I Quit Standing In My Own Way.....

I quit worrying over events that haven't even happened yet and most probably never will! I can create endless anxiety and emotional turmoil for myself by imagining various different negative scenarios that may happen – or not. What a waste of time and energy!

I quit trying to control my surrounding environment and loved ones. I can't help it if I'm late for an appointment because I am stuck in traffic. I can't help it if my husband comes home grumpy because he has had a bad day. I can't control my cat coming into contact with a snake on our farm. These situations can cause negative responses, however it's out of my control!

I quit fearing the unknown, or failure or success etc. Why should I let myself be my own worst enemy? I will not let fear stand in my way any longer. It is debilitating and detrimental and the obstacle that I have in the past allowed to cloud me of amazing opportunities.

From now on I will take this short life by the horns and with confidence and trust in myself, will not only look each new opportunity in the eye, but I will actively seek them out. I will stand tall and walk forward fearlessly and I will endeavor to be the best person I can be at any given moment. Some moments may vary, however as long as I am doing my best, that is all that matters. Then I will let go and have faith that life will meet me half way with inspiring and wonderful possibilities. I will also teach myself to stay in the moment instead of projecting into the future and missing the here and now. My beautiful animals role model this lesson to me every day.

I have realised my life is created by my thoughts. In order to have a 'good' life, I need to keep my thoughts positive. Yes, this may be challenging at times, however it can be managed with practice. I will give my all to succeed at this amazing adventure called life, as it is over in a blink of an eye, and I don't want to waste a single second by standing in my own way. 

I quit fear.....and I will do my utmost to remind myself of this each new day I awake.

 

 

My Very First Friend...

I believe if we are bonded with certain people (souls), we stay bonded regardless of whether we physically see each other or not.....and when we do meet up again if contact has been lost, it's as though we'd only spoken yesterday..... 


I was bombed with an amazing surprise this week that has left me warm and fuzzily delving into the past for the last few days. Through Face Book, amongst the pros and cons of social media, I linked up with a dear, long lost girlfriend. In fact, my very first friend!

I commenced primary school in Australia half way through grade prep and couldn't speak a word of English. The teacher buddied me up with Christine to be introduced to the school facilities, such as the toilets. The other children initially teased me, being 'the strange new girl with the even stranger language', but my beautiful new friend always had my back.

Christine and I completed primary and high school together and were the best of friends. Everyone always knew where one of us was, the other wasn't far away. We danced through the enjoyable, challenging, sometimes a little dangerous teenage years together and were always there for each other to either console or to celebrate the various experiences that presented.

However, as life happens, we lost touch. Christine married, while I travelled overseas and resided in Europe for six years. Then, after I returned we did find each other again, although I can't even remember how! I do remember Chrissy had given birth to two beautiful children, who were then five and two years old. Shortly after our reunion, she and her family moved to Hong Kong for a few years and again we lost contact (there was no social media then, or I hadn't discovered it. I'm not sure which).

That was many years ago and I would often think of my beautiful friend. Finally, after family and friends had attempted for many months (or years) to introduce me to Face Book, I decided to jump on board! I was dubious though, as there were already not enough hours in my day. How would I fit Face Book in too? But I caved and I joined up. It took a while, however I re-found Christine, as well as a couple of mutual friends I hadn't seen for around thirty-five years!!

So the four of us arranged a dinner date and spent the evening reminiscing about our youth. There were lots of laughs amongst some initial tears. It was so amazing to see Christine again and our long lost, old friends. No one had really changed appearances, except of course for the greying hair and laugh lines around the eyes. It was surreal and so very special.

Chrissy and I both turned fifty years old this month, (I would remember her birthday every year) and we were able to celebrate our milestones together – on her birthday. I was also fortunate to see her whole, lovely family again, who were a huge part of my childhood.

So, Chrissy and I have made a pact, which is never to lose contact again – ever! There's no excuse for it any more. Chris lives interstate these days, yet comes across and visits her family quite regularly. I'm sure I will find the time to drive up to the city to meet her on occasions, in fact I look forward to it :)

 

 

Family Echoes....

I wish I had some wonderful memories of my grandparents, of visiting them in the school holidays, being spoiled and cuddled endlessly as a child. However this is sadly not the case.

My family immigrated from Germany to Australia in 1971. I was just five years old, the youngest child of three and only daughter. We left behind my grandmothers, who from this time period, I have no recollection of.

In 1975, my mother and I returned to Germany for six weeks. As I was then nine years old, I can remember quite clearly visiting my father's mother. I remember sitting at a small table, my mother, my grandmother and I, enjoying afternoon tea in my grandmother's quaint, prim and proper home, situated in a large northern city. Actually, what I recall only too well is gently kicking my mum under the table numerous times and letting her know in no uncertain terms that I was bored and very much wanted to leave!

My grandmother (Kate) had a proud and stern demeanour, or so it seemed to my young mind. My understanding is she never completely accepted my mother as being my father's chosen bride, however I am told no woman would have been good enough for my dad in my grandmother's eyes.

I was in primary school when she passed away in her early seventies from Parkinsons disease.

During the trip to Germany, my mother and I resided mostly with mum's mother (Erica). She owned a hotel in a beautiful little southern country town (my mother's birth place), which she had, together with her husband – my grandfather – hand built of rocks.

I remember her sitting at one of the tables in the corner of the hotel with both legs outstretched on a chair before her. I later learned she had numerous medical issues concerning her heart, and one of the prominent symptoms at the time was serious swelling in her legs. As a young child I also recall her always looking somewhat sad.

My grandmother had given birth to five children, and during her hospital stay and in labour with her fifth child, my grandfather packed up his belongings and left her for a younger woman! Grandmother had no choice, but to manage the hotel and parent her children alone.

My mother, who was the oldest and a teenager by then, became her youngest sister's 'mother' for the first two years of life, while in the evenings she was expected to help out in the busy tavern.

I never met my mother's father (Otto). I believe he lived somewhere in Germany and died in his eighties some years ago through natural causes. My grandmother passed away peacefully in hospital from heart failure at the young age of sixty-two. However, they say she died from a 'broken heart', as she never emotionally recovered from her husband's abandonment.

My father's father (Heinrich) was a respected, prominent school teacher. It was during World War ll, my father's family was in the process of fleeing from the Russians. Times had been so tough and food was scarce. My father used to tell me tales of how, as a thirteen year old, he would steal bread or potatoes whenever the opportunity arose to help feed his family.

Grandfather died from malnutrition on a Christmas Eve, in my father's arms on a fleeing train. He had been a solid, tall, fit man and at the time of his passing, appeared like a walking skeleton. Many people lost their lives this way, and many had become too weak to fight illnesses.

I can't imagine, even for a second, how soul-destroying and painful that era must have been.

I would have dearly loved to have known all my grandparents well, especially my father's father. I feel my connection with him is the strongest, even in death.

However, I will cherish the stories and memories handed down from my parents and keep my grandparents in a special place in my heart, regardless of circumstances that happened....

 

 

　

　

Our Beautiful Baldy....

Sadly last week we lost our beautiful, quarter horse, Baldy.

Our hearts are heavy, his paddock is bare and the farm is now incomplete....

Baldy was born in1993 and at five years of age was bought at a horse sale in Tamworth by my father in law, who at the time was under the influence of alcohol and had no recollection of his purchase until the following day. Trained and ridden by my then teenage brother in law (Luke Hullick), he proved himself to be an excellent cutting horse. Cutting is a western style equestrian competition in which a horse and rider work as a team before a judge or panel of judges to demonstrate the horse's athleticism and ability to handle cattle during a two and a half minute performance.

Baldy (known as Baldy Freckles when working), together with Luke, won many prestigious awards over his eight year working life, such as certificates of merit, of ability, a few thousand dollars in prize money, a western saddle and mostly always finished amongst the top three entrants. His muscular, stocky physique gave him the strength to become a champion, while his intelligence and understanding was astonishingly impressive. Although he was a gorgeous light chestnut color, Baldy was actually classed as a paint horse, due to his white tummy. However, you would have never noticed this unless he rolled in front of you.

In 2010 I arrived home one afternoon from work, poured myself a cuppa and ventured out onto our verandah for what I thought to be a well deserved break. Sipping my coffee, I nearly choked as I suddenly heard the neighing of a horse sounding across our farm, and as I looked up, there was Baldy, looking at me! I had wanted to own a horse since I was a little girl and at the age of forty-three my wish was finally granted (never say never!). Sixteen years old by then, Baldy needed a new, loving home, as the family was shifting from Northern Victoria to South Gippsland, and my husband felt this would be a perfect surprise for me, which it absolutely was. I was thrilled.

Baldy and I grew to know each other well and I adored him. He resided in our front paddock next to the farm drive-way and would greet us each time we returned home. I would spoil him with carrots (he would kill for), I would stroke and brush him whenever I could and I made sure his hooves were trimmed and oiled regularly. Every morning I would place his fly mask over his head to keep those wretched flies away and often I would apply sunscreen to his white nose. He didn't like it much, but his nose was prone to sunburn. He was my responsibility, my friend, and he deserved all the care, love, attention and nurturing I could possibly give him in his retirement. He had worked hard.

 

In 2013, after a weeping left eye, Baldy had his cancerous third eye lid surgically removed – just in time apparently. However, late last year, his eye began weeping again and after desperately attempting to save it with medication, he was put under anaesthetic to have his eye removed.

 

He would be ok. I had spoken with horse owners, who had been in similar situations and I was assured their horses were fine, some even returned to show jumping. So I was confident Baldy would get through this too. However, sadly more cancer was found behind the eye area and surrounds and the only humane option was to let him go during the operation, there and then. It was heart-breaking.

 

The following day (on a public holiday) my husband and I brought Baldy's body home to our farm

and buried him. Australia Day won't ever be quite the same for us now. Two days later I was once again sitting on our verandah, reminiscing about Baldy, when I swear I heard him snort as he often used to do. Imagination? Maybe. We will miss our beautiful boy for a long time to come and I am thankful for the six years I was able to spend with him. He'd lived a wonderful life and that was the main thing...