a very enjoyable evening

I was getting myself all stressed this afternoon - the BIG Christmas do was on. I have four possible Christmas parties to attend this year, which is what comes of working several jobs. In the interests of spending a little less, I'm attending three of the four.

Tonight was event number two, and in my mind it had become the preeminent do; the party to beat all parties. Something to do with the effort and hoo hah I knew many were undertaking to beautify themselves for the big night. We're talking fake tans, hairdresser up dos and cute little cocktail dresses. I had the distinct feeling that in comparison to all this, I may well look something of a frump. Now there's a comforting thought. Harrumph.

Around six pm I was engaged in a game of musical clothes. This top with those trousers. (Nope, too tight) Those trousers with that top. (Uh uh, too boring) That top with three quarter jeans. (Hmmm, too casual?) These trousers, that blouse, white shirt, green flowery tee... on and on, until finally I settled for the dress, which was my original plan until the weather had suddenly turned cold.

It set me to reflecting on beauty, confidence, consumerism and contentment. I would like to be someone who could rock up in clothes that were not exactly in fashion, and just not care. (I almost pulled it off, although perhaps I could have claimed more complete success if I had settled for the original outfit of trousers and top that were boring, but quite nice and definitely warm) I wanted to believe what I tell the girls at school - no one looks at you as much as you do, they're all too busy looking at themselves. Unless they're looking at you to pull your appearance to pieces because they are unhappy with themselves, but I don't tell the girls about that. Let them find some self love first, be comfortable in their own skin, then let them down slowly. (I think I managed to convince myself on this one - I was sufficiently happy with how I looked to admire all the pretty dresses and perfect tans - those girls looked gorgeous, believe me!) And I was pleased I hadn't spent lots of money trying to look a certain way (it doesn't matter that much what we look like in the end), and more particularly that the dress I wore was an ethical number. I know who made it, where, the conditions they worked under and that they were paid fairly. (Check out Eternal Creation for more ethical, gorgeous and incredibly high quality items!)

It's a complicated thing, appearances, fashion and feeling comfortable in my own skin. Maybe one day I'll tap into the river of confidence such that I stop worry worrying how I compare to everyone else. In the meantime I looked nice enough and had a good time chatting with lots of lovely people. We're all the same on the inside!

And now I must go and put all the discarded clothes back in the drawers and cupboards from whence they came...

oh the restraint

Barbara Kingsolver has a new book out. I love Barbara Kingsolver and I want that book. In the interests of sustainability however, I am trying to reduce spending and consume less. So I checked out the local library, and hey presto, they have a copy or three in their catalogue. It was too much to expect it to be sitting on the shelf - oh no, that would not happen to the latest Kingsolver tome - so I placed a hold on it. Two weeks later I was beginning to worry I might have left it too late to go and collect it, so I ducked in today to check on it's progress.

Ho hum, more people in Tasmania like Barbara Kingsolver than I gave them credit for. I'm eighth in line, and with a three week borrowing period, that amounts to at least a three month wait.

'Three months,' I screeched (quietly, because it was a library), 'I shall have to buy it. Today.'

Then I remembered my commitment to a new way of living (aided by the remembrance that in four weeks I shall be almost penniless), tightened my belt and borrowed 'The Unknown Terrorist' by Richard Flanagan instead (and 'Making Money from Craft' in order to avoid being quite so penniless) .

The restraint, the restraint! (Then again I've read mixed reviews of 'The Lacuna' so maybe it's a good thing I saved my money) For now I'm shocked silly by Flanagan's take on Jesus as a terrorist, but my curiosity is piqued and I must read on.

consumption

It seems I'm not the only one concerned by the current global call to consume more in order to save ourselves. Courtesy of Eilleen at Consumption Rebellion I found Make Wealth History. At a glance, the site looks like an invitation to analyse our values and choices. In light of the Wal-Mart worker crushed to death by 2000 determined bargain hunters in New York on Friday, it would behove us to examine our consumption habits, both as a society and as individuals.

This one in particular caught my eye:



Another thoughtful consideration of our consumption habits and their consequences for the planet is found in the Story of Stuff. This punchy little film has been around for a while, but if you haven't seen it before it's well worth a look.

On a personal note, my little maglite torch stopped working. I tried several sets of batteries with no result and decided the bulb must have blown. When I went to the hardware store and asked for a new bulb he told me they are impossible to source, I'll have to buy a new torch. I don't want to be (much of) a consumer, but the whole system makes it almost impossible not to fall into it. I might try and claw my way out by purchasing one of these instead...

over the pulp mill or ' wishing the pulp mill was over'

I'm heartily tired of this whole pulp mill business. (Years of having it's fabricated benefits stuffed in my ears are taking their toll)

I'm relieved it has become a national issue. (53% of us who live in the area don't want it, while 35% do. The rest don't know who to believe and choose fence sitting over becoming better informed. But even with those statistics - and yes, in case you missed it, that's a majority of people who don't want the mill - Gunns think they can swan into our backyard and do what they want because. well. they want to. isn't that reason enough? We need all the help we can get to beat this thing, so thankyou to all those mainlanders who've waded into the debate and are fighting with us)

I'm extremely upset that the bottom line is the almighty dollar. Always the almighty dollar. Everything is reduced to profit. Dividends. Value per tonne. Trade deficits balanced by pulp production over woodchip export.

I am going to buy this t-shirt and wear it everywhere.

Eat money?

Only when the last tree has died
and the last river been poisoned
and the last fish been caught
will we realise we cannot eat money.

It seems to me that our whole value system is totally mucked up. (I really want to swear there, but I am not as brave as some of you whose blogs I read. My Mum is reading... replace 'mucked up' with the expletive that best fits) We have totally stuffed up our world for the sake of a dollar and I am enraged and grief stricken all in one. I am distressed that I (separated from you only in degree), am a consumer who contributes to this system that rapes our earth in return for paltry money.

I've been reading a book called 'The ethics of what we eat' by Peter Singer and Jim Mason. In their tabulation of the atrocities of industrial size chicken production they make some statements that are relevant to the pulp mill debate:

Tyson produces chicken cheaply because it passes many costs on to others. Some of the cost is paid by people who can't enjoy being outside in their yard because of the flies and have to keep their windows shut because of the stench. Some is paid by kids who can't swim in the local streams. Some is paid by those who have to buy bottled water because their drinking water is polluted. Some is paid by people who want to be able to enjoy a natural environment with all its beauty and rich biological diversity. These costs are, in the terms used by economists, 'externalities' because the people who pay them are external to the transaction between the producer and the purchaser. p29.

What bothers me most about the Gunns pulp mill debate is that these externalities have been largely ignored. Obviously Gunns turns a blind eye to them because it wouldn't look so good in their Integrated Impact Statement. That the government has also chosen to ignore them is testament to the fact that not only will Gunns profit from this trashing of our environment, but so too will they. And while Gunns and the government line their pockets with trees ripped from the heart of my state, I and my fellow citizens will pay the enormous 'external' costs.

Is this justice? Is this right? I think not.

Bring on heaven, lush land of restored creation, kingdom of justice, haven from the evil dollar. I think I've had enough of it down here. Can I go to that new place right now please?

who am I again?

Frank and I are thinking of buying a new car.

Both our cars are twenty or more years old. OK, mine's 18 years old, but 20 sounds more dramatic. Frank's Combie is 32 years old. A new car seems in order, although they both still drive perfectly well, so the need exists in our minds more than in reality.

As an employee of the public health service I get to salary package, legally avoiding tax on a percentage of my income. There aren't many perks in public service, and with the packaging it almost makes economic sense to take out a loan. Any excuse for a new car is plausible and reasonable...

No doubt the biggest influencing factor in the 'will-we-won't-we' debate has been all those beautiful car advertisements. Aren't they wonderful? Lovely sweeping vistas; smooth lines; copious amounts of must-have image... and the sound tracks! How can we resist the urge to buy a new car when every ad evokes exhilarating emotions just by the music.* I'm talking Alex Lloyd's 'You were amazing' for Ford, or this one from Hyundai . And what about this ad from Renault... cute. There are other better examples that I can't locate right now, but obviously ads work. I want a new car. More and more every day.

So this is the story. (And it really has very little to do with buying a car, I've just wanted to write about that for a while, and in the interest of blogging efficiency combining two stories into one seemed beneficial) We are looking at buying some kind of Volkswagon small car (maybe. and that's a big maybe) and I decided to be really clever and request a brochure or three online.

I arrived home from work today to discover an 'Australian Air Express' note advising me to come and collect a package from the airport. I traipsed out of town in my reliable but bomby, windy, rattly, squeaky car and discovered that Volkswagon are so keen to make a sale they didn't use just any ordinary post. Nope - they went all out with Australian Air Express post.

As I collected the package (and this is the crux of the story) I had to write my name and sign for it. Without thinking I wrote my maiden name and signed... before realising what I had done and scribbling it out and scrawling my married name and signature while blithely advising the man at the counter that it didn't matter anyway - I'm still me.

But who is me?

When Frank and I got married I toyed with the idea of keeping my maiden name. Some kind person at church made the decision for me, whisking away my old name tag and replacing it with a tag emblazoned with my married name before I was even headed on the honeymoon. (Do I detect some excitement that Frank and I finally tied the knot?!) They may have been excited. I was less than impressed - not because I don't like Frank's name, because I do. (And by the end of the honeymoon when I returned to discover my spanking new badge, I had decided I would adopt Frank's name because he had looked so genuinely pleased when I told him I was seriously considering it) It's just that I had my other name for 31 years. I was kind of attached. That was who I was!

After 18 months of marriage I'm coming to terms with the loss of my maiden name. I rarely have to think about what I'll call myself, I sign the right signature without pausing to think about how to form the shapes of the letters... my new title is no longer completely foreign on my tongue.

But now I've regressed and signed my maiden name?! How can this be? It doesn't help that I chose to stick with my maiden name at work - the last vestige of the old Cecily. I must have been signing my name there lots lately, because out that maiden name popped tonight without me even thinking.

But I do like being Frank's wife. I really do.

It just takes some getting used to!


* "Songs carry emotional information and some transport us back to a poignant time, place or event in our lives. It's no wonder a corporation would want to hitch a ride on the spell these songs cast and encourage you to buy soft drinks, underwear or automobiles while you're in the trance." Tom Waits

fashionista???

I got a little carried away in Kmart this morning...

What? Are you sniggering? I'll have you know it's very fashionable! And warm! And on top of the 25% off, it also had a slight defect so it was reduced even further. What a bargain! What I particularly love about this is that I'm not pregnant, but I get to wear pregnant clothes...

But I certainly won't be caught dead wearing it with these tights (or any other similar leggings) in public. (Which begs the question why I'm publishing this on the internet. Hmmmm)

I guess I'll have to go buy some suitable trousers then!

remind me what easter's about again?!

I thought Easter was all about Jesus - you know, death, resurrection and all of that.

Then I went to the shops where my eyes were opened to the reality of Easter in the lives of most Tasmanians.

I didn't think about it really. Thursday was just a day off work. I chatted over coffee with a couple of friends before deciding a quick round of the shops was in order as a reward for recent hard work.

Caught up in my thoughts, I drifted into Target to peruse the latest fashions, before walking smack-bang into a literal wall of shoppers. Every checkout was open with a queue extending across the aisle.

"Strange," I thought "Tasmania is hardly a crowded place! Where have all these people come from? It couldn't be Easter causing all this could it?"

Next I spied a local chocolate store.

"Hmmmm, I haven't bought Frank a surprise for a while, I'll duck in and find him a yummy chocolate that expresses my love," and in I went.

Packed, absolutely packed. As many people as you can fit into a 6 metre square shop were frantically scanning the shelves for dairy free chocolate, gift boxes, specialty Easter eggs.

It appeared that Easter might be bringing the whole of the city into the streets!

That evening I decided to combine aqua aerobics with grocery shopping and ducked into the supermarket on the way home. What a crowd! There were as many people racing up and down the aisles as at 4pm on a Friday afternoon, and there it was nearly nine o'clock at night!

Suddenly all became clear. Easter isn't about Jesus! It's about frantic last minute shopping for Easter eggs, long weekend camping, chocolate, commercialism... anything but remembering Jesus' death and resurrection.

I feel angry with the people who've pedaled such a shallow concept of Easter. I'm annoyed that people who deny Jesus' name cling to a long weekend in his honour. I'm sad that the church universal has done nothing to prevent this prevailing attitude of disregard.

And then Easter really arrived, and Frank and I went to church to reflect on Jesus' death. This is a relatively new experience for me, since my Dad insisted that Easter (and Christmas) were originally pagan feasts and not to be celebrated in our home. I now love gathering in solidarity with all those around the world who choose to remember Christ, calming my heart, stilling my mind and meditating on Jesus.

When it all boils down, I'm humbled by Jesus' attitude, inspired by his obedience, overwhelmed by his love.

We all have the freedom to make Easter what we want. I'm grateful for the opportunity to reflect more fully on Jesus and his incredible beauty.

Come tomorrow morning I'll be back at church rejoicing in the incredible wonder of new life! I love it.

a tale of the two target magazines

Two Target magazines plopped into my letterbox yesterday.

(Actually they didn't plop into the letterbox at all. We have a small, decrepit metal box perched atop a post and, so, squashed in half, each item scraped through the narrow orifice before getting stuck, and there it stayed until I came home and I levered it gently free)

So two Target magazines arrived in my letterbox, nestled together in stark contrast to one another until I came and sorted the mail.

"Great," I thought, "a Target catalogue. I love a good Target catalogue!"

Sorting further I found the Target magazine.

"Hmmm," I mumbled,"this magazine is quality info. I look forward to reading this over a good cup of coffee."

(Actually I don't drink coffee. Two hours after the inspiring liquid slides past my tastebuds I am overcome by tremors and faintness. Every once in a while I cannot resist the deliciousness of the taste, but mostly the aftereffects are not worth the small pleasure! But I still love the visual image of savouring a cup of the good stuff)

..."Hmmm," I mumbled, "this magazine is quality info. I look forward to reading this with a glass of water," and off I toddled inside.

It was only later that I realised the significance of two Target magazines arriving at the same time, one shamelessly promoting superfluous products such as toys, DVDs, and computer games, the other promoting the work of community development amongst the world's poor.

To me they represent two very different ideologies - in fact the values each promotes stand in diametric opposition to one another.

Flick through the pages and observe what I mean:

The Target catalogue parades the 'Dancing Princesses Genevieve Doll', storybook pillows, a Shrek pinball machine, and a Garfield Nintendo game. Then there's the Barbie shoes, Spiderman boots and Ninja Turtle backpack, all set off beautifully by the Bratz licensed lamp. Page after page is filled with potentially useful but ultimately nonessential items.

Turn to the Target Magazine and the content is nothing short of inspiring. There is detailed the story of five-year-olds who squeeze into a sixteen year old girl's bedroom in Bangladesh. They come for literacy and numeracy lessons, health education, and songs. While they are learning, most teenagers are at work in the local factory producing clothes... perhaps the very clothes that the Target catalogue advertises.

Could it be any more clear, the contrast between my rich, comfortable world and the world of the majority of Earth's population?

I detest the consumerism of the West. We are so caught up in materialism we've forgotten that we already have everything we could possibly need. Instead we pour over catalogues, which (to my shame) I asked to receive, looking for the extra possession that will bring us happiness.

Not that I want to go and live in the developing world! I'm thankful for the creature comforts I have - I just long for the day when I stop pining for more and more and more! I want to be content with what I have so that I can share my wealth with those who do not have.

Thankyou TEAR and your Target Magazine for reminding me of the billions who live with less than I have. Thankyou postie for plonking two magazines in my letterbox at exactly the same time, prompting me to ponder my wealth compared to the poverty of others in this world.

May I become less enchanted with consumerism, having the courage to stand for justice and freedom for all, resisting the temptation to purchase items I don't really need, sharing out of my richness with those who have nothing.