I'll take my eggs frozen

Usually I like my eggs poached or scrambled but today I made the hard boiled decision to settle on frozen.

Having just turned 37 and with one of my best mates (and one of the smartest people in the world I know) become pregnant at 38 years old, tell me all the realities of getting pregnant older (ie not so good); has confirmed what I already knew and accelerated my procrastination and fence sitting into action. I have to bite the bullet, throw my pride out the window, accept the confrontation and visit an egg freezer.

Calling up the fertility clinic today confirmed it - at my age, time is of the essence.

The woman on the phone caringly said: "We can't get you in with Dr X for an appointment until November, but mmmm - you're how old? Oh, right - yes, you really shouldn't wait...try these doctors - they are just as good, and you'll be able to get an appointment sooner."

So first day of spring (a nice tie in for fertility) I'll be meeting the specialist about hatching some eggs not for a fry up, but a freeze up.

It's a bit of a pain - yes, and it's not really fair; unquestionably - but better to have my current 37 year old eggs than older should it become my time to make a baby.

You see - I may have won myself that green card (referenced in an earlier blog entry)in the US Diversity Lottery and if my number comes up (I've been randomly selected as one of 100,000 for further processing) I could be relocating to live in the States in about a year's time.

This planning does not coincide too well with meeting a probable partner in Melbourne and/or Sydney; and settling down to begin a family. Yes folks, it would appear I may just end up with a yankee!

While there will hopefully come a time when I meet a suitable bachelor; realistically I may be knocking on 40's birthday door.

So, unfortunately it has to be - this egg freezing business. Not a cheap business either (no pun intended of the chicken 'cheep cheep'). Certainly much dearer than the six dollars I pay for my free range dozen at the markets.

Realistic I am and it helps having some pretty smart friends to remind me that I'll only be hurting myself for not taking action now.

In my basket, the egg comes before the chicken.

The world needs yoga

I propose that if everyone in the world did yoga - it would be a much calmer, happier place. Let me explain. Yoga has transformed me. No this is not a blog for preaching - but my wellbeing significantly improved when I took up Ashtanga Yoga. And I've seen yoga's effects on my friends too. I've read about yoga's impact in psychology books sprouting its benefits for calming the nervous system and the mind.

I have drifted in and out of practicing styles all my adult life but settled on a couple of forms that gives you a pretty good workout along with the zen benefits it brings with. Ashtanga and Powerflow. Practice regularly and it will dramatically change your life.

I now work pretty much part time and earn significantly less than if I were working among the rat race - but this way, I can happily fit four yoga classes into the week!

Earning less can of course be difficult, as I do like the finer things in life, and many of my good friends are high earners (and thus it can be a bit annoying visiting their beautiful homes (self-owned), while I continue to rent)...but it is true - 'ego' and acquiring material possessions for the status it brings you becomes less important once you incorporate yoga in your life.

And this is why more of the Western World should practice yoga!

I watch the politicians on TV constantly looking stressed (and more often than not - overweight) and I think - if only they could take a break - do some sun salutations, a few downward dogs - they'd be so much better for it! And clearer thinkers. Calmer. More effective leaders (now there's a thought?!)

But one of the biggest changes that comes from practicing yoga is in the people you meet and are taught by. There are some very inspiring teachers out there. The gorgeous Duncan Peake (pic attached) shared a tit bit of wisdom with us at a workshop recently (he was visiting from Sydney) "you don't get what you want, you get what you are." This rang so loudly in my conscious that I made an immediate pact with myself to review all areas in my life and see what they say about me - who I am. If I didn't like any areas - change required (with healing - wink).

He also gave us such a good workout that once we were laying flat on our backs in shivasana pose at the end for relaxation - it was (and is) the BEST feeling in the world!

So you have to try it. I'm sure most reading already have and are - but there are many more (great for anxiety laden bunnies) who could.

Physically, mentally and spiritually a great yoga class makes you feel better about yourself and carefree about your lot in life. You'll begin to think - right here, right now - I wouldn't want to be anywhere else!

Cos yoga's like that. It sweeps you up during a class and you come out walking on air.

So, I'm off to yoga. Namaste (bowing to you).

The ex is getting married

Oh what a night it’s been; I feel like I’ve attended a wake and all the good mates are banding together in support dishing up words of love and support to a woman who is in need! That woman, dear folk, is me.

In essence, it took a junkie to steal my laptop to be able to make the necessary steps to move on. Well, so I think it must have been a junkie – I’m really not sure. That’s semantics. What’s happened is today (through my laptop being stolen yesterday) I learned my immediate ex boyfriend has become engaged. Having said immediate, we did break up nearly two years ago – but I haven’t found love since, despite wishing for it.

How this all happened - I took myself off to see Tree of Life with Brad Pitt yesterday (tight arsed Mondays) but forgot to close my front window. I’ve been opening it to give the place some airing. As we all know from multiple blog posts – I have a 17.5 year old poochie (so smelly breath – poor Walt) so it’s been helpful to let some fresh (?) air in.

So while I’m away, a robber takes his moment to dive in and nab my laptop. Gone. On the laptop are a bunch of photos of my ex with video footage of the beloved Walter. And him – the ex. He was so lovely looking – I would have liked to have kept it – you know, sentimentality – for old times’ sake and to get the footage of Walt...so despite an eight month hiatus of no contact, I sent my ex a text. Along the lines “do you still have it – can I borrow your camera to get that footage? Oh, and by the way, I had a dream your best mate told me you’re married and have had a baby.”

So it takes him almost a day to respond but I get a message back that he no longer has the pics and yes, he’s recently engaged “very happy”.

My ex is 42 years old. He has never been married and yet had a long line of girlfriends, all to my knowledge who would have been up for marriage.

Suffice to say it’s cut me to the core and fortunately a posse of great women friends have come to my aid.

I really believe everything does happen for a reason and even though it doesn’t feel like it now, this is all part of the universe’s way.

What’s particularly difficult however is that my other ex did the same thing. Got married. And nearly three years into the relationship – is still married! Despite me feeling (both) had some serious issues they would need to work through before being able to sustain a long term bond. So this of course, points a finger back at me. And that's not easy!

All I can do is hope I fall in love again. And with a man where it works. As all this heartache hurts. Is there a universal purpose to having me ache like this? There must be –but surely I’ve upped the queue in “time to take care of Caroline”? I can only hope my ticket is called next.

My weekly crush

Every Monday night at around 6.10pm I see him. He’s tall and lithe, has a scorpion tattoo on his left arm (or that’s what it looks like from my vantage), has grey, brownish hair and a moustache. He has a look similar to Nick Cave or David Bowie and looks like his work would be creative. Perhaps he’s an architect or furniture designer.

He has two daughters, one about 10, the other probably 14. He’s pale skinned but theirs is olive and they have long dark hair and brown eyes. I imagine their mother to be a Balinese princess like Lindy Klim, or a Spanish beauty like Penelope Cruz. It’s this calibre of woman I imagine him with – someone beautiful and exotic.

I don’t know his name, I don’t even know whether they’re his daughters, but every Monday night for the past five weeks during my spin class, I’ve watched him and his girls dry off after their swim by the indoor pool below.

He first struck me because he bears an uncanny resemblance to a former flame – someone I haven’t seen since the day we parted. Past loves can be like that, if you see someone in the present day who bears any kind of resemblance, it can make your heart flutter and blood pressure drop. But part of this man’s attraction is that he has a family, something my ex constantly promised for us, but could never deliver.

In an environment where most of the swimmers are mainstream types, he stands out. He sweeps his hair back from his face and strolls up and down alongside the pool talking on his blackberry. I wonder who he’s talking to. His girlfriend, his wife, a friend, a work colleague?

His older daughter saw me watching them last week. Every now and then the swimmers below will look up to the spin class above. The area with the exercise bikes has glass windows floor to ceiling and looks down on the swimming pools below. When she and I locked eyes, it didn’t bother me that she saw me. If it was him who caught my eye, it would be a different story. I’d hasten to turn away.

I’m looking forward to seeing him again – and again, and again. It’s a thrill and welcome distraction from the hum drum of the regular spin class. Seeing him and his girls makes my Monday evenings that bit brighter and helps the class go that much quicker.

As I cycle to the blasting tunes on my stationary bike among the other spin devotees, I wonder if anyone has ever looked at me this way. Do any of my fellow exercisers think: “there she is, she’s here...yay!” Somehow I don’t think so. But it is nice to speculate.

Community counts

I read an article weekend before last where a 30 something single woman said she is fine being single and wrote that she took offence when others (not single) would give her the pity look. She wrote in a manner which suggested other singles of her vintage felt the same way (I would have posted the link to the article, but this is the best I found on a quick google search for it: http://earlybirdcatchestheworm.wordpress.com/2011/05/25/newspaper-clipping-of-the-week-all-the-single-ladies/)

I could be off doing adventurous, culturally enriching and spiritually enhancing things overseas as I have no dependents by way of children or partner, but it has been my choice and circumstance that I am Melbourne-bound.

I have a 17 year old pet dog who is too old to leave with others for care and too able to send off to doggie heaven before his time (yes, 17 is a fabulous innings - Walter is a most special dog).

And while I consider everyday with Walter a blessing, outside the pet ownership - confessional...life can be lonely. Lonely living in a city where your best friends from your fun and carefree 20s have either moved away or long been coupled up and raising young kids. The single mates I do have are living interstate or overseas, doing what I would be if I didn’t have Walt.

So unlike the warrior single from the article who vouched she's happy with said status, I’ve declared as a single woman that the 30s can be tough.

As a single like me, you’re likely to be one of the very few in your friendship circle, and if you’re not, life’s going to be completely hectic with a partner and young kids - too chaotic to catchup over brunch or yoga class with a single friend.

During such times, most people can lean on their family, but on that accord I’m more a character from Sex and the City (yes, ok, Samantha wins here in terms of character likeness (but more for her direct and no bullshit style than promiscuous bedroom antics - let me assure you!)) than Brothers and Sisters.

I lost my mother 15 years ago and my only brother lives in Adelaide with his wife and their two young children – again, hectic, not much time to nurture his sister's lonely heart (although he does a good job trying - thanks bro).

My mother had three sisters, all of whom are wonderful sources of support – but again, they’re in Adelaide and they themselves have their own lives and families.

So more and more I’m on my own.

To help combat the sense of aloneness, I have for some time interwoven my wellbeing with a connectness to community. This provides a level of comfort and company when I’d love to have more of it from the friends and family in my life.

It’s the married yoga instructor who asks me how life’s going (thanks gorgeous Chris); and reads excepts from books offering up tit bits of wisdom about dealing with every day life (your "being human is a guest house - greet everyone (happiness) and anyone (malice) with a smile for it's a guide bringing exactly what you need" helped thanks Jen); comments on my new hair colour "I'm liking the red" (from Amanda the 50 something rocking yoga guru at Fitzroy yoga); Sam, the naturopath who smiles and greets me at the health food store at the South Melbourne markets (high protein low carbs Caroline); Robin, the pet food store owner who has never asked my name but calls me “Walter’s mum” every time I visit and gives Walt a regular treat.

It’s young, spunky Matt who takes my Wednesday night spin class who I overhear talking to others about marathons he’s been busy prepping for or about the status of the baby he’s about to have (and would have had by now).

The list goes on.

Yes, politicians will sprout the values of community and its benefits to people's mental and emotional health (and Lord Mayor Rob Doyle does live around the corner).

I find myself the Cate Blanchett poster girl for advocating the benefits of their spin.

Keep community close because the loose netted support these friendly acquaintances bring, can just be the thread magic weaves.

The Royal Wedding

In an ever-changing world and one where there seems to be more leaving than staying in relationships; there’s something very comforting for me that Prince William provides a role model to today’s young man.

For women like me (unmarried 35+) we’ve kissed more frogs than we care to mention and breathe a collective sigh, that yes, it’s more likely we’ll be reading “He’s just not that into you” than a bridal magazine.

But when presented with a sweeping romance steeped in tradition such as the approaching Royal Wedding – this ordinarily strong woman gets a little teary with emotion.

In his proposal, Wills declared to the world he intends to ‘officially’ hold onto his girl and ‘waity Katy’ proved there’s virtue in hanging in there through thick and thin.

Very much the modern couple, Wills and Kate have been dating some nine years, weathered a momentary breakup and live together. Now they’ve chosen to follow tradition, tie the knot and in the future when William becomes King of England he has his bride.

Of course all around me are the naysayers – shaking their heads in wonderment: “Why all the fuss?” I shake my head right back at them. The majority are riding my bandwagon of course, that’s not hard to miss – everyday the global media reports on the Royal Wedding in a mass of excitement.

Fair, at times the circus around the pending nuptials is nothing short of a spectacle (namely the kitsch wedding memorabilia), but the significance of the Royal Wedding resonates way beyond the couple getting married.

In our society, to marry is the highest proclamation of love and who can deny the spellbinding power of love?

Come April 29, the watching world has Wills and Kate’s word of commitment to each other and this is not so easy to give publicly if in doubt.

I’ll get comfy on my couch, pooch by my side, glued to the TV and watch in eagerness as the beautiful Kate marries her handsome prince.

Cafe culture turns office

Have you noticed how once you’ve been made aware of something, it begins to take form everywhere you look?

I recently read an article by Rachel Wells at the Sunday Age about people using cafes as their office space. See story link: http://www.businessday.com.au/executive-style/management/meetandeat-revolution-at-the-coffice-20110405-1d0om.html

Of course we’re all drawn to things that resonate and strike a chord and yes, for me – this article produced what Oprah would coin an “a-ha” moment.

I meet clients and potential clients in cafes; work on my laptop; jot down ideas on post-it notes; as well as spy opportunities to solicit business when the occasion arises.

During my cafe time I’ll catch-up on the papers and listen in (as well as start and contribute to) conversations between staff and customers to keep abreast of the general chit chat around town. Finger on the pulse for this PR maven.

I guess you could call Park Lane Cafe in South Melbourne my second office - but it’s also like a welcoming, home kitchen. See link to an article I secured for its owner Harry Humphries (Barry Humphries’ nephew!):

http://www.theage.com.au/entertainment/restaurants-and-bars/south-melbourne-dj-grinds-out-a-good-cup-20100412-s3hz.html

Of course, there’s not just one cafe to do business - we home-based business operators have a few faithfuls at our fingertips.

I went to Nacional in Middle Park the day after reading Rachel’s piece. Equipped with my notepad to write my To Do list for the week – I sat two tables away from a young woman tapping away at her laptop, mobile phone pinned to her ear, engaged in conversations the bulk of the time I was there. I wondered what on earth she did to be constantly on the phone for a full hour. In between calls, she would casually pick up her piece of vegemite toast, take a bite, sip on her latte, then back to tap, tap on the laptop.

I smiled to myself and it prompted me to send a “you’re very much on trend” email to Rachel Wells. A week later I was back at Nacional and so was the young woman. It was a slice of déjà vue.

You can’t keep a good trend down.