Spite the Difference

Dear hearts,

Spite.

A nasty emotion. I certainly do not wish to accord it capital letter worthy status, it is merely a function of grammer that I defer to. The fact that I give it a stand alone par is only to educate and emphasise in the hope that you, Dear hearts, never go down that bitter and twisted path.

Spite. It sounds as it is. A thing of ugliness that is spat out and flung at the target with no thought. No care. No concern for the recipient. I won’t say victim, because I wont entertain that word . It is not in my vocabulary.

Sadly that does not make us exempt from the glare of its gaze. Trust me I know.

Without going into the sordid details, or maybe I will just to make the lesson count, the last charm employed said Spite to, at the least unsettle, and at the worst terrify Miss Mich after she made the decision to leave the Big House.

I was astounded at the intensity of the spite. I was astonished that someone who, at the same time as I was leaving said relationship (now you know why I abhor the word), spoke of true and undying love, and yet at the very same time could employ such tactics as physical abuse, harassment of oneself and one’s children, slashing of one’s clothes, theft, destruction of property, fraud, summons to court, and defamatory accusations to one’s employer.

I was speechless. I was without speech.

For a moment.

Then I picked myself up. Dusted myself off. Wiped the spit out of my eye and walked on.

He taught me a lot. Nine court appearances in twelve weeks. 4 kilos lost. One upset stomach. A physical reaction that lasts to this day when I may, on the rare occasion see him. And I know he reads this blog.

But let me tell you Dear hearts, no amount of spite or coercion, or bullying or stalking or downright intimidation and assault is going to do this little black duck in.

And nor should it ever happen to you, God forbid.

I have a friend. A friend who is experiencing the same amount of vitriol, of spite. To you my friend, I say learn from my experience. It has been the hardest thing I have had to bear. The sperm donor and his infidelity was no match for you, last and smallest charm.

But I thank you. You have made me dig deep. Made me find what I am truly made of. And that is steel. Without you I may never have reached my true potential.

To my dear friend who is sadly wearing shoes similar to mine two years ago, I send my love and urge you to look within yourself and find the determination to succeed.

When the Sperm donor left to be with the English Rose, I said then as I say now, my success will be my best revenge.

It is the same for all of us Dear hearts. We don’t have to be stalked and bullied to employ these pearls of wisdom.

Use the experience of adversity to encourage you, not defeat you. I don’t want to hear you whine. Ever. I don’t want to hear excuses that it’s all too hard. I’ll tell you what’s too hard. Don’t get me started.

Don’t be a baby. If you give in to the torment, you will never get out. We are all better than that.

Don’t whinge. Get up and make a cup of tea. Twinings Orange Pekoe makes everything feel better. A good run before and a cold shower after is the ticket.

Think of me as your coach. Your coach against the negative. The spiteful and the nasty.

There is no competition. Snuff it out like a flame. Give it no credence, no value and it will only have retreat as its only sorry sorry option.

I might sound tough, but you know me well enough by now to know that I am only determined.

Determined to share the love.

Enjoy strength Dear hearts.

With love
Miss Mich

Get Your Motor Running

Imagine Dear hearts,

Imagine if you could say you are truly satisfied…that everything was in place and the planets aligned…there’s not many of us that can say that, are there?

I don’t think we are trying hard enough. No, I don’t.

The Libertine and I went for two walks yesterday. The first along the most beautiful stretch of beach here in the far far north. I can’t tell you where it is because it’s a secret. Our little secret. The second walk was later under the most perfect crescent moon. We could have been in Morocco, we could have been in India. Turns out we were in Paradise. Which makes me think of that classic 70’s chestnut and in my top ten …”I’ve been to paradise, but I’ve never been to me…” I want to wear Halston and hang out at Studio 54. I want to wear “Le Smoking” and speak French with Serge Gainsbourg. All on the beach here in paradise. All with the Libertine.

I am digressing, it’s true, but there is a point to my meanderings.

It doesn’t take much to feel good. Really good and satisfied. The Libertine satisfies me. Also makes me hungry for more, but that is a hunger that will never be satisfied. And I’m ok with that.

But I don’t understand what it is that holds most people back. Or maybe I do. Most of us make everything so bloody complicated. We have too much. Too much choice, too much opportunity to dwell on what we think we are missing out on. Too much aspiration. Too much exposure to too much of little value.

Just too much.

And then there’s not enough. Not enough money. Not enough time. Not enough Super. Not enough wine…(maybe I’m channelling Serge…)

I am going off and I don’t care. We are all too avaricious. Myself included. Case in point. Here I am with 20 handbags strewn about the Cottage, and I’m contemplating the next handbag purchase. Am I nuts?

I have a sunglass wardrobe. Did you hear what I said??... I am nuts.

Back to the classic…”I’ve been to Paradise…” Maybe it’s because we are too busy being told what we should be doing, eating, wearing, driving, reading, and thinking that we don’t have the opportunity to strip away all of the extraneous, clear our head space, lie back and day dream and let it come to us. Let the joy of a crescent moon wash over us. Let the thrill of cold water run over our feet. Feel the thrill of skin against skin when fingertips touch.

Are we too busy taking the photograph to see the view? Are we too intent on the next big thing that we miss the achievement of what is here and now. Are we simply marking time until the next Iphone is released and the next gen Ipad is available.

I am so sick of stuff. And people who covet it.

But I do have a hankering for the 70’s. I had a dragster bike in the 70’s. My little brother and I both had one. We would ride our bikes together in the street behind our house. I would leave my mother a note with a great flourish to say we have “gone riding…”out on the open road (albeit a sleepy little street) wind in our hair and the feeling of freedom. We thought we were daredevils. And we were 12 and 7 years old. We didn’t wear helmets and I had hot pants and a halter neck top. My little brother had a Batman cape and an attitude to match. We were Kings of the Road.

I am not going to let myself contemplate that 21st handbag. No I am not. In fact, I am going to donate handbags. And more than one Dear hearts. I am going to practise a little giving instead of acquiring. A little less rather than more.

What I am going to acquire is more crescent moons. More walks. More stars and more hunger for good loving. And maybe a new pair of hotpants and halter neck top….

Enjoy giving.

With love
Miss Mich

The Perfect Storm?

The Perfect Storm?

Dear hearts,

Was it the Perfect storm? I think perhaps it was. Because it missed hitting us head on. It was a little to the south, just enough to save us from the eye. The little sugar town of Tully (Pop approx 2500) took the force of that cyclonic stare and as a result every second home is no more. So as much as I breathe a sigh of relief for the Northern beaches of Cairns I say a little prayer and shed a little tear for the good folk of Tully.

It was my first cyclone and a Category 5 to boot. I would like to take you through the experience. The text messages from the State Disaster Coordination Centre started the morning of the whole affair. If that was not disconcerting enough, Anna Bligh was warning of our impending experience as “ a catastrophic weather event”

As the day progressed the hyperbole and warnings increased, but the weather remained calm. Which was confusing as our constant scanning of the BOM weather website showed an ever increasing angry swirl malevolently covering the coast of our fair state with its black and red heart. We were all getting a little bored to be honest and at 4pm began to wonder if the whole thing was going to be a no show. The text messages continued urging us to evacuate low lying areas and the urgent pleas of the Premier that the “window of opportunity to relocate was fast closing” made all feel uneasy and slightly put out that perhaps we were missing something.

Be careful what you wish for Dear hearts.

By nightfall the wind began to pick up and the intensity of the warnings were delivered at fever pitch. The Baby and I were lucky to be with seasoned Queenslanders. Salt of the earth die hards who were not too perturbed by the whole thing. It was decided we would all bunker down in the living room and just see what Yasi had to throw at us. We cooked dinner. We watched a movie. The wind increased and we continued to ignore it. The boys had their beers and the girls had their wine. Even the Spaniels lounged around.

Then the power went out.

You could hear the wind whipping those palm fronds into quite the frenzy. I took the super duper LED torch for a look outside and found those palms bent over trying to hide under a bush. The rain was chasing us from all angles and the noise was like nothing I had heard before. Intense is the only word I can think of.

We decided to stay in after that. We spent the night listening to ABC local. Weather updates on the hour and reminders on the half hour. In between the calls in from listeners all over the region describing their experiences. From Mossman to Cardwell and Atherton to Cairns City the story was similar but different. I lie on the sofa with my torch in one hand, my phone in the other. The Baby on the floor next to me. The puupies finding possies in between. The Boys snoring their beers.

I was alert and alarmed. But calm.

The camaraderie that came from the callers into ABC local made me feel like I was not alone. I was tense, tired and unsure of what was going to happen next. But so was everyone else. It was an extraordinary feeling of community Dear hearts. My hat is tipped to the ABC broadcasters. My heart is forever with those who endured and lost so much more than we.

The eye of the storm crossed at Mission Beach at 12am Wednesday February 2nd 2011. The Captain’s father lives on the hill overlooking South Mission Beach and out across to the beautiful Dunk Island. I haven’t heard if all is well and am praying that it is.

I was only afraid twice. When the wind moved up to an intensity I hadn’t felt or heard before and when there was no sound at all. But that is nothing compared to some.

Say your prayers Dear hearts, give some thought to those who have lost everything. This state is a cracker. All or nothing. We live in paradise, but there is a risk when one chooses to dance so close to perfection.

With love
Miss Mich

Calm Before the Storm

Dear hearts,

Four years in the far far north and it appears the Baby and I are to experience our first Large and Powerful Tropical Cyclone. I quote the BOM site, they even used caps all the way through, but I didn’t want to shout so loud and frighten you.

All jokes aside (just for the moment), Cyclone Yasi is a category 5 cyclone about to hit the coast of far north QLD at 10pm tonight.

The Low pressure system started out off the East coast as a Category 3 then moved quickly to a Cat 4. I started thinking about it like a delivery. I liken this impending event to my first delivery. My darling Boy was a whopper. No other description. And I’m only a little girl. God love him. After 24hrs of effort he ended up a Mid-forceps delivery. At Category 4, I decided this was going to be a Mid-forceps delivery of a Cyclone.

And then we had the upgrade to Category 5. I love the expression “Ignorance is Bliss”. That’s how I approached my first pregnancy. None of these Ante natal classes. I was not interested in lying around on yoga mats with a bunch of other first timers and their partners blowing rapidly in intervals and having my back rubbed in public. No birthing centres or underwater births for me. I had no plan, no soothing music or preference for support persons. And I certainly didn’t want my mother with me.

At the end of the day, I could have given birth on the street. In front of anyone and delivered by anyone. No drugs, just sheer force and energy.

A little bit like Cyclone Yasi. Although this time Dear hearts, I wish I had drugs to help me through. Thank God for wine.

Upon advice the Baby and I decided to decamp to safer ground. The Cottage lovely as it is, is tucked into the rainforest with enormous palms, enormous glass windows and facing right in to the head of the enormous storm. We did our best and moved the chairs into the corners, packed up the shells and the candles, grabbed the vino and headed to the safety of Brinsmead . Sweet little Cassie Conan Kemp and her family have taken us in like the strays we are.

I did manage to pack a few essentials before we evacuated. I am more than happy for you to keep this checklist as a reference for the next emergency you find yourselves confronted with. ..(holiday in Palm Beach, trip to Hawaii, in laws coming to stay.)

Emergency Packing List

Trench coat. Obvi. - I have three to choose from but decided to narrow it down to just one. It was a difficult choice. The snow white Burberry seemed a little too formal for cowering under mattresses and the black silk evening trench was just all wrong despite the cyclone crossing the coast after 5. This left me with the practical all purpose Max Mara. The trench I travel with, that does the hard yards and gets me through customs, along Chapel St and through the antique markets of Clingancourt Paris. The logical and stylish choice for a Cat 5 event.

My Collette Dinnigan LBD. Again, obvi. After the whole shebang calms down I am going to want to go out for dinner. Stat. And this little number can take me anywhere. I can even wear it with jewelled flip flops. How I love love love Collette. A little sophistication in the midst of chaos.

Books. A selection of Stieg Larsson, DBC Pierre and Anais Nin. Something for every mood. Failing that we have the checkout fodder of Cosmo and Who Weekly.

My Jewels. The sum total of my entire net worth. My fortune moves with me. Such as it is.

My Child. Obvi.

Photos of the two Bright Young Things who are only with me in spirit. How I love them so.

My Rosary beads. Or as the Baby says, my Rosemary beads. I am currently sporting the yellow crystal beads that my darling Grandmother had blessed for me by the Archbishop of the Northern Rivers. Novena’s will begin at 9pm me thinks. Say a little prayer for me…

Everything else is only what is necessary to survive the next three days.

Oh and wine.

Unfortunately I couldn’t pack the Libertine. I would have put him in my bag first if I could have. But there you go.

I believe this will be an experience that will be good for me. It will test me and show me a little of what the universe is truly capable of. I look forward to sharing my thoughts post storm with you.

Here’s to survival of the fittest.

Enjoy the calm before the storm.

With love
Miss Mich.