I cannot wait to wear thongs every day. In the heat of summer. And feel the sand underneath the soles of my feet. And the hot tar. And the warm blades of grass. And the chill of water splashing against them. I cannot wait.
An Instant.
What I love about photography is how, often, the best shots are the ones that aren’t staged.
Last year, I took my nephews into the city to see an exhibition, and down a laneway for lunch. I snapped this quick photo of one of them, whilst he was waiting for his brother to “hurry up” and captured only a mere second of his life.
Some of the best photos are the ones that are taken in an instant, capturing just that – an instant.
On Reflection…
I don’t often think of all that I’ve achieved (so far) with Onya Magazine; how far it has come in such a short time, how the readership has grown, the kind of content we deliver, the networks I’ve made, how it’s expanding, the success we’ve had…I’m often too busy working on it, rather than thinking about it. And it’s usually only when people say wonderful, and nice, and inspiring things to me, that I realise all that I’ve achieved. And only then that I take a moment to pause, and reflect.
And when I do, I almost well up. Because I think of the random emails and tweets of sheer love that have been directed at my little dream. I think of the letters (yes, we get them. Actual hand written notes. It’s precious). But most of all, I think of my team. My small, incredibly talented, amazing team. In my rare moments of reflection, I think about how lucky I am to be able to work with such an awesome bunch of people, and beyond that, how lucky I am to just know them. To be one part of their big lives. To be able to help them get one step closer to their dream.
The truth is, they are probably the aspect I am most proud of about my Onya journey so far. Individually, they are pretty high achievers. Collectively, they are the difference between Onya being exceptional or mediocre. They are refreshing. And funny. They are dedicated to what they do, and how they do it. They are passionate. They are informed. Educated. Polite, but punchy. Charming, but honest. And what I realised is that they inspire me. And help me. They make me want to do and be better, with Onya, and within my life. They make me want to be a better leader, and Editor.
But most of all, they make me swell with pride.
An Open Letter to Rebecca Wilson, re: Gary Ablett Jr.
Hi Rebecca,
I totally get that you write for the Herald Sun and that your job entails expressing your opinion and I dig that. I really do. It’s just that, well, I really dislike sitting down for my morning latte and reading rubbish in my newspaper.
And this morning, when I read your column, I thought it was rubbish. And I figure you won’t mind me saying that because you always express your opinion and say what you think, and I’m just following your lead.
I’ve read and seen a lot since Gary Ablett Jr announced he was leaving the Geelong Football Club yesterday, but what you wrote, what was in my paper this morning, really got under my skin. Because you didn’t just attack Gary, you attacked the entire generation he belongs to. My generation.
To continue reading this letter, please visit Onya Magazine.
Bok Bok Chicken.
My New Friends.
I have two new friends that started visiting this week. They are so beautiful. And I know in life you aren’t supposed to have favourites, but I do. And it’s the red one.
I’m So Not A Nails Girl.
I’m so not a nails girl.
I like to keep my nails short, clean and clear. Why? Because it’s practical, goes with everything and looks good.
I don’t have the patience to paint my own nails, at least not well.
So, once every blue moon, I head to a good nail bar and treat my nails to a little TLC and a nice coat of colour.
But I’m so not a nails girl.
I find the process – sitting there for at least half an hour – tiring. And boring. And all I want to do is fidget. And I usually do. And consequently chip my nails, usually within an hour of finishing my manicure. Because I’m so not a nails girl.
The other week the blue moon was out, and I headed to a nail bar for some shaping, filing and nude polish.
And this is pretty much how it went:
Manicurist: Ok, hands out, no like this, here, rings off, ok.
Me (thinking): Ok, Captain.
Did you pick a colour?
Yes, this one thanks.
I wonder if she ever gets bored doing this all day, every day? I’d be no good at this job. Although, I suppose, if I did it all the time I’d get better.
I wonder if the fumes affect your brain? Surely it’s not good for you. All those chemicals going right up the nostrils.
Ouch. What was that? Bloody nail file. Maybe doing the same job every day makes you sloppy. Or stabby.
Man this is boring.
Eww, look at that lady’s nails next to me. Yuck.
My hand is itchy. Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move.
Be still.
Sorry.
Damn it.
I wonder how many people get this done weekly? If they did this once a week, that’d be 2 hours a month, at least, on nails. 24 hours a year. At least. A whole day. On nails. A whole day of sitting. And breathing in those toxic fumes. Probably takes most people an hour though. So that’s 4 hours a month. 48 hours. 2 days. Of sitting. And literally waiting for paint to dry.
That reminds me, I must fix that bit of chipped paint on the hallway wall.
Did I take the washing off the line this morning? Don’t think I did, hope it doesn’t rain.
Why am I thinking about the washing? I shouldn’t be thinking. I read somewhere that people should try and use manicure time to decompress.
Ok, try not to think.
Oh this is stupid. I never not think. And how can I decompress when someone is prodding my fingernails?
I wonder if we’re halfway through yet.
I must book in a haircut. Why don’t manicurists talk to you like hairdressers do? Hairdressers are so chirpy and friendly. Manicurists are scary. They are all about the business. I’ve never heard of anyone having a gossip session with their manicurist. Except for in that film, The Women. I actually liked that film. Women hated it. I just liked the characters. Some people take things to seriously.
Ok, time for the hand massage.
Sounds good.
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Is the massage over already? That was nice. Wish it was half an hour of that. Massage is so good for you, should really do more.
It’d be great to have a weekly appointment somewhere.
Yeah, sure, between nails and hair and a massage and this and that and the other, it’d be a full time job just looking good.
Feeling good is underrated.
I’m hungry.
Time for polish.
Great.
I bet this polish won’t last long. I wonder if this nude colour will suit me. Or just blend in. I love nude. I also love that grey shade over there. Maybe I’ll buy some.
Oh what’s the point of that? I never paint my nails.
Look at the way she does that. What a pro.
What will I make for dinner tonight? Maybe a roast. How good is our oven? Such a good oven.
Must go to a farmer’s market soon. Must Google farmer’s markets close by.
Must keep an eye out for cheap flights to Sydney. Gotta schedule in some meetings up there.
Must pick up that new John Butler CD. And a Billy Joel ‘Best Of’ CD. How good is Billy Joel? I love Billy Joel.
Must buy some coriander to plant. And some basil. And some pots to plant them in.
I should really write all of this down so I don’t forget.
But I can’t. Because I’m getting my nails done. Why did I decide to come today? Seriously? It’s not like I’m going anywhere special that requires me to have painted nails. As if anywhere even exists that requires painted nails. And I have so much to do.
Is that a top coat? Yessssssss. This must nearly be over. Must try not to tap my nails on anything.
I’ve got to go to the supermarket though. How’s that going to work? I’m going to look like a right twat trying to pick things off the shelf with my fingers spaced out, trying to dry.
All done.
Great, thank you.
Just sit here for at least 10 minutes to allow your nails to dry. But you’ll need at least 45 minutes of not touching your nails for them to dry properly.
Ugh.
WHAT am I going to do sitting here for 10 minutes? And who could ever sit for 45? If you added that 45 minutes to the half an hour it normally takes, that’d be, hang on, how many hours a month?
Oh don’t kid yourself Sandi, you were never a maths girl.
And I’m so not a nails girl.
Tea Tastes Nicer…
My Mum has always said that tea tastes nicer out of a fine bone china cup, and that anything tastes nicer out of real crystal.
And she’s right.
Whilst huge chunky ceramic mugs are sometimes called for, they do nothing for the taste of tea – which is undeniably nicer from a good quality cup.
Another Place To Read Me.
I’ve started a position with White Echo, a social media consulting and digital marketing company based on the Gold Coast. I’m working with an awesome team, loving the work and am even lucky enough to do some blogging for them.
Yesterday, I wrote about Stephanie Rice and her Very Bad Social Media Move.
I think there’s a lesson in her actions for all of us.
Check out my article here.
Three Days. Three Books.
I love reading. And I’ve been doing it since I could, well, read. Which I started doing when I was about three. The Little Red Caboose was the first book I learned to read, and after that, there was no stopping me.
I’ve read hundreds, thousands, of books. And as such, I’ve gotten quite fast at doing so.
Yesterday, I read All Bets Are Off by former AFL footballer David Schwarz.
On Monday, I read I Feel Bad About My Neck by Nora Ephron.
And on Sunday, I read How To Be Married by Polly Williams.
Each book was entirely different, based on very different subject matter and written in very different styles.
Some people read books because doing so makes them feel smarter. I read books because I know doing so does. As a writer, reading is about as important as having a laptop under your fingertips for half of the day, and a pen in your hand for the rest of it.
If you want to write well, you’ve got to read well.
And reading well doesn’t mean only reading off the Booker Prize list, great as it is, it means reading things that are going to help you learn. Things that you’re interested in. And things you know absolutely nothing about.
Beyond transporting me, beyond teaching me, books change me.
Every time I read one, I learn something new. I appreciate something different. I laugh about something I didn’t know the meaning of. Every book I’ve read has given me something; hundreds, thousands of little tiny pieces that are a part of me.
In I Feel Bad About My Neck, Nora Ephron writes, “There’s something called the rapture of the deep, and it refers to what happens when a deep-sea diver spends too much time at the bottom of the ocean and can’t tell which way is up. When he surfaces, he’s liable to have a condition called the bends, where the body can’t adapt to the oxygen levels in the atmosphere. All this happens to me when I surface from a great book.”
Me too, Nora, me too.
SANDI SIEGER. 