[Recommended listening: Pride And Glory - Shine On]
Walk like you own the world.... But know that you don't.
This is about believing in yourself and having the confidence to show it. Walk tall, walk proud and other people around you will notice. You get treated better and your days end up much better. You end up smiling more and others around you end up smiling more. Greet everyone like your friend and sincerely thank everyone for their help. Be observant when doing this and you will notice many changes around you.
Even if you are feeling down or depressed.. Try it. Not only will you start to feel better about yourself, but you'll make everyone around you feel better too.
The other half of this is being humble enough to not tread on everyone with your new found prideful steps. We don't really own anything or anyone. Don't use your confidence to belittle other people and use them. We're all part of one global community and we should all help one another as best as we can. Even if that's a friendly smile or chat to the total stranger sitting next to you at the bus stop.
So stand up tall, walk straight and with purpose, even if you have none. Believe in yourself, even if you don't. You soon will when you see all the people around you acting differently towards you.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Photo Of The Day - Self As Child.
[Recommended listening: Paul Brody - Masks And Faces]
Photo of me. Thought it was fitting after the last post. I kinda look sad. But I love this photo so much. Hope you do to. You can show me how much by buying some prints :)
Oh Father, Where Art Though?
[Recommended Listening: Creedence Clearwater Revival - Long As I Can See The Light]
13th of September 2003, my Dad lay dying a lonely death in an Adelaide hospital. No one around but orderlies, nurses and doctors that didn't know him from the next patient. The next patient by the way died the day before, while we were waiting.... The day after they had gotten married.
Depressing huh? But then again.. What cancer isn't?
I never really new my Dad that well. I think that is ever more depressing. But what is more depressing than that, is that I never gave him the chance for me to get to know him.
The photo to the above, is my Dad, Neil, holding me when I was 10 days old. I was little then as you can see, and in many ways today, at 35 I still feel little. Sometimes I feel even smaller that that photo.
As I said, I didn't know my Dad, Neil, born 18th September 1946. I was just never too close to him. I know his father's name was Maurice and his mother's name was Heather, the same as MY mothers. Other than that, I know next to nothing of his past. It's a fact that saddens me beyond belief and worries me. Will MY children know the same? Even less, about me?
Sorry Dad, I deserve any penance I get but it will never make up for what I feel I have caused myself to lose for not caring enough to know.
How did all this come about? Let me just tell my story as best I can, let the so called fictional Karma sort it out after I die.
The earliest memory I have of my Dad was him washing the car with his shirt off. He had a huge scar on his shoulder from a motorbike accident years ago. I remember it being fairly fresh and pink looking. At the time I had no idea what it was. Some of the following memories aren't exactly on subject but I put them in as I thought of them. More for my own memory stick than anything.
I remember our old dog Carrie. An Old English Sheepdog. Only vaguely, I don't know what happened to her. I think I remember having an old photograph of her with a meaty thigh bone longer than having the actual dog. I remember the old swing we used to own. Originally painted yellow with most of the paint flaked off, leaving that old family memory of rust and familiarity.
I remember going out in the sun to purposely get sunburned so I could be a "red indian", and I remember hiding from my Dad when he mowed the lawn due to the noise the lawnmower made.
I remember at the house after that, the house which became our family home, laughing at my dad for having such a hairy chest. It was hot and summery and he was mowing the lawns. He said that if there ever was another Ice Age, he'd be one of the few to survive due to being hairy. Guess what Dad, I'm gonna survive an Ice age too. I can honestly thank you for that gene. All my girlfriends might not, but I do, with a fond and distant smile.
I remember every time my Father physically kicked my in my arse. Child and family services, you can all get fucked. I deserved every one of them and are far better off than the pansies you create these days.
In saying that....
I remember sneaking home at night and finding my Father drunk and passed out at the table, his face hovering just centimeters from his dinner, a plate full of spaghetti, toying with the idea of pushing his face into it and bolting.
I remember my Father, bursting into the lounge room and telling me he never wanted to see me again. I ran away from home that night, sneaking past my Auntie Marg's house in pitch darkness at the edge of Penola in case they looked out the window and saw me, a small grade 5 boy in his black duffle coat with snoopy embroidery that he'd sewn on himself. I remember planning to walk to Mount Gambier, 52km away, to get on a train to Heywood, and then to Melbourne and disappear forever that night... with no money... or knowledge of how to get from Mount Gambier to Heywood. I remember a couple of guys, they looked teacherish of age, picking me up. I was scared, but only that they'd dob me into the police. I told them that I was going to a friends house somewhere on Commercial St. They dobbed me into the police. A friendly copper drove me home.. I remember eyeing off his gun wondering... what if...... I was still in primary school....
I remember the single chair in the lounge room, a dark wooden chair, with a thin cushion tied to it, a floral cushion cover, I remember the outline of the whoppie cushion that I had drawn for maximum fart gag potential. Wasted potential as it seems. It never worked. I remember eating weet-bix on that chair at any given time of the day or night while watching any number of crappy movies that I still watch to this day.... less the weet-bix.
I remember finding my Father passed out on that chair with the axe leaning up beside it...
Let it be said now though, that he was never violent to us and never hurt us. I was never scared of him. I just didn't want to be around him during times like that.
I remember spending a lot of time at Mannum, South Australia, on the house boat that my Father came home once saying he had bought. No one knew anything about it until after if was done. Not even Mum. But there were a lot of good times spent up there. I remember Dad teaching me how to fish, how to start and steer the dinghy and other fun river stuff. I remember reading Silly Billy books up there too and generally having a great time. I think Dad was at his happiest up there, which is why he spent long periods of time up there. It wouldn't be strange for him to go up there for a weekend and not come back home for 3 months or more.
Dad was never a very affectionate person, I don't remember him hugging me or telling me he loves me. I don't think we even sat down and had meaningful talks about anything. Much of my life lessons were self taught, hence why I'm not perfect in a lot of ways.
My Dad was always pretty wild and active. He loved riding motor bikes, I DO remember he used to ride me to school in the sidecar of one of his bikes. Not always but some. Enough to remember fondly. He always liked to tinker in the shed with various things too. One day at his work, he had an accident that pretty much screwed his back up and he suddenly couldn't do any of those things.
Another thing he liked to do was play the piano. Another impulse buy was when he traded in his Yamaha Upright for a Clavinova, and then that in for a Baby Grand Piano. Also Yamaha. So I remember him playing that a lot. Sometimes I'd sit up and listen to him, most often not.
For me, this was a turning point in my relationship with him. It's then that I remember him drinking all the time and he wasn't a good person to be around when he's drunk. Another inherited trait. Not grateful for that one. Or perhaps it's just me reacting to things gone wrong. Either way, that's another story.
Most of the bad memories I have of my Father are to do with him drinking. My Mum was very patient but it wasn't unheard of for her to wake me up in the middle of the night to pack some clothes, and we drive all the way to Mount Barker to stay at my Auntie's house. I was allowed to take one tin of toys. I always liked going up there, so for me it was like an adventure.
So yeah. I was never too close.
The day he died, he was in a coma in an Adelaide hospital. His cancer (Non Hodgkin's Lymphoma)had come back through his spine and the doctors told us that he'd have no chance of coming out of it. We opted to switch off the machines and go out side while it happened.
I made some calls to work to arrange more time off, and then thought "No, no one should have to die alone." So I went upstairs to at least be there for him as he passed away. I was never there for him in life and it's the least I could have done. He died before I got back up to the room. So I feel that even that little chance was taken from me.
I do miss having Dad around though. There are many things I'd like to talk to him about now. Although my Mum says otherwise, I do believe that he stayed all those years out of obligation. Not that he hated us in any way. I just don't think he was a settling down type of person. Having been in a bad marriage, I feel that maybe I have some things in common with him now. I too stayed as long as I did through obligation for my 3 beautiful children and the fact that I wanted to be a good husband. All I ended up doing though is making things far worse. Nearly losing my kids while I was at it.
I made my mistakes, I'm paying for them. I accept that.
I don't know what he really thought of me, he never told me. Maybe he was disappointed with me. I know I gave him plenty of reason to be disappointed in me. Maybe I'm just not much of a son. I'm trying to be a better Dad myself though. I like to think I'm doing OK in that department.
Sometimes, I'm scared, I feel like I just fail. I never had much to guide me so I still stumble to this day.
So Dad. If you're watching and reading somewhere, somehow. I do love you and I do miss you.
NOTE: There will be more photos added when I can get in to get them scanned.
13th of September 2003, my Dad lay dying a lonely death in an Adelaide hospital. No one around but orderlies, nurses and doctors that didn't know him from the next patient. The next patient by the way died the day before, while we were waiting.... The day after they had gotten married.Depressing huh? But then again.. What cancer isn't?
I never really new my Dad that well. I think that is ever more depressing. But what is more depressing than that, is that I never gave him the chance for me to get to know him.
The photo to the above, is my Dad, Neil, holding me when I was 10 days old. I was little then as you can see, and in many ways today, at 35 I still feel little. Sometimes I feel even smaller that that photo.
As I said, I didn't know my Dad, Neil, born 18th September 1946. I was just never too close to him. I know his father's name was Maurice and his mother's name was Heather, the same as MY mothers. Other than that, I know next to nothing of his past. It's a fact that saddens me beyond belief and worries me. Will MY children know the same? Even less, about me?
Sorry Dad, I deserve any penance I get but it will never make up for what I feel I have caused myself to lose for not caring enough to know.
How did all this come about? Let me just tell my story as best I can, let the so called fictional Karma sort it out after I die.
The earliest memory I have of my Dad was him washing the car with his shirt off. He had a huge scar on his shoulder from a motorbike accident years ago. I remember it being fairly fresh and pink looking. At the time I had no idea what it was. Some of the following memories aren't exactly on subject but I put them in as I thought of them. More for my own memory stick than anything.
I remember our old dog Carrie. An Old English Sheepdog. Only vaguely, I don't know what happened to her. I think I remember having an old photograph of her with a meaty thigh bone longer than having the actual dog. I remember the old swing we used to own. Originally painted yellow with most of the paint flaked off, leaving that old family memory of rust and familiarity.
I remember going out in the sun to purposely get sunburned so I could be a "red indian", and I remember hiding from my Dad when he mowed the lawn due to the noise the lawnmower made.
I remember at the house after that, the house which became our family home, laughing at my dad for having such a hairy chest. It was hot and summery and he was mowing the lawns. He said that if there ever was another Ice Age, he'd be one of the few to survive due to being hairy. Guess what Dad, I'm gonna survive an Ice age too. I can honestly thank you for that gene. All my girlfriends might not, but I do, with a fond and distant smile.
I remember every time my Father physically kicked my in my arse. Child and family services, you can all get fucked. I deserved every one of them and are far better off than the pansies you create these days.
In saying that....
I remember sneaking home at night and finding my Father drunk and passed out at the table, his face hovering just centimeters from his dinner, a plate full of spaghetti, toying with the idea of pushing his face into it and bolting.
I remember my Father, bursting into the lounge room and telling me he never wanted to see me again. I ran away from home that night, sneaking past my Auntie Marg's house in pitch darkness at the edge of Penola in case they looked out the window and saw me, a small grade 5 boy in his black duffle coat with snoopy embroidery that he'd sewn on himself. I remember planning to walk to Mount Gambier, 52km away, to get on a train to Heywood, and then to Melbourne and disappear forever that night... with no money... or knowledge of how to get from Mount Gambier to Heywood. I remember a couple of guys, they looked teacherish of age, picking me up. I was scared, but only that they'd dob me into the police. I told them that I was going to a friends house somewhere on Commercial St. They dobbed me into the police. A friendly copper drove me home.. I remember eyeing off his gun wondering... what if...... I was still in primary school....
I remember the single chair in the lounge room, a dark wooden chair, with a thin cushion tied to it, a floral cushion cover, I remember the outline of the whoppie cushion that I had drawn for maximum fart gag potential. Wasted potential as it seems. It never worked. I remember eating weet-bix on that chair at any given time of the day or night while watching any number of crappy movies that I still watch to this day.... less the weet-bix.
I remember finding my Father passed out on that chair with the axe leaning up beside it...
Let it be said now though, that he was never violent to us and never hurt us. I was never scared of him. I just didn't want to be around him during times like that.
I remember spending a lot of time at Mannum, South Australia, on the house boat that my Father came home once saying he had bought. No one knew anything about it until after if was done. Not even Mum. But there were a lot of good times spent up there. I remember Dad teaching me how to fish, how to start and steer the dinghy and other fun river stuff. I remember reading Silly Billy books up there too and generally having a great time. I think Dad was at his happiest up there, which is why he spent long periods of time up there. It wouldn't be strange for him to go up there for a weekend and not come back home for 3 months or more.
Dad was never a very affectionate person, I don't remember him hugging me or telling me he loves me. I don't think we even sat down and had meaningful talks about anything. Much of my life lessons were self taught, hence why I'm not perfect in a lot of ways.
My Dad was always pretty wild and active. He loved riding motor bikes, I DO remember he used to ride me to school in the sidecar of one of his bikes. Not always but some. Enough to remember fondly. He always liked to tinker in the shed with various things too. One day at his work, he had an accident that pretty much screwed his back up and he suddenly couldn't do any of those things.
Another thing he liked to do was play the piano. Another impulse buy was when he traded in his Yamaha Upright for a Clavinova, and then that in for a Baby Grand Piano. Also Yamaha. So I remember him playing that a lot. Sometimes I'd sit up and listen to him, most often not.
For me, this was a turning point in my relationship with him. It's then that I remember him drinking all the time and he wasn't a good person to be around when he's drunk. Another inherited trait. Not grateful for that one. Or perhaps it's just me reacting to things gone wrong. Either way, that's another story.
Most of the bad memories I have of my Father are to do with him drinking. My Mum was very patient but it wasn't unheard of for her to wake me up in the middle of the night to pack some clothes, and we drive all the way to Mount Barker to stay at my Auntie's house. I was allowed to take one tin of toys. I always liked going up there, so for me it was like an adventure.
So yeah. I was never too close.
The day he died, he was in a coma in an Adelaide hospital. His cancer (Non Hodgkin's Lymphoma)had come back through his spine and the doctors told us that he'd have no chance of coming out of it. We opted to switch off the machines and go out side while it happened.
I made some calls to work to arrange more time off, and then thought "No, no one should have to die alone." So I went upstairs to at least be there for him as he passed away. I was never there for him in life and it's the least I could have done. He died before I got back up to the room. So I feel that even that little chance was taken from me.
I do miss having Dad around though. There are many things I'd like to talk to him about now. Although my Mum says otherwise, I do believe that he stayed all those years out of obligation. Not that he hated us in any way. I just don't think he was a settling down type of person. Having been in a bad marriage, I feel that maybe I have some things in common with him now. I too stayed as long as I did through obligation for my 3 beautiful children and the fact that I wanted to be a good husband. All I ended up doing though is making things far worse. Nearly losing my kids while I was at it.
I made my mistakes, I'm paying for them. I accept that.
I don't know what he really thought of me, he never told me. Maybe he was disappointed with me. I know I gave him plenty of reason to be disappointed in me. Maybe I'm just not much of a son. I'm trying to be a better Dad myself though. I like to think I'm doing OK in that department.
Sometimes, I'm scared, I feel like I just fail. I never had much to guide me so I still stumble to this day.
So Dad. If you're watching and reading somewhere, somehow. I do love you and I do miss you.
NOTE: There will be more photos added when I can get in to get them scanned.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Second Blog Page
As of today, I have created my second blog page titled Mikey The Black's Mandolin.
This will be my attempt to teach and share my musical skills and trickery. After all, most music ability is just trickery. Oh and practice...... Plenty of practice.
It will mostly focus on mandolin as that is my latest musical craze but I'll pop in some guitar and bass stuff from time to time as I think of it.
So this new blog will be totally different than this one. This one I'm using as a kind of self therapy. I don't have may I can really talk to here so I talk to you... The anonymous friend.
Please welcome my new blog into the world by sharing the news and links with all your friends. Digg it, Stumble upon it, tweet it and all that jazz. Ah, a wonderful musical term to boot.
Stay musical or happy, or depressed. Which ever, just stay true to yourself. If you don't know who you are, then maybe by watching me find myself, you may also find out who you are.
Mikey.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Photo Of The Day - Racing Snails
[Recommended listening: Bun-Ching Lam - Slow Tune Of Sounds]
Here is my obligatory link to stuff I sell. You will see these from time to time. Maybe not every day but often enough for you all to feel guilty and buy them. Or even better, some of you might actually buy some and make me a happy camper.
Most of my photos are shown as it was captured. I don't do any photo editing apart from the odd crop here and there. Reasons being that I want to capture the scene as I saw it at the time, not how I see it later.. AND.. I'm too lazy to learn how to post edit properly. Unless I'm creating something completely new.
Camera used is a simple point and click Pentax Optis S-12.
Song Of The Day... Losing My Religion (Mandolin)
[Recommended listening: R.E.M. - Losing My Religion]
Photo courtesy of wiki.
When you start to learn how to play the mandolin, people always tend to say "Now you can play Losing My Religion." .
Well, no.. But give me 5 minutes and I will be able to. Not an overly hard song but a nice fun one. One of R.E.M.'s finest.
I'm not sure how I want to do these but I figure if I start it this way, I'll force myself into learning at least one song a day... SO I ask of all you readers.. All one of you on a good day. What would YOU like to see? Lyrics and chords? Tabs? Song history?
I will edit this as I think about it some more.
Please note, I am also going to cheat here for a bit and put in songs that I have previously learnt on the mandolin... Or guitar.
Photo courtesy of wiki.
When you start to learn how to play the mandolin, people always tend to say "Now you can play Losing My Religion." .
Well, no.. But give me 5 minutes and I will be able to. Not an overly hard song but a nice fun one. One of R.E.M.'s finest.
I'm not sure how I want to do these but I figure if I start it this way, I'll force myself into learning at least one song a day... SO I ask of all you readers.. All one of you on a good day. What would YOU like to see? Lyrics and chords? Tabs? Song history?
I will edit this as I think about it some more.
Please note, I am also going to cheat here for a bit and put in songs that I have previously learnt on the mandolin... Or guitar.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Year Of Hell
[Suggested listening: Rolling Stones - Paint It Black]
What does one write about for their first blog post?
What does one write about at 1:45am in the morning?
Perhaps I should start at the beginning of the end leading to a new beginning and see if I can make sense of that.
2009 for me was the worst year of my life. It started with a monumentally horrible explosion to end a marriage that was already bad for many years. I won't go into blame at this stage as there is enough to go around for both myself and my ex-wife. I know what I did wrong and the things I have to live with.
Not having any friends or family here, I ended up with no where to live, nothing but a bag of clothes and my trusty iPod. This was soon followed by some of my possessions. My computer, 2 of my guitars, a couple of books, a chess set, a samurai sword and a lot of time to sit and think. (I did find a place to stay however.... A room in a pub... depressing right?..Damn Skippy)
Having so much time afforded me a visit to the doctors to see to the rasp in my voice that I had developed in December. A result I though of learning some songs by The Kinks, learning to beat-box, sing black metal and attempt Tibetan throat singing. None of which it turns out I was very good at... yet....
So, long story short... Suspected vocal nodules turned out to be Laryngeal Papillomatosis, which is a rare disease which cause tumors to grow, in this case on my vocal cords. As a result of this, and two bouts of surgery on my vocal cords, from late February until November 2009 I couldn't talk any louder than a quiet whisper, no matter how hard I tried. Not only very frustrating, but very alienating too. Friends and family stopped calling me as they couldn't hear me on the phone. Shop assistants would look at me like I was retarded when I went shopping. I ended up hiding in my room (at the pub), getting more depressed with each passing day.
Now add to this, an ex-wife who decides to get nasty and goes into hiding with our 3 children. So from Easter 2009 I couldn't see my beautiful children. The only ones who were keeping me strong enough to continue living and I had no idea where they even were.
I had so much horrible stuff going on and it seemed like it would never end. I couldn't cope and I wanted it all to end. With no end in sight to any of it there often seemed like only one logical choice. Somehow I refuse to go down that path but I'm pretty sure if that path found me... say.. random psycho drunk in the pub.. Almighty big truck or something... I wouldn't have minded one bit. I also admit, that some of those almighty big trucks DID look very appealing. Probably the closest I've ever been to suicide. I don't think many people know that.
All in all, 2009 was pretty bad. I really wanted to talk to my Dad but I could due to him passing away 6 years earlier. But that's another story. I really wanted to talk to anyone. But the ones I needed to talk to wouldn't listen and/or couldn't hear me, and to this day probably don't realise how detrimental that was to my well being.
Some people did listen however, thanks to facebook I reconnected with some old friends back in South Australia. You know who you are and I thank you all once again.
Some good did come out of all the bad however and although this phoenix hasn't fully risen from the ashes, I will. Will I be a better person or a worse person? Only time will tell. I'm aiming for better and have people who will tell me if I stray too far... I hope.
To end on a positive note, or 2... Plus some thank you's.
From living at the pub, I met some wonderful people. Nikki, Tam, Roen, Micka, Steve. Especially Nikki and Tam who without them, I probably wouldn't be still alive. I'll be eternally grateful to you girls.
Thanks to Dr McDonald and his magical cordozone tablets, my voice has come back. Not 100% and may never be but I can live with that. People actually call me now since they can hear me.
From 4th January 2010, my 35th birthday, I have been in constant contact with my 3 beautiful children, Ella Lilley, Rafferty Flash and Ava Poppy. You are my world little ones. Things have also been civil and even pleasant with my ex-wife.
I got to spend a lot of time with some old friends from South Australia, who also live here in Ballarat now. Rob, Fiona and Roy. Always a pleasure to be around, you are the greatest friends anyone could ever wish for.
Last but not least....Aimee, a big hug and thank you, and a story for another time.
[Suggested Additional Reading: Laryngeal Papillomatosis ]
What does one write about for their first blog post?
What does one write about at 1:45am in the morning?
Perhaps I should start at the beginning of the end leading to a new beginning and see if I can make sense of that.
2009 for me was the worst year of my life. It started with a monumentally horrible explosion to end a marriage that was already bad for many years. I won't go into blame at this stage as there is enough to go around for both myself and my ex-wife. I know what I did wrong and the things I have to live with.
Not having any friends or family here, I ended up with no where to live, nothing but a bag of clothes and my trusty iPod. This was soon followed by some of my possessions. My computer, 2 of my guitars, a couple of books, a chess set, a samurai sword and a lot of time to sit and think. (I did find a place to stay however.... A room in a pub... depressing right?..Damn Skippy)
Having so much time afforded me a visit to the doctors to see to the rasp in my voice that I had developed in December. A result I though of learning some songs by The Kinks, learning to beat-box, sing black metal and attempt Tibetan throat singing. None of which it turns out I was very good at... yet....
So, long story short... Suspected vocal nodules turned out to be Laryngeal Papillomatosis, which is a rare disease which cause tumors to grow, in this case on my vocal cords. As a result of this, and two bouts of surgery on my vocal cords, from late February until November 2009 I couldn't talk any louder than a quiet whisper, no matter how hard I tried. Not only very frustrating, but very alienating too. Friends and family stopped calling me as they couldn't hear me on the phone. Shop assistants would look at me like I was retarded when I went shopping. I ended up hiding in my room (at the pub), getting more depressed with each passing day.
Now add to this, an ex-wife who decides to get nasty and goes into hiding with our 3 children. So from Easter 2009 I couldn't see my beautiful children. The only ones who were keeping me strong enough to continue living and I had no idea where they even were.
I had so much horrible stuff going on and it seemed like it would never end. I couldn't cope and I wanted it all to end. With no end in sight to any of it there often seemed like only one logical choice. Somehow I refuse to go down that path but I'm pretty sure if that path found me... say.. random psycho drunk in the pub.. Almighty big truck or something... I wouldn't have minded one bit. I also admit, that some of those almighty big trucks DID look very appealing. Probably the closest I've ever been to suicide. I don't think many people know that.
All in all, 2009 was pretty bad. I really wanted to talk to my Dad but I could due to him passing away 6 years earlier. But that's another story. I really wanted to talk to anyone. But the ones I needed to talk to wouldn't listen and/or couldn't hear me, and to this day probably don't realise how detrimental that was to my well being.
Some people did listen however, thanks to facebook I reconnected with some old friends back in South Australia. You know who you are and I thank you all once again.
Some good did come out of all the bad however and although this phoenix hasn't fully risen from the ashes, I will. Will I be a better person or a worse person? Only time will tell. I'm aiming for better and have people who will tell me if I stray too far... I hope.
To end on a positive note, or 2... Plus some thank you's.
From living at the pub, I met some wonderful people. Nikki, Tam, Roen, Micka, Steve. Especially Nikki and Tam who without them, I probably wouldn't be still alive. I'll be eternally grateful to you girls.
Thanks to Dr McDonald and his magical cordozone tablets, my voice has come back. Not 100% and may never be but I can live with that. People actually call me now since they can hear me.
From 4th January 2010, my 35th birthday, I have been in constant contact with my 3 beautiful children, Ella Lilley, Rafferty Flash and Ava Poppy. You are my world little ones. Things have also been civil and even pleasant with my ex-wife.
I got to spend a lot of time with some old friends from South Australia, who also live here in Ballarat now. Rob, Fiona and Roy. Always a pleasure to be around, you are the greatest friends anyone could ever wish for.
Last but not least....Aimee, a big hug and thank you, and a story for another time.
[Suggested Additional Reading: Laryngeal Papillomatosis ]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
