My mother puts her foot sideways on the front step, holds onto my arm and waits. We are going out for the morning. Down goes her right foot then her left. She's slightly unbalanced then steadies and off we go across the verandah to the wooden landing. My sister appears and takes her other arm and like a baby who's taking her first steps, we steer her along, ready in case she stumbles. My mother is all concentration and daring too on her way to the car. She straightens up while I hold the passenger door open then shifts her hips and turns herself around so she can slowly, carefully lower her body into the car. I've put a pillow in to prop her up in the seat Now it's her ankles and feet dangling underneath the door and I lift them one by one and feel no resistance as I settle them on the floor.
She slides her hand along the seat-belt sash to the buckle and feels for the clasp. By the time I've closed her door and gone around to my side she's pushed it in and felt the click.
I drive out along the gravel track towards the main road. The water, the water's beside us. The big old bay like a grey bowl filling and spilling. The rain's easing to a drizzle. She's interested in everything sliding by her window. A row of old cypress pines, the view they'd get from houses lining my side of the road, the return of a bit of sunshine. I lean my head towards her and try to pick up what she's saying but it's hard. Her voice so soft, the talk of the girls in the back seat running over her words.
We pass through St Leonards and head towards Ocean Grove. I look across at her sitting beside me. Remember this trip. Remember how mum took the morning in. Took it in with the sun and the light talk of her grand-daughters running through the car and paddocks and trees going by so fast on the open stretch between the roundabout and the straight road to the coast. Going so fast and going so slow..
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
the tree of woman..
I wrote this a couple of years ago..
Mum can't read much anymore. She finds it hard to see a photo when you show her one and relies on the light being good, really good to pick up any detail at all. She's 91 and has macular degeneration. As she puts it "Oh well, everybody's got to get something"
Her acceptance is one of the loveliest things about her.
On Sunday and Wednesday nights she calls for a chat. Sunday is to wish me well for school and Wednesday to see how I went.
Last night when she rang I was asleep on the kitchen couch. My husband talked with her and told her about his week. A teacher had fallen off a chair and broken his pelvis (the chair had been placed on top of a table and he'd stood on it to get something off the ceiling....) Another teacher had a turn in class after a student fainted. The student was dissecting a sheep's heart. The teacher is 4 or 5 months pregnant.
So Mum had these stories to retell when I called later but she had one of her own to give me too. Mum relies on a regional service which supplies talking books.. She can't read the catalogue so the bag that brings her fortnightly tapes is mostly hit and miss.
Yesterday when she opened the package out slipped Patrick White's The Tree of Man.. For two hours she sat in sunshine in her lounge room and listened..
A marvellous story, she said.
Did you finish it? I ask
Oh no. There are lots of tapes to go.. I'll listen to more tomorrow.
I was 19 when I discovered Patrick White..
Mum can't read much anymore. She finds it hard to see a photo when you show her one and relies on the light being good, really good to pick up any detail at all. She's 91 and has macular degeneration. As she puts it "Oh well, everybody's got to get something"
Her acceptance is one of the loveliest things about her.
On Sunday and Wednesday nights she calls for a chat. Sunday is to wish me well for school and Wednesday to see how I went.
Last night when she rang I was asleep on the kitchen couch. My husband talked with her and told her about his week. A teacher had fallen off a chair and broken his pelvis (the chair had been placed on top of a table and he'd stood on it to get something off the ceiling....) Another teacher had a turn in class after a student fainted. The student was dissecting a sheep's heart. The teacher is 4 or 5 months pregnant.
So Mum had these stories to retell when I called later but she had one of her own to give me too. Mum relies on a regional service which supplies talking books.. She can't read the catalogue so the bag that brings her fortnightly tapes is mostly hit and miss.
Yesterday when she opened the package out slipped Patrick White's The Tree of Man.. For two hours she sat in sunshine in her lounge room and listened..
A marvellous story, she said.
Did you finish it? I ask
Oh no. There are lots of tapes to go.. I'll listen to more tomorrow.
I was 19 when I discovered Patrick White..
Friday, September 2, 2011
she gives me...
I ring her at 3 on a Friday afternoon and ask if she'd like a visit. She can't hear what I'm saying at first so I say it louder. Still she's unsure but when I hold the receiver close to my lips and repeat the question, she gets it. And yes she'd like to see me! I gather up a few things. The blue book, photos of a friend's garden, a couple of cakes.
I wind down the driveway and park under the carport. I remember when her car used to be here. I let myself in and wait.
She's at the top of the landing, stick in one hand, plastic bag of bits and pieces in the other. I watch her coming sideways down the stairs, leaning against the wall, measuring each footstep, willing herself not to trip as she edges towards the slate floor.
The living room where we sit is warm. Two heaters taking the chill out of the air. We make tea in the kitchen and I carry in the wooden tray.
She takes the book, looks carefully at the cover and flips it to the first page. It's a secondhand hardback bought at a market stall in January. My future son-in-law has designed a wedding invitation in the form of a book cover illustrated with fine-line pictures that are fragments of five years of love...She peers through her glasses and studies the tiny pictures the way you might examine a china cup. Every detail in the design is noted and checked. She's impressed and tells me so.
The same goes for the photos. A Bristol garden in late spring. A fernery.
As we drink tea and nibble on chocolate she's taking everything I've brought today in, in, in.
She's drinking it in, thinking it in, leaving this room...
Later I come away with an easter egg, a jar of humbugs and a near-ripe persimmon.
I wind down the driveway and park under the carport. I remember when her car used to be here. I let myself in and wait.
She's at the top of the landing, stick in one hand, plastic bag of bits and pieces in the other. I watch her coming sideways down the stairs, leaning against the wall, measuring each footstep, willing herself not to trip as she edges towards the slate floor.
The living room where we sit is warm. Two heaters taking the chill out of the air. We make tea in the kitchen and I carry in the wooden tray.
She takes the book, looks carefully at the cover and flips it to the first page. It's a secondhand hardback bought at a market stall in January. My future son-in-law has designed a wedding invitation in the form of a book cover illustrated with fine-line pictures that are fragments of five years of love...She peers through her glasses and studies the tiny pictures the way you might examine a china cup. Every detail in the design is noted and checked. She's impressed and tells me so.
The same goes for the photos. A Bristol garden in late spring. A fernery.
As we drink tea and nibble on chocolate she's taking everything I've brought today in, in, in.
She's drinking it in, thinking it in, leaving this room...
Later I come away with an easter egg, a jar of humbugs and a near-ripe persimmon.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
nicholson gem..
She slips on a bandaid dropped on the floor. It's 10.30 at night and she's about to turn off the laundry light when it happens. She falls heavily and my youngest sister and her husband who are staying overnight hear her. A thud and a cry.. She's in a corner, her head touching a door, her body caught between the stove and a bench. It takes half an hour to help her sit up and then slowly, carefully they manage to walk her to bed. In the morning they call an ambulance and off she goes to hospital. an x-ray shows her hip is not broken but badly bruised. She's unable to walk. All day she waits with my sister in emergency and at 10 in the evening is admitted to a ward that specializes in short-term stays. The nurses tell my mother she will need to be transferred to the rehab unit but no space is available and though they try to place her in a general care ward, no bed is available there either so my mother stays where she is in a sunlit corner of a ward named Tambo (a wide east Gippsland river)
She is there in the midst of migraines and domestic accidents until late in the afternoon 9 days later when she is transferred to the rehab section.
******
Day 16
Nicholson GEM..
Her room faces a grass courtyard ..
the branches of the tree outside her window are covered in buds..
am here with mum. she's just closed her eyes for a sleep. it's 20 to 3. a mild winter's day.
what's in the room?
A sign at the door that says Wet Floor. Caution. tiny droplets spread out like a watery map on the vinyl .
Sheet of paper pinned on the noticeboard beside her bed. The physio program for the week. she's booked for 1 hour on Mon Tues Weds.
Drawing of an orange cat by Angela, 10 years old, Liz's daughter. The cat is standing on its hind feet holding its front paws out like open arms. A small grey mouse, a dish and a scratching post are placed at the side. The cat is smiling.
Leaflet advertising the Latrobe Regional Hospital Sensory Walking Track 'For use by Rehab patients and friends of Nicholson Rehab and Macalister Wards'
(Nicholson and Macalister -like the Tambo -are the names of Gippsland Rivers, we passed over the bridges on the way to Lakes Entrance each year )
On the bedside table
a jar of curly Barley Sugar.. my grandparents believed these lollies were good for you
jug of water, 2 plastic tumblers - one lidded with a drinking straw. Mum doesn't drink a lot of water she's never got into the habit of remembering to drink it.
her glasses and a small magnifier.. battery operated..
get well card of pink roses from her sister. even though Auntie Kath has printed in large capital letters Mum says she can't make out what she's written. I read it to her.
Menu for Thurs -2 days time. we filled it in before
2 biros
packet of textas
sketch book- Mum's drawn pictures of trees.. black wires spool across the pages like broken threads ..the branches.. green red and pink leaves are straddled in mid air like a bonnet of confetti
hardback book of photographs Australia's Remarkable Trees
small black radio.. i notice when we come in that it's staticky. mum fiddles with a dial and then puts it on the table. abc classic fm ..it's still fuzzy
little box of tissues torn open at the side
tube of Deep Heat Rub- for her hip
jar of lanolin- her feet
small make-up bag
jonquils in a vase on the window ledge
daphne in a vase on the bedside shelf
it's 10 to 3
We talk about Nana and Pupa. Mum tells me some dates
Tom B. (her dad) born September 4 1884
Molly B. (her mum) born June 1887
Dad (Pupa) was 16 at the turn of the century
Mum (Nana) was 13 at the turn of the century
they were married at St Alipius' Ballarat on August 4th 1915
Jack who became a priest born July 6th 1916
Eileen (mum) born June 5th 1918
Kathleen born Feb 27th 1920
Jim born July 31st 1921
Mum (Nana) was very busy says Mum.
Pupa died at 89
Nana died at 89
Jack died when he was 71
Mum is 93
Kath is 91
Jim turns 90 on July 31st
20 to 4
Nurse comes to help mum to the bathroom
she holds on to the walker and tries to lift her feet. mostly she shuffles
Outside in the corridor a buzzer goes off
the phone at the nurses' station is ringing
noone there to answer it
outside the window a tree is in bud. pink or white? think it's white. i ask the nurse what it is and when she comes back she says she's been told it's an ornamental apple
I can hear Mum whistling in the bathroom.
She is there in the midst of migraines and domestic accidents until late in the afternoon 9 days later when she is transferred to the rehab section.
******
Day 16
Nicholson GEM..
Her room faces a grass courtyard ..
the branches of the tree outside her window are covered in buds..
am here with mum. she's just closed her eyes for a sleep. it's 20 to 3. a mild winter's day.
what's in the room?
A sign at the door that says Wet Floor. Caution. tiny droplets spread out like a watery map on the vinyl .
Sheet of paper pinned on the noticeboard beside her bed. The physio program for the week. she's booked for 1 hour on Mon Tues Weds.
Drawing of an orange cat by Angela, 10 years old, Liz's daughter. The cat is standing on its hind feet holding its front paws out like open arms. A small grey mouse, a dish and a scratching post are placed at the side. The cat is smiling.
Leaflet advertising the Latrobe Regional Hospital Sensory Walking Track 'For use by Rehab patients and friends of Nicholson Rehab and Macalister Wards'
(Nicholson and Macalister -like the Tambo -are the names of Gippsland Rivers, we passed over the bridges on the way to Lakes Entrance each year )
On the bedside table
a jar of curly Barley Sugar.. my grandparents believed these lollies were good for you
jug of water, 2 plastic tumblers - one lidded with a drinking straw. Mum doesn't drink a lot of water she's never got into the habit of remembering to drink it.
her glasses and a small magnifier.. battery operated..
get well card of pink roses from her sister. even though Auntie Kath has printed in large capital letters Mum says she can't make out what she's written. I read it to her.
Menu for Thurs -2 days time. we filled it in before
2 biros
packet of textas
sketch book- Mum's drawn pictures of trees.. black wires spool across the pages like broken threads ..the branches.. green red and pink leaves are straddled in mid air like a bonnet of confetti
hardback book of photographs Australia's Remarkable Trees
small black radio.. i notice when we come in that it's staticky. mum fiddles with a dial and then puts it on the table. abc classic fm ..it's still fuzzy
little box of tissues torn open at the side
tube of Deep Heat Rub- for her hip
jar of lanolin- her feet
small make-up bag
jonquils in a vase on the window ledge
daphne in a vase on the bedside shelf
it's 10 to 3
We talk about Nana and Pupa. Mum tells me some dates
Tom B. (her dad) born September 4 1884
Molly B. (her mum) born June 1887
Dad (Pupa) was 16 at the turn of the century
Mum (Nana) was 13 at the turn of the century
they were married at St Alipius' Ballarat on August 4th 1915
Jack who became a priest born July 6th 1916
Eileen (mum) born June 5th 1918
Kathleen born Feb 27th 1920
Jim born July 31st 1921
Mum (Nana) was very busy says Mum.
Pupa died at 89
Nana died at 89
Jack died when he was 71
Mum is 93
Kath is 91
Jim turns 90 on July 31st
20 to 4
Nurse comes to help mum to the bathroom
she holds on to the walker and tries to lift her feet. mostly she shuffles
Outside in the corridor a buzzer goes off
the phone at the nurses' station is ringing
noone there to answer it
outside the window a tree is in bud. pink or white? think it's white. i ask the nurse what it is and when she comes back she says she's been told it's an ornamental apple
I can hear Mum whistling in the bathroom.
two weeks ago..
september 1st 2011
spring in the blossom over the fence
a light blue sky at 5 in the afternoon
Leonard Cohen by my side
two weeks ago today
Tanya 36
a woman from the next street
walked over the railway tracks
into the path of a train
bound for the city
just on lunchtime
just like that
leaving
seven children
and a husband
to carry her broken hallelujah..
just found this.. i wrote it in 2009..
spring in the blossom over the fence
a light blue sky at 5 in the afternoon
Leonard Cohen by my side
two weeks ago today
Tanya 36
a woman from the next street
walked over the railway tracks
into the path of a train
bound for the city
just on lunchtime
just like that
leaving
seven children
and a husband
to carry her broken hallelujah..
just found this.. i wrote it in 2009..
How do I
remember her? Some years ago she lived
across the road. A tall girl, stalky if
I had to describe the way she looked. I
noticed there were a lot of kids and they were younger than ours or seemed to
be. It was hard to know how many there
were. They were quiet, I remember that.
Our kids would be out in the street kicking the footy or riding bikes or
skateboards and the kids across the road hardly made any noise. The house had been rented out for as long as
we’d been living here and people had come and gone. In the early years Peter would go over with a
couple of cakes as a welcome to whoever had just moved in.. I think he would
have gone over to say hello to them but I can’t be sure.
So when I went over to say hello, they’d been there for a while and I’d
had time to observe her a little. I noticed she always walked to the shops and
brought the groceries home in plastic bags.
She’d go up late in the afternoon.
She looked more like a big sister going out to get a few things after
school than a mother.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
earlier today I read a poem online
Things I Say To Myself While Hanging Out Laundry
(a woman hangs out sheets and meditates
on ants and Albert Einstein)
an hour later I went out with the clothes basket
no wind
shed door wide open
the soggy lawn
towels and sheets,
shirts and pjs
I'd just finished
3 men's hankies peg peg peg
3 grey dog tails limp in the air
when a bird started up
in the yard next door
over the fence in a leafless tree
tangle of branches
network of buds
three brown birds
cleaning beaks,
shucking off dust from feathers
and one making music
little chest throbbing
doubling and trebling
one bell, two bells
stroking the air
On a grey afternoon
the song of that bird
called up a memory
my mother stringing the line
with nappies and bunny-rugs,
jumpers and school socks,
and whistling while she pegged.
A nine year old sitting on the stone step
at the back door
and mum winding up the line
and filling the old blue basin
under the plum tree..
Things I Say To Myself While Hanging Out Laundry
(a woman hangs out sheets and meditates
on ants and Albert Einstein)
an hour later I went out with the clothes basket
no wind
shed door wide open
the soggy lawn
towels and sheets,
shirts and pjs
I'd just finished
3 men's hankies peg peg peg
3 grey dog tails limp in the air
when a bird started up
in the yard next door
over the fence in a leafless tree
tangle of branches
network of buds
three brown birds
cleaning beaks,
shucking off dust from feathers
and one making music
little chest throbbing
doubling and trebling
one bell, two bells
stroking the air
On a grey afternoon
the song of that bird
called up a memory
my mother stringing the line
with nappies and bunny-rugs,
jumpers and school socks,
and whistling while she pegged.
A nine year old sitting on the stone step
at the back door
and mum winding up the line
and filling the old blue basin
under the plum tree..
Monday, July 11, 2011
in the eyes of love..
a month ago today my daughter Pip was married.. to an angel of a man..
how can I tell you how wonderful the wedding was?
for now- for one reason and another - this will have to do...
![]()
ISN'T SHE LOVELY?!
and thank you Chris..
how can I tell you how wonderful the wedding was?
for now- for one reason and another - this will have to do...
and thank you Chris..
Sunday, June 26, 2011
sunday morning coming down..
if at a time and date to come I have to give an account of self.. this is what I'll say for today.
I woke about 8 or was it 9? the bed was warm but I was alone so I rolled over and found the radio on the bedside table and wiggled my fingers down the side until the dial went on.. the news had just started.. I heard that a suicide bomber had caused 30 people to die in a maternity hospital ward somewhere in Afghanistan.. just like that.. on a Sunday morning in a bedroom in Victoria, Australia I lay listening to the pictures inside those words ... mothers and babies and nurses and doctors and cleaners and probably fathers and sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles and grandparents... were now, right now all blown up and dead in a broken down room in a broken down country a long way from heaven and closer to hell than anyone on earth could possibly imagine..
the rest of the day is history..
I woke about 8 or was it 9? the bed was warm but I was alone so I rolled over and found the radio on the bedside table and wiggled my fingers down the side until the dial went on.. the news had just started.. I heard that a suicide bomber had caused 30 people to die in a maternity hospital ward somewhere in Afghanistan.. just like that.. on a Sunday morning in a bedroom in Victoria, Australia I lay listening to the pictures inside those words ... mothers and babies and nurses and doctors and cleaners and probably fathers and sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles and grandparents... were now, right now all blown up and dead in a broken down room in a broken down country a long way from heaven and closer to hell than anyone on earth could possibly imagine..
the rest of the day is history..
Friday, June 24, 2011
standin' in the sun darlin'....
I play Astral Weeks all day long and think of her. I send out a link to the video her brother has taken, complete with the music from the wedding ceremony and find myself watching it over and over.. each time I send it out to a sister or a niece, I press the white arrow at the side and let the images roll once more. She's radiant!! texts my niece and I look at that word and see her face lit by happiness and spilling out like sunlight all across the room...
Does it matter what I write? For a week now I've been in a state of still, quiet happiness.. from the weeks leading up to Saturday June 11th to the days that followed all I could do -still do!- was think about the two of them and picture it all and think about how lucky she is he is and we are to be part of this great love..
I'll write about being her mother and being part of this time in her life.. walking with her along Sydney Road looking for the dress.. seeing her in it on that very first day.. the little shopgirl Clara with the stud just above her lip..dreamy Clara who brought in a georgette piece to slip over Pip's shoulder when she thought she couldn't wear a strapless dress.. how she came round over time..how I saw something gleaming in Clara's eyes when Pip stood on the dais and looked at herself dressed as a bride..then Pip smiled at me... how that was the moment .. that was it .. the shining moment...
#
Does it matter what I write? For a week now I've been in a state of still, quiet happiness.. from the weeks leading up to Saturday June 11th to the days that followed all I could do -still do!- was think about the two of them and picture it all and think about how lucky she is he is and we are to be part of this great love..
I'll write about being her mother and being part of this time in her life.. walking with her along Sydney Road looking for the dress.. seeing her in it on that very first day.. the little shopgirl Clara with the stud just above her lip..dreamy Clara who brought in a georgette piece to slip over Pip's shoulder when she thought she couldn't wear a strapless dress.. how she came round over time..how I saw something gleaming in Clara's eyes when Pip stood on the dais and looked at herself dressed as a bride..then Pip smiled at me... how that was the moment .. that was it .. the shining moment...
#
how do you feel?
I went to the gallery at the top of our old street with my Mum a couple of weeks back.. just before the wedding. .. Once the Morwell Town hall- for a period it doubled as the town library - it is now owned by Arts Victoria who run it as the Latrobe Regional Gallery .. Funny how the room where I used to wander around wooden shelves looking for Enid Blyton books is now the place I go to with my 93 year old Mum.
The gallery's one of her favourite spots.
We have a coffee in the cafe and just as we're leaving, the woman in charge points us in the direction of the room opposite.. You might like that she says.. In we go, Mum holding onto my arm and me conscious of how unsteady she is on her feet.. I notice how thin her ankles are .. Just inside the door an installation's been set up.. There are tiny post-it style notes covering much of a sidewall that's designed as a work-in-progress.. How do you feel? is the title the artist has given the project... We're encouraged to pick a rubber stamp, press it on an ink pad, print it on a white note and then write about how we feel ..Mum's sight is poor but she manages to sign her name in the corner and while i'm stamping my slip I can see she's also written something in the tiny space above the butterfly stamp
fine
I pin our notes on the wall - making sure hers is above the rest and wrap her arm inside mine. We go on our way.
The gallery's one of her favourite spots.
We have a coffee in the cafe and just as we're leaving, the woman in charge points us in the direction of the room opposite.. You might like that she says.. In we go, Mum holding onto my arm and me conscious of how unsteady she is on her feet.. I notice how thin her ankles are .. Just inside the door an installation's been set up.. There are tiny post-it style notes covering much of a sidewall that's designed as a work-in-progress.. How do you feel? is the title the artist has given the project... We're encouraged to pick a rubber stamp, press it on an ink pad, print it on a white note and then write about how we feel ..Mum's sight is poor but she manages to sign her name in the corner and while i'm stamping my slip I can see she's also written something in the tiny space above the butterfly stamp
fine
I pin our notes on the wall - making sure hers is above the rest and wrap her arm inside mine. We go on our way.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
night thoughts..
Life gets better
Never give up
Green is the best colour in the world
Blue comes second
Be kind
Learn as much as you can about everything
People teach you in the way that they live
You can always say sorry
Keep going
Life is a daily prayer
A mother's love is so important all through your life
Things happen
Listening is a gift
Love is a lot of things
When you're calm you're in control
Good friends never leave you
The tide comes in and the tide goes out
Little children are precious companions
You are stronger than you think
A cold apple tastes delicious
A cow's udder is a lovely place to tuck your head into
Irish music is the sound of green
Thoughts come and go
Fear passes through you if you keep calm
Love gives you energy
Lovely is one of my favourite words
God is everywhere
Skin on skin is the most comforting way to go to sleep
Grief is never really over
Curious things happen that connect this world to the next
I will always remember my sister
Writing is a way through
Balance is so important
Jesus was a God-send
Reading takes you everywhere
Daisies are divine
Love-making is lovely
Touch is wonderful
Smiling is a gift
Humour is very good for you
A Jack Russell is a marvellous breed of dog
I like the sound of a train at night
Mary Mckillop was a strong woman
Hope springs eternal is one of my favourite mottoes
You can never have enough love
Old friends are your treasures
My dad loved me and I'm glad he told me when I was young
I could be a lot better at a lot of things
Every day is a miracle
Life is a lot of mystery
Things work out
Hearts are always trumps!
Never give up
Green is the best colour in the world
Blue comes second
Be kind
Learn as much as you can about everything
People teach you in the way that they live
You can always say sorry
Keep going
Life is a daily prayer
A mother's love is so important all through your life
Things happen
Listening is a gift
Love is a lot of things
When you're calm you're in control
Good friends never leave you
The tide comes in and the tide goes out
Little children are precious companions
You are stronger than you think
A cold apple tastes delicious
A cow's udder is a lovely place to tuck your head into
Irish music is the sound of green
Thoughts come and go
Fear passes through you if you keep calm
Love gives you energy
Lovely is one of my favourite words
God is everywhere
Skin on skin is the most comforting way to go to sleep
Grief is never really over
Curious things happen that connect this world to the next
I will always remember my sister
Writing is a way through
Balance is so important
Jesus was a God-send
Reading takes you everywhere
Daisies are divine
Love-making is lovely
Touch is wonderful
Smiling is a gift
Humour is very good for you
A Jack Russell is a marvellous breed of dog
I like the sound of a train at night
Mary Mckillop was a strong woman
Hope springs eternal is one of my favourite mottoes
You can never have enough love
Old friends are your treasures
My dad loved me and I'm glad he told me when I was young
I could be a lot better at a lot of things
Every day is a miracle
Life is a lot of mystery
Things work out
Hearts are always trumps!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
red tee..
Late last year we took Long Service Leave and had six weeks on the road. England, France. I was keen for Ireland but my husband thought differently. "Too many narrow roads, not enough live music in the pubs" we were there in 2007and this is how he remembers it. I've written elsewhere about the 2010 trip and this is a nothing piece but earlier today a woman in a shop told me she liked the red tee-shirt I was wearing. ( I bought it in an alleyway in Amboise, a riverside town south of Paris.) Another woman standing nearby looked up and said "I bet you don't know what it says."
I came home and found a French-English translation website. I'm walking around with this across my chest.
A style, Mado, some, the Others, Instructions:
It was once Mado, a style, a history of some for the Others. A thought, clothes, words for a history of mode... For some, style is Mado, for the Others Mado a style is.. Life taste of some, style of Others... Fashion passes, style Mado stays... Mado is a way of life for some and instructions for the Others. Style is the clothes of thought. For some rest white for the Others it is black!!
Code Mado: Get dressed in the cloakroom of the one and carry it as the Other one. Mado, one day, clothes form a colour, a style... Mado conjures in all time all persons, all styles.. The back it is the place, the place it is the back and vice versa...
Yes, well..
I came home and found a French-English translation website. I'm walking around with this across my chest.
A style, Mado, some, the Others, Instructions:
It was once Mado, a style, a history of some for the Others. A thought, clothes, words for a history of mode... For some, style is Mado, for the Others Mado a style is.. Life taste of some, style of Others... Fashion passes, style Mado stays... Mado is a way of life for some and instructions for the Others. Style is the clothes of thought. For some rest white for the Others it is black!!
Code Mado: Get dressed in the cloakroom of the one and carry it as the Other one. Mado, one day, clothes form a colour, a style... Mado conjures in all time all persons, all styles.. The back it is the place, the place it is the back and vice versa...
Yes, well..
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
gift..
She gives me two bars of Fry's Chocolate Cream and a packet of unsalted cashews. I bring her a bowl of pumpkin soup and a pink rose. In the last couple of years we've become good friends.
I'll miss her company when she's no longer living at home.
I use her full name to say goodbye. She looks across the table and smiles. We get into a discusssion about names, particularly voguish ones that some children have nowadays then I run down the ladder of my own brothers and sisters.. Desmond, Michele, Paul, Michael, Joan, Patrick, Elizabeth and Gabriel.
She listens with all her might.
"You couldn't do better than that" she says. "You couldn't do better than that.."
She's that kind of friend.
I'll miss her company when she's no longer living at home.
I use her full name to say goodbye. She looks across the table and smiles. We get into a discusssion about names, particularly voguish ones that some children have nowadays then I run down the ladder of my own brothers and sisters.. Desmond, Michele, Paul, Michael, Joan, Patrick, Elizabeth and Gabriel.
She listens with all her might.
"You couldn't do better than that" she says. "You couldn't do better than that.."
She's that kind of friend.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
actress of a childhood..
Liz Taylor died overnight. I heard the headlines on the news when I woke this morning.. she was 79.. the first memory that came was the image of her as a young girl with a pale face and blue-black hair riding a horse by the sea in National Velvet .. when we were kids during the school holidays we watched movies that featured her and Mickey Rooney. my brother Paul used to remind me of Mickey.. he had bold ideas about what we could do..
when I looked at the Guardian online today the link to the old film was there.. here it is..
http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/filmblog/2011/mar/23/elizabeth-taylor-career-in-clips?intcmp=122
when I looked at the Guardian online today the link to the old film was there.. here it is..
http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/filmblog/2011/mar/23/elizabeth-taylor-career-in-clips?intcmp=122
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
After the tsunami comes the grief .. guardian.co.uk, Sunday 13 March 2011 22.11 GMT
The reporter from the Guardian is walking along a muddy road surrounded by debris .. He's in the coastal town of Shintona in the prefecture of Miyagi, an area devastated by the earthquake and tsunami last Friday.. Those two words flotsam and jetsam are never more real than when I look at the screen.. A stretch of railway track has been lifted up and plonked sideways by the road and looks like a picket fence.. The reporter stands near the track then reaches into the rubble and picks up something he's found.. A dinner plate ringed in mud.. He turns it in his hands while the camera zooms in on a decorative blue and white plate.. Around the edges are the words Tonight is the Star Festival
A blue body bag lies not far away, tied at the top with thin blue cord..
Tonight is the star festival
Tonight is the star festival
That line sits with me all day long.. Around 9 I'm standing out the back with the dog, rubbing his head ..There are crickets in the grass and a light, cool breeze and tonight can I tell you the sky above is starless?
A blue body bag lies not far away, tied at the top with thin blue cord..
Tonight is the star festival
Tonight is the star festival
That line sits with me all day long.. Around 9 I'm standing out the back with the dog, rubbing his head ..There are crickets in the grass and a light, cool breeze and tonight can I tell you the sky above is starless?
Friday, February 18, 2011
Pat..
My sister Liz’s 50th birthday. We sit outside in her back yard and eat the roast lamb dinner my brother Pat has prepared. Pat's down from Queensland for a week to help celebrate with the rest of us here in Victoria. My youngest brother doesn’t say much but he insists I sit next to Liz while he takes a place on the other side of the table, squeezing up amongst the kids and though he's hungry, I notice he serves himself last of all.
For about 15 years he works for a doctor and her husband on a property they own on the outskirts of Bundaberg. Pat's a carpenter and does maintenance work on their house and land, renovates bathrooms and kitchens, builds sheds and puts new fences around the paddocks. Over time he builds a boat for the couple which they go sailing in, all around the top end from Airlie Beach to Darwin. Pat tells me that while most builders have other tradesmen working alongside them on a site, he learns to study the clouds for company. He watches the way they form and discovers what each one means as he goes about his work. Clouds give you feelings of peace he says.
My sisters are also there for the birthday and it's relaxing just sitting outside together. Liz tells stories of the people she comes across in her work with the Salvation Army. One woman she sees each week hasn't got any friends or family and so never has visitors. "I haven't got any infrastructure" is how she puts it. When we start the meal, Liz looks as if she's about to cry. We're just so lucky she says.
As the night goes on, the sky grows dark and then lights up with flashes of storm activity coming from the north of the city. The kids are racing around the yard on roller blades, the dog- a docile springer spaniel wanders in amongst the candles placed around the paved area in a bid to deter the mossies and finds space under the table nudging at our legs. Behind us a great fat spider is spinning a web underneath a girder connecting the old stables. The kids bring out a torch from a science kit and take turns shining a spindly light on the old web-master fastening thread to thread in the warm air. Music rolls out through the back door of the house while we sit talking then the far-off rumbling of thunder begins to get louder and we think about going inside. Pat points to the sky and says the storm will pass us by. He can see blue above the fence next door. I look over and all I see is darkness then gradually this gives way to a paler colour, an inky blue that sits above the chook shed like a brushswirl on a child's painting.
Feel the breeze he says. The wind has shifted. It's cooling right down.
.
For about 15 years he works for a doctor and her husband on a property they own on the outskirts of Bundaberg. Pat's a carpenter and does maintenance work on their house and land, renovates bathrooms and kitchens, builds sheds and puts new fences around the paddocks. Over time he builds a boat for the couple which they go sailing in, all around the top end from Airlie Beach to Darwin. Pat tells me that while most builders have other tradesmen working alongside them on a site, he learns to study the clouds for company. He watches the way they form and discovers what each one means as he goes about his work. Clouds give you feelings of peace he says.
My sisters are also there for the birthday and it's relaxing just sitting outside together. Liz tells stories of the people she comes across in her work with the Salvation Army. One woman she sees each week hasn't got any friends or family and so never has visitors. "I haven't got any infrastructure" is how she puts it. When we start the meal, Liz looks as if she's about to cry. We're just so lucky she says.
As the night goes on, the sky grows dark and then lights up with flashes of storm activity coming from the north of the city. The kids are racing around the yard on roller blades, the dog- a docile springer spaniel wanders in amongst the candles placed around the paved area in a bid to deter the mossies and finds space under the table nudging at our legs. Behind us a great fat spider is spinning a web underneath a girder connecting the old stables. The kids bring out a torch from a science kit and take turns shining a spindly light on the old web-master fastening thread to thread in the warm air. Music rolls out through the back door of the house while we sit talking then the far-off rumbling of thunder begins to get louder and we think about going inside. Pat points to the sky and says the storm will pass us by. He can see blue above the fence next door. I look over and all I see is darkness then gradually this gives way to a paler colour, an inky blue that sits above the chook shed like a brushswirl on a child's painting.
Feel the breeze he says. The wind has shifted. It's cooling right down.
.
Friday, January 21, 2011
wedding dress..
On the desk beside me is a photograph of my mother in her wedding dress
She's dated it on the back Sep 20 1941
I saw the dress for the first time on Tuesday this week.
It is now Friday.
My mother's dress is made of figured satin.
-I had to ring her to check because I wasn't sure if she was saying finger satin or figure satin
after she said it a few more times on the phone, I got it- figured satin
The dress is kept in a plastic bag on a linen shelf at my mother's unit
It lies underneath sheets and pillowcases
I had no idea she'd kept it
I have no memory of ever seeing it
I carried it into the lounge room and opened the bag onto my knees.
It is the colour of cream
It is covered in lightly embossed flowers
Satin feels slippery on your skin
The sleeves are long with little puffs at the shoulders and two hand stitched press studs at each wrist
The bodice is high necked with a soft v in the middle
My mother wore a strand of pearls on the day she was married
There is a line of ruching gathered under the bust
Covered buttons with rouleau loops go all the way down the back
My mother's sister did up the bottom ones and she fastened the top
It is floor length with a ripply circular train
The dress has yellowy spots on one shoulder and a few marks on the skirt
There are no holes or tears in the dress.
I held the dress up to the light and saw my mother on the other side of the table looking at it
My mother is 92
When she was 23 she wore this dress
She had dark hair with a slight wave and wore a veil that reached the floor
My mother wore silver shoes with a small heel
My mother was 5 foot 7 when she was young
I have the photo beside me, taken on the morning of her wedding
She is standing by the window in a studio in Clifton Hill,
Her dark curly hair is just touching her shoulders
Her face is clear and her eyes are smiling
She is carrying a long bouquet of roses and gardenias
On her arm she is dangling a ribboned horseshoe
The train is spread out like a wave on the floor in front of her
She looks like an Irish princess
My mother loved marrying my father..
She's dated it on the back Sep 20 1941
I saw the dress for the first time on Tuesday this week.
It is now Friday.
My mother's dress is made of figured satin.
-I had to ring her to check because I wasn't sure if she was saying finger satin or figure satin
after she said it a few more times on the phone, I got it- figured satin
The dress is kept in a plastic bag on a linen shelf at my mother's unit
It lies underneath sheets and pillowcases
I had no idea she'd kept it
I have no memory of ever seeing it
I carried it into the lounge room and opened the bag onto my knees.
It is the colour of cream
It is covered in lightly embossed flowers
Satin feels slippery on your skin
The sleeves are long with little puffs at the shoulders and two hand stitched press studs at each wrist
The bodice is high necked with a soft v in the middle
My mother wore a strand of pearls on the day she was married
There is a line of ruching gathered under the bust
Covered buttons with rouleau loops go all the way down the back
My mother's sister did up the bottom ones and she fastened the top
It is floor length with a ripply circular train
The dress has yellowy spots on one shoulder and a few marks on the skirt
There are no holes or tears in the dress.
I held the dress up to the light and saw my mother on the other side of the table looking at it
My mother is 92
When she was 23 she wore this dress
She had dark hair with a slight wave and wore a veil that reached the floor
My mother wore silver shoes with a small heel
My mother was 5 foot 7 when she was young
I have the photo beside me, taken on the morning of her wedding
She is standing by the window in a studio in Clifton Hill,
Her dark curly hair is just touching her shoulders
Her face is clear and her eyes are smiling
She is carrying a long bouquet of roses and gardenias
On her arm she is dangling a ribboned horseshoe
The train is spread out like a wave on the floor in front of her
She looks like an Irish princess
My mother loved marrying my father..
Sunday, January 16, 2011
just looking..
At the op shop this morning I stood beside a man holding a bundle of books.. Old hardbacks.. The one on top caught my eye because when I glanced down I saw it was titled something like Learning Swedish. He was middle aged, dark haired and had a moustache as fine as a cat's whiskers. In the seconds that went by I began to picture him opening the book in a room with his Swedish girlfriend but when I looked down again, I saw it wasn't a language manual but a book about Crafting Softwood. The woman serving flicked through the pile and stacked them by the register.
The large white book at the bottom was an embossed Holy Bible.
"That'll be 4 dollars" she said and he paid her, dropped them in plastic bag and went out the door..
The large white book at the bottom was an embossed Holy Bible.
"That'll be 4 dollars" she said and he paid her, dropped them in plastic bag and went out the door..
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