A Dog's Life

I have had a recurring nightmare these past few weeks.

It is set at my parents’ ‘old’ house (they moved last year after 28 years), and I don’t know the people living there.

In the dream, I return from China after being away for 3 months or so, to collect my dogs from this house. Remember, this is the house I grew up in and have so many wonderful memories of.

The new owners are not home, it is dark outside and I am there to collect my dogs. They are nowhere to be found in the house. Finally, I find them, chained up at the front door – starving, dirty, shivering. No beds or toys or comforts. They are not the happy little woofers I know and love, and my heart feels like it will burst with pain for what I’ve subjected these two loves of my life to.

Of course, I wake up from the nightmare and breathe a sigh of relief. Because whilst I am here, and they are there, I’ve left them in wonderfully capable and loving hands. My (four-legged) boys are in their home, enjoying all their creature comforts, with my (two-legged) boy. Every time I speak to D when he is home with them, I can hear my babies in the background, play fighting and barking happily and growling at D to stop giving so much attention to the phone and more ear scratching, tummy rubbing and rough housing with them, please. And another Scooby-Doo treat, too, please D. Well, with Leo, anyway. Mishy just wants cuddles and to get his tongue up D’s nose and inside his mouth.

On the few occasions when D has needed a break or is unable to look after the boys, they go to my folks’ new place, for a visit with Nanny & Poppy, and happily tear around the backyard and go for walks around the new estate and enjoy cuddles with my Dad.

I am so fortunate and feel most grateful that I have a bloke who loves my ‘fluffy, white, girl’s dogs’ as much as he does, as well as parents who enjoy the cheeky antics of this feisty twosome.



Leo, the Westie, and Mish, the Chihuahua, Christmas 2009

Thanks for loving and looking after my babies so well! xo

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In that vein, another story for unconditional and unwavering love for a canine kindred spirit. My dear friend, C, this week said goodbye to her faithful and much-loved Sheltie, Walter, at the ripe old age of 17.5 years old. I have known C for almost 7 years, and we bonded instantly. I have known her boy, Walter, just as long, and often think of them as “C & Walt”, like a couple, a team. Waltie has long been a feature in all aspects of C’s life, joining us for dinners at Albert Park, birthday drinks at Lamaros, long weekends on the Peninsula. My boys and I have spent a few nights couch-surfing with C and Walt, and them with us, and I’ve long referred to C’s boy as my boys’ “Uncle Walter”.

I’ve watched C rearrange her life to look after Walt in his twilight years, providing him with palliative care for 5 or so years until his soul’s departure from this earth this week. C’s love and dedication to Walt in his old age is something to be admired – we hear stories of people who can’t do that even for their own family, let alone a dog. But C did it, without complaint, for days, months, years. Because for those of us who love a dog, they are more than a pet. They are a trusted adviser, a part of our family, a protector, dear friend and soul mate.

In C’s email to her friends to let us know of Walt’s passing, she wrote “Walt exited this world when it was the right time for both of us - and in his departure and the days before - he handled it with patience, courage, grace and dignity. We had our chats about his passing beforehand and in the last day I kept up routine and smiles not to burden him with my grief. It was business as usual as far as Walt would be concerned. I am all the better for having such a blessed dog in my life, Vale dear ol Walt - you are and will be sorely missed”.

Indeed you will, sweet Walter. Grateful I had the chance to know you, too, and see the enormity of the love my dear friend C had – and will always have – for you.



Dear Uncle Walter at his 14th birthday party

Crazy/Beautiful

Falling in love. It's a crazy thing, yes? While I am a person with a lot of love - for my family, my boyfriend, my dogs, my friends, for seasons (summer and spring), for traditions (Anzac Day), for occasions (any time my beloved Blues are playing, and the AFL Grand Final, irrespective of who is competing), I can count on one hand the times I have consciously felt myself falling in love, or realizing 'this is love'.

Recent recognitions have been the arrivals of my much adored niece and two darling nephews. I can recall vividly the physical reaction I had to meeting my niece the first time - a swelling of my heart and physical pain that had a sweetness to it - a feeling that I knew was love. That I would devote my life to the protection and adoration of this tiny human. A feeling I experienced again when her brother and her cousin were born. This is love.

Then, a short time after I began to see my boyfriend, it dawned on me again. "Shivers. What is going on here?" I remember being alone, in a hotel room in Kalgoorlie, of all places. We'd just gotten off the phone and I was replaying the conversation in my head when I thought "here we go... I'm falling in love with this man".

And then, tonight, it happened again. I'd just attended my umpteenth Chinese banquet, shared 13-14 courses of food with 500 or so of my peers here in Guangzhou, exchanged countless business cards and partaken in endless toasts. Afterwards, driving home, from 'old' Guangzhou to my apartment in Zhujiang New Town, it struck me - I love this city. This crazy, beautiful city of 10.2 million, wild disparity and unexpected beauty. I truly love it here. And - in a different time or different way (with my bloke and my pups and regular visits with my family), I think I'd happily live here. For a while, anyway.

Falling in love with a city is a strange thing. I am seeing everything through fresh eyes. The next 5-6 weeks will fly by, but I hope to make the most of my new paramour while I can. And grateful for the chance to fall in love, again.

Old friends are gold

I can’t remember when I heard the saying, but it has stuck with me for many years.

Make new friends, but the keep the old – one is silver, the other gold.

There is nothing better than time with an old friend. This weekend, I was thrilled to receive a visit from my absolute bestie. L and I have been great mates since our first overseas trip together in November 2005. L joined the organisation in October 2004 and I in January 2005. We had clicked and been friendly before then, but that trip cemented our friendship and I could probably count on two hands the number of days that we *haven’t* been in contact in that time. L has been living and working in Shanghai for almost 2 years, and in that time, we’ve been in contact every day. Seriously. Whether by email, call or text. I realise this perplexes people, including my family and boyfriend – ‘what could you possibly still have to talk about?’. As it turns out, plenty. We are never short on topics of conversation. Work, life, romance, celebrity, religion, sport – we’ve covered it all and then some.

This weekend marked the second time I’ve seen L since February 2010 – the last time was over Christmas/NY 2010/11, when I flew to China to spend the holidays with her. You never expect, when you start a new job, that you’ll make lifelong friends. You hope that you’ll click with a few, so that you have lunch and coffee dates, someone to chat to in the kitchen, and strategise with when things get political. I am lucky that in the past 7 years, I have made some great friends – people who know my ups and downs, and I theirs; people I will travel hundreds of kilometres to see and celebrate milestones, like weddings and birthdays, and people I will get a stamp in my passport for – such an unexpected delight.

24 hours before L’s arrival, I felt like crap. Achy, tired, chills and fever. Raw throat. I went to the clinic and discovered I had tonsillitis – and that I’d likely feel worse before I felt any better. Yay. Not. I called L to tell her, and that I wouldn’t be up for much for the weekend. “Good!” she said. “I’m exhausted. Let’s just chill out, do nothing.” Hurrah. Not many people would be happy to fly two hours to visit to do nothing. The expectation is that we’d doll ourselves up, put on our party frocks and have a wild, raucous night. But I’m not like that. And neither is L. And so, our rockin’ Saturday went a little like this: Manis & pedis. Cheese platter and chit chat. Flicking through mags, no chit-chat. Indian takeaway and True Blood. Lights out. And I loved it. Sunday was more of the same – chit chat, True Blood, lunch, foot massage. Early night. Heaven.

It’s nice when you can just be yourself. And just ‘be’. I’m grateful that I have a friend who knows me so well and understands – even better than me – the pressures of the job we do up here. It’s manic and exhausting. Relentless, but rewarding. Brilliant but hard to define. So thanks, L, for a weekend of mooching and green tea and Sookie Stackhouse. Let’s do it again soon.

F * R * I * E * N * D * S

Lying in bed last night, thinking of my peculiar circumstances over here – that is, I’m Scott Nomates – I thought back to one of Seinfeld’s closing monologues, to an early episode, ‘The Boyfriend’.

“When you’re in your thirties it’s very hard to make a new friend. Whatever the group is that you’ve got now, that’s who you’re going with. You’re not interviewing, you’re not looking at any new people, you’re not interested in seeing any applications. They don’t know the places. They don’t know the food. They don’t know the activities. If I meet a guy in a club on the gym or someplace, I’m sure you’re a very nice person, you seem to have a lot of potential, but we’re just not hiring right now. Of course when you’re a kid, you can be friends with anybody. Remember when you were a little kid, what were the qualifications? If someone’s in front of my house NOW, that’s my friend, they’re my friend. That’s it. Are you a grown up.? No. Great! Come on in. Jump up and down on my bed. And if you have anything in common at all, You like Cherry Soda? I like Cherry Soda! We’ll be best friends!”

Even though I’m in in thirties, because I find myself displaced – relocated to a foreign city for a short period of time – I’m making friends like I was a kid.

You’re an Aussie, I’m an Aussie! – they’re my friend.
You like beer, I like beer! – another friend
We like footy AND you like beer?? We’re BEST FRIENDS.

It’s amazing how much more open you are to making new friends when your social life consists of doing everything alone. Wake up alone, live alone, eat alone, commute alone. Don’t get me wrong, my colleagues here have been fantastic – very kind and very welcoming but see, they’re in their thirties. I don’t know the places, I don’t know the food , they’re just not interested in seeing any new applications. When the working day is over, they’re going home to their family and their (full roster of) friends.

I have made, I think, 2 possibly 3, proper friends here. People that I reckon I could call if I were in a jam.

The first I bonded with over football. We barrack for the same team at home, we speak fluent Navy Blue, and we enjoy a beer.
The second I bonded with over celebrities and television. We were similar ages, both Australian, love gossip mags, not into reality tv (for the sake of it, like Keeping up with the Kardashians, or The Hills – but if there is a competition involved, like American Idol, America’s Next Top Model, we agreed it’s not so bad), and watch the same tv shows – Rush, True Blood, Offspring.
The third is pretty much my China ‘best friend’. We both like footy, we both like beer and we are both here alone as our partners are back in Melbourne (he’s here much longer than me, though). Life can be lonely without your partner, so a midweek coffee or a beer watching the footy with someone who really *gets it* is very therapeutic.

My boss asked me this afternoon if I had plans on Friday night, as there was a work function he was happy to flick me an invitation to, to save me from a weekend of myself on high rotation. “I’ve got plans”, I told him. “Hmm?” he queried, eyebrows raised. “Off to the pub to watch the footy and have a few beers with my mates”, I told him with a wink. “Good for you”, he smiled.

Yes, indeed – they are good for me.

It’s been a while between drinks…

I had the best of intentions when I started this blog to write at least once a week… I’ve been a little lax (but in my defence, also very busy!), so here is a short update on what I’ve been up to and what I’ve been grateful for…

Blue skies, rolling green hills and the kindness of strangers
I spent a few days – including my birthday – in a neighbouring province, visiting local government departments and animal farms. To spend your birthday alone, away from your family, friends and beloved, in a strange city in a foreign country can be a confronting experience if you’re used to, well, *not* being alone on your birthday. I was delighted and overwhelmed by the outpouring of kind thoughts and well wishes from my online peeps (the paper here calls them ‘netizens’) – I’ve never received so many notifications from Facebook ever! The Chinese government even momentarily unblocked it so I could access FB on my iPhone, rather than VPN’ing in on work computer – birthday miracle! The people I spent my day with – 2 colleagues (that I don’t know all that well) and 4 strangers, were so kind and sweet, even taking me out for a birthday dinner where I got to pick ALL the dishes (mabodofu!).

And that wasn’t even the best bit! An animal lover, I got to spend two days visiting two goat farms and a cattle farm. I am not sure what I was expecting, but I was so impressed with the quality of the establishments and the evident health and happy nature of the animals I saw. The farms and practices were on par with anything you’d see in Australia, and the kids and calves sooooo cute! The countryside we visited was breathtaking, and so far from the China I had so far experienced and expected.






Love, in person
My darling BF visited for a week. Best. Week. Ever. I love that in 9 hours, he flew across an ocean to visit me here. I love that I was able to share this amazing, crazy, confronting, challenging, surprising and astonishingly beautiful country with him. I arranged a surprise trip for us while he was here – for our birthdays. A recommendation from a friend, to visit a romantic, scenic, stunning part of the country. After our 1 hour flight, we both started unravelling about an hour in our 2.5hour drive to our destination. My surprise getaway was turning into a potential disaster. The chit-chat we’d enjoyed became short, stroppy sentences about a) how long it was taking and b) how the windy roads were making us ill. But then, we arrived and it was everything promised and more. We had the best, best, BEST time exploring and just being together. So grateful for time to reconnect, recharge and relax with my man.





A change is as good as a holiday
Right before my darling arrived – literally 12 hours before – I moved from my old, noisy apartment to a gorgeous, light, spacious apartment about 3km away. I am actually able to sleep, I get peace – heaven!

My new view, so green and lush and inviting!

My humps, my humps, my lovely lady lumps (and other oversized bumps)

Sometimes, this place kicks my arse. Just when I think I am 'learning China' - much like Hamish & Andy "learned" India in lead up to Comm Games - something happens to make me realize that not only am I still crawling in terms of understanding this place, I still have a long way to go before I understand myself.

I am a person who is pretty accepting of where my weight/body shape/size is. Sure, I could be thinner, lighter, tighter, flatter in parts but ultimately, I'm okay with who I am and my 5'6' size 8 frame. I made peace with my body a few years ago - around 30 - and promised to stop trying to wear current fashions if they didn't suit me, and stop beating myself up about the things I can't change (height, shape etc).

Over the weekend, I was in Shenzhen for a work function and so decided to spend Sunday AM shopping, before I returned 'home' to Guangzhou. There was a mall a short walk from my hotel, and with dodgy weather forecast, I decided this was my best shopping option. Central Walk Mall had lots of stores, including a very disappointing Zara and uninspiring Esprit store. The local designer stores were full of gorgeous things, but it wasn't long before I realised, they weren't for moi. The pants were designed to accentuate the tiny hips and posteriors of the local ladies, or to create the illusion of ass where there is none. There is no question about my ass, so in the slim-fitting strides, my ass was hanging out, and when I dared slip it into the ass-accentuating pants (as there was sufficient room and material to do so), I looked ridiculous. My rear looked comically large.

Adding to my frustrations were the many young (4-8 year old) girls out shopping with their mothers who found it quite hilar to pull back the change room curtain of the waiguo ren (foreigner) so that they could get a personal peep at my super sized - compared to their Mum's - assets (aka ASS).

Finally after a dozen stores and change rooms, I gave up. I was so down on my body and myself that I had to cease and desist before I dissolved in a puddle of tears. On my way out of the mall, I went into a store I had discovered the previous day - gorgeous (pricey) silk dresses and skirts that were Alannah Hill-esque. The girls remembered what I'd been looking at the previous day and brought them to me immediately - in my size! - to try on. There were no little peepers poking through the change room curtains to get a glimpse of my hump, lumps and bumps. I felt good - happy!! I couldn't decide which skirt to buy, so decided to get two (it *is* almost my birthday, after all!).

So after disappointment, success. And an appreciation that we're all physically different and all have our bad days in the change room. I'm loving my new skirts, so girly and unlike me. But they're gorgeous and they fit... and perhaps my style is changing, too. We shall see.

Go crazy?! Don't mind if I do!

You know how sometimes you think something is going on and you ask other people “do you see that/smell that/hear that?” and they look at you like “no, I don’t, crazy person – it must be all in your head”. I have been having a bit of that since I got here, which is unsurprising, but it reached its peak this week.

After almost 4 weeks of grabbing 2-5 hours of sleep a night, I acknowledged something was amiss. I wracked my brain trying to figure out what was keeping me awake at night. MSG in the food? Mattress too hard? Aircon is too cold? Not drinking enough water? Drinking too much water? I have tried an array of Chinese herbal tea concoctions in an attempt to calm my body for bedtime and sleep. The thing is, there is no issue with me being tired. My brain is tired. My body is tired. I’ve been practicing yoga, meditating, taking my night-time vitamins and even though I desperately *want* to sleep, I can’t.

Finally, I’ve put it down to too much noise. My apartment overlooks a major road, and aside from the odd domestic between neighbours, my nights are filled with a cacophony of horns, sirens and squeaky breaks. I asked a colleague staying in the same apartment building if she had a noise problem in her apartment. Cue the “no, crazy person” look. Huh. Maybe it’s me. I mentioned it also to the office manager, who had found and secured the apartment for the duration of my stay. Again, the look. A self-deprecating smile from me, and ‘maybe I have supersonic hearing, ha’. Lame joke, I know. My colleagues suggested that before complaining to the property manager that I first check the windows weren’t open. Duh, hadn’t thought of that. What am I, a moron? Off course the bloody windows aren’t open! ‘We’ve never had a complaint about it being too noisy before’, says the property manager. I. Don’t. Care. I am NOT crazy, and I’m not making it up! Get someone onto it, pronto! They’ve since sent someone to my apartment to check what the problem is. GOOD.

Except… I got home last night to my apartment and seems that the tradesman they’d sent spent more time kicking back in front of the television than rectifying the problem, as the street sounds were loud and clear (possibly amplified!?) and I had to re-set my cable tv because someone had mucked around with it. Maybe I am going crazy? Maybe I *do* have supersonic hearing? Either way, something has to be done as no way can l last 3 months on limited sleep (or with the increasingly regular ‘crazy person’ looks). Then, finally, victory! A text message to confirm that YES the seals in my apartment windows are faulty and the apartment is not sound proof. That they will try to fix them (but the ‘engineer’ is not sure how – encouraging!). My hearing is normal. I am not going crazy. And today, acknowledgement – from the sceptical staff who suggested that maybe I should check if the windows are open – that YES I do look “very, very tired”. I know, even I am surprised that I am happy to hear that my face is looking like the crumpled seat of an old pair of trousers! But no more crazy person looks. And finally, someone is backing me to get it sorted out. I just hope it is before I look too much more old and tired!