20 things..

She writes a letter to me every week from the time I leave home in February 69 until she’s in her mid 80s. Macular degeneration.. Oh well, everybody’s got to get something she tells me. Her mum told her this.
Whistles to herself.
Loves the moon
Sleeps with a small black transistor under her pillow
Has an amazing memory
Tiptoes when she walks. Never gets used to walking in bare feet flat on the ground.
Wishes she’d learned to swim.
Eats slowly and not a lot.
Sits at the table with her chair half in half out
Always asks what time you left when you finally reach her door
Likes changing furniture around
Keeps up with the news
Remembers everyone’s birthdays. Sends cards with a couple of scratchies inside.
Hates losing things
Misses being able to read
Likes watching birds dipping in the birdbath outside her kitchen window
Is good to talk to on the phone
Loves music
Agrees with people
Misses my sister so much

the picture below..

Just before I went to bed last night, after I'd spent much of the day writing about travelling in Ireland with Michael and Amthony in 2005, I had the sudden thought that I should put a picture of my 5 children on this blog..

So here they are
5 works of art
5 poems if you will

Poems?
Well, about 20 years ago I heard an interview on the radio between Terry Lane and the poet Tony Lintermans and TLa asked TLi what he thought a poem was and TLi replied the brevity of passion

That struck me as a perfect way to describe a poem and, as time went along, I realized it was the best way I could describe and understand our kids..

Each one a work of art,
Each one a work in progress,
Each one a poem!

I still see them this way..

Tom, Mike, Dan, Pip, Anth
Thanks once more for your love..

5 in the hand..

summer sister..

I wake in lemon light
a cup of tea on the drawer beside my pillow,
birdsong,
the first swim of the day,
lying on cold sand listening to the sea,
lying on a straw beachmat with the smell of pressed hay coming all the way from China,
reading,
the feel of a good biro,
words spilling out of my head and onto the page,
listening to my brothers' and sisters' voices,

missing one - Michele's....

the warmth of Davey’s head as he leans against my chest,
Liz’s smile when we reach the verandah at Indented Head,
riding her old bike beside the water all the way to St Leonard’s,
flying down sand tracks and stopping off at the pier,
sifting through a carpet of shells,
finding driftwood in the shallows,
getting stuck in the supermarket at Ocean Grove and not caring- using the time to study faces and bodies and finding some bright thing in each one of them

being in the company of the clan..
how different it is without her..

NIGHT MOTHER..

THIS IS ABOUT HOW A MOTHER - ME - FEELS WHEN HER SON LEAVES HOME.. FOR THE 4TH OR 5TH TIME(?) .. HOW SAD SHE IS WHEN SHE SEES HIS ROOM ALL EMPTY OF LIFE.. SHE KNOWS SHE SHOULD NOT BE DOWN like this.. WHY IS THIS SO? HE IS A MAN AFTER ALL AND IT IS ONLY RIGHT THAT HE SHOULD LEAVE HOME.. HE MUST HE MUST.. THIS IS THE WAY LIFE GOES.. AND IN TIME..A DAY OR SO..PERHAPS A WEEK SHE WILL SEE IT SO.. BECAUSE SHE WANTS HIM WELL.. ALL WELL AGAIN.. AND HAPPY TOO.. AND LOVED AND LOVED AND LOVED.. ALL THIS GOES WITHOUT HER SAYING IT OR WRITING IT BUT STILL SHE MUST PUT DOWN WHAT SHE FEELS INSIDE TONIGHT WHEN THE LIGHT IS OFF AND THE ROOM IS QUIET...

EARLIER TODAY SHE WATCHES WHILE HE PACKS UP HIS LIFE IN BOXES AND BAGS..
A LAMP AND A MIRROR,
A DOONA, A BED,
BOOKS AND PAINTINGS,
CDS AND GUITAR,
CUTLERY CROCKERY,
COOKBOOK AND UTENSILS,
A PAPER BAG OF VITAMINS AND HERBAL MEDICINES,
A SUNHAT, A LEATHER COAT
SHIRTS ON HANGERS,
LINEN AND TOWELS..

THEN HE DRIVES TO THE CITY WITH ONE BIG DREAM..
THE DREAM IS HIS..
TO START AGAIN..
TO BE WELL ONCE MORE..



AND LIFE HAS CHANGED FOR BOTH..
AGAIN.