Emmy

Our beautiful cat, who we've had to say goodbye to in the most unfortunate circumstances. She was 15 years old, and starting to struggle with the ailments of ageing - arthritis had set in, fur was thinning and eating was difficult, due to teeth having worn away. She was losing weight, and looking old. We managed to keep some condition on her with a switch to soft foods, and she was very spoiled by us all ... but we did wonder how long we could expect her to be around. I figured one day we would find her curled up under a bush somewhere, having gone peacefully in her sleep. Or, if her health got much worse, maybe we'd have to make the dreaded vet visit to end her suffering.

As it turned out, a traumatic event brought the decision around sooner than we expected. Emmy had a habit of sleeping in the driveway, and generally wasn't inclined to move out of the way in a hurry. Even if she wasn't already in the driveway, she'd often make a mad dash across it in the nick of time. We would shake our heads and say, "One day, one of us is going to run over that silly cat."

Well, it ended up being me. I had checked the driveway and made sure she wasn't there, so maybe she attempted one of her dashes. I certainly wasn't reversing quickly, but I caught her with the back wheel. She took off, clearly in agony, but thankfully not too far away. While she lay in the grass, licking her wounds, I ran into the house and grabbed a box to put her in. We got to the vet and they took her straight out the back to sedate her and reduce the pain. The diagnosis was that she had a badly broken pelvis. Not an easy fix, considering her age and condition. After discussion with all family members, the agreement was reached that it would be kinder to put Emmy to sleep. There were tears all round ... it's not the way anyone wants to lose an animal, especially not one that has been such a big part of the family.

15 years ago we lived in the house across the road. The family in our current house had a cat who gave birth to a litter of kittens and they managed to find homes for all of them, except this little one with the strange face markings. We were busy with toddlers and renovating, and already had two cats, so we weren't keen for another, but we took her in. Her striking orange and black colours reminded me of "embers" in a fire, so we called her Emmy. In the time we've had her, we've lost the other two cats, as well as gained and lost two dogs. She broke her foot when she was three years old (to this day we don't know what happened, she just came home with it like that one day). We spent nearly $400 getting it fixed, and she was worth every penny. We nearly lost her to a paralysis tick when she was young too. She moved house with us three times and was particularly happy to get back to this neighbourhood. We had to watch her when we first moved in, because she wanted to go across the road all the time. I don't think she had much memory of this house, but she did remember the one where she spent the first half of her life with us.

Being only 18 months younger than our daughter, she really did grow up with our kids. She put up with all the rough treatment they dished out when they were little and clumsy, then she'd sleep with them at night. She didn't really like being picked up for cuddles (although she tolerated it), but she'd pick a lap to sit on in front of the telly when she wanted to be close. We got another kitten last year and Emmy looked at us as if it were just typical of us to inconvenience her like this. If a cat could raise her eyebrows and sigh at her humans, she'd have done it. They got used to each other though, and young Panda is now wondering where her old friend has gone.

It seems fitting that we have been able to bury Emmy here at the house she was born in. She is in one of her favourite spots, where we can plant a garden over her and make it really special.

Just as she was.

Seeing the Signs

My son, now 18, once asked me how you know if something is a 'sign' from a loved one who has passed.

It wasn't long after his best friend had died and, naturally, he was hoping for some indication that she was still around him. There had been some things that seemed obvious. We visited her parents shortly after her death and, when we were driving out at the end of the visit, a small blue butterfly hovered by his open car window all the way down the long driveway to her front gate. He looked at me afterwards, in awe, and said, "Mum, that was her." He had no doubt, and neither did I.

As the weeks passed, and he was probably looking for more signs, he asked the question above. How do you know? He'd seen the odd feather, or heard a song, or had a 'feeling', but nothing as clear as the butterfly in the driveway. Maybe he needed some reassurance that she was still around and that it wasn't just his imagination. Now, I'm no expert on these things ... like most parents, I'm left fumbling for the right answer when the kids ask questions like this.

In the end, I told him that if you think something may be a sign, then you should assume that it is. Can you imagine being a person in spirit, trying to leave signs for your loved ones, only to have them dismiss everything as "imagination"? I'm guessing that would be really frustrating. Of course, I'm also assuming that spirits are real, and that they get frustrated. Maybe they don't. Maybe they don't hang around at all ... but I believe they do. I've had visits from loved ones in dreams, in familiar smells, and even in wildlife, often at the times I've needed the most comfort - and always when I least expected it.

Maybe that's the trick. Don't go looking for signs, but accept them when you realise they may be there. I was watering my garden a couple of weeks ago, less than a week after losing my Mum, when a dragonfly landed on a plant near where I was watering. A very plain, brown dragonfly. Nothing really special about it, except for the fact that it wasn't in an area I'd normally see them. It sat there for ages, and after a minute or two I found myself wondering if it might be a visit from Mum. She knows dragonflies are a favourite of mine. I have no idea though ... I'm now in the position my son was in a couple of years ago, wondering what to believe and how much I can trust my intuition.

I seem to be coping with Mum's death better than I expected to. I'm back at work and life is getting back to normal. I keep expecting to fall apart, and I do have a weep occasionally, but I recover quickly. I have no trouble talking about Mum, or her death. Sometimes I almost feel a bit detached, but not like I'm in denial - if that makes sense. My sister has actually commented that she's the same. I think we did most of our grieving before Mum died - she was just so vibrant and seemed like she could live until she was ninety, the shock of learning we were going to lose her was maybe bigger than the reality of her actual passing. I keep saying it was down to Mum's attitude. Once she was able to be so accepting of her fate, we found the strength to accept it too.

Of course, it's possible a wave of grief will suddenly hit me when I least expect it and I'll break down in a blubbering mess at some completely inappropriate time. I guess I'll find out. In the meantime, we talk about her openly, we laugh about the things she would have found funny, and we'll accept any potential signs that may come our way ... because I'm sure she'll be around us for a long time to come.

My Mum

I've had a break from my blog for a couple of months, to focus on other, more important matters. Now I'm back to write, from a place of great admiration, about someone I will adore for the rest of my life:

My dear Mum ... who passed away last week after a short battle with cancer.

It was discovered in July and she was told, almost immediately, that it was at Stage 4 and in an inoperable position. She was scared, but determined. If there was any possibility of buying more time, she was going to give it a go. The doctors believed that radiotherapy might shrink it enough to give her a couple more years, so she agreed to try that.

She also wasn't afraid to try alternative treatments ... there were herbal remedies; teas and oils, as well as dietary changes. She made it known at the hospital that she was more than happy to take part in any clinical trials that were available. Normally Mum would quake at the thought of medical procedures and she was also mildly claustrophobic, so going into those big scanning machines terrified her - but she did it. She surprised us, but then, she always has. Witnessing her bravery and strength was a humbling experience.

Unfortunately, nothing worked. The downhill run was steady and she had to make the transition from "I'm going to fight this with everything I've got," to finding a level of acceptance. She did it though, with good grace and a big dose of practicality. Even before she accepted that nothing would work, she started getting things in order - just because it was worth being prepared for the future anyway. She assured us there was no 'bucket list' and that if it was her time to go, then she would be okay with it. Her life hadn't been perfect, but there had been much happiness along the way and she didn't have anything left she was desperate to achieve.

Mum enjoyed studying star signs and she was a typical Gemini; expressive, social and adaptable. All her life, she adjusted to whatever situation she was in with very little complaint (and she found herself in some pretty tough circumstances at times). When she was younger she was quite shy, although there was a feisty streak when it came to protecting others. As she grew older she got in touch with her gregarious, outgoing side and made friends wherever she went. When we were ringing people to inform them of her passing, it felt like we were dealing with a fan club. I don't think she knew just how many people genuinely loved her and would be affected by her death. Her entire neighbourhood seemed to know who she was. She breezed into their lives, their homes, or their shops, with her loud distinctive voice and people were always happy to see her. She had a genuine interest in learning about others and could talk to anyone, anytime, for hours on end. She gossiped and flirted with everyone and her sense of humour was legendary; if there was potential for innuendo, or inappropriate comments, Mum took advantage of it.

Her whole attitude was youthful, she walked with a spring in her step and she would pull up her friends if they were going on about 'young people today'. She thought young people were great and deserved a lot more credit than they get. The suburb she lived in was multicultural, and she loved that about it. She had good relationships with all her neighbours - Asian, African, Islander, Aboriginal, Muslim and Christian alike - and very little patience with anyone who didn't bother getting to know people themselves before judging an entire culture.

Nothing meant more to Mum than her children (and grandchildren). She hadn't had much of a home life when she was growing up, so she worked to make up for that when she had a family of her own. She worried far too much about us; her imagination would run away with her if anyone wasn't home when they said they would be. She could be critical and had a tendency to look at the negative, which drove us mad at times, but then she'd suddenly go all positive when we least expected it. Just when we'd think, "Oh, Mum will never go for that," ... yes, she would. The line between parent and friend was very thin, mostly due to that youthful attitude I mentioned earlier. Sometimes it was more like having an older sister than a mum like everyone else's. She wasn't strict and she liked to talk through issues with us, rather than tell us off. Our friends loved her, and she enjoyed getting to know them, often becoming their confidant as well. There was no criticism of the music we listened to - she gave it a fair listen and enjoyed a lot of it herself. She gave advice, whether we wanted it or not, but also asked for our opinions. She spoke openly with us about everything, there was no subject (honestly, NO subject!) off limits. We often joked that she had no filter; it wasn't unusual to feel utterly embarrassed by something she'd said while we were out in public, because she had a tendency to speak without thinking. She was quick witted, and bitingly sarcastic at times, but very attentive towards her friends and loved ones. If one of us had a problem, Mum would try to fix it for us - whether it be financially or just offering to ring whoever was causing the issue and sort them out, even if it was a government department! We were always having to remind her that we were old enough to do that kind of thing for ourselves.

Her children came first, always. Even at the end. We were prepared for a vigil of hours - or even days - by her bedside but, once she knew we were all with her, she passed away quietly while we were having a giggle about something. No fuss. It was like she didn't want to drag it out and make it harder for us. We were a bit stunned, but more relieved that it had been quick and painless for her.

They say hearing is the last sense to go when you are dying. It was beautiful, and perfect, that the last sound she heard was her children sharing a joke. That sense of humour she raised us with has helped us a lot, both in the lead-up to her death and also afterwards. When we were sitting with the funeral director, giving the details for Mum's death certificate, the question of her occupation came up. My sister smiled at the woman filling out the form and said, "I don't suppose we can put 'Socialite'?"

Mum was one of a kind ... but we are all like her in various ways, and we know she will always be with us in some form. There is no doubt that we will miss her terribly, but we will support each other and get through this together.

That's how she raised us.

Late for work

My alarm failed me this morning.

I was having a beautiful sleep. I woke up feeling refreshed and well-rested. But, I knew, as soon as I opened my eyes, that something wasn't right. There was light in the bedroom. That lovely, early morning light that filters through the curtains and signals that the day is beginning.

It's Winter. This was not the dark bedroom I would have expected to see when my alarm went off at 5 am.

That's because my alarm didn't go off at 5 ... or at all, in fact. When I did wake up, it was 6.30 am.

I was supposed to start work at 6.30 am.

Aaarrghh! Panic set in. I rang work and told them I'd overslept and I'd be there as soon as I could. Surprisingly, there was no panic on the other end of the phone. The nurse on duty calmly checked if I was rostered on today - I was - and then informed me that no one seemed to have missed me. All the other staff had just gone and begun their day without questioning whether I was even there.

I really wasn't sure how to take this news... whether I should feel relieved that i hadn't stressed everyone out, or insulted that my absence went unnoticed!

Anyway, I dressed for work, had a quick breakfast and headed in for my shift. In the end, I arrived only half an hour late, starting at 7 am.

When I spoke to the other staff members, it turned out they had noticed I wasn't there at 6.30. However, they just assumed I was running late and would be on the way. Apparently that's how reliable I am. Which is actually a lovely reputation to have.

Or, maybe they're so used to me skating in at the last minute .....

Sweet Sixteen

Ah, my baby girl. She turned 16 last week (yes, it's been a busy time with both our teenagers hitting milestone birthdays within a fortnight of each other!).

Our daughter, as far as age goes, is between our two boys. It can be a difficult place ... being the middle child AND the only girl. She's never had any trouble putting herself forward though. She has always been a strong personality (a 'spirited' child, as they say) - determined, stubborn, headstrong, wilful, bossy. All those things. I've often told my husband that her 'take charge' attitude will serve her well one day, we just need to cope with it in the meantime!

However, she can also be caring, emotional, sensitive and yes, very sweet. She's fiercely protective and quick to defend those she loves - and even those she doesn't, if she feels they're being treated unfairly. If she knows that someone is upset or going through a difficult time, she drops everything to be there for them. Even when it might serve her better not to.

She recently got herself a job, because school isn't really her thing. It used to be; in fact, she was an incredibly good student in primary school. However, high school brought with it a whole bunch of issues and challenges that made it difficult for her to continue. But, I've always been happy to accept that school isn't for everyone in the long run, so we've supported her looking for work and leaving school a little early.

She had a lovely birthday. First, a family dinner at a restaurant, just like her brother a couple of weeks earlier. Then, I granted her a wish. Months ago, she asked if she and I could have a mother-daughter night away somewhere. Just the two of us, preferably near a beach. Well, I'm proud to say, I delivered! We had a two bedroom unit at Redcliffe, overlooking the beach, all to ourselves for a night. The unit wasn't 5 star and we were on a very strict budget due to recent financial limitations, but it was pure luxury for us. We bought food to cook and eat on our little balcony, walked along the beach and explored the Redcliffe jetty and tourist area. We also got up early the following morning and watched the sunrise.

It's the sort of thing we should try to do more often, as an entire family. We don't manage to save enough money to do the sort of long-distance travelling that so many of us dream of doing (and I admire those who can do it), but to splash out now and then on spending a night in a place we wouldn't normally get to is a real treat.

And I'm loving the fact that mother-daughter time has become such an important thing to my beautiful girl x

We Grew an Adult!

My biggest boy turned 18 last week. It was a big deal; we even went out for a fancy family dinner at a restaurant and his grandmother bought him a drink at the bar. It wasn't his first beer, but his others have been at private houses - this was a proper legal drink at a licensed venue!

He also, a few nights later, had a get together in our back yard with a few of his mates. We live on a hillside, so it can be breezy. Also, being winter, it's a bit chilly at night. We put up tarps around our gazebo, to give them a sheltered area, and they sat around the fire pit eating hot food and toasting marshmallows. I was concerned about how the neighbours would feel about the loud hip hop music we played until 10 pm, but we've had no complaints.

Someone asked me if being the mother of an 18 year old makes ME feel old. I jokingly replied, 'Only if someone mentions it!', but the reality is, no, I don't feel old at all. I think, because my boy has been taller than me for a number of years now, and is quite mature for his age, 18 just feels to me like an age he should have already been. He is a deep soul, very open-minded and caring towards others. He observes the world around him before making judgements, and he generally thinks before he acts.

Of course, he's not perfect. It can still be a struggle to get him to help enough around the house. He fights with his sister and gets annoyed with his little brother. He doesn't always open up about what's bothering him, so we sometimes don't know there's an issue until he snaps at one of us or gets frustrated. He takes on his friends' problems and worries for them, too much sometimes. He struggled with school, and didn't complete it. Now he's job hunting ... and it can be soul-destroying to keep getting knocked back.

He's persistent though, and I've got no doubt he'll get something soon. He'll have his licence later this year and be able to do more of his own thing. When he was younger he was so shy, but now I love watching him talk to other people and seeing how much more confident he is in social situations. We see him with his cricket team mates and it's obvious he is genuinely well-liked by all of them, young and old alike. I adore his sense of humour, which is best described as dry. He's 196 cm tall, but when someone asks him what he wants to be when he 'grows up', he says, deadpan, 'Taller.'

Yeah, he's pretty funny. And a genuinely nice young man. He's growing into a really good person and we're pretty proud of being mostly responsible for that.

Not So Little Now

My Littlest Caveman - my 'baby' - turned 10 yesterday. That's all three of my kids into double figures. We certainly don't feel young anymore!

It feels like we have truly left the 'little kid' stuff behind us now. They are all capable of making their own breakfasts and lunches. They can operate the television, the phone and the computer without any help. They all help with chores around the house, although it sometimes take a bit of shouting encouragement from us.

We waited about 5 years after our Cavegirl was born, before deciding to have a third baby (I had a nasty bout of post-natal depression to deal with first).  That age gap has had its pros and cons. Sometimes I've wished he was closer in age to his siblings. To start with, the Caveman and I discovered (being just that little bit older when he came along) that having a small child was even more exhausting than we'd remembered!

But also, he has been a little left behind at times, like when the older two reached their teens and lost a bit of interest in his games and toys. That can also be seen now, with them being almost adults. They are into some music and movies that are still inappropriate for his age group. Not that it does them any harm to be mindful of what they watch, listen to or talk about when he's around. I am kind of grateful too, that we don't have any more than two teenagers to deal with at once!

For the most part, the pros do outweigh the cons. He has never (contrary to what so many people were concerned about when we had him) felt like an 'only' child. His big brother and sister have always included him as much as possible. If anything, I feel that having a younger sibling has helped them hang onto their own childhood a little longer, as well as making them more considerate towards other young children. They haven't 'dragged him up' to being older than his age either, if that makes sense. In fact, being the youngest, he's probably been allowed (encouraged even!) to stay little for as long as possible.

The three of them are surprisingly close. Of course, with a nearly 8 year age gap to his older brother, they don't really sit and talk about cars or girls - but they do talk about school and friendships, and play backyard cricket and Xbox games together. He's not about to give advice to his teenage sister about emotional issues either, but when she went through a recent rough patch, he understood enough to hug her when she needed it and cheer her up with his antics.

He really is funny too; we've always referred to him as our little entertainer, although he's quite shy in front of other people.

So, there's no more rocking him to sleep, or holding his grubby little hand to cross the road (although sometimes he still grabs my hand if we're in busy places, and I cherish that!). He does occasionally climb onto my lap for a cuddle (much like a Great Dane would - it's all arms, legs and knees up in my face, but it works).

He's growing up ... and I can live with that x

My Everything Hurts

It's steeper than it looks!

About a week ago, I went for a walk. It was the first decent walk I'd done for a while - I don't generally walk everyday like I should, although I have done in the past. Regular exercise just doesn't seem to be at the top of my list of priorities anymore.

I walked because my son's friend had spent the day at our house and it was time to take him home. It's not far from our own house, so walking the distance should be a regular thing, but I often do the drop off and pick up when I'm driving out or coming home from somewhere else. It might sound lazy, but it's also efficient. Besides, the road we live on is a steep one to walk. The other boy's mother and I both prefer the drive-by style.

Anyway, this particular day, I chose to get off my backside and walk. Heading down the hill, I was feeling so great, I decided to jog for a bit.

(This is a big deal in itself; my kids will tell anyone who'll listen that 'Mum doesn't run!') 

I felt fabulous - wind in my hair, my body moving like a well-oiled machine. Well, probably not, but it felt like it! Our road goes quite steeply downhill, over a bridge, into a dip, then uphill again to where my son's friend lives. I jogged most of the way down to the dip, then walked the rest. They met me partway up the other side, so my son and I turned to go home. It was a beautiful walk with my boy ... we meandered along, stopping to look at wildlife and check out the little creek on the way. 

When we got home, I was more puffed than I would expect to be. Okay, I'm not a huge fan of exercise, but I can do a fair walk without straining myself. I went for a climb up a small mountain a couple of weeks ago with the kids, no trouble at all. So, it took me a while to figure out what had worn me out. Until later that night, when my shins and calves started giving me heaps of pain. Aha, it was the jogging downhill! It's easy to forget just how much of an impact that can have on your body - I had jarred everything and the after effects were NOT pleasant.

It's too easy to think you're doing enough at work to keep fit, especially with a physical job like mine. It's the same with housework, actually. How often do you hear people say, 'Oh, I do enough with my housekeeping to keep me active.'? Yeah, I'm sorry, but that is nowhere near the same as a regular workout - and you know it when you actually have to do a decent walk (or jog!).

So, I've accepted that I'm really not as fit as I used to be and it's time I did something about it. No, I'm not going to become one of those gym junkies who posts selfies in my leotard on Facebook every week (no one needs to see that!). But, for the past week, I have been stretching every morning and trying to do a daily walk. Even if it's only a short one. 

I might be a while before I jog back down that hill though.

Fumbling in the Dark

I love wearing glasses. Well, not really, but I love being able to see. Those of us who need to wear glasses tend to have a great appreciation of the value of sight. 

I woke up at 4 am today. That's early, even for me. I am a morning person; it's not unusual for me to be awake anytime from 5.30 am and enjoy watching the sunrise - although I can sleep until after 7 and be perfectly happy with that too!

Some mornings I just wake early and can't get back to sleep. I could blame it on work. If I'm doing a morning shift, I set the alarm for just after 5 am. The problem with that theory is that I don't actually do enough morning shifts to form a habit of waking then.

Maybe it's my bladder? As I get older, a quick trip to the toilet in the early hours is becoming a more regular thing. I normally drop back off to sleep afterwards though.

Anyway, I couldn't get back to sleep this morning. Just after 5, I decided to give up trying and just get up. No worries, I can do that quietly. My Caveman is definitely NOT a morning person, so it would be rude to wake him before his alarm goes off. He has started getting extra hours at work, and his Chronic Fatigue/Fibromyalgia is flaring up, so he's been in a state of constant exhaustion lately. The more sleep he has, the better. Also, today is a Saturday and the end of the cricket season. His team has made the final, so he will be playing this weekend and next ... it's going to be a big week all round for him. 

So, I roll over to pick up my glasses off the bedside table. I fumble in the dark and bump my mobile phone instead. The phone bumps into the glasses and knocks them off, onto the carpet. Crap. I lean over the edge of the bed and feel around on the floor ... can't feel them anywhere. I've dragged the sheet over with me and the Caveman is starting to stir. I unwrap myself from the sheet and keep feeling around on the floor. Bugger, it would be easier to find them if I had my glasses on. Why aren't they there? I'm starting to get slightly frantic now - I heard them drop and my eyes have adjusted to the dark enough so that I can see they're definitely not still on the bedside table. Maybe they're in my shoes, partly tucked under the edge of the bed? No, not there either. Maybe they dropped into the bag on the other side of the table - it's a gift bag with assorted items thrown in it from the last time I tidied the bedroom (you know, all the stuff that you intend to sort through later, but never actually get to).

I decide I'm going to have to get out of the bed to keep looking. Let me tell you, when you need to wear glasses all the time, there is nothing more scary than the idea that you might accidentally stand on them in the dark - I only have the one pair (despite all the great offers from Specsavers) and the world really is a blur without them.

So, having determined that my glasses are not on the area of carpet I intend to place my body on, I climb carefully out of bed and kneel on the floor to continue looking. I go for the gift bag, but I can't actually pull it out; it rustles as soon as I touch it and the Caveman stirs again. I can see the glasses are not sitting in the top of the bag, which makes sense - I heard them hit the carpet (I know the sound, I've done this before). I pick up the clothes I dropped on the floor when I changed for bed last night; nothing there either. I'm completely stumped, until I spot a blurry shape in an unexpected spot; could that be them? I lean forward to check ... there they are! On the carpet (see, I knew it!), between the bed and the bedside table. I'm sure I'd checked there already, but maybe not very thoroughly. I really didn't think they'd fallen off that side of the table. It was my ears, not my eyes, that had failed me this time.

I put my glasses on, stand up, grab my phone and exit the room silently, Caveman still snoring. Thank goodness.

Conclusion? Not only is my sight useless without glasses, I may also need to get my hearing checked again soon 😉

Memory Lane

A belated Merry Christmas and a very happy new year to all!

It didn't seem like the happiest Christmas period for the world at large. We lost more celebrities - I know we'll lose more every year and it's not like I actually knew any of them, but some of them made a big impact. I was quite the George Michael fan once upon a time. And Carrie Fisher? Come on, that's a big deal to a Star Wars mad family!

Personally though, we had a lovely Christmas. I had the day off, which meant we could do the big family get-together, with some of my family driving up from Brisbane to join us at our house. We had a beautiful day - and it rained! It was actually a very cool day, almost like the 'real' Christmas you see on the postcards from far above the equator.

My Mum and sister stayed on for a few days afterwards and we girls treated ourselves ... we went for a nostalgic drive out to a little town we used to live in, called Kilkivan. The only person missing was my brother, who had other commitments and couldn't join us.

My memories of living in Kilkivan (pronounced with the emphasis on the middle syllable: Kill-KEE-ven) could fill a book. We moved there from Brisbane when I was about 11 years old; my mum and stepfather, me and my younger sister and brother.

Talk about a culture shock! There we were, stuck in this tiny little hick town with no big shop, or cinema, or ice cream truck, or anything else city kids expect to have. In fact, one of the first places we lived in while there was a rented house on a farm outside town. No close neighbours (apart from the farmer and his wife) and we had to catch a bus to school. But we adapted and I think we loved it! (Admittedly, I'm not sure if I'm just remembering it fondly ... we may have complained bitterly at the time.)

We kids were allowed to be as involved with the farm as we wanted to be and it was the best adventure. Feeding animals, collecting eggs, moving hay bales, rides on the tractor.

We moved around a bit in those first couple of years: after that farm there was another house on a large property, then another. Then Mum's marriage broke up, and we moved into town, as she didn't drive. The four of us became a really close unit; really, each other's best friends. We were in town for about another 4 or 5 years, I think? Again, moving from house to house, but each one holds special memories for us.

Not every memory from Kilkivan was great, there were plenty of downs along the way. Sometimes I remember the awful bullying I used to get from the other kids in my class at school. Mostly though, I am transported back to the feelings I had about living in the area. It's not just about the school ... and, in reality, we loved living in that little town. Unlike the situation for kids today, when I went home from school the bullying didn't follow me (no social media!), and I learned to 'switch off' to a certain extent.

I made the most of my time away from school; I would read, or write fiction, or do stuff with my sister and brother - we would walk around town, go down to the creek, explore bushwalking trails. We could go anywhere. I think the fact that we had to entertain ourselves helped me to deal with the bullying, or whatever was bothering me at any given time. I had to develop my imagination. What else can you do in a small town?

Eventually we all left Kilkivan to live in bigger places, but going back there again was a real treat - it was a great way to end 2016. I hope we get to do it again sometime and spend a full day.

May you all have a very happy 2017 ... I hope you make the effort this year to revisit a place you loved while growing up.

N.B. This post has been heavily edited, so it's not boring. Really, I could have gone on about my memories for MUCH longer!