night thoughts...

On Thursday I went to a funeral. Jim, the sparky fellow with furry eyebrows and a quick smile who happened also to be a naturally-gifted athlete had died earlier in the week aged 73.

In his hey-day he'd played League footy for Collingwood until his knees began to give trouble then he'd gone on to Dandenong in the VFA followed by a coaching stint then record and time-keeping in the local club where my son played. This is where we connected with him. He showed a keen interest in Anthony as a player and in the last couple of years whenever we saw him he always asked how he was going. Couldn't believe it when he heard about the chronic fatigue. Jim would shake his head as he breathed in and then puff out all the held air with a "Bad luck!" and I knew he felt for him. More than most people, he understood what it would be like to suddenly lose your talent.

It was a big funeral. I had to park the car in a side-street at the bottom of the hill and walk up to the church where, like a country grand final it was standing room only. All around the walls and leaning up against the windows were the footballers. Young and old. Suits and casual clothes. Funny to see so many men at mass en masse. They looked a bit self-conscious, or so I thought.

The requiem was about hope yet in saying that it seemed to have the something extra which is almost as important as belief in eternity, at least to my mind. The particular recognition of an individual's life. How this one man- or woman -mattered. The song in other words… In Jim's case his children spoke, all five of them preceded by a fellow from the footy club who loved him like a brother. Jim was a lucky man! The fact of his death was there as well of course. The awful grief on the faces of his wife and kids. The incredible sadness they all carried. The other part of the story.

I left as the crowd spilled out onto the grass at the front of the church and walked in the light rain back to my car.

treewordloves..

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90 words for my mum..

Mum had her portrait taken at a photography studio in Fitzroy when she was about 19. Dark hair brushed off her face,she's wearing a white silky shirt with pearl buttons on the bodice. Her lips are slightly parted, little criss-crossed top teeth peeking through- that soft-eyed look drawing you in close.
On the back in pencil is her father's handwritten note
Eileen Mary Bowden.. aged 19
In my estimation she is one-in-a-million.


I love him for this..



soft-skinned
sweet-smelling
gentle voice
calm eyes
strong grip
non-swimmer
tip-toe stepper
wise

happy whistler
heart mender
trusting light
Mother Hen
Joe Robin
daily walker
op shop tea girl
garden friend

giggler from way back
trusting, kind
loyal, patient
non-drinker of wine
steady, forgiving
persistent, true
Bold and Beautiful watcher
could this be you?!


child-like, curious
never could be furious
classy, elegant
prayerful and blessed
moon and stars
music and birds
letter-writing
phone calling
cards sending her words


memory-laden
story-teller
sister
mother
Nan
“One-in-a-million daughter”
my life-giving
friend...



kate