See you on the other side!

This little blog has been usurped by its cousin over here. Much happened in between the two; a pregnancy, a big belly and finally a beautiful little baby, Lola Betty. The new blog chronicles what The Shanburys did, as the little family of three (including Arthur!) grows a bit bigger. xx

Merci Julie

I sometimes play that game, Who Would You Want to Play You in a Movie About your Life?

My answer: Julie Delpy. She is so incredibly talented, in so many ways. Writer, composer, actress, singer, and more recently mother. Golly.

I have her films "2 days in Paris" and "Before Sunset" on dvd and will often turn to them on a Sunday afternoon or when I'm feeling a bit unsure about life. They give me perspective. I love her poetic approach to life and the way she writes about relationships and day-to-day stuff.

I love our life

I re-discovered my 2009 to-do list.

Happily, I've achieved quite a few of these to-dos which is such a nice feeling. There are definitely more destinations to add to the list, and my work focus has changed slightly.

I've started meditating at home, doing more yoga and this week, I indulged in two glorious Chinese massage sessions. I'm feeling a bit calmer about life and work and equipped to handle the busyness of this time. I told myself I would enjoy this dry season.

Today at a cafe, I noticed an older couple near us, clearly locals. The lady said to her husband: I love our life. That made me smile.

Back in Alice

Descending into Alice Springs.

Straight red lines of road form perpendicular connections, as boundaries to miles of flat land on which waves of low bushes lie, arranged like currents in a body of water. But water is the last image conjured by this landscape. Trickles of trees line waterways, results of recent heavy rain, but these are the only signs of wetness.

A beige dam appears, shaped like a dialogue cloud. Then, the ranges appear, jutting up like pinched pastry around a pie for as far as the eye can see.

We teeter on a breeze, rocking back and forth towards the air strip, passing houses, a highway and the train line, which takes the Ghan to Alice on its journey up the guts of Australia from Adelaide to Darwin.

The town of Alice is hidden on the other side of the Macdonnell Ranges, a glimpse of which you can see peeking through Heavitree Gap.

Stepping off the plane, its cold! We're about to embark upon three days of work at the Finke Desert Race, then three days of fun, enjoying tofu burgers and soy lattes in Alice Springs before doing some wintery desert drives.

Me and Dorothy

After talking about little black scottish terriers, I am further channelling Dorothy, finding some wonderful ruby red slippers which are tickling my fancy. I spied them at the Red Cross Op Shop as I was returning from lunch one day, and scooted in to investigate, leaving M to scuff his shoes on the sidewalk and people watch. Before you could say 'Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!' I had returned, $16 lighter and holding my new red slippers. I had been thinking of buying some red ballet-type slippers for a little while and all of a sudden they present themselves!

I hope a Top End version of a twister doesn't arrive to further the parallels....

Logan

I met Logan on Fannie Bay Road. He was scooting across the road on his little legs, avoiding cars as if in a game of Frogger. Luckily he made it across the road but kept running aimlessly so we pulled over and I jumped out to save him.

M and I were on our way to Deckchair Cinema, and had Arthur in the car.

Logan was a little black Scottish Terrier. He looked a bit like Arthur, but shorter and with a bigger head. He was adorable.

I ran up to him and he cowered, but let me pick him up. I could feel his little heart beating as I held him, looking around. I immediately checked for an ID tag, nothing. For a split second, I thought we might be taking him home.

But then there was a call and I turned around to see a man getting out of a car, and gesturing that I had something he wanted.

"Is he yours?" I asked.

"Yep. I opened the gate and he bolted."

"What's his name?"

"Logan," was the response.

I handed him back.

The name Logan has always reminded me of the suburb on the outskirts of Brisbane, half way to the Gold Coast and its not a place I remember fondly.

But I will remember little Logan fondly, with the burrs in his hair and his beating heart on his short adventure in Fannie Bay. How close he came to getting hit by a car... or coming home with us....

Arthur sniffed me suspiciously when I got back in the car, and we continued our drive.

Sydney - Toxing and detoxing

At first, Jen looked nice enough. She had a pleasant-sounding Irish accent, a pretty face and a tight bottom, and gently told me to take it easy during the class as I was new.

But on entering the class room, everything changed. Friendly Jen turned into Scary Jen, a yoga sergeant of sorts, barking orders and directing the ‘lesson’ through sharp claps of her hands. I was hit by a wall of hot air and the faint yet omnipresent smell of sweat.

Bikram yoga, or hot yoga, aims to help its devotees develop their lung capacity through deepening their breathing. But immediately on entering the room, I found breathing near-impossible. And that was when I was standing still.

The room had been heated to over 100 degrees. Other participants were in various states of stillness but fairly similar states of perspiration. Each of us needed a towel to place over our mat, I assume to soak up the moisture flowing from our bodies. Newcomers were asked to identify themselves, and then told to go to the back of the room (to avoid us mucking everyone else up?) We started with some heavy breathing in quick repetitions. Everyone around me was making a lot of noise
breathing, and I felt quite self conscious emitting deep, coital-like exhalations.
Happily, Jen told us that we wouldn’t be able to drink our water until the end of our third series of asanas. That took about 25 minutes and by then I was desperate for a drink.

“Ok, time to have a sip of water,” called Jen. I broke into a run to reach my bottle which I’d placed on the floor near the wall, about two metres from my mat.
Jen stared at me.

“Put your water next to your mat,” she said pointedly. “When you move away it disturbs the class.”

The postures continued and by then we all resembled mini waterfalls, with visible streams of sweat falling from our bodies and our clothes drenched. I’m sure that being out until 3am drinking red wine at a seedy Darlinghurst bar would have contributed to my state, but I was feeling terribly nauseous. I was in pain. My face glowed red raw and seemed slightly swollen in the mirrors that surrounded me and my hair plastered to my head unattractively. I do yoga fairly regularly and considered myself quite capable when it came to the practise, yet felt thoroughly hopeless at this.

Feeling like I was going to faint, I took the cue from others and started skipping a few poses, lying on my mat to rest. Jen didn’t seem to mind, and continued to direct and clap. She told us it was better to stay with our mats if we were feeling ‘weird’ and to continue the class when we felt we could. That was just fine with me.

The class went for an hour and a half. I was so glad when we reached corpse pose.
Standing at the doorway, Jen declared, “Good practice. Stay with your mats and rest. NAMASTE!” and left with a flourish of her toned arm as the door swung shut.
Wanting to avoid the shower queue, I jumped up to go, but felt woozy and was forced to balance myself by holding onto the wall.

Half an hour later I was showered and eating a healthy lunch at a nearby Iku outlet, full of a sense of achievement. My skin felt amazing and I felt thoroughly cleansed and was planning my next visit. Reminded me of what they say about childbirth: as soon as its over, you forget the pain, and could do it all over again.