Muzu Creative

It was about this time of year when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. It certainly did put a dampener on things. Mum loved Christmas. She loved the decorations, the carols, (Her name was Carol!), the festive entertaining and the excuse to dress in something "nice" and drink from crystal wine glasses.. It is strange that for many years she was often ill at Christmas. Of course she had undetected cancer for ten years, so that may have been the cause, but even as far back as my childhood I seem to remember her not being at her best. Maybe she was just worn out by the end of each year. Maybe she was broken, just a bit. As a single mum, mum worked all the time. I have memories of only a couple of holidays that we all spent together. Awesome memories. I was really young. I remember laying in my hessian bunk bed in the tent with a curtain to divide us kids from the grown ups. I remember hearing the laughter. The adults were probably three sheets to the wind, playing cards, si...

Christmas is definitely upon us! It's everywhere...there is no escaping it now. Would you want to? Sometimes I would. Anyone who has been to a shopping centre has experienced "Christmas" in all it's glory or is that gory. My last visit was two days ago, hopefully my last until after it is all over.  I was in the tiniest shop you have ever seen. Truly it is literally a hole in the wall. When you are in there, you are jammed between the clothes racks and other customers. Why would I bother, you ask...well, just occasionally you find some real gems. Hidden articles of clothing like no others, but yes, you do have to fight for them, or at least the space to look for them. So on this day I felt I had the energy to be in there. I should have known better. In comes this "woman" literally barging her way to the counter. I was close by, elbows in, searching the hangers for that bloody hidden gem! This "woman" turned to me and shouted "I'm in a h...

Is wanting to clean out the cupboards, wash walls and organise the junk drawer in the kitchen a bad thing? I have a fridge magnet that reads "Dull women have immaculate houses". Well, these days I am not as dull as I used to be. But some days I'm borderline boring. Since the return from my self imposed sabbatical to Fingal, where I read, meditated, walked and lived in silence for a week, I have not meditated, I have not read and I have barely written a word. Everyday life has a way of taking over and changing your priorities. Writing my morning pages this morning, the first since my return, I wrote about being back to the 'real world'. Where I feel like the clock is ticking the very moment I wake up, the hours limited to what I can achieve, the "things that need to be done" versus the "things I would LIKE to do". Of course I also 'like' to clean out drawers (strange as that may seem) and organise areas of the house that have gotten ...

I am at my favourite place on Earth. Fingal Headland. I have been here many, many times before, but today is different. I am the only one here. There is something very special about this place. The magnificent view is one thing of course, but there is also a feeling here of majesty and serenity. The ocean pounds upon the rocks below and surges through the Giants Causeway, a passage of giant prehistoric black pillars of lava, remnants of an extinct volcano.    The sea a kaleidoscope of greens and blues and iridescent mermaid tails come to mind. Sometimes it is so windy here that one struggles to stand, but today there is but a soft breeze and I am here alone, just me and the light. The light that stands is Fingal Headland Lighthouse, built in 1878. I can't tell you how many photos I have of this structure. Too many...not enough.   I am fascinated with lighthouses, their purpose, their history, the stories they must have, the weather they have ...

I am joy. So filled am I with the feeling of complete happiness that have become joy itself. I have stood on a cliff top and shouted with glee to passing dolphins, I have thanked a Kookaburra (out loud) for posing for photos, I have felt the presence of spirit in age old rocks and watched with sheer gratitude and awe the magnificence of the ocean, and all on my morning walk! Yes, it's true, I am blessed. Blessed to live where I do, blessed to have the time to walk but above all blessed to see what I see.   I see wonder and glory everywhere. I always have. I have never verbalised that before. Apparently not everybody sees the world like this. What a shame. I walked through a shopping centre the other day, It was madness. The energy was palpable as people fretted over gifts for Christmas and wrangled cranky toddlers who made it known that they were in no mood for shopping. Amongst it all a small child stood next to a shopping trolley whilst her mother was delv...

To me Christmas is all about love and laughter and yes, I know that sounds cliché'. However, the festive season can be so stressful. Organising family, the whole gift buying business and of course arranging the festive meal itself. We often forget why we are getting together in the first place. Trying to accommodate the needs and requests of split families, extended families, in laws, out laws, it can all just take the sparkle out of the whole season. But don't get your tinsel in a tangle. It really is all just about love. Last September, I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. A subsequent mastectomy followed and not long after, a great deal of soul searching. My answer to the big questions in life...be happy, be love. Sounds so corny now when I type this, but it is the truth. So many of us totally lose it over Christmas Day and the festive meal. I know someone who stresses over every detail, making it an uncomfortable experience to be a part of. Another friend is tot...

Lately I have been back to the Breast Surgeons rooms. Two surgeons operate from this office. A beautiful place on the top floor with an outlook that stretches over lovely gardens, an impressive fountain, all the way out to the ocean. The waiting room is packed. Every seat taken. Mostly women, with the occasional man, looking incredibly uncomfortable, with nothing but women's magazines to distract him from why he is there. I look around at all the faces. Which ones are here for the first time? I'm now an old hand so I can tell. The newbies are ones who cannot make eye contact with you. They stare at the floor, or at their phones, some turn pages of the glossy mags that feature beautiful two breasted women. However they don't see the pages, their phones or the floor. They can't hear the mumbles of their support team, those who have offered to be there, to hold their hand, to drive them home...after. They clutch at their X Rays, Mammograms and MRI's with every ...

My son is sixteen. He will be seventeen on Christmas Day. For years now I have been endeavouring to in still the message of selflessness, however, he is sixteen, a boy and I feel the message has been lost on him. These days our conversations revolve around what he wants...."can you buy me this can you take me here" and what sucks. Cleaning his room sucks, bringing in the washing for me, sucks, having a shower, taking out the rubbish and walking the dog...all suck. Needless to say I had all but given up on his ever seeing outside of himself. Two events have changed everything. First a car accident. Thankfully we were not involved but it did happen right in front of us. I didn't see it at first as it was across the road from where were driving, but Cooper did. "Mum!!" he screamed, "pull over pull over, someone just crashed!" I diabolically veered onto a medium strip and before I could stop him he was out of the car and bolting across four lanes ...

    Life. Life loves to pitch the curve ball. You're standing at the base plate, the ball has left the pitcher's hand, you know it's coming for you, straight for you, you brace yourself, take a breath in......but then, the curve. Sometimes the curve is slight, you can still see the ball's trajectory, so you adjust your stance, quickly think of a new approach and prepare to hit it out of the park. More often than not, the ball completely disappears from sight.   When that happens watch out!   You relax, you drop your guard. No need to panic, there is no immediate threat, no impending danger, everything is as it was before the ball left the pitcher's hand. Yes, the ball is still out there, hurtling through time and space, however you can't see it anymore. Out of sight out of mind, right? Eventually you forget about it and carry on your merry way, until one day it shows up again and smacks you in fair in the face.   ...

    You know......, I thought this blog was going to be different. Not this particular one...all of them. When I first started I was going to write about my love with colour, my OBSESSION with Moroccan styling and all things fabric-y and textural. But it's not. This blog is about me and that's pretty much all. It seems to be an outpouring of my own thoughts to myself, about myself. I'm not sure now if anyone at all is interested in reading this. Why would they be? What is to gain? I'm not sure if it is extremely selfish and egotistical. Not sure. What I do know is that I started this blog because I wanted to write. Loved to write. Needed to write. When I'm writing my world makes sense, I feel whole. I would write more often if only I could quiet the doubt. To be honest, and in my very first blog I promised I would be, I am terribly, terribly afraid to share my writing. I am afraid of ridicule. True. Always have been, and  not only when it comes to writing, a...

Twenty years ago I asked my future husband out on a date. A group of us were going to a club and after a very serious campaign by my cousins, I nervously asked him to join us. The rest, as they say, is history. Since that fateful Saturday night in June 1994, my husband and I have not been apart for longer than five days - and that has only happened twice! I remember very early on in the relationship thinking to myself that this was too good to be true and I actually had a small fling just to test the waters. Talk about self sabotage! Luckily I saw sense and in a few short weeks, nine I think it was, he proposed. A whirl wind romance. I doubted that he could keep up the constant adoration, the constant loving touch, the willingness to fulfil my every desire. He of course told me straight out that this was the way he rolled and that nothing would ever change. So has it? Sometimes I find myself pushing him away. "For Gods Sake" I exclaim,"can I just walk past withou...

I'm sick. Toxic they tell me. A bit like the 12 step programs, owning up to it is the first step to recovery. My name is Den and I am toxic. I have been sick for so long that I don't know how it feels to be well. This is what I am being told. I am also being told that my digestive system, in its entirety, is not working. I am not receiving enough nutrients from food, my liver is compromised my bowel dysfunctional and this has all been this way probably since childhood. Oh and I am completely stressed and my adrenal system is flat and barely giving me the energy to perform any normal activity - such as going to work, cleaning the house, singing, walking...being. But wait..!I cry. That's not possible. I am the healthy one, I am the one that knows all about nutrition and what the body needs, how can this be? I am the one that really does have AFD's (Alcohol Free Days) Five out of seven in fact. Two glasses of wine, two nights a week cant be bad for me. I am the one who ...

A nice cup of tea. That's what I need. Today I have promised myself that I will not do anything physically challenging or mentally challenging. I will just relax, flop around the house in my PJ's, not clean, not even wipe. Read a book or even just flick through a mag, sit in the garden, drink tea. So far I have done 3 loads of washing, splashed some bleach around the bathrooms, stripped the sheets off the beds, folded washing, checked emails, worried about money, my weight, my neck pain, my weight, my weight...oh did I mention my weight. I have also just wandered around the house, aimlessly. A nice cup of tea....and read a book. Yes, that was the plan. So I put the jug on, prepare the tea. A little biscuit would be nice. And then it begins....the inner dialogue. "You cant have that!, Too many carbs, too much sugar, artificial additives! What about your weight? " I don't really eat biscuits, but sometimes its just nice. Makes a bit of a ceremony of the whole ...

    I'm in that place. Again. So close and small, silent. So far below, cant feel the flow. Nothing moving, nothing touching. Breath in, out. On the surface, normality, daily tasks dutifully performed. Duty Filled. Down below, cant feel the flow. Oppressed, depressed, distressed. I wait. Longing for that moment, that whisper, a distant flicker. A flash of petticoat possibility, butterfly wing caress. I wait. Breath in, out...repeat. The sun tinged moment of hopefulness, of maybes. Look for it, yearn for it. Know it will come. Has to.

I need new swimmers. The ones I have are no longer comfortable. Apart from my body now gaining excess flab at a rate of knots not dissimilar to an impending cyclone, I have lost a breast. Not on the bus, not at the beach or left behind on the back of a chair at a restaurant (I miss that jacket) but on the operating table. Breast Cancer. Bummer. I never had knock out boobs. You could barely call them boobs. More like good looking nipples on a slightly raised chest muscle. "Arty Boobs" is what my husband calls (called) them. They were never going to sag, or hurt my neck, or get heat rash underneath them. They never made exercise torture. Mind you they never made boys look, or got me into clubs for free. My boobs were never the focus of discussion and certainly never hurt me physically. Emotionally there was pain. When I was younger I desperately wanted to wear beautiful lingerie, have low cut tops and longed to buy a dress that fitted my voluptuous bum without just gaping an...

Today's colour is black. My sister will tell me that black is all colours, or is it the absence of all colour...or is that white??? Obviously she is the artist, I am not. My love of colour does not come from a technical knowledge of the colour spectrum, it comes from feeling. I feel colours. I see colours. If you were standing in front of me I would see and feel your colour. My colour today is black. For someone who loves colour so much, for years I wore black. LOTS of black. I thought a was wearing black for it's renowned slimming effect, for edgy funk and tough girl image. But the truth is I hid in black. I hid away my colours. My energy for life. I was afraid that if I wore the sort of colours I felt, that I would not fit in or worse still, I would be laughed at. These things were very important to me at the time. Fitting in, being accepted. Even now, although I have come along way, I still hold back. Inside I am just a rainbow of colour, spinning and swirling and shining....

Welcome! Finally, some of you may say, I have started my blog. It's true I have been procrastinating for a long, long time. But here I am....at the beginning, I guess you are all wondering what the Inn has behind its great doors of creativity. Firstly, let me say that whatever is shared here is an outpouring of my inner me. Not the me that is sometimes overly accommodating, the me that conforms, or the me that compromises. What you will read is pure Den and I can't promise that it will always appeal to everyone. It will be real.  My love of colour will of course be paramount, but so will my obsession with shape and texture, fabrics, jewellery and all things visual. You will discover that food and nutrition feature high up on the list of loves, along with music, travel, art, babies, laughter, my family, a nice cup of tea, Moroccan EVERYTHING, fragment sentences and people watching. A good book, singing, writing and gardening also ring my bell. Laught...