An end to all the lies!

No-one tells you what a great liar you have to become the second that you discover you are pregnant. And that it's not just a little white lie that you have to tell -- This is endurance-lying. Lying that lasts weeks, if not months, and feels like forever. Or, if you are some kind of a health freak (ahem ahem) and have decided to 'get your body ready for a potential pregnancy', get ready for the long-haul 6-9 month lying tour.

Everyone seems to have their own way of dealing with the potential suspicions that incessant sobriety can bring. And let me tell you, I had to get my story pretty straight pretty early - a wine, whiskey and blue-cheese lover such as myself was certainly going to be under the spotlight unless I had a good lie up my sleeve.

I stopped drinking at the start of April. That's right, April. A.P.R.I.L. "Really? Has it been that long?" asks the innocent bystander... "YES!" This is when my lying had to begin. It wasn't so hard at first -- I was on a health kick, which is what I told everyone, and I was detoxing my body. So no lying there. It was when those nosey people asked "Why?" that I had to either lie, or tell them to mind their own business. My story went something along the lines of me having bad allergies (true -- everyone knew it -- it was spring, after all) and needing to rid my body of all toxins to combat these effectively. A good lie, huh? Because, in part, it was true. And I had done something similar to this before.

The lie kind of lost its potency after six months though... I mean, surely I was detoxed already? This is where the real lying had to come in: "I just don't really want it any more." PFFFT. Who wouldn't want partake in a nice single-malt Auchentoshan, or have some of that wine that I picked out for the group (seeing as apparently a decent knowledge of wine and actually drinking the stuff are in no way connected)? I then resorted to lying about a variety of illnesses (which isn't hard to feign in the first few weeks!) -- flus, colds, jet lag, flare-ups of my almost-totally-under-control fibromylagia... I cant imagine, though, how my absence at Oktoberfest wasn't the equivalent of me waving an enormous 'I'm pregnant' sign at the world...

Though, maybe everyone knew, and they are all just very polite. It is Switzerland, after all :)

Let's just say that shouting out to the world that WE ARE HAVING A BABY was one of the greatest moments of relief in my life. Yes, Beanie had made it to the twelve week mark, and was therefore well on its way to being a fully formed little person, but also I didn't have to tell any more lies!

Duncan and I both had our moments of weakness... I mentioned to some of my netball girls over lunch one day that we were thinking about having kids sometimes soon (what a way to undo all my hard work!), and Dunc kept bringing up 'babies' and then having to tack on an unsubtle '...one day' onto the end of his sentences. Meanwhile, Beanie was in there, growing away in secret.

On a more serious note:

I know that everyone has their own personal ways of dealing with the seemingly endless lists of food and drink no-nos during pregnancy, and I have no problem at all with each woman doing what they are comfortable with. But I am one of those extremist personalities (apparently, according to a genetic reading I've had done through the company 23-and-me, I have a tendency towards an addictive personality, which is no surprise to me whatsoever, and I think very much goes hand in hand with this kind of behaviour), and I am not going to be drinking/caffeining/hamming/sushiing/bratwursting/soft-cheesing/runny-egging at all for a while. Hell, I've made it seven months so far, what's a while longer? And if Duncan and I are going to be making our own little Von Trapp family, it might definitely be a while... Though, I reserve the right to change my mind should a nice chilled wooded chardonnay be wafted in front of me on a summer's evening...

Lake views and a lost bike

Writing all the in-between scenes is boring. I'm trying to aim for 500 words a day and even that is tough at the moment.

Life updates:

- New apartment has been snagged! It is GORGEOUS! Moving in about three weeks from now... :)

- My beautiful bike was stolen...

It's strange how, after existing for so long with so few material possessions, the things that you do own seem to take on magical properties. That bike went through so much with me. It hurt me, I hurt it. Eventually, with time, we learnt to love each other. The thing, though, is that Dunc went through so much to make that bike perfect for me. So much of his sweat went into it. And only then could my sweat also go into it!

Anyway, I'm being positive, despite the fact that I am now a slave to the public transport system (NO!). A friend said to me that this can perhaps be seen as the closing of a chapter of my life, and the new bike I get will be the opening of another. This co-incides well with moving to a new place that is unfurnished, that we will make our own - evidence of our desire to continue our 'new' lives here in Zurich, and of our want of making it all less temporary. Strange how saying 'less temporary' seems easier to admit to all my friends than 'more permanent'. Hmm...

We've got a big few weeks coming up! I'll keep you informed.

Writing a Novel is Tough

Writing a novel is tough. Oh, don't worry, it's not like this is some kind of a grand revelation for me. It's just that there are parts of the job that are unexpectedly difficult.

Before I go about my whinge, it's of the utmost importance that I let you all know how much I love what I am doing. I had a bit of a whine to a friend here the other day, after eight hours of hard slog resulted in just six-hundred words (and this was eight hours of only writing, not editing, not planning, not brainstorming, not charting...), and they told me, “don't push too hard on something you love, that's an awesome way to get you to come to resent it.” My thoughts on this are that.... well... my current situation with my writing is that it is much more than my hobby. It's my job. And even while working at a job you absolutely love, there are days where you struggle. I know that. When I was teaching, it was the same. So I have to remind myself that one horribly frustrating day every month or so is totally acceptable. I won't grow to resent it - not a chance! I love it! And, for the record, the next day I bashed out about 1800 words in only two hours – who knew that was even possible!

So, parts of this writing business that have been unexpectedly difficult:

1. I get way too much pleasure from editing my work. I could happily spend a year just reworking the writing I have already completed, working on the atmosphere, the style, the imagery, the rhythm of my word choice, etc. This is a sure-fire way to feel very productive, and yet to produce nothing.

2. I HAVE TOO MANY IDEAS! I have to stop thinking. Just write. Otherwise my novel will end up with fifteen protagonists, each with their own flaws, their own journeys, etc. And... well, that's just no good. The organisational skills that go hand-in-hand with attempting to keep track of these ideas, deciding which are relevant, which can serve as sub-plot, and which will just have to wait for novel numbers two, three and four, are simply mind-boggling.

3. Having to consistently answer questions about my writing. I know that if I was not writing a novel myself, and I met a person who was writing a novel, I too would want to know what it was about. But what a ridiculously difficult question this is to answer! Earlier on in the process, I would follow the advice from another friend and answer this question with something along the lines of, “if I truly knew what it was about, I'd have finished it already”. But that doesn't fly anymore. I know what it's about - I just can't describe it effectively without making it sound ridiculously melodramatic, or just plain boring. I need to come up with a one-sentence fall-back answer. Incidentally, one thing that I love is when people ask me about my novel, but they ask very odd questions. Instead of asking what my novel is about, some people have asked me:

• “What's your main character like?”
  

• “Whose writing is similar to yours?”
  

• “Is your novel about relationships?”
  

• "What's the most important symbol in your book?"

• “What do you want people to get out of your novel?”

4. The guilt. I am just so lucky. I wonder, often, what I have done to deserve this incredible opportunity I currently have. I am just having too much fun. It's hard, I work my butt off, but I love it. Sure, all of this shouldn't bring feelings of guilt, but... what if nothing comes of it? Ooo... that's the scariest thing. Let's not think about that, actually.With this guilt comes the need to consistently justify myself. Again, this is unreasonable, but that's just me.

5. The fear that I am wasting this opportunity, that I am not making the most of it, am not working hard enough, am not producing enough. This is a great motivator, actually.

30 Day Photography Challenge

So I've started a 30 Day Photography Challenge. I love photography, but I just never really focus on it. I should... I go through phases, I suppose.

Anyhow, this challenge is going to keep me inspired, I hope!

Day 1: Self Portrait

This was tough. I took a bunch, and it definitely came down to a toss up between two. Both I really liked, one for its vibrancy of colour, one for its shadows and light. Although I like the first colourful one as a photograph of me, I have chosen the second. I think it's a better photograph. But tough!

Day 2: Something I Wore Today

Today I am meant to take a photo of 'something I wore today'. BANAL! I suppose the challenge is to do something that is NOT banal... but I failed. I'm not much of a 'still life' photographer. Hate em, in fact. But in this way, it's good for me.

I tried taking a photo of my dirty shoe against the cobbles.

I tried taking a photo of my big wooden bangle next to a bunch of other round things...

I tried taking a photo of my shirt drying on the balcony...

Hated everything.

So I went with the banal. The boring. Will be happy to ignore this one in future.

Day 3: Clouds

AURGH! Clouds are my favourite thing to photograph! But yesterday was a wholly SHITE day for cloud photography! Nothing remotely interesting - just whispy clouds at best, with no real form or body, and I was looking after my friend's baby for the whole day, so I couldn't go out and explore... it was bloody tough.

So here is my official DAY 3 PHOTOGRAPH (taken at sunset, obviously, at netball training):

Now, just for reference, here are the kind of cloud pictures I like to take (not saying this is perfect, far far far from it, but you get the idea), and, incidentally, I took just five days ago. When the clouds were good. Stupid clouds.

Day 4: Something Green
(can you spot it?)

I had fun with this one. Yes, it's another bloody still-life, but I enjoyed it!

To me, this photo is evidence of my expat life: In Australia, only the rich and famous could afford a load of berries like this! I feel as though it also demonstrates my current health-kick.

I still don't really know if it works to have my hand in the pic...



... EDIT: I'm giving up on this photography challenge. I hate having to take pictures of things I don't want to photograph, simply because it's 'clouds' day, or whatever. I know, I'm a quitter. But even after four days I am in the habit of bringing my camera with me places, which was really the point anyhow...

Chess before coffee?

So Duncan and I have gotten into the weekend ritual of going to the cute little cafe (Bubbles) across the road and playing chess over breakfast. That's right - chess before coffee. Insanity, right? But I love it. These are the kind of things that remind me of the level of our compatibility.

We used to play chess all the time when we were traveling, particularly after we finished the cycling and transferred to trains as our main form of transport. My little notebook, initially filled with statistics such as average speed, total distance, top speed, etc., started to instead be filled with tallies of how many times Dunc had beaten me at chess. Yes, you read right. Not 'who won', but 'how many times Dunc beat me'.

He won a total of nineteen times before, on Christmas Eve (after I had plied him with a lot of that special Danish Christmas beer) I finally beat him. Time to insert another column in my notebook!

Now, it seems we are pretty even. The last three times I have won two times (including this morning!) and the other was a stalemate. Love it! I wonder, though, if I am actually getting better at chess, or if I am just learning how he plays chess...

In other news, I'm about to head to the lake for a swim down near my lovely Finnish friend's place. She's due to give birth in under three weeks! I hope she doesn't go into labour when we are out in the middle! Haha. It's alright - I've been practicing my survival stroke, so I've got it covered. I think I'll bring my waterproof camera to take gorgeous pictures of her belly sticking out of the water as she does backstroke with the mountains behind her.

Ahoy there! It's been a while, yes, I know. But remember, no blog post means major advancements in my novel writing... right? Actually, for the past few months, the major lack in blog posts have been more-so related to major advancements in my German language skills. I'm just a big whirl of languagey goodness in all its forms at the moment.

Why the German language and I are no longer friends:
It's a total bastard of a language. I mean... there are worse, it's true. I can't imagine how frustrated I'd be after a couple of months of learning Mandarin, for example. Or perhaps even French.

But, I mean, REALLY. Surely I can just learn one-for-one translations, develop my vocabulary, and then plough straight in, right? Nup. I have to learn bloody grammar. And yes, it is getting better. In my head, when sorting out what to say to someone and the crazy order in which my words should flow, I'm quite often getting it right. Without trying. It is slowly becoming automatic.

But some things will never be automatic, I fear. Take this example from Mark Twain's incredible essay, entitled 'The Awful German Language':

"The German grammar is blistered all over with separable verbs; and the wider the two portions... are spread apart, the better the author of the crime is pleased with his performance. Here is an example: 'The trunks being now ready, he DE- after kissing his mother and sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen, who, dressed in simple white muslin, with a single tuberose in the ample folds of her rich brown hair, had tottered feebly down the stairs, still pale from the terror and excitement of the past evening, but longing to lay her poor aching head yet once again upon the breast of him whom she loved more dearly than life itself, PARTED." '

I will not continue to quote Mark Twain, though he manages to encapsulate all of my problems so concisely it nauseates me. If you'd like a ridiculously entertaining read on how Awful this German Language is, head here: http://www.crossmyt.com/hc/linghebr/awfgrmlg.html

I was studying it intensively, which means a solid 2.5 hours (with homework stacked ontop of that) of classes each day, where you are only able to speak German. Using any English in these classes is sure to earn you a stink-eye. After a little over two months of this, I realised two things:
1. I simply cannot absorb any more information. I need time to mull over this and actually use it without ploughing onto the next ridiculously difficult unit.
2. I had written only 1000 words of my novel.

Hence, I've pulled back. I am now taking the second most intensive option, which is (yes, really) one 1.5hour class, once a week.

The Great Battle (A.K.A. Writing a novel)
BUT, my novel is now coming along great guns! I just love writing it, I love getting so caught up in it that I lose all track of time, I love re-reading my work and being completely engrossed in it, forgetting it was me that wrote it. I love sharing it with a couple of people in the two writing groups I now belong to, and receiving the kind of praise that makes me blush for days afterwards. I love having this fire inside me, where I know that it is just a matter of time until I have it written.

So, yeah, it's going well. :)

Life in General
Switzerland is incredible. Summer is here, which means weekends of grilling with friends, swimming in the lake, cocktails by the river, and lots of terrace cafes, restaurants, bars, etc. It's a good life, this.

We have really gotten into a groove here, so I find it difficult to update people with 'news' - it's just our 'normal life' now. Dunc's work is going really well, we are making lots of friends and continually meeting new people. But Zurich is a small enough city that, even now, we are realising everyone is connected. I met a woman at my writing group, for instance, and we are going to get together next week to play some music. Turns out she runs a business with two other people - one of whom I met days earlier at a baby shower, the other is also in a writing group of mine. And her husband works with Dunc. :) That tends to be how things here happen. Everyone is connected.

It's nice. :)

One Year Later...

Today is April 3rd. Countless times yesterday I found myself staring at the date, knowing that it held some grand significance, aware that I was probably missing a national festival, an important birthday, or other such event. But no, this morning, while sitting here in 'Bubbles' cafe with my second cappuccino, amazed at the number of thin-as-a-rake people that can order and scoff a full English breakfast with seemingly no consequence, I realise that I have now been away from Perth for one year and one day.

The second of April - I spent weeks and weeks last year, petrified, watching as the calendar crept closer and closer to D-Day. I vividly remember a moment of weakness around one week before I left, hysterically telling my work-friend, Clare, that 'I don't even really like camping! And I definitely don't like cycling!' A funny thing to be experiencing on the eve of a year-long round-Europe cycling and camping adventure.

I've been waiting for the right time to divulge my self-discoveries: Discovering what is truly important to me; discovering what really makes me happy (and unhappy); Discovering what it is that makes my relationship with my husband work; Discovering what it is that makes me me, despite where I am, what I am doing and who I am with. And believe me, no one was more surprised by some of these revelations than me.
You're not going to get everything - I have to save some things for just myself. But I will share with you a couple that surprised me:


1. The degree to which my happiness (I use this word in its most Dalai Lamic sense) is related to my self image.

One of the reasons I was looking forward to this trip so much was to 'reset' my self-image. If I had to wear lycra all day every day, and my only out-of-lycra-option was some daggy ill-fitted (but light, quick-drying and functional!) shorts with a thermal top, and if I brought no make-up with me, and my hair was forever helmetted and therefore disastrous, then surely it would be only a matter of time before I would be happy with what I had and with what I was.

This was a terrible plan.

I am not someone to wear a lot of make-up, to get manicures, to wear fancy shoes (or any shoes over $20) or to have a wardrobe full of dresses. But I do tend to put on some mascara before going to the shops, and I do consistently worry about how much my hips are accentuated. And so, take away any possibility of feeling pretty (well, let's not get carried away. Let's just say 'not hideous') and I am truly miserable. I develop complete social phobia and feel that no-one can possibly look my direction without laughing or feeling sympathetic. I mean, I am more than happy in jeans and a black t-shirt, but when this is not even possible, and I must expose my legs, no matter how much of a 'fat day' I am having, and I can't cover those pimples, it is a recipe for hysterics.

I bought myself some jeans. And somehow budgeting this into our 50-dollar-a-day-for-absolutely-everything budget was not an easy task. But for me, it was as necessary as putting a cast on a broken arm. Now I wear what makes me happy. And, inevitably, it seems to be jeans and a black t-shirt.

Cooking dinner in my 'fancy clothes'

2. The importance of food. Not as fuel, but as something that brings joy.

Funny how this and number 1 are so intrinsically linked and yet also so contradictory. I needed to (and still need to) remind myself the only comparison I had was Duncan, who is some kind of ultra-human beast who can conquer anything 'just for fun', and who still thinks that one of the greatest meals of his life was his turkey-spam and strawberry jam sandwich that he made on his hike through the Bungle-Bungles. I, on the other hand, simply cannot fathom the thought of a breakfast of four-day-old rock-hard bread rolls with stolen jam-packets that have burst and half the contents are oozing out. And I always always always wanted to cook a nice dinner. Bread with jam for dinner is not an option, darling. ;)

3. What a clean-freak I am.

I can hear you all laughing from here. Me? A clean freak? I must be joking! I have forever claimed to be the messiest person I know, but something switched inside of me. Seriously switched. I suppose it's the difference between being 'messy' and being 'dirty'. And when you only have such few things to keep clean, and when them being dirty is a serious health hazzard, I am a freak. But Mum, if you could see me with that hand-sanitiser and those baby-wipes, you would have been proud.

I suppose that's about it for now. Back to my Real Writing.

Oh, one last thing - you want to know the secret to a happy relationship when one ridiculously-fit-avid-cyclist decides to take his new unfit-overweight-self-conscious-non-cyclist wife on a six-month life-changing cycling and camping adventure? Just tell each other you love each other all the time. All the time. It can do wonders :)

True love :)