Full house of mayhem and mirth

By Virginia Winder

Who knew such a full house would be on the cards.

These days our cup runneth over with animals, Boomerang children and now builders. But not water.

The bathroom is getting a makeover and my job today has been to keep tabs on our new dog, our daughter’s kitten and our two older cats.

The water main was turned off for eight hours, the old toilet is out by the letterbox and the jug was empty. Damn it.

I spent the day pretending I was rehearsing for a natural disaster.

On that front, we’d fail big time. We have no water stored in plastic containers, no first aid kit and the camping lantern needs to be recharged. I know where the candles are, but not the matches. At least the dog’s bowls are filled to the brim. This lack of emergency planning will be rectified once our water is back on and the bathroom is back together.

In the meantime, there was a genuine emergency - I couldn't have coffee.

The loo has also been a major problem. I had to go wild. There’s a private spot in the garden I’ve claimed for inelegant relief, but I nearly got caught.

“Virginia, are you there? Are you decent?”

A journalist mate of mine came to visit, but thankfully the builder told him I was in the garden having a pee. I don't normally discuss my toiletry habits (OK, peeing in the garden is not a habit) but me and the handyman discussed loo logistics and decided out back was best.

Also tried visiting the neighbour, but he wasn’t home. Although desperate, I refrained from watering his backyard.

I can’t stay away for too long because I have to keep the youngest animals safe.

The kitten, who is hated by Izzy, our grey and white cat (oh the dynamics) loves to race out the front door. This is scary because beyond the front fence is a main road that has claimed a couple of our beloved feline friends.  

Luna in a restrained moment

And then there’s the dog. She’s new to us and hasn’t quite learnt the house rules.

She is a one-year-old white mongrel who is part naughtiness and part gazelle. She is a leaper and a chewer.  

In our absence or when she thinks we’re not looking, she springs on to the kitchen bench, boing, like her legs are springs, and grabs things. So far she’s taken a chilli (not chewed, which may have put here off further stolen spoils), apples, the pot scrubber, a packet of pig’s ears, and a steel cloth.

She’s chewed one remote control (still usable), been caught with another in her mouth, and stolen my Yoda slippers, her dog brush, Warren’s jandals and a variety of sports shoes.

But she is adorable.

Our son Nelson decided our home didn’t feel right without a dog so he went to the SPCA and fell in love.

We have named her Luna, after Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter. She is moon-like with short white hair and crater-like spots of black.

She is a delight. Naughty but nice, affectionate, pretty good with the cats, although our black and white boy, Scoop, has attacked her twice and so Luna is terrified of him.

Izzy smooches with her – she has a thing for dogs – and Draco the kitten and Luna tumble about like lion cubs, supervised of course. 

And then there are the Boomerangs.

Clementine and Nelson – with his girlfriend – have moved home to save up to go overseas. Both have achieved tertiary success, a degree for one and a diploma for the other, so have the world before them.

In the meantime, they are our housemates.

Our children’s favourite game is called “Mock Mum”. Luckily, my self-esteem is solid otherwise their “loving” teasing would bring me down. It doesn’t. We laugh a lot and that’s good for the soul.

Who could resist these boots?

One grown-up child has decided my online shopping needs to stop, although I know some much worse than me. I do admit I may have a wild boot thing going on. 

The other adult child teases me mercilessly about my divided attention, questionable memory and lost words. Sometimes, ordinary words just don’t come out.

“Pass me that hair thing,” I say to my bemused husband.

“You mean your hairbrush?”

I am at times woolly headed and that’s not just my hair when it’s humid.

“It’s my stage in life,” I say, slightly defensively.

I’ve even researched it (OK looked it up on Google) and there are definite links between memory loss and perimenopause. Apparently it won’t last – neither will said child if the derision continues.

So, life with the Boomerangs is interesting, challenging and best of all, loads of fun.

We had a house meeting in the beginning, assigned rooms for people to look after, and talked about things we found annoying that needed to be addressed.

Clementine with Draco and Luna

No 1 was hanging up towels in the bathroom because one Boomerang somehow missed that simple life lesson. However, this child now has an accomplice. After cursing at find damp towels crumpled on the floor, I discovered I was too quick to point the finger.

Draco, who would obviously be in Slytherin house, is an acrobat. His specialty is the towel act. While sitting on the loo other day, he treated me to his death-defying act of leaping on a towel, climbing up to the rail and then swinging precariously to bring the whole thing down on top of him. It was a dazzling display of kitten dexterity and I would have applauded except I was busy with the loo paper. A roll, which, sigh, was perforated with kitten claw marks.

This was a different roll than the one he pushed into the hallway the other day for him and the dog to battle over. It was only just salvageable.

So today I have been confined to the kitchen craving coffee, dog and kitten alternating between tumbling around the floor and lying asleep in the sun, while banging, whirring, clanging and cracking sounds emanated from the freshly gutted bathroom. 

Tomorrow there will be coffee – the jug will be full – and, alas, more necessary trips behind the orange tree.

At least that’s sure to herald another surprise visitor to our extremely full but happy house.

Farewell to our warrior princess

By Virginia Winder

I had to throw my crusts to the birds today.

It’s the first time in nearly 11-and-a-half years I’ve had to do that.

You see, my crusts have always been fed to my dogs. Plural. I grew up with Cushla and Tina, then in our marriage of 27 years, we’ve had Ella and Xena.

In fact one of my verbal pre-nuptial agreements with my then-to-be husband was that we had to get a dog. He grew up fearful of canines, so it was a big ask. But Warren grew to love our girls as much as our kids and I did.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to our darling Xena, a black Labrador-kelpie cross. She was nearly 13.

We got her as a rescue dog and it was love at first sight on all sides. The day we picked her up from Waitara, she was so strong I had to sit in the back seat of our stationwagon to fend off her attempts to jump over.

That’s why she had to have a name to match her power. Xena fitted perfectly.

Sometimes her strength was tested by her zany human mother. I used to wind her up and then wrestle her on the lounge floor. I was completely undignified, ridiculous and fearless. Xena never hurt me as we rolled about trying to pin each other down and growling. Yes, me too.

Our children watched on with amusement and possibly embarrassment. I’m not sure.

Xena used to have a bed in the kitchen, but one stormy night when she was barking, Nelson saved her. Or it could have been the other way round. From then on, probably about 2009, she slept on his bed nearly every night, giving him company and security.

That was the same time we swam in the sea every single day of the year. Clementine, who was learning to drive, was often our chauffeur. Warren, Nelson and I, with Xena at our heels, took the plunge in wind, rain, high and low tide, at sunrise and sunset. 

It was a great year for Xenie Weenie (our cutesy nickname for her) because she loved the beach with complete tongue-lolling abandon. She also loved going to her favourite black-sand beach with surrogate "auntie" Callie, our treasured friend and house-sitter.

Photo: Callie Boyle

The last time I walked with Xena on Back Beach a few weeks back, her hind legs kept giving way. In the end she plodded slowly – a far woof from her days of running at me, full speed, ears back, tongue out and swerving at the last second.

Often, depression is described as the “black dog”. It couldn’t be more opposite in our house – Ella was a black lab-cross too.

For me, Xena was many things, but never a symbol of the blues. I work from home, so she was always with me. She was my shadow, following me from room to room, even when I just popped down to the bedroom to get something.

She nuzzled me, licked me, greeted me with joy and was my every-day, all-day harbour of peace.

When Warren went away, I stole her from Nelson and she used to sleep next to me on top of the bed, head on the pillow.

In the days I got super fit by walking, cycling and swimming, Xena came with me on the first leg. She was great to walk, except when she saw a cat and lunged. Not great for shoulders.

At home though, she was a comfortable companion with our two cats, Izzy and Scoop. Izzy used to rub herself against Xena and lie close to her on the mat before the heater in the lounge.

We now have Draco, a grey kitten who, in the past few weeks, constantly attacked our ever-patient dog. She didn’t react – our girl became even more placid with age.

Watching her get old filled us with a slow-growing sadness. First she couldn’t run with Warren anymore, then she couldn’t jump on the bed, or in the back of the stationwagon.

Our next-door neighbour has a Harley Davidson and when he revved it up before a ride, Xena would go nuts, racing up and down our adjoining fence barking ferociously.

Then one day she didn’t. We realised her hearing had gone.

Her eyes, started to go too.

But never her appetite.

Yesterday, I kept pieces of hot cross bun to feed her and she willingly scoffed them down while lying in the bean chair in my office. That was her last supper.

When the vet came, we lay our girl on her bed in the sun on the deck and all held her as she faded away. It was so quick, so peaceful. Then we buried her next to Ella.

I woke this morning with a deep ache in my chest and a feeling like something is missing. On this cloudy day, I know what it is – my shadow.

And a loving, brown-eyed, soft-eared friend to eat my crusts.

Living in the now - trendy or truth?

By Virginia Winder

“Live in the now,” is the catch cry of everyone from Oprah to psychologists, self-help specialists to Buddhist leaders.

There are books about it, YouTube videos on it and social meme expounding “be present”.

They are shared so often that they are in danger of becoming clichés, if they haven’t already.

So what is all this “be in the moment” movement all about and is it just a trendy thing to say? 

But it’s not a new idea.

Back in 500-something BC, Buddha said: “Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.”

His words couldn’t be more relevant than now. Today we live a social-media-cell-phone-switched-on-selfie world, where our attention is constantly scattered. Let’s have a look at a familiar scenario.

Two friends, a man and a woman, are sitting in a café drinking coffee. Beside the man is his phone, which is constantly lighting up with alerts. Each time it does, he pauses and reads the screen, ignoring his old schoolmate. Then a text comes through and he answers it quickly, shutting her out as she shares about her job woes. In the face of his preoccupation she feels unimportant, annoyed and hollow.

   

On the other hand, her phone is on silent in her handbag. All of her attention is on her long-time friend and she leans forward as he talks about his latest break-up. She blocks out everyone in the café, even though she knows she’ll know a heap of people there. As a result, her buddy feels listened to, valued and replenished.

I’ve been guilty of being the bloke in this situation. Too often my children have complained I’m not listening to them and my husband has told me things I swear he’s never shared with me. I’ve been absent – immersed in reading something on my phone or being lost in my thoughts. I do dream a lot.

However, I would like to say that sometimes I can’t win when my son gets frustrated with me for not immediately answering a text. Like I don’t have a life. Like I couldn’t be driving, in the shower, at a movie, or god forbid, having a good time. But I digress.

So, to be a better wife, mother and friend, I’ve decided that when I’m with people I will fully focus on them. It’s a way of honouring these relationships by giving them all of me.

It’s not just about my phone and social media (which I am addicted to – oh the world it opens up for me in terms of news and stories), it’s about not drifting off in the middle of a conversation. It’s about being there. Totally.

And it’s about doing the same for myself.

Image: tattoos_by_zip

Sometimes getting lost in my thoughts can lead to downward spirals because I invent terrible scenarios that could happen in the future. Other times, I agonise over bad things that have happened in the past. Neither are helpful.

Living in this moment immediately stops the spiral. 

But again, what on earth does being present actually mean?

Alright, here we go. If I’m in the shower and start to get anxious about the day ahead, I focus on the warm water falling my body, breathe in the perfume of my shower gel, and open my mouth to taste the water. I am focused on my senses and suddenly the shower becomes a joyful experience.

When I write, I’m 100% present. Nothing else exists except my fingers tapping on the keyboard, the muse-releasing music in my ears and the words flowing on to the screen. There’s no place for yucky thoughts.

Doing art is the same, so is the process of making coffee and even driving. How many times have you followed the same route and got to your destination and not remembered any of the journey? That’s trance driving and not particularly safe. 

But I do allow myself to dream. Thoughts about writing are allowed to swirl through my mind, but only when I’m alone or in bed. I have a notebook with me all the time, so I can write down thoughts. You’ll see me at cafes in the next few months, pen scribbling over pages as I capture what I see.

Other places for total immersion in the now are swimming in surf, when the only thing that matters is the next wave. Or watching a TV programme or film with sub-titles (no time to play on your phone). Or at a dinner party with friends enjoying good food, great company and solving the problems of the world or belly-laughing. Or taking a flower photo.

Other ideas are to read a book, sit and listen to a whole music album, meditate, go walking or running, or dance at a concert. Soak it all in.

When I do an interview I’m totally there, full focused on my subjects and their story. Every single time I’ve done an interview, I have left feeling uplifted.

So my pledge to you is that, unless I meet you in the street and I’m running late, I will be with you. Now. In the moment. Present.

To me this idea isn’t a cliché, but a practical tool to live mindfully and well.

When you think about it, living in the moment means throwing yourself into every situation and being totally involved. None of this half-hearted living for me.

Fighting stigma around mind medications

By Virginia Winder

One of the biggest stigmas about living with experience of a mental illness is taking medication.

Everywhere I’ve turned lately, I have come up against the belief that being on medication is some sort of cop out and you’re a hero or heroine if you give it up.

Please, never encourage people who have diagnoses of bipolar, schizophrenia or depression to quit – especially if the medication is helping them.

Talking about suicide, the website Bipolar Lives says: “Dramatic reductions, both for attempts and completions, is one of the most striking impacts of lithium and other effective mood stabilisers.”

One of the most compelling aspects of living with bipolar is the temptation of going off my meds. Why? Because I miss the manic highs. They are amazing and you feel like you can conquer the world.

But these highs don't last.

When the mania erodes, like the slow shattering of a glass-made world, there’s the plunge – I call it the drop zone – when you find yourself at ground zero. All memories of what that “high” felt like are gone and often there’s huge embarrassment about the things you may have done or said “up there”.

The depression is made worse because the difference between the high and low are so acute. A large number of people with bipolar complete suicide – a rate of 15%. Of those living with bipolar, 50% will attempt to take their life and 80% will think about it. 

Those are horrifying statistics.

Images like this feed the stigma around taking
life-saving mental health medications.

For me, lithium keeps me stable – I don’t have the huge mood swings I used to. Yes, I still feel joy, have wildly creative thoughts, and also feel great sadness and anger.

But if I went off my medication, the outcome could literally kill me. So please think carefully, before you congratulate someone going off their meds or even worse, make them feel bad for being on them.

Would you applaud a diabetic for going off insulin? Or a person with powerful migraines to just tough it out? Or an asthmatic to give up their inhaler during an attack. Two of these scenarios are life-threatening.

Going off mental health medication can be exactly the same.

I came across a person once who had had a lung transplant – a huge medical procedure that required drugs so the organ wasn’t rejected.

This same person had a sibling on medication to help live with the debilitating illness of schizophrenia, and raved about how their loved one shouldn’t be on these drugs.

Weird that it’s OK to have all the medical intervention in the world for something physical, but not for a mental illness. I’ve talked with people who hear voices, who live with psychosis and paranoia, and know it’s heart-breaking and terrifying. Can you imagine walking around with a voice talking in your head the whole time, which you can’t switch off?

What many of those people don’t know is that for some people, like myself, medication is a life saver.

Yes, I tried St John’s Wort, but it caused me to have mini seizures. So that’s crossed off the list. However, it can work wonders for some people. 

Advice: Don’t ever take it at the same time as antidepressants, because you could end up with a nasty temporary condition called serotin syndrome. Yes, you can have too much of a good thing.

The thing about mental health medications is you need to get the right drugs. You need to work with your doctor or psychiatrist to do that. Unfortunately, it can take time and patience and, sometimes, you may suffer a raft of unwanted side effects before the ideal drug or combo is found. The same goes for medication for physical conditions.

I was put on lithium after I became one of the 50% (see above).

Nearly three years on, I have been stable, with one short dip on the way. Lithium has changed my life and my life expectancy.

So please don’t hassle people on mental health medication to get off and be wary about supporting those who stop taking their pills, especially those with a long history of extreme mental illness.

If it’s you who’s quitting, ask yourself why? Is it the stigma, do you miss the highs (if you’re bipolar), or is it a push from the natural health advocates that’s shaping your opinion? Could it be side effects? If so, work with your doctor to try something else.

For those who are suffering and won’t even look at mental health medication, think carefully about why. Do you think you deserve to suffer? Is depression a familiar, almost comfortable place to hide? Are you frightened of medical intervention? Would you feel the same if you had a heart attack? Or meningitis? 

This is a great book full of
mindfulness tips. 

Then there are those people who won’t go on medication – or go off it – and instead self-medicate with alcohol or drugs. This is extra harmful because both can make the illness worse, feed into depression and/or mania and may cause psychosis.

Believe me, medication isn’t the only answer. For me mindfulness is my cornerstone, along with Acceptance Commitment Therapy, creativity, family, friendship, love, laughter, meaningful work, good sleep, healthy food and exercise. Staying well takes a lot of hard work.

Every now and again, I look at my rock-of-a-husband, and say: “Sometimes I really feel like going off lithium so I can feel that exquisite high again.”

“I’d rather have you alive,” he replies.

Warrior of words

By Virginia Winder

It's time to stand up. 

For too long I've been lying down (quite literally lately), hiding behind my journalistic shroud of impartiality. 

Enough. It's time to speak out on the things I care about. On people, our planet, mental and physical health, creativity, peace, equality and spirituality. 

It's time to be a warrior of words. To interview, to research, look deeply, to save the world - all the reasons I became a journalist in the first place all those 30-plus years ago. 

This is my New Year's pledge. 

Also, 2017 will be a time to improve my writing style; to dance with words, to try new techniques and become a more exciting and moving storyteller. I'm doing an online course through Future Learn, which is at all of our fingertips for free.

The aim is to write this blog once a week because regular schedules work for me.

There will be features, opinion pieces, personal stories (mine and yours), music and film reviews - anything that moves me in some way.  

Expect VW's Vibrant World to challenge, inspire and be filled with people.  

They could be you. 

So don't be surprised if you hear from me with a request to tell your story or to comment on a compelling issue.

We're all the good guys and we need to save the day.