Adventures in Metaphysics

After hermitting myself away for the past few weeks, neglecting my bloggy blog, going to work, getting home and working my butt off editing The Guru’s book, (while suffering from preggers-induced fatigue and evil heartburn that would make the fiery flames of hell feel like a balmy breeze ) I am delighted (and relieved) to say I’ve done it! The Cranky Guru – Adventures in Metaphysics by Paul L Bennett is just about ready to unleash itself on the world.


Tutti and The Guru dressed for a black-and-white night on the town, on Saturday.

It’s never easy working on a project of this magnitude with a parent (especially when you live with them and there’s no escape from the constant barrage of “How are you going with the book? Are you going to finish it tonight? What? It will take two weeks? But I want it done in one! Are you working on it tonight? Good morning – I know you’re still snoozing and it’s 6.30 on Saturday but I was just wondering how the book’s going. So about the book… is it finished yet? Yes I know you’re on the toilet but perhaps we could have a meeting now through the keyhole.”) but we got there in the end.


And even though I don’t agree with all of the Guru’s esoteric philosophies, I’m pretty proud of the fact that he’s managed to write something that is warm, funny, candid and engaging.


I can’t wait for you all to go out and get your hands on a copy, but in the meantime, I shall tantalise you with the back cover blurb.

Are we merely victims of circumstance, or can we actually create our own destiny? Does time exist? Are past, present and future happening simultaneously? Are dreams real? Do our beliefs create our reality? The answers to these eternal questions and many more can be found within. Merging humour and real life anecdotes with esoteric philosophy, this book has evolved over thirty years of study and deep contemplation. It has been a journey of discovery unlike any other, offering assistance to all who seek  answers to living effective lives in ‘Earth School’.

Metaphysics, or the art of ‘Acting As If’, is the universal tool of creation. Its mastery, achievable by anyone with an open mind, will open doors you may not have previously imagined. Whether you want to be the master of your own success, heal past hurts, improve your relationships or simply find a greater sense of inner peace, one thing’s for sure: this book will defiinitely change your perspective. It might even change your life.

Love and light, bitches!

Ceci xx


The best pickles in the world

Hello friends!

It’s Friday today and I’m all out of puff. So you’re not getting much today. But what you are getting, is a picture of Tutti holding two tins of the very best and most delicious pickles in the world.


Now you could call me biased, because these pickles are made by my cousins on Kibbutz Yavne in Israel, who, in addition to their pickling-prowess are a talented bunch (inspirational speakers, teachers, children’s fashion designers, pottery geniuses and artists among them). Except that I am actually* a pickle connoisseur. I love pickles. I could chain-crunch through an entire jar of pickles, in one sitting, and I can guarantee that these are the best.

If you’re lucky, you can find these crunchy morsels of delight in your local supermarket Kosher aisle.

*not actually.


A Jewish Mother’s Lament

Morning loyal followers (er, hi Mum, hi Dad!)

You may have noticed I gave myself a week-long blog-break last week, mostly because I was HYSTERICAL and beside myself after adopting another staffy (now I’m mother to Tiggy and Sherman – so named because he’s built like a tank).


Sherman and Tiggy, my devil-children.

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Truth is truly stranger than fiction

(NB: I could not possibly imagine how I was going to illustrate this post, so I decided that on this occasion, it was probably safer for all of us if I just stuck with the words…)

Sometimes you have those days that you never forget (try as you might). This story is about one of those days. This story is about the day my manager shat her pants.

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“Your body is refreshing itself” and other Guru-isms

Hello gorgeous people of the internet!

Apologies for missing not one but TWO posts, and eternal gratitude for sticking with me. The sad part is, I don’t even have an excuse. Not a real one anyway. I should have posted… but I didn’t! Forgive me please!

Now, I’m going to go all philosophical on your arses today, by quoting a recent teaching, courtesy of The Guru’s facebook page. I found this one particularly interesting, since I’ve been feeling pretty exhausted lately. And especially since I have absolutely no idea where his esoteric thoughts come from. It is so intriguing. He is a Guru through and through. (Sometimes, he is a cranky guru – *Flashback to Guru ROARING “GET OUT OF MY OFFICE”, at Tutti, when her paper-rustling interrupted his train of thought* – but he is a Guru nonetheless).


The Guru, with his safe full of wisdom

He says:

Now here’s a little tip for when we’re feeling tired:

As we know, our bodys’ atoms and molecules have ‘intelligence’ and collaborate to retain balance as much as possible. If we think, “Gee I’m feeling really tired!” they’ll respond, ever ready to do our bidding! NO. Instead, say, “my body is refreshing itself” and you will notice immediate results! Our minds create everything, even our physical condition! Believe and it will be so.

These energies, together with our imagination and emotions manifest our physical wellbeing (or not, if we’re thinking negatively.) Now, every aspect of the body has its own ‘sound’, every atom and molecule, every organ etc.

When we are well, the combined notes are melodic, but a cacophony ensues when we are tired or unwell. ‘OM’ said silently and slowly can assist our physical condition by smoothing out these combined sounds, so let’s add this today and may our bodies ‘sing’ with beautiful healthy energy. O-O-O-O-O-M-M-M-M-M-M.”

Readers, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Do you think telling your body to refresh itself is enough to feel rejuvenated? Or are you more of a hot shower-and-a-massage, a-run-around-the-block or an 8-hour-sleep individual?

P.S. I would also like to draw attention to two more of the Guru’s observations that have caught my eye lately:


“As I walked to the shops this morning for a coffee, I encountered a derelict man violently kicking a bin as his unfortunate partner begged him to stop. I didn’t intervene as the situation was so volatile. But on my way back, I saw him sitting on the footpath and stopped to speak with him. He found me calming, and told me his story of anger and booze and living rough, with his poor partner in absolute despair. I told him I could see the good person inside and encouraged him to listen to his partner (who held three degrees! ) and seek help. He thanked me and said after meeting me he would no longer be angry. The world is full of good people who just need a little understanding and support.”


“Note: Italian men are so ‘uber macho’, I feel like a cross-dressing transexual beside them! HAHAHA! Nothing wrong with that of course!”

The Guru sees the world from a different perspective, that’s for sure.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, either.



When my great-grandmother (Grandma) was 101, she decided she’d lived long enough.

“Take out my diamond earrings,” she commanded her daughter, my grandmother (The Goat). “I’m ready to go.”


Grandma and Grandpa. Extremely keen fishermen.

My grandmother did everything she could do to get her mother to change her mind. She begged. She pleaded. She called the doctor (who received a deft, defiant, great-grandma kick to the shin). But it was all in vain. Grandma had made up her mind. She took out her diamond earrings. She patted her dog, Benny, a vicious wire-haired terrier with a rabid temperament. She brushed her teeth. She put on her nightdress. She went to sleep.

In the morning, as promised, Grandma had gone. Shuffled off her mortal coil. Fallen off the porch and well and truly popped her clogs. Her diamond earrings lay on the bedside table.

Grandma was a warm, funny, tough old boot. As wide as she was tall, and as deaf as a brick. What she lacked in hearing, she made up for in sight, with bright, piercing eyes for which she never needed glasses.

She was a wonderful foil for The Goat’s steely resolve to be proper at all costs. “Pull my finger,” Grandma would say with a wicked glint. You had to pull, or she would remain frozen, index finger outstretched, expectant. The result was always predictable and uproarious. Her gigantic backside would thunderously explode; we would clutch our sides laughing; The Goat would shake her head, and tsk with dismay.

Grandma lived with humour and she died with humour. Now, funerals are rarely, if ever, comedic affairs, and Grandma’s started out as sombre as any. We stood around. Our eyes glistened. Grandma’s coffin appeared, carried by pallbearers, one on each corner. We held our breath, as her box was lowered into the ground.

It didn’t get very far. There was a wrong manoeuvre. A fumble. A terrible ker-plunk as Grandma was not so much lowered, as dropped, vertically, into the hole, the size of which had been disastrously underestimated by the spatially-challenged grave digger.

There was a collective gasp. The shocked ripple of a titter through the crowd. The realisation that Grandma was very nearly buried standing up. Then laughter. Which, at a funeral, is truly a gift. (If not a highly inappropriate gift).

It was hard not to imagine Grandma laughing with us, from her big fluffy cloud in the sky. Extending her finger, and imploring us to pull.


What Tutti Wore…

To drink a cup of tea. English Breakfast with milk and one sugar. I’ve tried to wean her off the one sugar but she whines like a small dog until I give in.

And that’s it for today!

I’ve decided to scale back my posts to three times a week (Monday, Wednesday and Friday) because I’m finding five a week just a little bit ambitious when I also have a full-time job, a social life and too many episodes of Dexter / True Blood / Please, Marry My Boy to watch (and maybe, just maybe, I will finally commit myself to Breaking Bad, despite watching three episodes about six months ago and not really enjoying them). Plus, quality, not quantity, right?


‘Til Wednesday folks!

Thanks for reading.


The Day Tutti Went Bald

I will never forget the day Tutti called me at work to let me know she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer.


Bald is beautiful

“It’s just a little one,” she said. “Nothing at all to worry about. In any case, if it’s the worst thing that ever happens to me, I’ll be lucky.” (As it turned out, it wasn’t just a little one – it was a grade-3 cancer that required two lumpectomies and aggressive treatment – but Tutti’s attitude remained the same. Upbeat. Unwavering).


Post-haircut celebration dance

And so began the year that Tutti decided to be even more vibrant, positive, colourful, courageous, crazy, outrageous, funny and fabulous than ever.

In other words, she fully intended to kick cancer’s boring (and expensive) butt. (Which i’m thrilled to say, she’s recently done).


Baldy and Cloudy, living it up.

In the meantime? There was the little matter of her amazing white hair (“It’s not white,” The Goat once said, meanly, “It’s STEEL GREY.) and the day she realised, about six weeks into chemo, she was shedding like a husky in summer.


You know, just your average, suburban conservative couple.

At first, it was a few strands on the pillow. Occasionally, the Guru would jokingly ruffle her hair and a puff of silver would swirl up and away, providing beautiful, soft furnishings for a Magpie’s nest.

After a while, her dead straight, gravity-defying, ghost-hued ‘do had truly begun its departure, and it was time for Tutti to see it off for good. (She was having to vaccuum every day. It was like living with a Labrador.)

Q. What’s cooler than a 62-year-old woman with a mohawk?

A. A 62-year-old woman who’s bald. And TOTALLY OWNS IT.


Yep, they’re perfect together, despite being spiritually mismatched.

I’m very proud to say that I was in charge of the clippers. Once I’d completely shaved Tutti’s head, I applied her makeup (and also put a bit of foundation on her scalp, which having been hidden for decades by her thick head of hair, was a pale shade of baby mouse pink), then helped her pick out an outfit to wear for her first day as a baldy. Finally, the transformation was complete.


Very pleased with my clipper skills. Tutti and me.

It was amazing how many compliments Tutti received for having such a beautifully shaped, symmetrical head. She loved being so aerodynamic.

And, in a rather nice twist, Matty was no longer the lone family chrome dome.


Tutti and Matty (and The Guru). Two bald peas in a pod.


And then, of course, she danced in the street. As you do. If you’re a lunatic.


Funny looks from neighbours? Too cool to care.


Dance like no one’s watching. Except everyone’s watching. You’re a bald 62-year old woman, dancing in the street.


Yep, it’s a lesson in loving life.