TRANSFORMING GENIUS INTO YOUR BRAND OF SUCCESS

I was driving home, daydreaming… I didn’t see the car turning out of the side street.  Luckily he had good brakes or I would have hit him.

Shaken abruptly into awareness I quickly covered the short distance home, pulling into my parking spot sighing with contentment, as always, at the sight of my jewel of a home, shining out through its large open windows.  It perched on the top floor of a quaint Victorian house, the lower reaches being inhabited by a small restaurant.

There was an odd smell in the air as I came around to my door on the garden side…but then with a restaurant as a housemate, this was not uncommon.  Something troubled me about this smell…an old memory not quite forgotten but heavily obscured by the barnacles of time.  Where had I encountered this odour before?

I entered my haven and was instantly distracted from the fruitless pursuit of old information by the familiar comfort of my surroundings.

All was neat, soft and welcoming, jewel toned walls highlighted with antiques and oddities, an eclectic collection that totally conveyed my taste and somehow managed to converge into a harmonious whole.   I collapsed into an overstuffed chair and surveyed the view of the city in gloaming, sparkling brightly as night washed all colour from the sky.

Minutes later my little daughter flew in through the door, dropped off by the energetic and accommodating “full-time” mother of her best friend.  They’d spent an exhilarating and exhausting afternoon together, challenging a moulting feather boa, some fraying sequined dresses and worn snakeskin stilettos to recapture the glamour of their youth. Liane had been treated to a fast food dinner by Cadence’s mom, so I begged time to throw together a sandwich for myself before sitting down to share the doings of our days.

As we talked, I became once again aware of the odd and somehow sinister smell.  I interrupted Liane mid-sentence to see if she could smell the odour as well.  She wrinkled her nose and sniffed the air quickly to conclude that all she could smell was the fresh bread I had used to construct my sandwich. Somewhat mollified, I  had her continue her monologue on the trials and tribulations of life as a six year old.

Suddenly a distant dull buzzing sound penetrated the muted tones of our soft caressing background music.  It sounded like a smoke alarm!  I instructed Liane to stay where she was and slipped down the internal staircase to see what was happening.  A malfunctioning alarm would end my plans for an early night to catch up on some reading and much needed sleep.  As I neared the lower landing the hairs on the back of my neck started to prickle as the air clouded with a slight haze and the acrid smell intensified.  I felt the communicating door that led to the restaurant’s kitchen – my hand jerked back in surprise – it was warm – could there actually be a fire?  “No! No! No!” - I screamed…without uttering a sound.

Racing back upstairs I quickly explained to Liane that although the alarm was probably just due for new batteries, we were going to treat this as a proper fire drill, “Just to be safe”.  She looked at me quizzically, intuitively understanding that something was up as my face and my words were out of synch.  Mercifully, she agreed to play along.

I instructed her to go to her room and select her three favourite toys to take on our adventure.

Grabbing a sturdy storage box full of work papers that I had placed by the door I dumped its contents into a messy heap on the couch.  At the same time I snatched the portable phone from its cradle and sped into my bedroom, juggling the box and the phone, as I dialed 911.  “I’d like to report a fire” I said when the operator came on the line.  I gave her my address and the restaurant’s name, adding that it was closed as tonight was Monday, so I hadn’t been able to verify what was going on downstairs.  I dropped the phone on my bed and looked about my room with all of it’s carefully collected treasures, what to salvage, in case…in case…I couldn’t finish the thought. “Focus!” I ordered myself, “Just focus! “  I was rapidly packing the box with an odd collection of articles…Liane’s framed baby picture, my journal, some beloved antiques, treasured gifts from friends…

Liane danced through my doorway, clearly caught up in the game.  Her favourite doll, Rosie, was attached to her back by it’s carrier bag, a group of usually urbane and sophisticated Barbie dolls were gathered by their hair in one small hand forming a drooping bouquet of pink plastic legs and hair.  “Okay Mumma, Let’s go” she said.  My box was almost full. “ Just a minute, my angel”, I replied, “I’m almost ready, just have room for a few more things.” Can I help?” she asked, dropping the outraged Barbies in a heap on the floor. I looked at her, “Sure, why don’t you go and put on your shoes?” I suggested, noting her socked feet. “Do I have to?” she queried, “The floor’s so lovely and warm.” Startled, I bent down to touch the hardwood and a frisson of fear lodged in my stomach.  She was right, the floor was getting very warm!  What had I been thinking salvaging lifeless “things” when my greatest treasure stood before me, wide eyed and trusting.

“Let’s get your shoes and get out of here”, I said, trying to keep my voice light, praying I hadn’t left it too late. The velcro sneakers slipped on in seconds, and we opened the door to a hallway full of choking smoke.  I closed the door again and swiftly considered my options.  “OK sweetie”, I said to Liane, “We’re going to have a real adventure now.” She looked at me with troubled eyes.  We’re going to go out my bedroom window, and into the old oak tree and climb to the ground that way.  “But Mumma I’m too little,” she cried.  I recalled  of one of her favourite stories and was inspired. “Well then I’ll be the Mummy Bushbaby and you can be the baby Bushbaby and ride on my back, how’s that?”  I was rewarded with a glimmer of a smile.  I turned around so she could hop up more easily and noticed my car keys on the table.  I scooped them up and stuffed them in my pocket as I raced into my bedroom, clueless as to how I was going to accomplish this Olympian task. Although I was in good shape from daily running and yoga, I was certainly no athlete.  “OK God,” I prayed silently, “I need your help now as I have no idea how to get my baby out of here safely.”

I stepped out of the big picture window quite easily, despite the additional 50 lbs of child I was carrying. The window was of a recent generation and the opening panels rotated fully ”for easy cleaning”, and quick escapes, I thought ruefully.  Picking my way across the mossy cracked asphalt shingles I reached out to the overhanging branches of the century oak. They were alarmingly slender.  Liane was quiet on my back, her small hands tightly gripping my shoulders, the familiar weight of her little body hugged tightly to my back.

“Hang on” I reinforced as I tested the branch.  Her finger pressure increased.  Just then a sound like fireworks exploded right beneath me and flung us into the air, towards the old tree.  I screamed, scrambling with all appendages to grasp something solid, aware that Liane’s weight was pulling me backwards, off balance…  After what felt like an endless gyration in space I managed to claw my way onto the thick rough hulk of a main branch.  It held our weight effortlessly.  “Liane” I quavered, “Are you alright my girl?”  “Yep” came the cheerful answer, I didn’t know you could jump like that Mumma,  “Me either I said shortly”, trying to slow my breath and my heart. “You flew just like the Bushbaby in my book!” she added conversationally.  “Look around you Liane, can you see a nearby branch that looks strong enough to hold us?” I asked.  “There's one right down there” she said reassuringly.  I looked below us and saw a broad, smooth and welcoming branch about three feet down.  "Hang on Baby, here we go", I warned.  We dropped down without too much effort and I was pull Liane from my back to my lap.  Hugging her tightly in my arms we surveyed the house.  Flames were licking out of the restaurant windows which had been shattered by the explosion.  Then I heard another sound, distant, but drawing nearer.  It was the welcome wail of a fire engine, "thank God," I said softly, "thank you God."

We sat silently, watching the gradual destruction of the lovely old building that we had once called home.  I felt wetness on my face and reached up to find tears, not tears of sadness for what I had lost but tears of gratitude.  Liane and I had been “blown” out of a situation that could easily have cost us our lives, a situation I could have responded to more quickly and safely had my values been clearer.

I sat on the branch with my daughter clasped to me in a perpetual embrace.  We watched as the firetruck drew up and disgorged its requisite load of big men in dull dark jackets incongruously highlighted with strips of reflective tape.  One of them spotted us in the tree and approached, covering ground quickly with his long strides and big functional boots.  “We’ll have you down in no time Ma’am”, he said respectfully.  I nodded and turned my gaze back to the flames, fascinated with the colours and shapes dancing in windows that had previously reflected only the soft gleams of fine china, crystal and silver.  I squeezed Liane’s arm with my one free hand.  “I love you Mumma”, her sweet little voice whispered in my ear.  “I love you too Baby” I replied.

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