Miss Mandie

I should have known this tree wasn’t going to last forever. My track record in gardening would have been enough of an indication I would kill it eventually. But I had one. Oh, such a glorious, abundant money tree, so easily accessible through the convenience of my trusty electronic card. I lived for three years with my money tree; the tree that sprouted from my decision to sell up and hand over the keys to my inner city apartment and undo the chains that were around my neck from its mortgage. I travelled, I volunteered, I socialised, I soul searched, I learnt Reiki, I daydreamed, I studied. All the while giving very little thought to the exchange of my time for any currency.

Then one day, last October, with an unexpected car repair bill (the consequence of the 10,000km road trip to the centre of this great country of mine), it died. No more. The tree just fizzled up and died.

Now you would think that for most people, it would mean the shake up to a reality that might involve full-time work and the end of the holiday as such. Not I; she who believes in the law of attraction!  My life didn’t have to change given my magic money tree had gone. Thankfully the Australian Government would support me now that I was by their standards, or by anyone’s standards, dead broke. Things were going along fairly smoothly. I sold items of any value off that I wouldn’t miss too much. I picked up a few hours here and there at the local health food store. I even managed to work full-time for one week back in February. The Universe was doing a good job of looking after me from week-to-week.

But suddenly, as what little money I had from the things I sold disappeared, and the few hours I did work dried up, I noticed that in actual fact, I was more than dead broke. I was now careering backwards into a debt ditch with no visible means of digging myself out (a metaphor made even more appropriate if you know of my previous track record with driving). But what’s going on here…I believed in the law of attraction!? So Universe, where’s my bloody money!?

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There a few sure fire signs when my attitude to life takes a turn: I stop updating my facebook status, I stop exercising and I start reminiscing about working full-time. Yep, I know, tragic. But as tragic as it sounds, it just occurred.

It was prompted after the Great Easter Campout at The Forest, with 13 of my darling friends and 9 of their kids pitching tents around my yard. The weekend was chaotic, messy, fun and heartwarming. My kitchen turned into a brothel within minutes of it being cleaned, the boys couldn’t wait to burn everything in sight on the campfire, and kids were having major sugar meltdowns by Sunday evening. But all in all, we functioned rather harmoniously, sharing food and watching whoever’s kid was right in front of us…the whole weekend kind of echoed of the commune-style living that you imagine the original hippies of this area would have lived like.

Then as quickly as this impromtu community sprung up, it packed up and headed home. Headed home with their family members in tow, to their jobs and mortgages, to the weekly social gatherings with one another in Brisbane, to the cycle of life that revolves around the whole Monday-Friday gig.

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It’s not often that I repost things from YouTube on the site, but this one caught my attention. Of all things – it’s an ad to get more people to wear their seatbelt. Not the most exciting topics I realise, nor the most uplifting. I haven’t watched a lot of television this past year, given I don’t have one, so forgive me if the Australian state governments have changed their strategy for raising awareness about road safety. But last I was aware, seatbelt ads in this country would have involved a lot of dramatic footage, death, carnage, fake blood and distressing wailing. Seriously, I often wondered how they could be allowed to put such graphic ads on when kids could still be watching.

Then enter the ad below, from Sussex Safer Roads in England. This epitomises what I believe all campaigns should be – a positive call to what they want, rather than focusing on what they don’t want to happen. Think about it – how many times do you see governments and non-profit organisations putting energy into advertisements and campaigns that focus more on what they don’t want, rather than what they do wish for the future?

Can you feel the difference in these opposing statements?

- Stop destructive forest logging/ Preserve our abundant forests

- Prevent child abuse/ Nurture our future generations

- Don’t tolerate domestic violence/ Expect respect (this one is a local Byron Shire campaign in the positive – I love it!)

Or in the case of this advert: Avoid death/ Embrace Life

I believe that one day the understanding of the power of our focused minds in influencing physical reality will be as widely accepted as the fact that the world is round. Just have a read of “The Brain that Changes Itself” by Norman Doidge M.D. as evidence that science is now proving the profound power of our minds in a widely accepted manner.

So if we have the ability to help influence our world to change for better or for worse, wouldn’t it be wiser of us to start focusing our energies into what we DO want? Some will argue that ‘stop logging’ is still focusing on what we do want (i.e. logging to stop so our forests are preserved). But our focus in that simple statement is more aligned with logging, than anything else. And that is the subtle act of us shifting our focus. We need to shift to the end result of what we want. It may not seem like much, but I believe the more we do this shift in focus, the sooner will start to see the changes in the world we’ve been wanting.

Check it out:

The objects of my affection

As with most love affairs, this one took me by surprise. It was love at first sight if I’m honest. Our first meeting set amongst the backdrop of the glitter and glam of the Gold Coast. There they were, tucked into a corner (that infamous line by my teen heartthrob Patrick comes to mind), looking as beautiful as ever. I knew I had to have them. And for the bargain basement price of $6. Ohhhh, my heart skipped a beat.

I was indulging in one of my favourite past-times – procrastinating from study by scouring op-shops (secondhand stores for the international readers). This time I had a co-conspirator – Regina, a fellow student and from what it seemed, fellow procrastinator and lover of things recycled. I’ve never been one to pay much attention to crockery. I bought a heap when I first left home, got a dinner set when I got married and other than purchasing some big (I mean big enough to dwarf any sized meal in them) bowls last year, I haven’t invested much time and energy into what I eat off. Until now that is.

When I got home last night, I sat outside on my verandah, enjoying the last remaining moments of daylight, as I munched my way through some cheese and crackers, on one of my newly purchased plates. I swear it tasted better. I sat the plate at the sink with the other dirty plates. As I walked past later on in the evening (yes, I’ve gotten better at leaving dirty dishes in my house for longer than a minute), I swear that part of the kitchen looked more sophisticated and charming. Seriously. I stood and admired this plate amongst the dirty dishes for a moment. There was an obvious distinction between the usual “made in china and owned by 3 million other people” to these “made in England and slightly cracking from age” plates.

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