The Tribal Tomato

My Ikaria is now available

‘My Ikaria is a kindly wake-up call to live a more mindful, meaningful and generous life – a joy to read.’ —Alice Pung

 

I'm delighted that my latest book, My Ikaria, is now available for purchase.

Thanking all who have helped it come to fruition, from my publishers at Black Inc./ Nero, to my agent Jacinta di Mase, to those in my writers' networks, and to the many supporters who have come to help launch the book and given me such wonderful feedback on my Facebook page - with special thanks to the many passionate Ikarians I met on my journey.

Here's the lowdown on how to find out more about the book and where to get a copy:

• Find out more, read endorsements or make media enquiries
• Read an excerpt
• Buy it in Australia (free delivery - gotta love that!)
• Buy it overseas
• Read an interview in Greek

I hope you enjoy it and very much look forward to your comments via my Facebook page, through my blog or via email.

Wishing you good health and happiness. 

Spiri

 

The primal belly

The last time I took belly dancing classes was in the back room of an inner-city pub more than twenty years ago. I remember rushing from work every Tuesday so as not to be late. Many times I would be peeved because the instructor would be very late; at other times she was a little stoned. But that didn’t matter when the music started. As she took us through the moves – diaphragm pops, full body undulations and shoulder shimmies – the day’s stresses fell away. I would feel my thoughts still, the drum beats pulse through my bare feet, my body move of its own accord in a sensual, natural way. It was as if I was returning to myself somehow – a more primal, universal self.

Fast forward and today I’ve taken myself to a morning belly dancing class at my local suburban gym. I’m still rushing; this time to get a load of washing on, shooing my teens out the door so that they get to school on time, thinking all the while about the work tasks I need to tick off when I get back to my home office. Belly dancing is an indulgence. But I know it will make me feel good. And feeling good means being more productive. A ‘win-win’ in business parlance.

 

When I walk into the class, I note the fit-looking instructor. The pile of colourful hip scarves on the stage. And the forty or so people of various ages, shapes and nationalities. Most people in the room are chatting, laughing and already swaying their hips. They’re all barefoot. I make a beeline for a red scarf and once it’s on, and my shoes are off, I’m transported back to the pub. I feel confident. Younger. And a little bit sexy.

As the music starts and the instructor takes us through our paces, I quickly realise that I can’t hold a shimmy as long as I used to. That my diaphragm doesn’t pop as strongly as it once did. And that my joints creak a little when I try a full body undulation.

I look around me at everyone shaking and shimmying, popping and undulating. Several people are laughing. Many are encouraging each other through the unfamiliar moves. I lock eyes with an elderly gent who’s giving it everything he’s got. We smile at each other. Soon, I close my eyes. It’s not long before my head stills and I feel the music beat up through my feet. My body starts to move without thought, without consideration of its limitations, doing its primal, joyful thing. And I can’t help but think that this is the perfect place for me to be. 

My mid-life village

I’m was a luncheon party for a friend’s birthday recently. We were packed into a small room in a tiny terrace cafe in a middle suburb of Melbourne, waiters weaving around us. The walls resounded with waves of conversation and laughter from some dozen women, there to help our host celebrate her half-century milestone. Most of us met her when our children went to the same primary school together, some even when their children went to playgroup together.

I knew almost all the women at the table. The few I hadn’t met, I quickly got to know. It was very easy to find shared interests—we spent the better part of three hours talking about teenagers and school performance, teenagers and alcohol, teenagers and relationships. We took a short break to enjoy the food. Then we moved on to teenagers and attitude. Coffee. Teenagers who appeared to lack purpose.

The woman who was sitting across from me is a clinical psychologist. We talked about some of the clients she sees; a fair few disenfranchised kids whose parents were trying to be good friends with them rather than setting clear boundaries; lonely young mums who have no support network. She then talked about some of her own parenting challenges. The way she responded sounded firm, fair, loving. I felt an immediate connection.

I told her about my recent experience of travelling to Ikaria in Greece, ‘The Island Where People Forget to Die’, to research a new book. There, I noticed that it was common for several generations to socialise together, even if they weren’t related. It was fairly common for grandparents and grandchildren to live in the same home. Village squares echoed with the sound of dozens of kids playing together each night, with adults both young and old watching over them. The elders there are renowned for having a strong sense of purpose. And it’s reflected in the depression rates—almost non-existent for Ikaria’s elderly. Perhaps I’m being naïve, but it seems as if it’s harder for people of all ages to feel lonely in such an environment. Hard to feel disconnected and disenfranchised.

Ikarian feast day

My new friend agreed. She pointed out that there’s compelling research to suggest that making meaningful connections with those around us leads to a longer, more fulfilling life. She talked about how some of her husband's extended family in Slovenia found her profession perplexing—they couldn’t really understand why so many people needed to access psychologists. Business was booming for her, she said wryly. She wasn’t bragging. It was just an unfortunate fact.

On leaving, we exchanged email addresses. She promised to send me an article on how a lack of village-like structures puts all sorts of pressures on us, particularly for those of us who are ‘trying to do it all’ – working, parenting, looking after aging parents and trying to stay on top of our own mental and physical health. She also suggested I read Dan Buettner’s Thrive.

After I got her email, I sent one back saying that I had used some of the learnings in Buettner’s book to frame my soon-to-be-released memoir on how to live as well as we can, every day, a little more like the Ikarians; all the while fostering a sense of connection to others and ourselves. I asked if she had heard of Ariana Huffington’s Thrive, which also covers the themes we both seem so interested in.

And so our small connection, made over a long, gregarious lunch, was fostered. Even if it doesn’t go beyond a few emails, I’m glad to have met this woman—a kindred spirit of sorts where we talked ideas and shared interests over our pressed lamb backstraps and grilled salmon with sautéd broccolini.

So I’m taking a few moments to raise my glass in a toast: here’s to being invited to more mid-life birthdays (and perhaps a few full-century ones too!); to celebrating having a good belly laugh with great friends despite our daily challenges; and finally, to more chance encounters that lead to meaningful connections.

Five tips for writing dynamic annual reports

Creating annual reports can be daunting.

The process can be derailed by challenging timelines, editing various writing styles to get a consistent voice, and the number of decision makers involved in sign off.

Save yourself time and create your most dynamic annual report ever by checking out these tips.

Annual report writing workshop

Learn to deliver concise and dynamic annual reports in this half day seminar at Writers Victoria on Friday 10 February. Find out more here.

The alpha to lambda of losing weight in the New Year

One of the good things about getting older is you tend to wise up to your youthful, immature ways.

Like how I would drink and eat myself silly through most of November and December, and then resolve to lose weight in the New Year. Enter diet/gym membership/gadget bought from telemarketing channel at 2 in the morning. Generally, my resolve would be strong for the first few weeks in January, start to slow down in February --  then I would return to my wicked ways come March. And so the excessive eating cycle continued. It was okay when I was younger – my metabolism forgave me. Not so as I got into my thirties and forties. I racked up a few kilos each year – and before I knew it, I was tipping the ‘obese’ side of the scales.

In Australia, we are spending many billions of dollars each year on gym memberships, diets and ‘superfoods’, yet our waistlines are still expanding. Within the next ten years, it is estimated close to four in five of us will be overweight or obese.

Many of us are trying to fight it. According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, around 2.3 million Australians 15 years+ were on a diet during 2011/12.

It doesn't help that we are surrounded by high calorie, cheap and negligibly-nutritious food everywhere we look – in our supermarkets, on television and on every shopping strip. While it may not be our fault that we are getting fatter as a population, it doesn’t mean we should take it lying down. 

It’s easy to understand the appeal of the instant fix diet/latest pill/light-meals-delivered-to-your-doorstep solutions. But the problem with these is that they cost money, aren’t generally in keeping with our lifestyle, and are based on deprivation. And so, it’s no surprise they fail.

So what have I learnt as I’ve gotten older and wiser about the weight thing? Here's my alpha to lambda guide on managing weight and enjoying food...

1. Obsessively counting calories, going on fad diets and eating only ‘lite foods’ is well and truly a waste of time – if anything these things lead to weight gain over time.
2. Weight gain is generally about simple maths - if the amount of energy going in is higher than the energy going out, the weight goes on – so if I indulge a little in December, I need to go back to my more balanced eating ways soon after – on most days, for most of the year.
3. Movement is key – I mindfully move as much as I can throughout the day, doing things I enjoy with people I like to be around.
4. If it’s okay with grandma, it’s okay with me – and so I mainly choose foods my grandma or great grandma would have recognised as real food – that means avoiding stuff that comes from a packet/has too much added sugar/fat/salt or that has a stack of ingredients grandma wouldn't recognise. Vegetables, pulses, wholegrains, fruit and nuts – these make up the bulk of my daily diet.
5. I try to minimise how much I eat out - and when I do, I try and have smaller portions, and stick to 'grandma' food
6. I try to listen to my hunger and eat accordingly. I'm still working on this one.
7. My snacks of choice are fruit and nuts. It's surprisingly easy once you get into a routine.
8. I'm mindful of my emotional eating triggers (boredom, hormones, mindlessness...). I don't always overcome them, but I'm at least aware of them. 
9. Water is my drink of choice. I have tea and coffee daily.  Wine in moderation. That's it. 
10. I try to enjoy food  in company most of the time. 
11. I’m learning to accept my body (lumps, bumps and all) as I get older – the best weight for me is when I feel comfortable in my skin, I can move easily, and I have enough energy to keep up with my life.

My parting words of weighty wisdom as the New Year approaches – eat real food, enjoy it in company, move as much as you can, and listen to your body.

Have you got any wise words coming into the New Year?

Why can't I live my fantasy?

At this time, of year, I fantasise about lying on a hammock with a glass of wine. There's some crusty, just-baked bread dipped in olive oil on a table beside me. I have a great book in my hand, and more waiting where that one came from. I’ve just finished hanging a sign on the washing machine that says, ‘On holidays. Back in three weeks.’ No one is wanting anything from me. In fact, every now and then, someone (my dear husband perhaps) asks me if there's anything I'd like. I respond by saying that I need a foot massage. Of course, he quickly obliges.

I lie. It’s not just at this time of year that I have such a fantasy – this is my #1 Year-round Stock Standard Fantasy. The last time I spent a whole day reading was in the summer of 1984. If I could bottle that feeling, I would.

Part of being a responsible adult generally means that your weeks (months, years) are spent working hard to get a whole bunch of things done. Most of the reading I do these days is done late at night. Instead of a glass of wine, I have a mug of chamomile (winter) or a glass of water (summer) beside me. I’m usually quite tired, and I’m lucky if I get through a few chapters.

Why can’t I live my fantasy?

Reason #1: Parenting duties

Anyone who is a parent or knows a parent understands that parenting duties never stop. They start first thing in the morning (often with negotiations to get the teen out of bed in our case), and they don’t end until late at night (GET OFF YOUR PHONE AND INTO BED - NOW!). And there’s all the stuff in between (see ‘domestic duties’ below).

Reason #2: Domestic duties

I think if I crunched the numbers on how many loads of washing needed to be done, how many times the floors needed to be cleaned or how many meals needed to be cooked in a lifetime, I would want to lay down and never get up again. Enough said.

Reason #3: Paid work

Paid work is what I do to help pay off the mortgage, have enough money to outsource occasional foot massages, and hopefully, fill my life with some sort of purpose in addition to that which includes the words 'chores' and ‘Mum’. My paid work involves teaching and writing. My work is enjoyable and fulfilling most days. Part of me wants to say that I’m lucky – but I’ve worked hard to get to such a good place. Work is great, but it still takes up time. Lots of it.

While all of the above is happening, I am also trying to keep both myself and my family healthy – for me, this means eating well, being as active as we can, connecting meaningfully with each other and those in our circle, and getting enough time out to do the things that we love.

I often fantasise about having more time out, but I’ve come to the realise that I actually like working hard. The things I expend the most energy on also seem to reap the most rewards - if the family, home and creative space are in good order, I'm a happy woman.

The good thing is that working hard means I get to really enjoy the respite when it comes.

So, for the record, here’s what’s going to happen on Boxing Day.

I am going to spend a full day on the hammock, even it hurts my back.

I’m going to drink as much wine as I feel like, even if I regret it the next day.

I’m going to get through the first of the books in my summer reading pile. One. Delicious. Word. At. A. Time.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm going to ask for a foot massage. Honey, if you’re reading this, what are my chances?

Here’s to a very fulsome, fruitful and restive 2017

 

 

 

The secret to a long and happy life – Stand straight, keep active and have lots of sex

Lately, I’ve been very preoccupied with old age. Firstly, about how I might get there without falling prematurely off this mortal coil. About how I might do it without my heart limping along, my bladder packing it in, or my memory finally going completely AWOL. And, once I have the basics down pat, how I might keep doing the things that give me joy and be with the people I love, well into my old age.

I’m not sure where my preoccupation comes from. It started with the Ikarians, those rambunctious Greek islanders who seem to party their way to longevity. If anyone knows how to do ageing well, they do. But they’re not the only ones. There are five such long-lived peoples around the world, dubbed the Blue Zones communities. They don’t mean to live a long time – they just do. The things they do that help them keep well are surprisingly simple. Best of all, there’s not a single miracle pill or fancy piece of gym equipment in sight.

 

Perhaps my interest in ageing well might do with the fact that I have now reached middle age. And with it, the knowledge that half my life is already behind me – and I mean pretty much exactly half my life. According to a Blue Zones longevity test, I could live to 97 years old. The thought is both exhilarating and terrifying.

However long I live, I want to keep being happy and healthy most days. And so, I find myself harassing old people. On trains, at parties, even at seminars. And I mean not just any old people, but about-to-crack-a-century old people. And I ask outright, ‘What’s the secret to a long and happy life?’

The first time I asked the question, I was on a train heading home. I sat next to an an impeccably dressed older man wearing a scarlet silk tie. In his hand, he held a brochure about The Ghan. I had a choice. I could surf the internet on my phone, or start a conversation. I started a conversation.

‘Are you thinking of taking a trip?’

‘Yes, I think my wife might like it.’

We talked about all the trips he had made in his life through his work, and about the ones he would like to take with his wife. Now that he had more time, he wanted to make the most of it.

On his lap rested a thick tome. He said he was going to teach himself Latin from scratch. When my mobile rang (‘Mum, can you please pick up something yummy to eat?’), he confessed afterwards that he didn’t own a mobile phone. His wife badgered him to get one, but he wouldn’t give in. Whatever happened to him while he was out, happened. So be it. The secret to a long and happy life? Keep learning, walk every day and enjoy each moment. He got off the train and trotted off at a brisk pace.

Soon after, I had a long chat with a 91-year-old man at a party. He still mowed his own lawn and kept his mind active by regularly visiting the ‘elderly’ in a Jesuit nursing home. There he had existential conversations about the meaning of life. The secret to a long and happy life? Keep your mind and body active, be social, and make sure to marry a good woman. He took his wife by the arm and they climbed down the steps of my friend’s house, steady as you please.

Today I met a 95-year-old woman at a writer’s event. And so, I reeled out the question again, even before we had been introduced.

She didn’t hesitate before answering.

‘A good posture,’ she said. She gave me a piercing look, as if to say, ‘are you listening to me?’ I was listening, and held my shoulders back as far as they would go. She was standing ramrod straight.

‘Have fun. Lots of it. I ate, drank, smoked, had sex. Have lots of sex if you can get it...’

Her eyes twinkled.

‘And be sure to let go of anger. Don’t waste time being angry. Sometimes it’s hard. You can’t help it. But anger isn’t worth it.’

With that, she went off to get herself a second cup of coffee and, no doubt, to impart more wise words to someone else.

I stood taller still. If I’m going to live to 97, I need to be ready.

 

Image by George Mifsud.

New blog

Writer and passionate traveller Margaret Taylor did my Road to Redemption 12 Step Program for Procrastinating Writers course at Writers Victoria in 2015. We made a connection and I started mentoring her last year.

I’m very excited – she has just released a blog of selected writings – everything from musings on Telly Savalas, to being an Aussie traveller in the U.S. If travel, history or life stories appeal, check it out here www.margaretjtaylor.com.au (and don’t forget to sign up for updates!).

The impromptu village feast

‘I’ll come over on Thursday,’ I say to Mum over the phone.

‘Great. What time?’

‘Around midday, when I finish teaching.’

‘I’ve got some artichokes. You like those.’

There’s no doubt about it. I like artichokes, especially the way my mum makes them – fried in olive oil, then finished with an egg or two. I can never bring myself to cook with that much oil at home, but I’m happy to sit down to such a treat at mums.

She’s worried about what else we might eat – she won’t have a chance to go shopping before then. I reassure her that she doesn’t need to cook. A bit of bread and cheese will do the trick. I just want to see her.

That morning before work, I ask my husband to rummage in the garden for produce. He comes back with a few leeks and some young celery. Along with a jar of homemade beetroot relish, I have at least something to contribute to my mother’s luncheon table.

After I finish work, I swing by a shop near mum’s house that sells salmon.

On a whim, I buy a whole salmon – it’s a fraction of the price per kilo of the filleted/ de-boned/ marinated variety. And so, I carry it, the celery and the leeks into mum’s kitchen, cradling my leafy, fishy stash like a baby.

Of course, she tells me off. Why do I have to bring anything? Doesn’t she have enough food to feed me? I should take the fish to my family. Why do I spend my hard-earned money on her?

It’s clear from the smells emanating from her kitchen that she has everything under control. A salad is ready. The chips are about to go on. The wild greens are nearly done. A hunk of homemade bread is sitting in a plate on the bench top. And the artichokes are sizzling away on the outside stove.

Still, I feel compelled to get that salmon on. And so, I forage in her garden for herbs. Chop up the leek. Slice the fish. Dig up some tomatoes from her fridge.

Very soon after, my mum, brother and I are sitting down at the table in her garden bungalow.

Two minutes later a neighbour arrives. And a few minutes later, another. They are offered a plate, a fork and a glass. They too take a seat at my mother’s generous table.

What is there not to love about this impromptu village feast?