The lingering whisper of adulthood

As I have said many times in the past, I'm not yet ready to be an adult. From everything I can gather, it seems to be a slow building momentum, where you daily make decisions that reflect your increasing maturity until you finally feel comfortable with the title 'adult'. However, in my case, I think maturity stands a better chance of sticking if it simply jumps out from behind a bush one day and tackles me to the ground. Then, if it can get me to say 'uncle' I will finally and officially concede to adulthood. In the meantime, I'm sticking with 'young adulthood' (you see? maturity is on to me already...it's sneaking the dreaded word in, and one day will somehow convince me to drop the young, and then, the beginning of the end...). But it seems to me that whatever my reluctance, already there are issues rearing their ugly head that indicate adulthood is waiting just around the corner. Take these for example:

• when I stop smiling, some of the little lines around my eyes don't go away (what is that!?!)
• I'm actually making my own dentist appointments with no prompting from a real grown up (still scared of the doctor though...)
• the other day I got a sample of anti-ageing cream in the mail, and I used it!
• I read an article on superannuation to better understand my retirement fund
• a tissue mysteriously made its way up into my sleeve the other day (this may have just been a weird fluke, but what if it's not???)
• suddenly there are grey hairs...not just one, but lots!
• Yesterday I chose the evening news over the simpsons (need I say more?)

Now, from my understanding, these are not necessarily unheard of things at the age of 29, but surely, SURELY they could have waited until I crossed the 30 barrier... You know what? This adulthood guy is tricky; I think he and maturity guy might be joining forces to take me down. If so, it would seem my obsession with age will need to come to an end, to usher in the era of "age is only a number" (the quickest way to make you feel young, even while your house is burning down around you from the fire started by the candles on your birthday cake).

Confessions of a tv junkie

I have a confession to make. I absolutely love the show Reba. Yes, I love it and over the past month I have been working my way through the first four seasons on dvd. I call it a confession because there is something almost shameful about admitting to a love of any American sitcom; aren't they all inherently boorish claptrap? But I think with distance comes the need for even the claptrap (not that I am willing to dismiss so much creativity with such a term; even in the midst of sitcom mediocrity, some shows seem to answer to a higher calling - think Northern Exposure). Being a Canadian now living in Australia, I think memories of America begin to take on a nostalgic sheen. The over produced sentimentality that I once despised is now lost in a happy appreciation of simplicity. In television, it's possible for families to solve an earth shattering problem in only 22 minutes, and though the logical side of my mind knows this is impossible, it's nice to imagine that things might be so easy. Reba is best friends with the woman who stole her husband...but they get to laugh their way through it...who wouldn't want such a reality?

However, I do recognise the danger of my addiction (if a friend should come to me with a problem, it seems unwise to give her some throw away line and pause for a commercial break), so to redeem myself, I have given up on most other commercial television. Instead, I now turn to all those previously mindnumbing documentaries on things like international policy, sub-Saharan ecology, and governmentality, found only on publicly funded stations (here ABC, the Australian equivalent of CBC or PBS). The even bigger surprise? I'm actually enjoying them. Apparently that faint stirring of the grown up in me is gaining momentum. Now, surely this must redeem me in the eyes of those who shake their head at my folly? If not, my apologies, but now I must run, Reba is waiting.

Bub(b)le(s) of joy

Well, it's official. I am now the newest Michael Buble fan! So to all of you who have tried to convince me before, my sincerest apologies, you were absolutely right, he's amazing! I've just heard the songs 'Home' and 'Everything' and now feel like maybe I didn't miss out on all the great times Frankie and the Rat Pack gave the world decades back. Michael has brought them back to life. Interesting question though: who would be his rat pack? Hmmm.....

The girls

Somehow, despite my vigilance, I have arrived at the ripe old age of 29 without any of those small sticky fingered people running around yelling 'Momma' in my general direction. I'm sure I'll get around to it eventually, but in the meantime, I happily content myself with my two gorgeous puppies, Mocha and Bailey.


Mocha as a puppy (this is her "superman" pose)

and as a grown up

Bailey as a puppy


and all grown up

Cuties hmm? Not that I'm biased...

And so it begins...

My very first post! There's always so much pressure in these moments, isn't there? When you begin a diary, journal, or now in our digital age, a blog, you want to be brilliant, just in case you become famous one day, and all your writings are kept and studied for any hitherto unidentified flashes of genius. Of course, such pressure inevitably destroys creativity, so for my first post, I will rely on the brilliance of others, sharing with you, dear reader, the wisdom of childhood:

All I really need to know I learned in kindergarten - Robert Fulghum

Share everything.
Play fair.
Don't hit people.
Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess.
Don't take things that aren't yours.
Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out in the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together.
Be aware of wonder.
Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: the roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we.
And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned - the biggest word of all - LOOK.

*sigh* Brilliant...