Ahhhh, young love.....

I have been unpacking boxes, sorting what to keep and what to sell and I came across an envelope of family photos.

These are of my parents from when they were a bit younger.

I'm so glad I have these. Look at the hair styles and the clothes.

I know my mum is gong to see this and say "oh I hate that photo of me!"

Sorry mum.

And of course I have to add these last two with me in them!

My head always looked to big for my body as a child!

Ride em cowboy......

My dad had been going on and on and on......and on.....about the western movies he used to watch when he was a kid and how he would love to watch them again. 

When I was in Target the other day I seen these three vintage westerns from El Paso Films (what a cliche name) on remastered DVDs and I knew that he would just love them.

So dad when I see you tomorrow I'll have a present for you. 

In the meantime..I gotta go see a man about a horse.

 

Love for the Phantom never dies......

Beauty and I received an unexpected treat a few days ago. 

We were driving my parents into the city as they were going to see the sequel to The Phantom Of The Opera, called Love Never Dies, when my dads mobile phone rang.

To make a long story short, the couple they were going with couldn't make it due to illness and they offered their tickets to Beauty and myself.

After a quick detour home to change clothes (we had tracksuits on) we arrived at the beautiful Regent Theater in Collins Street Melbourne.
 

To say that it was magical is an understatement.

I cried three times.

The Phantom and Christine ripped my heart out and I willingly let them do it...........

As I would again.

LOVE NEVER DIES-STORYLINE

Ten years after the disappearance of The Phantom from the Paris Opera House the world-renowned singer Christine Daaé arrives in New York with her husband and son after receiving a lucrative invitation to perform at Coney Island, the new playground of the rich and famous. 

As Christine discovers the identity of the shadowy figure that has lured her across the ocean to sing, the shocking events of the past come crashing back into her life with devastating consequences. 

Love Never Dies is truly a roller coaster ride of intrigue, obsession and romance – where little is as it first appears.

AUSTRALIAN CRITICS REVIEW

SIMON Phillips' extravagant production of Love Never Dies infuses new energy into Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera sequel.

With its vivid design, eccentric characters and mystical imagery, this is a ravishing spectacle that captures the dark mystery of a perilous fairground (circa 1907) and should convert even a die-hard Phantom fan.

The Phantom (Ben Lewis), 10 years after his abduction of Christine (Anna O'Byrne), is now a wealthy impresario running a Coney Island attraction. He lures Christine, her husband Raoul (Simon Gleeson) and son, Gustave (Kurtis Papadinis) to Manhattan.

Lewis is formidable as the Phantom. With his velvety tones, superb range and consummate acting, his performance rivals former Phantoms. His opening rendition of 'Til I Hear You Sing is thrilling and no song that follows meets this level.

O'Byrne's beautiful soprano is a perfect match for Lewis in their duets (Beneath A Moonless Sky, Once Upon Another Time) and her version of Love Never Dies is affecting. The Beauty Underneath is a surprising rock number sung by Lewis, Papadinis and the distinguished ensemble while Sharon Millerchip, as Meg Giry, is delightfully cheeky performing Bathing Beauty.

Gabriela Tylesova's heroic design supplies soaring gantries, a giant Phantom mask and occult imagery while the period costumes are high gelati in colour, evoking both freak shows and Edwardian elegance.

Phillips saturates the stage with sideshow freaks, acrobats and impish dancers (performing Graeme Murphy's choreography) and sometimes it's so busy, it's hard to know where to look.

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 Ben Lewis-The Phantom

The Courage medallion....

I purchased a hand made Courage medallion necklace from Etsy six months ago.

I purchased it for my mum but never gave it to her as the time never seemed right.

As a recent survivor of breast cancer it seemed fitting and well deserved but at the same time....not.

No-one needs an explanation for the word Courage.
Every-one knows what it means and it's hard to find a substitute word as good as it.

If you say "that person has a lot of Courage" it is because they are about to or have done something amazing and awe inspiring.

Well she did. She went through 18months of hell.

So why haven't I given her the necklace?
Because it's the wrong word.

For the first time the word Courage is not good enough, not big enough, not understanding enough, just...not enough.

To give her the Courage necklace would be like saying "well done, you made it through, your alive, every things OK now".

And that's bullshit because everything is not OK.

I'm going to visit her on the weekend and when I first see her it's like looking at a stranger.

I'm not talking about the physical differences to her body or of her hair growing back different or her eyebrows, eye lashes and finger and toe nails still only half there.
I'm not talking about the fact that she has and will never have a healthy immune system and she feels like hell three out of every seven days.

I'm talking about the fact that the person who will rush out to meet me and hug me tightly and kiss me on the cheek is a stranger.
She just happens to resemble my mother.

This women is strong, demanding and opinionated to the point of harshness sometimes.
She is a take no bullshit from anyone person and if you asked her for some words of wisdom she looks like she would say "if you lay down and give up, you deserve to be stood on."

She is passionate, determined, angry, fierce, loyal, protective and so easy to talk to that after a year I still sometimes think "what the hell is going on"

This person loves me, unconditionally.
She has no judgmental words to say about my decisions in life or my childrens. She is supportive, encouraging, happy, friendly, approachable, loving, funny and emotional.

She is a contradiction.

I'm not saying that I had a bad relationship with my mother before she got cancer because I didn't. She was my mother and she loved me and helped me get through some terrible times and I know I could not have done it without her.

Do I love this new women who is my mother? Yes, she's so very easy to love.
The big question is do I like her? Yes I do. Alot.
She's my friend.

So do you understand now?
What word can describe a person who has told death to go to hell, knowing that to survive and come back to us meant that she would have to let the person she was die, so that the strong amazon women hiding inside her could fight for her to live?

What word do you give to someone who has to live with ill health and the frustration of not being able to do what you want before your energy runs out every day and knowing that it is like that for the rest of your life.

It has to be a better word than Courage.

When I see her on the weekend I will give a gift I found for her yesterday.
It's a long necklace with a facet cut stone and a mounted silver bird charm.

She loves birds.
So do I. I get that from my mum.

Going to the chapel.....

I was clearing out some boxes full of keepsakes and came across these extra photos of my parents wedding.
It was nice to see them again.
I feel a scrapbooking page in the making.

Yo Ho Ho & A Bottle Of Rum.....

A pirate walks into the bar.
The bartender asks "What's with the steering wheel in your pants!"
The Pirate says "ARGH! It's driving me nuts!

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This pirate joke is for my grandmother who is 82 years old. She loves saucy jokes!

My grandmother as a teenager

The Italian language....

My father was born in Italy and immigrated to Australia with his family when he was eight years old.


That's my father on the left with his little brother

He suffered a great deal through his school years as being a little Italian kid with no English skills made him a perfect scapegoat for the bully's of the school. They made his transition from Italy to Australia a living hell and even though he tried really hard and finally grasped the language he never forgot what it felt like to be an outsider.

When he became older he met my mother. They got married and when his first child (me) was born he made the decision to not teach his children how to speak Italian as they were Australians. (he did not want us to suffer the bullying that he did)


My mother and father at 16 & 17 years old

How I wish that those times had of been different. My father is Italian and I cannot speak one word of the language. I'm moving to live permanently in Italy and I have to overcome this language barrier. I need to be able to communicate and besides it's just plain arrogant and disrespectful to expect to be welcomed into a country when you have made no effort to fit in.

So Italian languages classes it is for me. I have enrolled and start on the 28th February.
My father was here on the weekend to visit and I asked him to speak to me in Italian for five minutes. I understood about 10% of what he was saying. Mainly through commonsense but also through the familiarity of the words, as even though he would not teach me I still got to listen to him converse with his parents when I was a child.

Anyway when he was talking Italian to me on the weekend the small stress knot I had in my stomach about the language problem disappeared. The flow of his voice and the comfort I felt hearing the language made me feel like I was home. Not my home from when I was a child but home, deep inside myself.

So no worries, I can do this this.
I don't think I will ever be able to speak a million miles an hour like a lot of Italians do but I am confident that I will be able to ask the builder how much it will be to fix that kitchen wall that fell down last night.
To tell the chef at the restaurant not to serve me anything with poppy seeds as I have a bad allergy and will die if I eat them.
To tell the butcher that I would like my chicken without the feet as they are freaking me out.
To be able to understand directions when I get lost because I just had to see what was over the next hill.
To be able to tell some hot Italian guy that he has the sexy eyes of a gypsy, lips good enough to lick and a body made just for me. (wait a minute. I'm just writing that down in my notebook to ask my Italian teacher to translate that for me as that sentence is important!)

So I can do this. Learn a new language in six months. No worries. Piece of cake

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