I had to make a decision; go on to another school a very long way from my home, or leave school.

There were four logical options:

  1. nursing
  2. working in a bank
  3. become a secretary
  4. finish senior school and go to University.

Nobody really talked about the fourth option. Besides, the nearest (Catholic) school that provided the last two years of secondary education was twenty miles away.

Nursing and banking were the most talked about options.

I didn’t want to do either – and I certainly couldn’t imagine being a secretary, cooped up in an office all day.

Leaving School was the only option

Tears flowed on the last day of that school year as we said our goodbyes and drifted off in different directions.

I didn’t look back. And I didn’t look forward.

When I applied for a job in a local Department Store, the manager gave me a maths test. He commented on my quick responses, but the questions were just too easy. I started work immediately as a sales assistant. Pretty soon I was promoted to the office; I was the newest employee and the youngest. My promotion upset a lot of older women, but I kept my head down and learned the new skills I needed.

And somewhere in that post-school year I met my future husband. He was in the Air Force, but what would you expect when you live in a military town?

Then, one day he walked into the office and I immediately read the look of sadness on his face. He had been posted interstate, and he had a little over a week to be there.

We got married in that week. I was eighteen and he was twenty. It all seemed perfectly normal to us.

Family Life

Before we knew it, we were a family of four. I was twenty-one and was coping with a new baby and a two-year old. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t that hard either. I just did it.

When I look back I can see how I just took everything in my stride.

After four years interstate we were posted back to my home town. We worked hard and bought our first home just before our youngest child turned five. The following year my daughter started school at the same school as her older brother; the school was about a block and a half from our home.

The Dream

I had no reason to be at home all day while my kids were at school. It didn’t make any sense. What would I do with myself all day?

The dream that had been hidden away all those years, somewhere deep in my soul, started to emerge. Just little bits at first, you know – like ‘what-if’s’:

What if I could:

  • go to College now?
  • do my teacher-training?
  • graduate as a teacher?

But the dream kept trailing off. There was always the But…

‘But, you need to finish secondary school to go to College’.

There was a night-class about fifteen miles away where I could finish those last two years of school. But how could I not be there for my family at night? That just wouldn’t work.

I had talked about the ‘but’s’ at my daughter’s Playgroup before she started school and someone asked why I wouldn’t just go to our local high school?

The Principal’s Office

Christmas came and went and the new school year began. I settled my son into his new school year and my daughter into her Kindergarten year.

As I sat outside the Principal’s office at my local high school that day, my future was in his hands. I thought about the commitment I needed if I was going to make this work. And I wondered if I had the strength to do it.

When I left home at eighteen there was no fear. I just did it. Even having children at such a young age didn’t scare me – I just did it.

So why was I so terrified now?

The door opened…

I could barely think of what to say, but somehow blurted out “I want to come back to school”.

Mr Pope obviously hadn’t had too many requests like that. In fact, he had to leave the room to make a phone call – and I suspect it was to District Office, seeking permission to enrol a twenty-six year old.

He finally returned, and he had good and bad news. I could enrol, but I would have to wear the school uniform and follow school-rules – including no jewellery. In hindsight, I think he used that as a possible deterrent. But it didn’t work.

On Monday morning I arrived at school in the regulatory uniform, as I did for the next two years. And I only wore my wedding ring on weekends and holidays.

Most teachers had no idea I was married.

When a teacher gave me a permission note for Sex Education, I explained that it was probably a bit late for that class because I was married and had two children. She knew there was a married student on campus but didn’t know it was me. I guess that’s because I looked more like a seventeen year old than a twenty-six year old.

At the end of the two years I bought a new dress for the Formal (Prom). It marked the end of the struggle of juggling two jobs – supervising my kids homework, and then doing my own once the kids were tucked up in bed. But it was mostly a celebration of my strength. I’d managed to hold down the two jobs – oh wait, make that three – I was a wife, too.

I knew by then that College was going to be a lot easier. For a start, I didn’t have to wear a uniform, I could wear my wedding ring everyday, and there were some days when I wouldn’t have lectures.

After three years of College, I graduated as a teacher!

And that was the start of my very long teaching career.

As I sat outside the Principal’s office on that day long ago, I had no idea what the future would hold. I only knew that I had a dream to be a teacher and nothing was going to stop me.

And nothing did!

According to Hugh, Australians are Coffee Snobs!

19/01/2020 / / 6 Comments

If Hugh Jackman says Australians are coffee snobs and had the cappuccino before America – then that’s it – we did! After all, who wouldn’t believe Hugh? He’s one of my favourite Australian actors!

Australians are coffee snobs. An influx of Italian immigrants after World War II ensured that – we probably had the word ‘cappuccino’ about 20 years before America. Cafe culture is really big for Aussies. We like to work hard, but we take our leisure time seriously.

Hugh Jackman

I have to admit, I have never thought of Australians as coffee snobs. I thought America had that game all sown up. But apparently not.

My journey with the cappuccino didn’t start in earnest until I was in my fifties – well – let’s just say I was well and truly an adult. Sure, I drank coffee before then – but only if you call that tinned instant stuff, coffee.

The transformative journey towards coffee-snobbery started for me when I lived within walking distance of Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast of Australia.

Weekends were for relaxing. And Saturdays always started with a coffee at a local coffee-shop (Cafe).

Shopping, chores, and preparation for next week’s school didn’t start until after the ritual of slowly sipping a long, hot cappuccino. Time stood still until the coffee-ritual was done.

Weekdays – it was back to the instant powder from the tin. Oh, how I longed for Saturday mornings!

Big Changes Were Imminent

It all happened so fast I’m not even sure where to start telling the story. But the short version is, we packed up and moved to North America for two years. I remember sitting on the beach one morning while preparations were in progress, wondering if I was doing the right thing.

That little bit of self-doubt lasted about a minute. From then on, it was full-steam ahead with planning and packing. There wasn’t much time for any more thoughts of should I or shouldn’t I.

As we left on the big jet-plane from Sydney, I thought I would actually burst with excitement. Not so for Bill. Bill was Canadian/American. For him, it meant going home. Going back to a past-life. Memories tugged at his feelings of excitement – but he handled it well.

Destination Vancouver

A hotel was our home for the first few weeks. And coffee became the start of every day.

Tim Hortons was a short walk away. And this Aussie learned the language of Canadian coffee in a big hurry. I walked up to the counter the first day and ordered a cappuccino for me, and a flat white for Bill.

Hmm, it seems there was something wrong with ordering the flat-white. When Bill heard the commotion, he came to the rescue. I was still in shock that they didn’t understand the order so I can’t tell you what Bill said to resolve the crisis, but it worked.

Apparently a flat-white is a coffee order unique to the Land Down Under or it’s neighbour across the ditch (New Zealand). But I don’t think that’s enough to make us coffee snobs.

From then on, it was Bill’s job to order the coffee while I sat and waited.

A few weeks later we moved into an apartment on Robson Street and a whole new world opened up for me.

Bill’s American roots resurfaced.

I discovered there was a Starbucks on almost every corner! In fact, there were two diagonally opposite each other (does that mean Kitty Corner?).

The sign at the very first Starbucks – in Seattle…
Yep – I lined up and bought a coffee at the original Starbucks…

Every day started with a coffee at our nearest Starbucks – right across the street on Robson and Jervis.

I had landed in coffee Heaven.

I know, there are some who would say coffee and Starbucks are not synonymous. But I’m not one of them. I happen to love Starbucks (but that’s another blog for another time).

Once you’ve ventured onto the path of white chocolate mochas with no whipped-cream, there’s no going back.

And Bill progressed to Soy Latte’s.

The fantastic Barista’s at our Starbucks even taught me how to order my favourite cup-of-joe. I took up the challenge of being the one to bravely order the coffee now that it was a lot easier. A ‘Grande no-whip white chocolate Mocha’ for me, and a ‘tall soy latte’ for Bill.

When we left Vancouver and moved over the border to San Francisco, our nearest Starbucks was a couple of blocks away – but it wasn’t too far to walk each morning. The day had to start right, right?

A year later we moved back to my homeland and back to the Gold Coast, and for me, back to teaching. The first year is still a bit of a blur.

Bill spent most of that year in hospital. And my weekend coffees consisted of whatever I could get before rushing off to visit him, or the dreaded hospital-canteen coffee. Sometimes you just have to make do.

All too soon I was on my own.

Weekend coffees resumed at my nearest Starbucks, a block away from where I lived. The first year was the hardest. Ordering just one coffee – and staring at the empty chair opposite – but I survived.

On weekdays I would look at that jar of instant coffee and say – Yeah? – Nah! I just couldn’t do it. I’d call into a drive-thru on my way to work. The coffee wasn’t good, but it was a whole lot better than the granules from within that jar.

When I ran out of Starbucks by moving to a town in Central Queensland (CQ), something had to give. The nearest coffee-shop (cafe) that even remotely resembled a Starbucks was a two-hour drive away. And then two-hours back. It was a long way but I often did it, just to sit in that cafe and soak up the atmosphere.

But the weekdays were the problem. So I invested in a coffee-machine. Not the Pod variety. I mean, a real one! I bought a Rocket Giotto, and a coffee grinder.

Every time I went back to the coast I would go to my old Starbucks and buy lots of beans to take back to CQ. Then I would make my coffee each morning – put it in a travel mug – and enjoy the taste of real coffee as I drove to school.

What makes us coffee snobs?

There is a local cafe near where I live now that makes the best cappuccinos, using beans that are roasted a few hours from here. Since the very first cup, I was converted.

Luckily I can order the beans online or buy them from the cafe, so there is always a supply on hand (well – at least in the freezer).

The only trouble is, I will now only drink cappuccinos made from Dancing Bean beans. If I meet friends at any other cafe, I just can’t bring myself to order a coffee.

I know what tastes best – and there is no substitute.

Oh, that is, unless I happen to be near a Starbucks. There’s still something about the atmosphere in a Starbucks that I just can’t resist.

I just wish there was a Starbucks close to where I live now. I’d make it a weekend thing – but I’d do it. Perhaps it is because I still can’t sit at a Starbucks without thinking of Bill…and the fond memories of our Vancouver and San Francisco coffee routines.

And his major role in my journey to becoming a coffee-snob.

Every Kid Needs a Champion

18/01/2020 / / 2 Comments

I was a teacher for a very long time. But by the time I saw the TED Talk by Rita Pierson explaining why every kid needs a champion, I think I had it all figured out.

Before I flew solo in a classroom of my own, I watched an older teacher approach a difficult situation in the playground. Within minutes she had those tough kids knocking themselves out to do what she had asked.

I was mesmerised. Her explanation was simple:

You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

I never forgot those words, or their effect on that unruly bunch of students.

Over the ensuing years of my long teaching career, I figured out a lot of things – mostly out of necessity.

Like the year I inherited the group of students no other teacher wanted. There were only about six kids who were the problem – but they were pretty much considered the thugs of the school. And I got them all!

Luckily, a few years earlier, I’d had a much bigger challenge. A really difficult little guy who no teacher wanted. In fact, no school wanted him. Alternate arrangements were made for me to teach him in an off-campus setting.

On the first day I figured out that I had to find something to love about this kid. Okay – at first it came down to how well he breathed. I just loved the way he did that: in – out – in – out.

Eventually I discovered that this ten-year old had a lot going for him – but he’d been totally misunderstood. Together we worked hard on his skills and the following year he graduated into the school I was attached to.

Because every kid needs a champion

So when I got that tough group of kids – it wasn’t a problem. I just found something to love about each one of them. And it worked.

It wasn’t until a few years later that I discovered the wisdom of Rita Pierson. Not only did it validate what I’d already learned, but it gave me the reason why. It made me realise that every kid needs a champion because they often have nobody else in their lives to stand up for them; to have their back; to not give up on them.

And at the end of that first year with those tough kids I went to the Principal’s office with a whole bunch of research to show why a teacher should move up with their class. He laughed.

“Are you kidding?”, he said. “Nobody else wants those kids. They’re all yours!”.

I stayed with that group for three years. And loved every minute of it.

After watching Rita’s TED Talk, I figured it out. I had become the champion for those kids. The one who believed in them. The one who had tears of pride in her eyes when my reluctant non-reader read his first book to the Principal. The one who secretly laughed inside when the class made their own classroom rules and insisted on much tougher penalties than I ever would have. And the same one who missed five minutes of break-time when I broke one of the rules. Those kids were tough disciplinarians! But it worked.

So whether you are a teacher or a parent, take seven minutes out of your busy life to watch Rita Pierson deliver this passionate (and humorous) TED Talk.

Tip: Watch for Sir Ken Robinson in the audience, as well as a few other notable faces.

And if you know a teacher – make sure you share.

From Drought to Flood in Twenty-Four Hours

18/01/2020 / / 4 Comments

The big word that has dominated media coverage in Australia for way too long is the D-Word – D-R-O-U-G-H-T! The soil in most parts of the country has been dry as a bone. There are toddlers who don’t even know what rain is in some parts of the land. There just hasn’t been any since they were born. But in twenty-four short hours, we’ve gone from drought to flood.

Image by holdosi from Pixabay 

Here in Murwillumbah, we are usually luckier than most – our overall rainfall is generally healthier than in other parts of Australia. But not this season. Even before summer officially started, rain was nowhere to be seen.

And with drought comes water-restrictions. A few weeks ago our local Council brought down the verdict:

Level Two Water Restrictions for the Tweed Shire!

I don’t have too big an issue with that because I try to limit the amount of water I use every day. I’ve lived in the bush and relied on tank-water (with very little rain to fill it) often enough to appreciate how precious every drop of water is.

But no so for my neighbours. They are gardeners. And Level Two restrictions means they have to ration the water out to their ever-thirsty plants.

I should explain that my place is where plants come to die. Not intentionally. It just happens. Apart from one Zanzibar Gem that even I can’t kill, an Aloe Vera plant that thrives on neglect, and one small succulent that has managed to remain in the upright position – I don’t do the gardening thing. I tend to either drown plants or they die of thirst. So I prefer to leave living garden things in other people’s capable hands.

My plant-loving neighbours can now only hose their gardens on odd or even days (depending on their house-number), and then only late in the afternoon. But if they want to carry a bucket-load of water to each garden, they can water whenever they like.

Drought to Flood!

A few days ago it was hot and dry in Murwillumbah, as it had been for a very long time.

But last night the rain came in earnest. Heavy drops that you could actually hear falling. And accompanied, sporadically, with thunder and lightning.

This morning, it’s a very different scene.

The soil the rain is falling on is so hard, from prolonged lack of moisture, that the rainwater can’t get through it. The water is just pooling on the surface. And naturally, that water has to go somewhere, so it is spreading out across roadways.

At least one road in the area could easily change its name from Ducat Street to Ducat Creek.

And a local cafe has closed for the day due to water backing up. There just isn’t anywhere for the excess water to go.

Floating Debris and Flooded Roads

The fires that have ravaged so much of our land since October have left very little in their path. Ash and unstable trees, the ones lucky enough to have escaped complete destruction, are all that is left. The water from the long overdue rain, unable to soak into the ground, has enough force to topple some of the trees that have not already been taken down by fire. Those trees, along with ash and other debris, is now at risk of being pushed onto roadways.

Sadly, while one of our Fire and Rescue teams was out saving motorists who were trapped in their vehicles on a flooded street, their Station was inundated with water. According to their Facebook page, the morning has been taken up with rescues in the area, and then sandbagging their station. All they hope for is a bit of downtime so they can eat, drink coffee, and brush their teeth. I guess the early morning call outs don’t leave much time for life’s basic necessities. I hope they get that downtime today.

Despite the sudden onset of the flood, which is why it is called flash flooding, we still welcome the water falling from the sky. Not only will it help relieve some of the drought-related problems, but hopefully it will extinguish the fires that are still burning.

The flooding is temporary. And if motorists take adequate precautions, there shouldn’t be too many problems.

Remember: If it’s flooded – forget it!

Tumbulgum – Can You Even Say It?

17/01/2020 / / 4 Comments

The first time I drove past a sign to Tumbulgum, I reckon I did what any non-local would do – I mispronounced it. Yep – I got it totally wrong, because it isn’t how it seems.

There are a lot of places down here in Australia with names you can’t pronounce. The first time I saw the name ‘Indooroopilly’, I almost packed my bags and moved back to New South Wales, from whence I’d just come.

How was I going to live in a State where I couldn’t even say the name of neighbouring towns, let alone spell them? I mean, really?

But like everything, once you get the hang of it, it’s easy.

Let me introduce you to some of our Aussie slang.

We have a habit of shortening anything that seems like an effort to say.

  • Ambulance Driver = Ambo
  • Tea Break = Smoko
  • Garbage Collection Driver = Garbo
  • Avocado = Avo

And just when you think you’ve got this – we change the ending.

  • Motor-bike Rider = Biko Bikie
  • Brick-layer = Bricko Brickie
  • Fire-fighter = Firo Firie
  • Barbecue = Barbo Barbie

Then there’s Maccas = McDonalds – of the fast food variety.

And when I lived out in Central Queensland, the town of Woorabinda was simply Woori.

Mullumbimby is shortened to Mullum.

Well, that one was easy.

So you see, there’s absolutely no rhyme or reason to sorting out our language. All you need to know is: if it can be shortened – it will be shortened.

And that goes for people’s names as well. Oh, unless you have red hair – then you’ll be called Blue.

Wait, is that even politically correct anymore? Probably not – but it was certainly the case when I was young.

Let’s get back to those place names.

As it turns out, Indooroopilly hasn’t been shortened – as far as I know – but it is shortened in the way you say it. Instead of sounding out all the oo’s, you kind of just leave them out altogether. So Indooroopilly ends up sounding like ‘Indrupilly’ (using the short vowel -u- sound like hum).

And now, let’s get back to Tumbulgum. Nope – it isn’t like Tum-bul-gum. It’s more like Tm-bul-gm – you kind of run the t and m, and the g and m, together. And the second u is an u sound – as in t-u-c-k, except the way the locals say it, it’s more like Tm-bol-gm.

Actually, it doesn’t matter how you pronounce Tumbulgum, as long as you go there. It is a spectacularly beautiful little place.

My house is just a short drive from Tumbulgum, so I guess you can see why I love living in Murwillumbah.

If you are up for a real challenge with place names – visit our neighbour, New Zealand, especially the town of Whakatane – pronounced: /fɑːkɑːˈtɑːnə/. – if you say it fast it sounds like… never mind.

I’ll say no more…..

Capital F For Failure!

16/01/2020 / / 4 Comments

I’ve come to believe that all my past failure and frustration were actually laying the foundation for the understandings that have created the new level of living I now enjoy.

Tony Robbins

If Tony Robbins is right – this month I’ve laid some massive foundations for the future.

The January Blog Challenge was going well – for a while. And then it all went pear-shaped. I don’t know why, when or even how. It just happened.

We’re halfway through the month but I am nowhere near halfway through the number of blogs I should have posted. A quarter, maybe?

It all happened when I decided to be super-creative and write a blog about one of my favourite places – Murwillumbah. Oh don’t worry, you haven’t missed it – it didn’t actually get to the Published stage. It’s still sitting in my Drafts folder.

I slaved over that blog day and night. It had fantastic photos, facts and most of my SEO ducks even lined up. But the blog was a failure.

I missed the deadline!

And the next one!

By the time I’d missed two deadlines, panic crept up from somewhere in my writing-feet and threatened to strangle me at any minute.

But that blog remained well-and-truly stuck. It was flat, contrived and downright boring. Even I found it hard to read – and I wrote it!

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

The frustration that Robbins spoke about weighed heavily on me – kind of like dancing in cement shoes.

And still my unfinished Murwillumbah blog just stared blankly back at me. Stark, unimaginative, and totally unresponsive. There wasn’t a spark of life in it.

Oddly enough, the motive behind writing about Murwillumbah should have provided me with immunity against failure.

Write about something you’re passionate about – they say….

Murwillumbah is where I live. I am passionate about it.

That blog failure stopped me in my tracks…

The urge to abandon it grew in intensity. But the hours of work I’d put into it stopped me from hitting the Delete key.

I was caught in a Limbo between flushing two days work down the drain and the thought of starting again. Should I try once more to resurrect the dead blog, or simply count my blessings and move onto a new one?

Both ideas won – sort of. For two days I found a million things to do that had nothing to do with writing.

But the long-fingers of the Blog Challenge found their way into my conscience. Guilt and the fear of losing the war and not just the battle made me fire up the iPad and start again. But the pain of my abandoned post about Murwillumbah lingered.

One night, more deadlines, and three-hundred words later, another draft sits idly in the Draft Folder. In all my cleverness I decided to write a blog about how I had found my niche by not finding my niche. But that didn’t work any better than not finding my niche in the first place.

But at least now I know what the problem is. Yes, I was passionate about the topic, but my style of writing changed. I had moved away from the conversational tone I usually use and was trying to write something (seriously) factual.

It just didn’t work

So here I am, writing a brand new blog about nothing in particular, in my usual casual manner.

Have I learned from failure?

You bet I have!

And the lessons learned will form the basis of another blog, in another time.

Sorry to rush off – but I’ve got a whole lot of blogging to do to catch up!
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