Heading East

Farewell Fort Collins! 

Blink and you almost miss it. 

The pretty grid of streets becomes farmland in less than fifteen minutes.

Hit the freeway. 

The mountains recede in the rear view mirror and, 

Welcome to Wyoming! 

The land becomes flatter 

Until there is nothing but flat green to the distant horizon.

Welcome to Nebraska! 

Mother Mary at the border. 

Endless fields punctuated by giant horizontal, triangular sprinklers

Large metal silos and water towers

Herds of cattle

The occasional horse.

Trains snake their way along tracks in the distance.

Clusters of trees denote houses. Long dusty driveways trail from the house and run parallel to the freeway.

State-sponsored rest-stops with spotless restrooms and vending machines selling candy and soda. 

Funky tasting water from the water fountains.

Outside, wind-blown picnic tables sit empty

Signs detail generic area histories. 

The Native Americans... 

The white “pioneers” and “settlers” ... 

Electricity 

“Progress”

Imagine traveling through here before asphalt and gas stations and water towers?! 

Drive past Lincoln: Capital of Nebraska. President of the USA. Memorial in Washington. Library block and blue “house” at my high school in Sydney (Sydney, Australia - not Sidney, Wyoming).

We zip down the freeway. 

Who organizes these endless fields? Switches on the sprinklers? Surveys the land? 

Who creates the timetables of those long trains that chug through the landscape?

Or can sometimes be seen sitting still in the middle of nowhere. Where is the driver? 

The network of gas stations. The people who staff them.

The road. The road. The road. 

Puffy white clouds create patterns of sun and shade over the fields 

Head towards darker clouds, and then, hard driving rain on the windshield. 

Pass through. 

More road, more fields, more clouds. 

Wire fences and tilled land as far as the eye can see

Wide open spaces.  

Road kill. Religious billboards. And gas stations. 

Signs for Kansas City (everything’s up t’ date in...!) 

The bridge with the monument and winged horses.

The bridge with the metal and corrugated iron sailing ships.

Welcome to Iowa! 

Immediately after the border, the landscape begins to undulate. 

We have been on the road for 9 hours.

We pull into Minden, Iowa. 

(Min-den? Or Mind-en?)

Outside the Country General Store, a sun-faded sign

You are stomping into Minden!

With a couple standing in a bucket of grapes. There are cut-out spaces for heads and hands. Touristy. Gimmicky. Hilarious. 

Travel down the road.

A cemetery lined with red, white, and blue flags.

It seems almost festive, all that color and movement

Flags waving in the wind. 

  

Follow the road and arrows pointing to the motel and 

“Central Business District”

Our road and two others converge on the war memorial

 A sculptured

Over-sized American eagle, bronzed and bedecked in stars

Sternly stares down Main St 

The one-storey motel, ex-legion’s club, community hall, post office, bank, and

Church 

All look on in respect. 

Further east down the road 

A meat-packing and processing facility is bordered by the drug store,

The grocery store sits opposite. 

Neat houses with trim lawns and brightly colored pin wheels stand almost regimentally down the street.

West of the memorial - 

The fire station/mayor’s office

And more houses

Beyond Main Street, the world is fields of green and metal silos. 

The motel is currently staffed by an obese older man. 

He breathes heavily. The manager is at the movies with her boyfriend. 

He takes us down to our room. 

Here you go. Leave that switch on, it’s connected to the fridge. Shower in there. We have cable. 450 channels. We have wifi, I think. Not sure how to work it. I don’t have a computer. Enjoy your stay. 

He shuffles back down the hallway. The effort is immense.

We seek out dinner. The grocery store is closed. The manager has returned. Marin. She is Egyptian. How did she end up in Minden, Iowa? 

Marin of Minden offers frozen dinners - Salisbury steak with corn and mash. 

The hippies, formerly of Fort Collins, who have cooked farmer’s market meals seven days a week for the past six months, try not to recoil rudely in fear of microwave food stuffs. 

One dollar only! I make no profit! 

We smile. Thank you, but I’m a vegetarian.

She looks at me curiously, processing this foreign term, vegetarian.

Ah! I have olives! And crackers? It’s Sunday. Everything closed! But, gas station, just down the road! 

Apologetic thank you’s, and we head back to the car. 

I love you! Marin calls out.  

I eat granola for dinner. Damn hippies! 

In the morning, it’s back on the road. 

Count the road kill. Count the religious billboards. Count the gas stations.

The big move east,

We’re on our way. 

West End Work

"Hello! May I take you to your seat?!" #stagey 

Tonight

I was selling programs
And a woman came up to me
And said
"Are you an actor?
You have a lovely theatre voice."
To which I laughed
In reply
And said
"Just about every usher
In the West End
Is an actor!"
And she laughed too
And we had a little conversation
And as she departed,
Program in hand,
She smiled and said
"Well, good luck
I'm sure you'll get work in no time."
And it truly made my day
To have a random stranger
Say something nice
Say something confidence boosting
To remind me
Why I'm here in the first place

The end.

Go West

Imagine Two-years-ago-me
Sitting in her room
In suburban Sydney
Wishing hoping for something different
And following Amy Krouse Rosenthal
And being inspired by what she had to say
Her interactive works of art
And flashmobs and acts of kindness and moments centered around
The Bean, Chicago.
And finding
Today Me
Sitting on the grass opposite
The Bean, Chicago
And feeling like
Oh. My. Goodness. Look where we have come!

And sitting in the public park
On a glorious late summer's day
And people watching
There's a family on a picnic blanket
Mom and two sons
All reading books,
There's a grown-up mother and daughter
Just lounging on the grass
Looking up at the sky, the clouds, the shimmer of trees
The mother has white hair and permanent wrinkles around her mouth
The daughter has brown hair and similar, though less pronounced wrinkles,
And every so often the daughter turns her head to her mother.
There's a mother and baby,
The baby is old enough to sit up on her own, but not yet old enough to be forming words
She can hear the band in the distance, but can't quite figure out where the sound is coming from.
The music excites her and she points to the sky and smiles and exclaims,
"Oh!"
She toddles around on the grass, smiles shyly at strangers who smile at her, and occasionally stops to bop along to the distant music-
She is distracted by another baby, a boy a few months older than her,
He is oblivious to her existence but she smiles and waves at him anyway,
"Look at us! We. Are. So. Clever!"

And then finding Today-Me
Sitting in a car
With a patient, loving boy
Driving across the vastness that is America
And seeing all the corn and soybeans and giant billboards
And literally driving into the most glorious of sunsets
Where the sun is an impossible giant orange ball

And suddenly you are in Colorado
And there are mountains in the west
And the streets are wide
And the sky is so incredibly blue
And bands are playing in the small parks
And the lady who sells chocolate honey at the farmer's market is an actual witch
Who knows how to brew concoctions that taste like heaven
And the man from the winery is willing with his samples
And the fruit tastes so good you can't believe you ever lived without it
And you breathe in the warm dry air
And you wonder
What is next on the adventure?

The end.

July 4th

My friend Helene and I singing the Swedish frog song.
Photo by Rene Macioce. 

The camp where I work was founded by pacifists, people who had endured the horrors of Nazi Germany. Today our place of work is staffed by people from all over the world Australia, New Zealand, Mexico, Ireland, Scotland, Canada, Poland, Czech Republic, Sweden... As a result, we don't celebrate Independence Day, we celebrate Diversity Day. In the evening the international staff and international campers share their cultures, their music and stories and tidbits of information that make their cultures different to the American one. But even Diversity Day makes me uncomfortable. I feel anxious around displays of nationalism. And so, I wrote and shared the following. 

Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. 

Allow me to explain. I am Australian. I am Spanish. I am descendent from Filipinos, Dutch, and Polish. I have blood relatives in Spain, Switzerland, England, America, Canada, the Philippines, and Australia. I speak un pocito Español. I grew up in Sydney, approximately 10,000 miles from this place. Where I come from we wear thongs instead of flip flops, the forest is called the bush. We eat lollies and not candy, and wear singlets instead of tank tops. We say it is hot outside, and not it is hot out. I call my friends on a mobile not a cell, We don’t walk upside down. Nor do our toilet bowls flush in the opposite direction... I don’t think. I never rode a kangaroo to school. I never owned a pet koala. I never met Steve Irwin. 

I’m rather uncomfortable with declarations of nationalistic pride. I grew up in a country whose national day of pride is Anzac Day, which commemorates the landing of Australian and New Zealander troops on the shores of Galipoli, Turkey, and were subsequently slaughtered in their thousands. Now we’re friends with the Turkish, and we eat their delicious foods and every year thousands more Australians congregate at Galipoli to remember the fallen from nearly a hundred years before. 

I’m a raging pacifist. I don’t get war. I really don’t. Once upon a time the British fought the Americans. Then they decided to stop. Now they are allies. Now they laugh at each other from across the pond. Seventy years ago my country was shooting Turks, and Germans, and Italians. Seventy years later I grew up eating pita bread, pretzels, and pizza. When my grandparents were teenagers they were sheltering from Japanese bombs and fearing death. My grandmother now drives a Japanese car, we all eat sushi, and my class at school almost had more Japanese students than Australian. 

I don’t get displays of nationalistic pride. They make me uncomfortable. I’ve spent the last five years traveling the world. I’ve been to Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Germany, France, Switzerland, England, Wales, and the US of A. Now I may have only begun to scrape the surface of the metaphorical travel iceberg but here’s what I’ve discovered in my travels. No one place is better or worse than any other. America is no more the land of the free than Australia is the land of sunshine. In all those places I’ve seen people going about their daily lives. They wake up, they eat food, they go to the toilet, they spend the day making ends meet, if they’re lucky they’ll have time to play. At the end of the day they gather with their families and then they go to sleep. There are variations on this theme. Yes, many people have less other people. Yes, you have the occasional people that spend their days plotting the demise of other people who aren’t their people. But you know what? Most people just happened upon this here crazy planet, and they’re doing the best that they can.

Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. I care that you treat me decently just because. I care that I can be open to cultures and traditions and foods and that aren’t my own. It may be naive. It may be simplistic. But we’ve got to start somewhere. I hope you’ll care less where I come from. At the end of the day, let’s just exist on this planet together. Let’s draw on several thousand years of human history and share the foods that our ancestors ate. Let’s find a way to share life, liberty, and the pursuit of happyness in all its rich diversity. 

The end. 

Melbourne

image from ineedaholiday

Once upon a time yesterday there was a girl called Lulu who liked musicals very much. She liked them so much that one she decided to fly all by herself from Sydney to Melbourne to see some new musicals. So she booked her ticket and off she went. When she got there she was very excited because her hostel was right by the river and in walking distance to Federation Square and the Melbourne Arts Centre, which are both very lovely. 

After walking down by the riverside and admiring all the pretty sculptures lining the riverbank, Lulu took herself to the Australian Centre for the Moving Image to see the current exhibition, “Dreams Come True: The Art of Disney’s Classic Fairy Tales”. Lulu spent a few happy hours wandering the halls of the exhibit, admiring how clever the people at the Disney Studio were and still are, and getting a little bit teary at all the lovely princess stories and remembering just how much they are a part of her psyche, even if her university educated feminist self says that the messages they espouse are a little bit dated. The critical part in Lulu’s mind also wondered about the stories not being told in the exhibit, for example, why/how/when did the Walt Disney Brothers Studios become just the Walt Disney Studios. Lulu remembered from her university days that there is a lot of story being told in what is purposefully left out, and she made a mental note to investigate it further later on. 

Then Lulu made a mad dash for the Melbourne Arts Centre, which was luckily just a hop, skip, and a jump across the river. She collected her ticket, and went downstairs into the Fairfax Theatre to watch Program One of Carnegie 18, a new musical theatre development program. In short, it was utterly wonderful (if you would like to hear the longer version of this part of the story you will need to keep an eye on Flusical for Episode 6: Carnegie 18). Lulu laughed, cried, held her breath, and was filled with utter excitement at the high level of talent, and the wonderful new works on display. In the interval she met a lovely lady named Jan, who happened to be the editor of Australian Stage Online, the newsletter in which Lulu found out the London Central School was holding Sydney auditions. Lulu thanked Jan profusely for changing her life for 2011, and with much discussion about musicals and Australian theatre to be had, Lulu and Jan sat above the river eating wicked but utterly delicious treats.

In the late afternoon, Lulu was lucky enough to interview Vanessa Pigrum, the Artistic Director of Carnegie 18, for Flusical. Vanessa was very lovely, and Lulu was left feeling inspired and ready to take on the world. The second program of Carnegie 18 was equally as exciting and moving as the first program, and Lulu was particularly taken by the new opera about netball. She had no idea that the drama of netball could be so fitting for an opera. Or that sopranos could be so funny. 

By now the sun had set over Melbourne, and while most other folk were watching the tennis, Lulu made back for her hostel. Sitting in the kitchen writing up her notes for the day, Lulu had a wonderful conversation with a Canadian traveller. They talked about politics and nations and the state of the world and indigenous affairs and national identity. It was very lovely, and it was only when the kitchen was closed for the night did the conversation come to an end.

Four hours later Lulu was back at the airport, and by now she was very tired from her grand adventure and severe lack of sleep. Thankfully adrenalin and inspiration were abundant, and helped her to stay awake throughout the day so she could work, edit the next episode of the podcast, and write about her adventures. And then she collapsed into bed to dream about all things musical. 

The end.

Tom Ward

I was inspired to make this after seeing the very talented Tom Ward playing in Pitt St Mall this afternoon. Apologies for the camera quality, but we work with what we have. I hope you too have had a beautiful day.

Dinner at Shelly Beach

 (picture of Shelly Beach from here)

One day one can find oneself sitting at Shelly Beach looking at the headland covered in lush greenery and at the ocean and at people picnicking and playing and swimming and in the past fifteen minutes you have encountered three water dragons, a possum, and a rabbit sitting beneath a tree. And although a storm is brewing, it is still warm, and people are not in any rush to leave. A man is strumming a guitar. There is laughter. Upstairs in the cafe there is a party going on and you can hear the music and the hubbub of people chatting and mingling. 

And then you can find yourself sitting inside a lovely restaurant eating beautiful food with five beautiful people from all over the world. And the conversation tingles your toes and resonates with everything you have been thinking and feeling and reading for the past little while and it all feels delightfully synchronistic. And outside the storm has taken gentle reign of the beach. It's raining, but not very hard. The lightning camera flashes the sand and the ocean and the trees. And it is lovely. And it is beautiful. And you go home tired but happy and feeling like something within you has shifted. And you are incredibly grateful that you were there, you were a part of the conversation, and you shared the energy and it was light and beautiful and song. 

The end.

New Year's Eve

It’s days like these that will make you happy. Spending time with friends. Popping in to see Matt and Clairie-O, meeting lovely people and playing board games. Catching the train across the Bridge and seeing the myriad of people lining the foreshore. Sydney is made for big events on the harbour. A bright blue sky day. Warm. People of all ages, backgrounds, and walks of life are out on the street. The air is alive. I meet Len at Dawe’s Point. All the “VIP’s” feeling extra special because they have invites. Wrist-tagged and bag searched and inside to where the mood is festive, the music pumping. The view is spectacular. I don‘t recall seeing the fireworks from this side of the bridge before. The Opera House to my right. The sound of the giant bangs. Explosions of sparkle in the sky. 

We walk around to Circular Quay. The kind concierge at the Marriott finds me a safety pin for my holey jumper. Walk up Pitt St and up to the State Library. On the steps of the palace I meet Heath and Lyn and Ben. We walk down to join the queue for the Cahill Expressway. It is orderly and calm and moves quickly. Onto the Expressway and down to the western end. The view is utterly spectacular. The Bridge, the Opera House, the Quay beneath us. People are patiently waiting for midnight. We eat ice cream. Girls in colourful costumes walk past to entertain the crowd. 

On the hour, the half hour, and quarter of the hour before midnight single fireworks explode over the city and over the Opera House. People cheer. And suddenly it is ten seconds to midnight. And the pylons light up with giant numbers, helping the crowds around the foreshore count down. And then it is 2011! And the fireworks erupt. A lone bird flies confused over the bridge through the smoke and glitter. The bridge becomes so covered in smoke you can’t see it any more, and even some of the fireworks are obscured. A giant hand appears on the Bridge. 2011, Make Your Mark. With your hands go out into the world and create. High five the people you meet. Offer your hand in love, in gratitude, in peace. Wave goodbye Sydney. 2011, I’m off to make my mark on the world!

Christmas Stocking

Christmas has passed and it’s now the season for taking stock of the year. Some of this year has been awful. But you breathe into the pain, and you just keep breathing, and suddenly you find that you are surrounded by an absolute plethora of amazing food, music, family, friends, and theatre. And you come to the end of the year with the ability to say that much of it has been utterly wonderful. In no particular order, the beautiful, inspiring, exciting, and lovely things in my life this year have been...

• The Eveleigh Farmer’s Markets with my bestie Len
• Starting dance, singing, and flute lessons again
• Starting Flusical with Flick
• Starting the Movie Musical Project
• Learning to cook pasta, ice cream, polvoron, bread, pastry, and cheese from scratch
• Quitting the security of a full-time job to pursue theatre and it being utterly wonderful 
• Getting paid to watch Jersey Boys several times a week
• Moving to Ashfield with beautiful housies 
• Developing my personal meditation practise, obtaining my Meditation Facilitator’s Certificate, running morning meditations in Glebe
• Performing in The Pajama Game and meeting all the beautiful wonderful people at Strathfield Musical Society
• Singing with the Bling Band
• Running my first City to Surf  
• Discovering MusicalTalk, Seth Rudetsky, Amy Krouse Rosenthal, and Superforest 
• Knowing that I am surrounded by the most beautiful, talented, wonderful, supportive friends
• Knowing that I have incredibly beautiful, talented, wonderful, supportive families 
• Working with amazing people 
• Seeing Shoshana Bean, Donna McKechnie, Stephen Schwartz, and Liz Callaway perform in Sydney and Brisbane 
• Being accepted into the London Central School of Speech and Drama Masters of Music Theatre program

Yum and Fun

My goodness what a weekend! There have been so many moments of inspiring, beautiful, and lovely in the past three days that I barely know where to begin. I performed in my first dance concert since I was 14, I visited the North Sydney Markets and Eveleigh Farmer’s Markets and wished all my wonderful vendors a Merry Christmas, thanking them all profusely for the past year of amazing locally and organically grown delights, I cooked up a storm with my housie/bestie Len, I met a ton of performers, musicians, and techies, I partied, I watched the 8th Annual Cabaret Showcase, and I marveled at the way the weather can change from bright hot sunshine to cold and rain and even snow in Australia in December (?!?!?!?!?), all in the space of 48 hours. Crazy!!

And now to the yum factor. Following the cancellation of other exciting Saturday night adventures Len and I decided to put a rare weekend night at home by baking up a storm. Len put his recently acquired Italian culinary skills to the test and whipped up the most incredible roast pumpkin ravioli in a thyme butter sauce. Dear future girlfriends of Len, this man is a seriously amazing cook. No seriously. Freaking amazing. The promise of the addition of roast garlic to reprises of this dish is something I’m very much looking forward to. Dear Len. Please stop reading the blog and get baking. Many thanks... :) I had some left over plums and cherries which weren’t going to last much longer, so making a variation on a Cyndi O’Meara recipe for a lemon tart, I whipped together a cherry pie. It was ridiculously easy, and oh so very, very tasty. And I realised afterwards, with considerable joy, that I knew where every single ingredient came from, and just about all the farmers who had worked to bring me these goodies. The eggs and plums came from Champion's Mountain Organics, the honey from Malfroy's Gold, the cold pressed macadamia oil from Hand n' Hoe Organics, the flour from Demeter Farm Mill, and the cherries from Yuri’s Sustainable Produce in Orange. 

Beautiful food, beautiful music, performing, and spending time with amazing people. Life really doesn’t get any better than this! 

Bits of Lovely

Amy Krouse Rosenthal is a Chicago based American artist, author, and all round inspiring lady. I've been following her blog for the past couple of months, and much like the beautiful Superforest, can always be trusted to inspire beauty, joy, and lightness in the world. Her recent video Train of Thought made me smile this morning. 

Another bit of lovely inspiration is Amy K.R's "7 Things" (listed at the top of this post), shared at an independent TED Talk, TEDxWaterloo.

The Best Things

In the past 7 days I have had several beautiful, inspiring, and exciting experiences...

On Monday I went down to Canberra (the above image is actually a photo of the air con and personal light on the bus!) to visit my good friend Susie La Q and her boyfriend Ryan, and after a delicious lunch in the CBD, we headed off to the Australian War Memorial. Even though I have been to the memorial countless times, each visit is an emotional, confronting, and inspiring. It is a beautifully designed space, and the exhibits never fail to move me. It seems that the more I learn about conflict around the world, the less I understand it. At closing time, the crowds are ushered towards the exit, and we were privileged to witness the “closing ceremony”, a simple service at the Pool of Reflection. A different soldier is remembered each day, his story read out to the crowd, and at the conclusion, a moment of silence followed by a lone musician playing The Lament on the bagpipes. Looking around the crowd, a multicultural mix of tourists from all around the world, I couldn’t help but wonder, what is the point of all this conflict? I am standing with people whose nations at one time or another Australia has most likely been at war with. And for what? Has it made the world a better place? Or does it just make people more mistrusting of each other? 

On Tuesday Susie and I visited Floriade. If you ignored the carnival rides and Easter Show-like stalls, you could almost believe you were stepping into an Impressionist painting. The rainbow of colours of poppies and irises and English daisies and chrysanthemums, the light green of the weeping willows dotting the perimeter of the lake was breath-taking (I love how in the photo below, the image has pixelated and it looks like a painting). The gnome knoll was a surprise highlight, with a myriad of brightly and imaginatively painted gnomes grinning up at intrigued passers-by. Thank you to Susie La Q and Ryan (and Sulley!) for a lovely couple of days! 

On Thursday I took Phoebe and her friend Sara (aged 7 and 8 respectively) to the Rock’s Discovery Museum for a school holiday program called HMS Discovery. Each “sailor” was given a passport, and the embarkation point, Plymouth, was stamped onto the yellow page. The year is 1792. Captain Natalie (not quite historically correct having a female captain, but we’re willing to be a little more open minded these days) reads her crew of 10 sailors, ranging in age from about 5 to 11, a letter from Captain Arthur Phillip to King George, requesting supplies for the colony of NSW. A projected image on the wall behind the ship tells us we are at the Plymouth dock. Over the (anachronistic) loudspeaker we hear sounds of a busy wharf - sailors stomping up an down the gangplank, cows and pigs mooing and oinking, the horns of the ships.

The crew were briefed on how to run a ship by playing Captain’s Coming, and were quickly inducted into the technicalities of port, starboard, bow, and stern, climbing the rigging, sewing the sail, and scrubbing the deck. The crew assembled in the Plymouth Storehouse, and were ordered to load the ship. Sacks of tools, timber, flour, and sugar, heavy chests with currency, a large sack of mail and cages of animals were quickly despatched onto the ship by the willing crew. Once all were aboard, the gangplank was removed, the ropes were thrown in, and the sail let down. 

The ship was off! The image on the wall changed to  a painting of a ship at sea, and the sounds of the ocean could be heard all around. The eagle eyed crew quickly spotted that the ship was overrun with rats, and spent time running around the ship throwing fat black squeaky rats overboard. Each sailor took turns in the important tasks of furling and unfurling the sail, throwing the ropes, and steering the ship. As evidenced by the sound effects, and a new image on the screen, the ship sailed into a storm, and the crew tied themselves to the railings to avoid being flung overboard by the rollicking sea - thankfully everyone knew how to tie a reef knot! They charted their way down around South America and found themselves in Rio de Janeiro. The crew avoided scurvy by eating lemons, limes, and bananas, and dancing to the music of Rio de Janeiro. But the stop was only a short one, as there was still a long voyage ahead. 

Finally, after 8 long months at sea, the crew could hear seagulls, which meant land was at last nearby! The distinct sounds of the NSW bush could at last be heard - cackling kookaburras and lilting lyre birds. The image on the wall transformed into Sydney Cove, and the crew rejoiced at having made the long voyage successfully. The cargo was unloaded into the Sydney storehouse, and all sailors were given a new Sydney Cove stamp in their passports. A most wonderful way to spend an hour in the school holidays... now I need to find a version for adults! 

The War Memorial visit re-inspired me to keep learning about conflicts around the world, and after a delightful couple of hours in the City of Sydney Library on Tuesday afternoon, I have a new stack of books on Afghanistan to keep me busy for a while. Yesterday I finished reading Three Cups of Tea, a powerful book about the importance of providing education in Central Asia. Once again, the more I learn, the more I want to know, and the less I seem to understand... the contradictory joy of learning!

So a very busy and wonderful week, with much to inspire me! And the best part, all of these activities were free! WIN! 

It's Only For Now

The only constant is change. Around this time a year ago I thought I was getting married and moving into my own apartment with my (now ex) beloved. Around this time two years ago I was hanging out at summer camp and getting ready to walk the Camino. Around this time three years ago I was despairing that I would ever meet a single straight guy who loves theatre (ok, some things may never change...). Despite many amazing things happening in my life right now, of late I have been feeling uninspired and tired. I have to trust that this feeling will change. 

And so, in an attempt to remain positive and be kind to myself, I have compiled a list of things, in no particular order, that inspire me... 

meditation. musicals. running. listening to Seth Rudetsky. watching Seth Rudetsky. reading a good novel or short story. listening to classic fm. watching a movie musical. dancing. writing. spending time with beautiful people. being kind to myself. eating dark chocolate. reading superforest. spending an afternoon in a library. going to a talk and getting fired up. candles. having a good sing. sitting in bed and listening to the neighbour practise their violin. listening to musicaltalk. journalling. colouring in. sitting in the sun on a bright blue sky and reading a good book. learning. buck’s rock. the idea of living on an organic theatre farm. travel. the camino. eating beautiful food. cooking beautiful food. Eveleigh Farmer’s Markets. sustainability. possibility. falling in crush. superforest. reading old diaries. watching musicals on youtube. going to good theatre. creating theatre. performing. playbill.com. 

As they say in Avenue Q, “Everything in life is only for now! Life may be scary, but it’s only temporary...” This too shall pass, and soon I will have the energy to go out and conquer the world!

Run, Lulu! Run!

Bright blue sky, crisp air, and 80,000 of my closest friends. A perfect day for running the iconic City to Surf. Now in it’s fortieth, and my first, year, the City to Surf today was an amazing event. The logistics behind these kinds of things always staggers me. Who has to make the decision about how many plastic cups to buy? Organises the online registrations? Packs bibs and electronic tags and stuffs bags full of newspapers? Organises the marshalling of 80,000 runners?! It’s mind blowing. But it is incredible to be a part of. Dad and Phoebe dropped my s’Mum (step-mum for the uninitiated, and pictured with moi above at the end of the race) Meg and I off at Hyde Park and my adrenalin started pumping. The park was full of people in sports gear, stretching, jogging, and greeting fellow runners. This is what life should be all about. People coming together to celebrate health and fitness and the beauty that is Sydney on a bright sunny, albeit chilly, Sunday morning in early August. 

The race start is divided into 6 groups based on previous experience (ie. the super duper runners start first), and safety (ie. the walkers and mum’s/dad’s/carers with prams are up the back). Meg was in the blue group, so I bid her farewell and made my way through the park down to College St to join the yellow group. I giggled at the long row of porta loo’s through the middle of the park, and the patient queues of runners lined up to use them (something about peeing in the middle of the city with but a wall of thin plastic between you and thousands of people is immensely amusing... after all is said and done, we are all human...). 

Are you ready yellow group?! Cheers and waves. They called the start of the race, and we were off! Sort of. The sheer mass of people meant we really couldn’t get moving beyond a slight shuffle. Thankfully as we rounded the corner to William St, the pace picked up, the crowd thinned a little, and I was able to run right from the blue mat (the point from which the electronic tag attached to your shoe starts recording your time... Ah technology! Back in my old running days it was a volunteer with a stop-watch...).  And from then on, except for a couple of drink stops along the way, I pretty much didn't stop running until I hit the finish line.

It was humbling, inspiring, and emotional to look up to the end of William St and see a mass of humanity running toward the tunnel. The sound of feet pounding the pavement around me, the smell of tiger balm, the spectators cheering us on. I was totally pumped! Running through the tunnel people were whooping and cheering, and a lythe young Mexican woman with a giant sombrero and an Ipod speaker dock, was playing awesome Latino tunes, all the while cheering and running, (and totally outpacing me)! I had to keep reminding myself to not let the excitement (or emotions) get a hold of me, and focus on running! 

I was shocked when we reached the 5km mark to realise we had already done 5km, because I was feeling good! The sheer momentum of the people around me, the bands playing along the roadside, the people who had come out onto their lawns and driveways to cheer and play music, the gorgeous day, it felt fantastic to be a part of it all. Heartbreak Hill was demanding, but with so much going on around me, people dressed in costumes - from Star Wars to Spiderman, several gorillas, a giant frog (how do people run 14km in head gear?!), wigs and capes, tutu’s and fairies, inspirational t-shirts, and people from all walks of life, young and old, walking and running, I didn’t have time to remember I was willingly running up a 5km hill, let alone a 14km race!

Rounding down the hill down Military Rd and Campbell Parade, I remembered why I love living in Sydney (especially my days of living in the east). Bright blue sky meets glorious blue ocean meets beautiful harbour foreshore. It's fairly spectacular. And coming into Bondi Beach was a mixed bag of emotions. I was excited, proud, tired, sad that it was coming to an end so quickly, and pumped that I had finally achieved something I had said I would do since I was about eleven years old. I’m a little sore tonight (ok, make that a lot sore... when Mum called out to say the race was on the news, I could barely make it from my room to the tv... go figure!), but I feel like I can achieve ANYTHING I put my mind to... look out world! 

El Autobus

Image from www.sydneybusmuseum.com/ shopart.htm

I often think that it’s about time I got my driver’s license. Get myself a zippy little car and not be tied to the constraints of Sydney’s over-priced and archaic public transport system.  But that one hour (or so) each way of public transport commute is the best uninterrupted Me Time I get all day. I read, listen to music, and journal. And sometimes, when the stars are in strange alignments, amazing human interactions occur. Last night heading home from work on the 440 bus down Parramatta Rd, a lady sitting next to me asked in a thick accent how many stops were there until Wynyard Station. The eldery gentleman sitting on the other side of the lady piped up and said it was two or three. He then asked the lady, “¿Tu hablas Españoll?” (do you speak Spanish?). She laughed and said yes. Excited at the prospect of practising my Spanish, I said, “Yo hablo un pocito Español!” (I speak a little Spanish). It turned out that the rather adorable elderly gentleman was Italian, and he was a fluent speaker in Italian, Spanish, and English. The lady was Brazilian, and she was a fluent speaker in Portuguese, Spanish, and English. For the next 10 minutes we had ourselves a conversation in a mixture of Spanish, Italian, and English! It lifted my heart and soul to think of how the three of us had come to be in this conversation. Three people of entirely different ages and backgrounds traveling together down the road getting from A to B. Sure every bus trip isn’t filled with such magic, but how wonderful that there is the chance that it could occur. I’m sure I’ll get my license eventually. But in the meantime, I’ll enjoy the me time, and occasional surprising magic, of catching the bus.