Confessions of a Bondi Blonde

My kids and I were at Bondi beach early yesterday when a fisherman reeled in a fat salmon. Trailing blood and fishing line, it skipped frenetically along the beach, seeking the water eddying less than a metre away. We danced alongside, urging the salmon to freedom.  The bearded fisherman looked away, trying to deny our appeals; he had earmarked the catch for his brother’s lunch. But my kids snagged his heart. Sighing, he removed the hook from the gasping fish, let the children touch the salmon’s silver scaled side and then threw it upwards. It arched through the air, sliced through the waves and swam free.

The kindness of strangers never fails to cheer or tear me up.  It had been a less than average week for the Bondi blonde.  I’ve been dumped on by divorce litigation and am drowning in debt. The lawyers call it a Less Adversorial Trial Process. Who are they kidding? Divorcing in “no fault” Australia is still a recipe for disaster. Take two people, a little money to share and a failed marriage. Add a lawyer or two and you quickly progress from sadness to madness.

Yesterday’s 7:00 a.m. swim was meant to wash away some of the hurt that had leaked like acid onto my precious children. The fisherman’s act of generosity in denying himself the thrill of giving his brother the  juicy fish was just plain nice. It salved our bruised souls and we celebrated the saving of the salmon with a glorious breakfast of pancakes, Golden Syrup and hot chocolate at Speedos Cafe. We were back home by 8:15 a.m., sleek and happy and ready for whatever the day had in store.

My fisherman friend was a gift. And don’t we all sometimes, when feeling a little blue, look for a sign that it’s all going to be fine?

Usually, when I am feeling a little sad, I call a CWA girl. They’re there to help.

I have a friend who’s my CWA insurance. Whenever the quicksand of life threatens to drag me down, I pop over to Sarah’s house for some tea, sympathy and lashings of creamy homemade cake. Sarah is beautiful and has the largest collection of accessories of any person I know; she has more jewellery than Jan Logan. Sarah is a breast Cancer survivor and no matter how many slings and arrows of outrageous fortune are sent in her general direction, she’s almost relentlessly pragmatic and upbeat, offering cups of tea or a stiff G&T, depending on the hour.

In fact, my policy to you is that you also invest in some 100% Australian owned CWA Insurance; no other country produces that wonderful blend of perfume and steel. If life throws them shit, not only do CWA girls make shit sandwiches, they ensure the crusts are neatly removed and they serve them with gold-edged side plates and napkins, never serviettes. They wear aprons to protect their feminine clothes and have lovely gardens, filled with snapdragons, roses and herbs for use in their always warm and welcoming kitchens. Making a lamb roast with perfectly crisp rosemary potatoes is embedded in a CWA girl’s DNA.

Sydney is a town where we all tend to hurtle forward at a million miles an hour, living life, paying bills, keeping up with the Horowitz’s or Maloufs. But it’s sometimes like we are living in a zero gravity environment – getting nowhere, fast. Sometimes it’s a little like those dreams where you’re trying to get the across a road, with a car hurtling towards you, but you just-can’t-move. You wake up more tired than 10 hours prior, when you rested your very weary head, seeking oblivion.

But, if you pause and look, there are oases of love and kindness even in the bleakest of days, like my fisherman friend.

Over a slab of jammy sponge cake and a cup of Earl Grey, I asked CWA girl Sarah the secret to her indomitable spirit.

Her answer? Keep it small and keep it busy. Sarah doesn’t mean the kind of frenetic busy I do so well, always out, using the house as a bounce pad if the kids aren’t in residence. She means use the house as a nest and build it safe, warm and welcoming. Sarah’s been doing this for years. When grieving the passing of a close relative, she broke a lot of plates. And made a lot of beautiful mosaics. When she was undergoing chemo and radiation, she made so many cushions and other fabric what-nots, entering her house was like a walk through Spotlight. Needless to say, she has a beautiful garden. Though when some crap is laid at her door, Sarah can sometimes be a little over zealous with the pruning. She takes the messes of life and puts them in perspective by making beautiful things, then shares them.

 Is this a lesson too late for the learning? I think of the little things I love. Fresh flowers. The smell of my children’s hair. Reading aloud from The Wind in the Willows on a cold and rainy night, the whole family snuggled in flannelette (a Bondi Blonde guilty secret – daggy PJ’s not lacy peignoirs if no chance of Knight at night). These are the things that a happy life is made of.

According to the 2000 National Survey of Mental Health and Wellbeing, depressive illnesses are the most disabling illnesses in Australia and make major contributions to premature death by suicide, injury and cardiovascular disease or other health problems. Community knowledge about the key risk factors, protective strategies and effective self-help or medical treatments for these disorders is limited. And about half of those affected do not seek medical care. *

But some of my friends are drowning in a mass of Zoloft and Stillnox. They can’t sleep, they can’t relax, and they can hardly breathe.  And then there are the spaced out ones; the ones who have found a supposedly successful blend of medication to help manage their barely there days and endless nights. They are so not in the moment, they scare me. They aren’t sad anymore. They aren’t anything anymore as they walk zombie-like through life.

It’s a place I’ll never ever go. The Bondi blonde is 70% water, 20% bones, Botox and stuff and 10% recycled steel.  If I feel blue, a big walk, chocolate, a laugh and a hug will cheer me up 99 times out of 100. The other time? A session on the Singstar and a bottle of white wine will do the trick. I am so grateful I don’t have a genetic marker or insurmountable life circumstances that for so many today, leads to depression.

I try to help whenever I can. In fact, helping someone else is a handy hint for feeling better. Fisherman friend was whistling when he packed up his tackle (I offered to help). He was one fish down, but seemed much happier for the trade.

But is the Bondi blonde a CWA girl?

 While the idea of country kitchen with an embedded adoring Labrador and home-made slow roasts has a dreamscape appeal, the reality is more instant dinners from one of the many healthy take-outs along the Bondi Road. I have reverted to student and am thinking of using the oven as a handy extra storage area. Maybe I can hide the kids Christmas presents in there.

But I can offer reliable love, a sympathetic ear and cuddles if required. Perhaps I need to provide something with a little more substance to reassure those I care about that life is a wonderful journey. And the bad bits? Well, you just have to get through them, with a spoonful of Sarah’s luscious peach and strawberry jam on her fluffy scones.

So I am dusting off my Women’s Weekly cookbooks that have been languishing in the bottom drawer for years, under my copy of The Rules of Dating and the microwave oven manual. I’m making cookies. I have travelled as far west as Parramatta for the Olympics, so maybe there’s a little CWA girl in me after all, underneath all the spitting and polish.  

Anzac bickie anyone?

*Source: http://www.mja.com.au/public/issues/181_07_041004/mac10800_fm.html

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