A reflective piece Week 1

I started back at TAFE today, I have transferred from Cert IV in Youth Work to a Diploma in Community Services. When one of the teachers suggested the transfer last year, I was reluctant, especially when I found I had to do politics, legal studies and other boring stuff like that. Oh well, at least it's not Accounting or Economics.

Tonight I turned up for politics, they were tricky and tried to stooge me by calling it Democracy. I was on a post chocolate muffin sugar low when the class started and after doing the thrilling 'getting to know you' class activity, we went straight into a role playing example of Democracy in action. The subject my team had was the building of a youth hostel for young men released from the justice system, I got to play an outraged local resident, of the 'Not In My Backyard' variety that had to attend a community meeting with the local council, a couple of youth workers and an officer from the ministry of housing. I took my part very seriously and played the crazy cat lady, but with grandchildren instead of cats. Putting on my best screechy bogan voice, I said my precious grandchildren, little Harley-levi and Jade-Whitney-Britney went to the local creche and that these horrible criminals were going to throw syringes and used condoms into the tan bark of the playground and there was going to be an aids epidemic through the creche. I had a few other whacko complaints too and a paranoid streak. It was so much fun, every meeting needs a nutter. My class mates all debated very professionally and I actually enjoyed myself, (my teenage self would be so embarrassed, what a loser, enjoying politics).

Anyway the best thing is, one of the assignments is to do a 'Reflective Diary' on what we learn over the 16 weeks. If I do a blog post every week, I get to do my homework, and keep my blog updated at the same time.

I can't believe how easy night school has been so far, for most of my assignments, I relate a personal experience to the topic and I got credits for selling raffle tickets at the pub for this piece of art work from Project Dreaming Tracks, an outreach service for Indigenous Australians in the justice system.

So what did I learn tonight, other than politics might be fun?

• I can ask my local member of Parliament to take me on a guided tour of Parliament house.
• That I should have a social area to be passionate about, that I can be an activist or an advocate for. (I probably haven't worded that properly, so I will continue to reflect on it)
• That I may consider DHS as a career choice and the HeraldSun exaggerates stories about them
• That 97% fat free chocolate muffins taste like crap
• That my sister-in-law hates it when my phone is turned off when I am in class
•  I have a fascinating group of classmates, from exotic places like Iraq and Ethiopia 
• That I can blog as an assignment

I probably have other notes in my book, but can't be bothered getting them now, I can add to this later, or post it next week.


And my friend from last year Tarah, this week her finger nails are painted sparkly silver and pink, sparkles for the sparkling future she has planned. She also invites me over and makes me chocolate pavlova, with chocolate cream and hazelnuts.

Smogs

Over the last couple of weeks instead of posting here, I have found some some blogs to sneer at.  You know the type, their life is perfect. When they do the dishes, classical music plays in the background and little birdies and butterflies help them - their husband is a snag and buys red roses and shit, the kids are gifted or in the accelerated learning program, they only eat organic home grown food, and blah!

A gorgeous flame haired author at a writing course I did last year cleverly named them 'Smogs'. Smug blogs.

I found a blog recently about The Traveling Red Dress and I had a heartbeat of envy thinking about these magical red dresses, then I remembered. Andrea turns 50 in April and we are having high tea at the Windsor. The dress code is as per the poem 'When I am old I shall wear purple'. Andrea AKA Ms I-am-turning-50-and-your-not, is only letting women over 50 dress in red. Us youngsters have to wear lilac, lavender or pink. Really I don't care, but it's fun to kick up a fuss anyway. So in April, I can post photos of us in our red, purple, lavender and pink splendor - so readers can find my blog and think 'Oh, what a wonderful life she leads'. Although, I have a feeling our look will be bag lady chic.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Living the dream

I often get patches of envy where I begrudge someone their outwardly perfect life, like when I met Gypsy Love the first time. Instead of saying hello, I said 'You have stolen my life, give it back'.

Gypsy Love and Kushti Bok