blurred timeline

I wish I could write you an accent. Wait, let me try…

I could see her coming, out her door, as I was parking.  She was doing that afternoon thing of farewelling her son.

‘Annnnie’ she swooped and folded me in. ‘WHAT could you doooo? What could you DOOOO?’  Tears I must have been saving for days… ‘She’s in hevun now, she’s in hevun’.

She limped her arthritic joints back into her house.  My afternoon took a decidedly darker turn – grief rears its’ ugly head in unexpected moments, doesn’t it.

The smell of her perfume? makeup? soap or face cream? or just her Malteseness, stayed with me for hours, her crush replayed with each waft, and accompanied by fresh tears.

First sighting of the neighbours post bereavement – check. It should get easier…

that’s a view

I didn’t come to soothe my soul, there’s work to be done, but soothing can’t really be avoided at the seaside, can it.

Even as I wrote that, I suddenly realised that the renovation noise, from both side neighbours, not only wasn’t bothering me – I actually hadn’t noticed it. It’s either that the energy of this house just negates it, or the calm I feel here brings on selective deafness. The same tradies at home would render me senseless with annoyance.

Blue, white, and nature’s green is all the eye sees. I remember a time I felt colour was needed, but today the red and white striped cushion yells unnecessary.

Look beyond the furnishings…through the glass…blue water, horizon, blue sky.

And so here I am, transfixed by the ocean, soothed.

Writing 101 : A room with a view

spring rain…


Tears have been falling from the sky every day since I returned from the great trip, while she lay dying in the next room. When it was done, the sun came out – you can’t tell me that’s coincidence. We warmed our bones in the backyard for just a snippet of time.

Yesterday, from the director’s chair next to her bed, I could see the bare tendrils of the frangipani swaying in the wind. Her bones barely moved as the wind whistled past the fluid at the back of her throat – periodically. 

I had an irrational want to rush around the garden, and chop everything down. How does life go on outside as though life isn’t ending inside? Environmental destruction wouldn’t halt the process…anyway, the rain is pelting down again…nature’s unrelenting sobbing echoes grief.


and we all shine on

Purple winter sky behind the stark bare trees and fashionable grey terrace walls, I could photograph you til my iPhone battery dies…

I drove round and round the neighbourhood duelling other locals for a spot near what passes for a supermarket. Mini gourmet morsels, low lighting. Suddenly, poodles have given way to labradors as the dog of choice, tied to the first house fence waiting.

It’s all imploding. I’m hanging on ok. We’ve never been good at harmony but I didn’t picture this. There’s a sibling called control. Another called confusion. And the others get on with it. Now control is absent, confusion has collapsed and the others really want to be left alone. Seriously, collapse on your own time don’t drag me into it! That may sound harsh without the back story but confusion is a never ending story of self importance and it’s always been inappropriate.

Going back to work today. Jetlag coming with me.