I tried not to take offense. Hell, I needed the money so I could swallow my damn pride. But when an editor of a glossy women's magazine asked me to write a story about Invisible Women Syndrome - that strange phenomenon where you kind of fade away once you get in your mid-late 40s, being ignored by waiters, sales assistants and builders alike - I couldn't help feeling a little irked.
Had I really got to THAT stage in life? Do people really look through me, not seeing me anymore because I'm aging? My friend Amanda says it happens to her, regularly. She's older than me and even more beautiful, so I was surprised by this but grateful for her honesty which I use in my piece.
I did come up with examples of my own, but it's early days for me. I know it will be more obvious (and I less so) as I age. But I also know it doesn't matter. In the story I write about the liberation of middle-age, of not being on constant show, of laughing at the young chicks in stilettos at muddy music festivals while I trudge happily through in biker boots.
There's lots to love and loathe about getting older. But there's one thing I really look forward to—not having to brace myself every time I walk past a building site.
I'd love to hear YOUR experiences of this - get in touch! Comment below or email me: christina.larmer@gmail.com
xo
Monday, January 23, 2012
Monday, November 21, 2011
The Other One (a free quick read)
HEY GUYS: Here's an example of my short fiction (with a twist) that's available for free at:
http://freequickreads.blogspot.com.au/
The Other One
by Christina Larmer
My sister has always been more beautiful than me and I don't understand why. We're identical twins. We're supposed to look the same. But for some reason, men are more attracted to Kara. Hell, everyone's more attracted to her: old women, little kids, even the dog next door gallops across, tail wagging a million miles a minute when Kara comes around. He offers me not so much as a sniff, and it bugs me. Or, at least it did until last week, when Kara turned up dead.
They say a handsome young man found her body. Of course. He alerted the police, they called in the fire brigade who in turn called in the search and rescue squad. She was hard to get to, stuck in a tree, halfway down a cliff. Just dangling there, like a dead pig in a butcher's window. For all to see.
The irony of it hit me. Kara was always eager to be seen and death did not let her down. Of course if you spent as much time on yourself as Kara did, you'd probably be noticed, too. She always knew what to wear, how to do her hair. Subtle make-up, sexy shoes. I gather she spent all she earned at that glamorous PR job on her shoes. I've got them all now, of course, but they aren't taking me where I thought they would.
I'm thrifty. A mad saver, really. And not at all into fashion or lipstick or highlights in the hair. The 'plain one', I hear them say, sympathy edging out the disdain. They don't compare themselves to her, of course. Just me. Her other half.
I'm an accountant. Wealthier, wiser, lonelier. Had a boyfriend once. Until he met her. Of course Kara would not be tempted by someone so dull, but she might as well have. He was as good as gone after that; sex occasionally, the fire extinguished from his eyes. Unless he was thinking of her. I knew when that was because he was excited, animated, fervent. Alive. That's when I would slip off midway and leave him there, dangling.
Dangling. It's a funny word, isn't it? Ugly. Humiliating. Out of control.
Kara was never normally out of the control. She spoke well, she made friends easily, she drank just enough, never put on weight. She was School Captain and University President. She had been in love, but she never fell there like the rest of us. She sauntered up instead, opening the door to it, offering it a seat. And she always left them, a few expected tears, and happiness again.
"I love being single," she told me once. "I love being on my own." I'd noticed. Apart from our nine months wedged together early in the piece, we'd never been close. I laugh at the thought of poor, beautiful Kara stuck in the slimy environs of my mother's womb, her limbs entangled with mine, unable to get away.
Last week she got away from me. For good. She was pushed from a cliff. Then she really was all alone. And now in death as she lies rotting beneath the soil, she rests all alone. Except for the constant visitors of course. Mum can't bring herself to leave Kara's grave. Has practically set up a camp site. Old boyfriends have driven miles to pay their last respects, weeping over her marble plaque, leaving perfectly healthy roses to wilt without water and die. And I watch this all from a distance, disbelieving and distraught. I'm still here, guys! The other one. Give me a second of your time, hand the flowers to me.
One man has started paying me attention, though. A policeman by the name of Jones. Talks to me a lot, asks all sorts of questions, mostly about me. He discovers that I did it. He locks me up for life and throws away the key.
It's not so lonely in here. I have a room-mate called Sharon, and she's not going anywhere.
ends:
Read my latest short story at: http://freequickreads.blogspot.com
http://freequickreads.blogspot.com.au/
The Other One
by Christina Larmer
My sister has always been more beautiful than me and I don't understand why. We're identical twins. We're supposed to look the same. But for some reason, men are more attracted to Kara. Hell, everyone's more attracted to her: old women, little kids, even the dog next door gallops across, tail wagging a million miles a minute when Kara comes around. He offers me not so much as a sniff, and it bugs me. Or, at least it did until last week, when Kara turned up dead.
They say a handsome young man found her body. Of course. He alerted the police, they called in the fire brigade who in turn called in the search and rescue squad. She was hard to get to, stuck in a tree, halfway down a cliff. Just dangling there, like a dead pig in a butcher's window. For all to see.
The irony of it hit me. Kara was always eager to be seen and death did not let her down. Of course if you spent as much time on yourself as Kara did, you'd probably be noticed, too. She always knew what to wear, how to do her hair. Subtle make-up, sexy shoes. I gather she spent all she earned at that glamorous PR job on her shoes. I've got them all now, of course, but they aren't taking me where I thought they would.
I'm thrifty. A mad saver, really. And not at all into fashion or lipstick or highlights in the hair. The 'plain one', I hear them say, sympathy edging out the disdain. They don't compare themselves to her, of course. Just me. Her other half.
I'm an accountant. Wealthier, wiser, lonelier. Had a boyfriend once. Until he met her. Of course Kara would not be tempted by someone so dull, but she might as well have. He was as good as gone after that; sex occasionally, the fire extinguished from his eyes. Unless he was thinking of her. I knew when that was because he was excited, animated, fervent. Alive. That's when I would slip off midway and leave him there, dangling.
Dangling. It's a funny word, isn't it? Ugly. Humiliating. Out of control.
Kara was never normally out of the control. She spoke well, she made friends easily, she drank just enough, never put on weight. She was School Captain and University President. She had been in love, but she never fell there like the rest of us. She sauntered up instead, opening the door to it, offering it a seat. And she always left them, a few expected tears, and happiness again.
"I love being single," she told me once. "I love being on my own." I'd noticed. Apart from our nine months wedged together early in the piece, we'd never been close. I laugh at the thought of poor, beautiful Kara stuck in the slimy environs of my mother's womb, her limbs entangled with mine, unable to get away.
Last week she got away from me. For good. She was pushed from a cliff. Then she really was all alone. And now in death as she lies rotting beneath the soil, she rests all alone. Except for the constant visitors of course. Mum can't bring herself to leave Kara's grave. Has practically set up a camp site. Old boyfriends have driven miles to pay their last respects, weeping over her marble plaque, leaving perfectly healthy roses to wilt without water and die. And I watch this all from a distance, disbelieving and distraught. I'm still here, guys! The other one. Give me a second of your time, hand the flowers to me.
One man has started paying me attention, though. A policeman by the name of Jones. Talks to me a lot, asks all sorts of questions, mostly about me. He discovers that I did it. He locks me up for life and throws away the key.
It's not so lonely in here. I have a room-mate called Sharon, and she's not going anywhere.
ends:
Read my latest short story at: http://freequickreads.blogspot.com
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
The end of your career
How's your career going? Soaring ahead, plodding along or stalled like an old bomb with a overheated radiator? Sadly, mine is the latter, and I have no one but myself to blame.
It's hard to keep working away when your heart is simply not in it. It's even harder for others to give you work when they can sense that very despondency, and you can't blame them. Not really. I've been a journalist for 24 years. I've edited magazines and run international bureaus. I've interviewed A-list celebrities and clueless psychologists. I've struggled through a move up north and the birth of two children, a time when keeping employers interested has been almost as challenging as the births themselves. You sort of drop off the planet when you have a baby, and often through no fault of your own. Employers (editors) just assume you're not available. Perhaps they're being kind, giving you some time out to bond with bub, but you want the work. Hell, you need the work if you're going to pay the mortgage and keep the bub in nappies. So you end up having to work even harder to get back on their books.
But you do. You crawl back in, you dazzle them with your ideas—menus and menus of tantalising feature story ideas— and the work pours in again. All is right with the world. But deep down you are bored, and you are not happy.
And so, slowly, almost without you even knowing, you start to falter. You've been doing this gig for so long, you have simply lost your spark. And with that loss of spark comes a loss of passion and of brilliance. You start sending mediocre story ideas, not because you can't think of any great ones, but because you actually don't want to write them. You don't want any work. You tell yourself you do. You know very well that you need it. But you are over it. And so your ideas and your performance reflect that. And editors see that. And so they give you what your subconscious wants—less work.
Eventually it turns into a trickle and then a drought. You get a wake-up call - usually after perusing your bank statements— and you snap yourself out of it. You find that spark, send in some better story ideas, get a little work again.
But a few months down the track the pattern resumes and the work dries up again.
Eventually those confused editors don't even bother responding to your emails. And why would they? You're unpredictable. They're not even sure you're keen. And so you have finally achieved what you really want. An end to your career.
And so the empty bank balance glares at you. How on earth will you fill it now?
It's hard to keep working away when your heart is simply not in it. It's even harder for others to give you work when they can sense that very despondency, and you can't blame them. Not really. I've been a journalist for 24 years. I've edited magazines and run international bureaus. I've interviewed A-list celebrities and clueless psychologists. I've struggled through a move up north and the birth of two children, a time when keeping employers interested has been almost as challenging as the births themselves. You sort of drop off the planet when you have a baby, and often through no fault of your own. Employers (editors) just assume you're not available. Perhaps they're being kind, giving you some time out to bond with bub, but you want the work. Hell, you need the work if you're going to pay the mortgage and keep the bub in nappies. So you end up having to work even harder to get back on their books.
But you do. You crawl back in, you dazzle them with your ideas—menus and menus of tantalising feature story ideas— and the work pours in again. All is right with the world. But deep down you are bored, and you are not happy.
And so, slowly, almost without you even knowing, you start to falter. You've been doing this gig for so long, you have simply lost your spark. And with that loss of spark comes a loss of passion and of brilliance. You start sending mediocre story ideas, not because you can't think of any great ones, but because you actually don't want to write them. You don't want any work. You tell yourself you do. You know very well that you need it. But you are over it. And so your ideas and your performance reflect that. And editors see that. And so they give you what your subconscious wants—less work.
Eventually it turns into a trickle and then a drought. You get a wake-up call - usually after perusing your bank statements— and you snap yourself out of it. You find that spark, send in some better story ideas, get a little work again.
But a few months down the track the pattern resumes and the work dries up again.
Eventually those confused editors don't even bother responding to your emails. And why would they? You're unpredictable. They're not even sure you're keen. And so you have finally achieved what you really want. An end to your career.
And so the empty bank balance glares at you. How on earth will you fill it now?
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Have you got the stomach for it?
(A story about Chi Nei Tsang)
If, like me, you're not big on stomach massages, that may mean you're the perfect candidate for Chi Nei Tsang, a Thai abdominal massage. Here's what happened when I tried one out, courtesy of a luxury Thai resort and the generous sisters at Double Edge PR who got me there.
Like most people (dogs, cats...) I love a good massage, especially on the feet, but I have a slight problem when it comes to my stomach. You come anywhere near my tummy with those oily hands, and I chop them off! So I was a little bemused during a recent holiday at a health spa in Thailand, when a therapist suggested that it was actually my stomach that needed a good pummeling.
“You have problem with tummy,” said the Chiva-Som masseuse after she’d finished giving me a blissful body massage (which involved three seconds on the stomach before she got the evil eye). “You need Chi Nei Tsang—stomach massage. Good for you.”
“Oh, no thanks,” I laughed nervously, making a beeline for the spa. As I bubbled away, I began to reconsider. Perhaps the reason I dislike tummy massages so much is the very reason I need one. I’ve had pelvic problems since my first pregnancy and, lately, an occasional nagging ache on one side of my abdomen which neither a GP nor a physiotherapist have managed to explain. What did I have to lose? The next day, I found myself lying flat on my back, my stomach exposed, and a Chi Nei Tsang master bearing towards me, her hands poised for attack. What had I let myself in for?
Believed to have been developed by Chinese Taoist monks, Chi Nei Tsang literally means “working the energy of the internal organs”. It’s all about using deep, gentle touches to retrain the internal organs (stomach, intestines, liver, gallbladder...) to work more efficiently. Therapists say that tension and negative emotions build up in these organs causing congestion and blocking the body’s energy. This eventually weakens these organs, particularly the digestive system, causing problems like irritable bowel syndrome, constipation, bloating and gas. By gently massaging this region, my internal organs should be re-energised and my negative emotions magically released. Well, they certainly had their hands full with me!
My session was held in a dimly lit therapy room with ambient music and the sweet scent of lemongrass all around. I was covered up, except for the tummy, and massaged quite determinedly around the entire abdomen. At first it was hard to relax and I found myself tensing up, but eventually, as my therapist’s soothing hands persisted, my stomach muscles held up the white flag. And it’s just as well because this treatment is useless if you don’t relax. I found that I enjoyed part of the therapy and was slightly irritable during other parts—particularly when the therapist hit those trouble spots. “You have a small tear in your large intestine,” she said, much to my surprise. “Do you get bloating, a little bit blocked?”
“Well, maybe a little,” I replied, embarrassed. She suggested I drink warm water more often, then noted that I don’t breathe nearly deeply enough. “Breathe deeper, you’ll feel better and have much more energy.” I liked the sound of that.
By the end of the 45 minutes, I was feeling incredibly relaxed and, yes, even a little more positive about life. While she never picked up on my pelvic problem, the therapist did manage to make my nagging ache disappear, and it still feels fine some two weeks later. While this may all be the result of the holiday itself, I have come away a stomach massage convert.
It’s clear to me now that relaxation is not just about the outer muscles. If you neglect those all-important inner organs, they might just come back to bite you on the... well, you know.
More information:
Chi Nei Tsang is a signature treatment at Chiva-Som and is also available in Australia at some health spas, yoga studios, naturopathic clinics and osteopaths. Treatments range from $80 to $150 for an hour session, and most therapists recommend three sessions for maximum effect. It is not recommended during pregnancy or menstruation and for those with abdominal cancer or vascular abnormalities. For a practitioner in your area: www.naturaltherapypages.com.au.
If, like me, you're not big on stomach massages, that may mean you're the perfect candidate for Chi Nei Tsang, a Thai abdominal massage. Here's what happened when I tried one out, courtesy of a luxury Thai resort and the generous sisters at Double Edge PR who got me there.
Like most people (dogs, cats...) I love a good massage, especially on the feet, but I have a slight problem when it comes to my stomach. You come anywhere near my tummy with those oily hands, and I chop them off! So I was a little bemused during a recent holiday at a health spa in Thailand, when a therapist suggested that it was actually my stomach that needed a good pummeling.
“You have problem with tummy,” said the Chiva-Som masseuse after she’d finished giving me a blissful body massage (which involved three seconds on the stomach before she got the evil eye). “You need Chi Nei Tsang—stomach massage. Good for you.”
“Oh, no thanks,” I laughed nervously, making a beeline for the spa. As I bubbled away, I began to reconsider. Perhaps the reason I dislike tummy massages so much is the very reason I need one. I’ve had pelvic problems since my first pregnancy and, lately, an occasional nagging ache on one side of my abdomen which neither a GP nor a physiotherapist have managed to explain. What did I have to lose? The next day, I found myself lying flat on my back, my stomach exposed, and a Chi Nei Tsang master bearing towards me, her hands poised for attack. What had I let myself in for?
Believed to have been developed by Chinese Taoist monks, Chi Nei Tsang literally means “working the energy of the internal organs”. It’s all about using deep, gentle touches to retrain the internal organs (stomach, intestines, liver, gallbladder...) to work more efficiently. Therapists say that tension and negative emotions build up in these organs causing congestion and blocking the body’s energy. This eventually weakens these organs, particularly the digestive system, causing problems like irritable bowel syndrome, constipation, bloating and gas. By gently massaging this region, my internal organs should be re-energised and my negative emotions magically released. Well, they certainly had their hands full with me!
My session was held in a dimly lit therapy room with ambient music and the sweet scent of lemongrass all around. I was covered up, except for the tummy, and massaged quite determinedly around the entire abdomen. At first it was hard to relax and I found myself tensing up, but eventually, as my therapist’s soothing hands persisted, my stomach muscles held up the white flag. And it’s just as well because this treatment is useless if you don’t relax. I found that I enjoyed part of the therapy and was slightly irritable during other parts—particularly when the therapist hit those trouble spots. “You have a small tear in your large intestine,” she said, much to my surprise. “Do you get bloating, a little bit blocked?”
“Well, maybe a little,” I replied, embarrassed. She suggested I drink warm water more often, then noted that I don’t breathe nearly deeply enough. “Breathe deeper, you’ll feel better and have much more energy.” I liked the sound of that.
By the end of the 45 minutes, I was feeling incredibly relaxed and, yes, even a little more positive about life. While she never picked up on my pelvic problem, the therapist did manage to make my nagging ache disappear, and it still feels fine some two weeks later. While this may all be the result of the holiday itself, I have come away a stomach massage convert.
It’s clear to me now that relaxation is not just about the outer muscles. If you neglect those all-important inner organs, they might just come back to bite you on the... well, you know.
More information:
Chi Nei Tsang is a signature treatment at Chiva-Som and is also available in Australia at some health spas, yoga studios, naturopathic clinics and osteopaths. Treatments range from $80 to $150 for an hour session, and most therapists recommend three sessions for maximum effect. It is not recommended during pregnancy or menstruation and for those with abdominal cancer or vascular abnormalities. For a practitioner in your area: www.naturaltherapypages.com.au.
My family & other animals: Travel tips (FYI)
About to set sail with your family or head off on a road trip?
Here are some travel survival tips for holidaying with extended family (from someone who's done a lot of it!)
• Choose a holiday you all agree on
• Share responsibilities such as organising the trip, booking restaurants, babysitting…
• Leave personal views about parenting, drinking and diet at home
• Book enough accommodation for each family to really spread out and relax
• Adjoining rooms are good for babysitting and catching up
• Set basic rules first, such as how often you get together and where
• If someone wants to do their own thing, don’t take it personally
• Get the formal group photo out of the way early
• Take your own happy snaps and share photos at the end
• Share things like snorkelling gear, books and toys
• Move around at mealtimes so you catch up with everyone
• Take kids’ books and toys to dinner so you get some adult conversation in
• Invite single family members to join you in activities and mealtimes, and offer to babysit if they have kids
• Don’t expect Grandma to keep the kids entertained. It’s her holiday, too!
• Enjoy!
Here are some travel survival tips for holidaying with extended family (from someone who's done a lot of it!)
• Choose a holiday you all agree on
• Share responsibilities such as organising the trip, booking restaurants, babysitting…
• Leave personal views about parenting, drinking and diet at home
• Book enough accommodation for each family to really spread out and relax
• Adjoining rooms are good for babysitting and catching up
• Set basic rules first, such as how often you get together and where
• If someone wants to do their own thing, don’t take it personally
• Get the formal group photo out of the way early
• Take your own happy snaps and share photos at the end
• Share things like snorkelling gear, books and toys
• Move around at mealtimes so you catch up with everyone
• Take kids’ books and toys to dinner so you get some adult conversation in
• Invite single family members to join you in activities and mealtimes, and offer to babysit if they have kids
• Don’t expect Grandma to keep the kids entertained. It’s her holiday, too!
• Enjoy!
Ocean's 16 (a past travel story for your enjoyment...)
Imagine sticking 16 members of the same family together on a cruise ship in the South Pacific. Will they be drawn closer or heading for the gangplank? I don my sailor hat and find out...
It seemed like a good idea at the time. My father’s 70th birthday was coming up, he wanted to celebrate by taking the whole family on a South Pacific cruise, and I couldn’t have been more excited. As the date crept up, however, so too did the doubts. Is this really such a good idea for an extended family? There are 16 members in mine, aged from four to almost-70, and now living in five different countries including the United States, Singapore and Papua New Guinea. How would we all get along? Getting together for Christmas lunch is one thing, but ten days stuck on a ship in the middle of nowhere? That’s 30 meals, countless group photos and endless hours of small talk…
Then there’s the matter of our varying ages and tastes. Would all 16 of us have a good time? Even my husband (whose idea of hell is dancing the Macarena on the Lido deck—an activity that presented itself before we’d even left shore), and my two young sons who got cabin fever on our seven-acre property? How would they go couped up on crowded ship by day and in a four-berth cabin with ‘the oldies’ at night?
Only time would tell, so I swallowed my concerns and headed for the Sydney port. Dubbed ‘Australia’s first superliner’ Pacific Dawn is an older Princess ship that’s been revamped by P&O with a few new twists including more flexible dining times. It accommodates up to 2050 passengers but don’t let the crowds put you off. We moved swiftly through check-in and within an hour were up on deck greeting each other excitedly. And what an electrifying way it is to reunite—the sun setting around us as we glided beneath the Harbour Bridge, champagne piccolos in hand.
A feast to remember
That first meal was a good sign of things to come. We dined over four leisurely courses and across two tables that faced out to sea. The menu was tantalising, the food excellent and the service first-class. Luckily, we were able to hold onto these tables so the waiters got to know which wines we preferred and how quickly to serve our kids before they turned feral. They also knew by Day 7 to present Dad’s birthday cake quietly without the usual fuss (eight waiters gathered around singing at the top of their lungs).
At the start my mother suggested we do our own thing by day and get together for the main meal at night, and it proved the making of the trip. We weren’t expected to constantly coordinate and compromise. One day, for instance, while Dad disappeared for some wine tasting, my mother on a chef’s tour and my sisters to the gym, I headed for the library and my husband tried his hand at quoits. Having said that, it’s surprising how often you run into each other on a ship with five restaurants, nine bars and lounges and 11 decks!
Kidding about
As for the kids? Who needs acreage when there are two pools, 24-hour in-house movie channels and threeITALICS Kids Clubs? Forget about the children, the Clubs are everything a parent could want, with a strict signing-in book, beepers to keep in touch and movie nights (with beds and dimmed lighting) so you can take in a show. Best of all, they’re broken down into age groups which enabled my youngest to bond with his Singapore cousin in Turtle Cove (ages 3 to 6) while my eldest mingled with his Sydney cousins in Shark Shack (ages 7 to 12). There’s also a Teen Lounge, and all three come with a daily menu of age-related activities including arts and craft, song and dance, mini-basketball and PlayStation®3.
There’s plenty of fun for the adults, too, and it’s all listed in the newsletter that’s delivered daily to your cabin door. The selection includes shuffleboard lessons, theme nights, quizzes and games, art auctions and grandparent get-togethers or ‘boasts’. There’s also an internet cafe, a gym, a salon and a spa offering everything from Tahitian scalp massages to collagen facials, most of which cost extra. The budget-conscious in your group needn’t despair as all main meals and most activities are included in the fare, and because you’re issued with a personal cruise card (which deducts automatically from your credit card) you don’t need to fiddle about with cash, currency or tips. Nor could anyone pull a swiftie when it came to bar shouts. While alcohol cost extra, we simply took turns presenting our cards.
New Caledonia
After three days of sailing, it was delightful to wake up to find Noumea come into frame through our large porthole. The capital of New Caledonia, Noumea is a contradiction of cultures with shabby French shuttered buildings alongside thatched huts and coconut trees. It was here that we made our first family error. We ignored Mum’s advice. None of us had opted for shore tours, things like bird sanctuaries and zodiac rides, so once we’d swiped our cruise cards and disembarked, we were left floundering. Some of us were clearly in the mood for adventure, others to sightsee or shop; yet we compromised and settled for a local beach, which probably wasn’t the best use of our time.
The next day we did things differently. We’d sailed through the night and were now anchored off Lifou in the Loyalty Islands, a Pacific island cliché with glassy blue waters and stunning coral reef. Determined to maximise the day, my little family got ashore early, snagged a shady spot and was snorkelling for hours before the stragglers in the group caught up. There’s no port at Lifou and the tenders take you back and forth to the ship all day which is perfect for varying age groups—some of us returned to the ship to settle small children, others for a nanna nap.
Vanuatu
Our next two stops were in the tiny island nation of Vanuatu, the first at Port Vila, the capital. By now the family broke up easily into smaller groups; one took a taxi tour, another went diving, and the rest of us headed for the luscious lagoon pool of the nearby Iririki Island Resort. The next day we anchored at the more remote island of Wala and, as it was Dad’s birthday, we happily gathered under palm trees and snorkelled together in the warm bay. The kids also befriended the local children while the adults stocked up on handicrafts. By the time the ship hauled anchor and was heading home, most of us were looking forward to the last three days at sea, which for the hubby and I were largely spent lying on a deck chair at the stern, immersed in books (no nagging children or dance music to disturb us).
Family matters
As it turns out, holidaying with extended family really is a great idea, if only for the free babysitting. We took turns escorting the kids to early dinners then popping them in Kids Club so the rest of us could relax and enjoy the nights (particularly handy for the single mum in our group). And when my boys fell ill, various family members watched over them so my husband and I could get some fresh air. Others minded the kids when we broke Mum’s rule and snuck off for a romantic dinner one night.
There’s a certain comradeship in being part of a larger group. One day all the girls got together for a chick flick, another time I ran late for a popular yoga class and it didn’t matter as my sisters had saved me a mat. There was never a shortage of someone to share a coffee, a swim or head out for the night, and we never tired of conversation because there were so many of us. Dinner became a game of musical chairs, and yet I still had to schedule a coffee date with one brother I’d hardly spoken to. My parents got to enjoy quality time with their five grandkids without the usual stress of entertaining them in an apartment and then putting the place back together again. And because it was a birthday cruise, there was always a celebratory note.
Best of all, unlike Christmas lunch, this get-together was leisurely and stress-free. No-one was slaving in the kitchen or stuck on a sofa bed (did I mention the cabins are stylish and surprisingly spacious?). In fact, we had such a good time, we’re already planning the next family adventure, probably to Bali. Rumour has it there may even be a new baby and a wedding in the mix…
It seemed like a good idea at the time. My father’s 70th birthday was coming up, he wanted to celebrate by taking the whole family on a South Pacific cruise, and I couldn’t have been more excited. As the date crept up, however, so too did the doubts. Is this really such a good idea for an extended family? There are 16 members in mine, aged from four to almost-70, and now living in five different countries including the United States, Singapore and Papua New Guinea. How would we all get along? Getting together for Christmas lunch is one thing, but ten days stuck on a ship in the middle of nowhere? That’s 30 meals, countless group photos and endless hours of small talk…
Then there’s the matter of our varying ages and tastes. Would all 16 of us have a good time? Even my husband (whose idea of hell is dancing the Macarena on the Lido deck—an activity that presented itself before we’d even left shore), and my two young sons who got cabin fever on our seven-acre property? How would they go couped up on crowded ship by day and in a four-berth cabin with ‘the oldies’ at night?
Only time would tell, so I swallowed my concerns and headed for the Sydney port. Dubbed ‘Australia’s first superliner’ Pacific Dawn is an older Princess ship that’s been revamped by P&O with a few new twists including more flexible dining times. It accommodates up to 2050 passengers but don’t let the crowds put you off. We moved swiftly through check-in and within an hour were up on deck greeting each other excitedly. And what an electrifying way it is to reunite—the sun setting around us as we glided beneath the Harbour Bridge, champagne piccolos in hand.
A feast to remember
That first meal was a good sign of things to come. We dined over four leisurely courses and across two tables that faced out to sea. The menu was tantalising, the food excellent and the service first-class. Luckily, we were able to hold onto these tables so the waiters got to know which wines we preferred and how quickly to serve our kids before they turned feral. They also knew by Day 7 to present Dad’s birthday cake quietly without the usual fuss (eight waiters gathered around singing at the top of their lungs).
At the start my mother suggested we do our own thing by day and get together for the main meal at night, and it proved the making of the trip. We weren’t expected to constantly coordinate and compromise. One day, for instance, while Dad disappeared for some wine tasting, my mother on a chef’s tour and my sisters to the gym, I headed for the library and my husband tried his hand at quoits. Having said that, it’s surprising how often you run into each other on a ship with five restaurants, nine bars and lounges and 11 decks!
Kidding about
As for the kids? Who needs acreage when there are two pools, 24-hour in-house movie channels and threeITALICS Kids Clubs? Forget about the children, the Clubs are everything a parent could want, with a strict signing-in book, beepers to keep in touch and movie nights (with beds and dimmed lighting) so you can take in a show. Best of all, they’re broken down into age groups which enabled my youngest to bond with his Singapore cousin in Turtle Cove (ages 3 to 6) while my eldest mingled with his Sydney cousins in Shark Shack (ages 7 to 12). There’s also a Teen Lounge, and all three come with a daily menu of age-related activities including arts and craft, song and dance, mini-basketball and PlayStation®3.
There’s plenty of fun for the adults, too, and it’s all listed in the newsletter that’s delivered daily to your cabin door. The selection includes shuffleboard lessons, theme nights, quizzes and games, art auctions and grandparent get-togethers or ‘boasts’. There’s also an internet cafe, a gym, a salon and a spa offering everything from Tahitian scalp massages to collagen facials, most of which cost extra. The budget-conscious in your group needn’t despair as all main meals and most activities are included in the fare, and because you’re issued with a personal cruise card (which deducts automatically from your credit card) you don’t need to fiddle about with cash, currency or tips. Nor could anyone pull a swiftie when it came to bar shouts. While alcohol cost extra, we simply took turns presenting our cards.
New Caledonia
After three days of sailing, it was delightful to wake up to find Noumea come into frame through our large porthole. The capital of New Caledonia, Noumea is a contradiction of cultures with shabby French shuttered buildings alongside thatched huts and coconut trees. It was here that we made our first family error. We ignored Mum’s advice. None of us had opted for shore tours, things like bird sanctuaries and zodiac rides, so once we’d swiped our cruise cards and disembarked, we were left floundering. Some of us were clearly in the mood for adventure, others to sightsee or shop; yet we compromised and settled for a local beach, which probably wasn’t the best use of our time.
The next day we did things differently. We’d sailed through the night and were now anchored off Lifou in the Loyalty Islands, a Pacific island cliché with glassy blue waters and stunning coral reef. Determined to maximise the day, my little family got ashore early, snagged a shady spot and was snorkelling for hours before the stragglers in the group caught up. There’s no port at Lifou and the tenders take you back and forth to the ship all day which is perfect for varying age groups—some of us returned to the ship to settle small children, others for a nanna nap.
Vanuatu
Our next two stops were in the tiny island nation of Vanuatu, the first at Port Vila, the capital. By now the family broke up easily into smaller groups; one took a taxi tour, another went diving, and the rest of us headed for the luscious lagoon pool of the nearby Iririki Island Resort. The next day we anchored at the more remote island of Wala and, as it was Dad’s birthday, we happily gathered under palm trees and snorkelled together in the warm bay. The kids also befriended the local children while the adults stocked up on handicrafts. By the time the ship hauled anchor and was heading home, most of us were looking forward to the last three days at sea, which for the hubby and I were largely spent lying on a deck chair at the stern, immersed in books (no nagging children or dance music to disturb us).
Family matters
As it turns out, holidaying with extended family really is a great idea, if only for the free babysitting. We took turns escorting the kids to early dinners then popping them in Kids Club so the rest of us could relax and enjoy the nights (particularly handy for the single mum in our group). And when my boys fell ill, various family members watched over them so my husband and I could get some fresh air. Others minded the kids when we broke Mum’s rule and snuck off for a romantic dinner one night.
There’s a certain comradeship in being part of a larger group. One day all the girls got together for a chick flick, another time I ran late for a popular yoga class and it didn’t matter as my sisters had saved me a mat. There was never a shortage of someone to share a coffee, a swim or head out for the night, and we never tired of conversation because there were so many of us. Dinner became a game of musical chairs, and yet I still had to schedule a coffee date with one brother I’d hardly spoken to. My parents got to enjoy quality time with their five grandkids without the usual stress of entertaining them in an apartment and then putting the place back together again. And because it was a birthday cruise, there was always a celebratory note.
Best of all, unlike Christmas lunch, this get-together was leisurely and stress-free. No-one was slaving in the kitchen or stuck on a sofa bed (did I mention the cabins are stylish and surprisingly spacious?). In fact, we had such a good time, we’re already planning the next family adventure, probably to Bali. Rumour has it there may even be a new baby and a wedding in the mix…
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Too many books, not enough time to write them
Are you a writer? Do you have endless books in your head, as I do? Or do you prefer to read the writings of others, something I also enjoy but which often leads me to the former. Being a writer can be irritating sometimes, especially when you have so many ideas and so little time. I want to take another three months out of my freelance soon and write my next book, or at least get it started.
But what book?
I have just posted my two completed Ghostwriter mystery books, Killer Twist and A Plot To Die For on Smashwords, but I have a third one already in the pipeline. It was originally intended as book number two, before A Plot To Die For swept into my imagination and took over. Loosely dubbed Last Writes, it's a cracking tale, one I desperately want to complete. I'm about 10,000 wds in. I know exactly how it will go. I might as well finish it.
But I have this other idea, see, that's just as intoxicating to me as a writer. It's a whole new crime mystery series called The Agatha Christie Book Club (see earlier posts). I am also 10,000 words into that, and it excites me even more than the ghostwriter books. It's just fresher, I guess, and has more marketing potential. So I would like to re-focus on that, if only to clinch the idea which I think is a corker. (Why hasn't anyone ever thought of it before?)
What do you think? Stick with the first series, extend that portfolio of titles? Or launch into something new?
All comments/critiques/advice most welcome. Anyone?
xo C.
But what book?
I have just posted my two completed Ghostwriter mystery books, Killer Twist and A Plot To Die For on Smashwords, but I have a third one already in the pipeline. It was originally intended as book number two, before A Plot To Die For swept into my imagination and took over. Loosely dubbed Last Writes, it's a cracking tale, one I desperately want to complete. I'm about 10,000 wds in. I know exactly how it will go. I might as well finish it.
But I have this other idea, see, that's just as intoxicating to me as a writer. It's a whole new crime mystery series called The Agatha Christie Book Club (see earlier posts). I am also 10,000 words into that, and it excites me even more than the ghostwriter books. It's just fresher, I guess, and has more marketing potential. So I would like to re-focus on that, if only to clinch the idea which I think is a corker. (Why hasn't anyone ever thought of it before?)
What do you think? Stick with the first series, extend that portfolio of titles? Or launch into something new?
All comments/critiques/advice most welcome. Anyone?
xo C.
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