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..

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...




#

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.

you will come back (you know you will!)
life ebbs and flows
you float
you swim
you find your feet
again..