Child {free}

Pretending to be a grown up is now something I only try when absolutely necessary and seems to occur mostly in the company of children. When my kind sister holds the fort and I am off duty however, all pretenses are off and the ridiculous in me comes out to play.

Three cheers for my kind of movie, wonderful coffees, hotel deliciousness and a wander through early morning city streets, op shops and design stores.

What wonderful things celebrations are.

Especially ones about love.


And especially when the one you love surprises you.

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Room 7

I am back there today.


At boarding school one quiet June afternoon, perched at small wooden desks, doing homework with my best friend in an empty classroom. He found me and quietly walked in, stack of books under one arm. Swinging over another chair to sit backwards over it and leaning over to me, he silently, in green ink, added to the graffiti of other inscriptions and carved initials onto the wood beneath my pages.

Will you go out with me?

I wished I could carry that desk out with me.


Eighteen years ago today and I am reminded that love is a choice that can outlast youth.

Sometimes I look past his suit and laptop bag, serious eyes and the weight of fatherhood and responsibility to see him as he was then. That sun bleached blonde, olive-skinned in his school uniform khakis with sparkling smile and that clowning teen mischief irrepressible in each of his steps. How grateful I am for his solid friendship and company through my awkward years of adolescence and to have that same vein of support and love through my twenties and into my thirties is a gift.

Happy 19th G.

It must be said that I have overcome extreme reluctance to post this picture.
The shoulder pads, giant glasses, mullet and general shrieks from the early nineties should not however be given permission to overwhelm the moment of our first disco memories!

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The Dress Rehearsal


Can you tell I have a photographic obsession with sweet little feet?

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Of cake and boots...

My week:

the dishwasher has not worked for 21 days, three hours and 6 minutes

i found a sweater on clearance that only slightly makes me look like a womble

i have begun to paint again

mishal can perform at least five nursery songs in pitch with actions although the words get a little garbled

her father taught her to say cappuccino and she had another hair cut

fashionista middle child has a new pair of marshmallow pink leather boots found at the hospice shop for loose change

i had a slice and a half of the best cake i have ever tasted...each mouthful was redemptive

stood in the rain before dawn in the streetlamp light awaiting a lift to an early morning prayer meeting

un-earthed my rainbow scarf which scares some people, but i heart the colours anyway

my beautiful oldest's ugg boots fit me and are verywarmthankyouverymuchandnoyoucan'thavethemback

i haven't been to the gym in weeks due to ligament injury

the washing piles still refuse to fold themselves

i need a haircut, i look like i have a haystack sitting on top of my shoulders

we ate the worst brussel sprouts ever since the history of appalling vegetables

i met a person this week who made me grateful for my life and realise i hardly know the meaning of true grief

very good coffee at a kid-friendly cafe with a nice friend on the spur of the moment

learnt at a course i am doing about the power of a story to speak truth where truth doesn't speak like you think it should

learned i am low in vitamin d

quite sensibly ate a banana at 3.23am one night

Roll on Monday.

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Security Blanket

The Giant Season of Winter has loomed with sudden strides and footfalls of frost have frayed the rim of my thoughts. Chill gusts have blown me senseless and grieving into dark corners. I want to wake up and it not be true. Or have slipped into another realm of fluid communication so that this is not so awkward and clumsy and bare. Or have the experience, courage and certainty to avoid shaking in the churn of grey waves of grief.

But the surface of my reality still exists underneath the sorrow. If who I am is formed at all by the journey of our life and experiences, then there is a patch of me that is threadbare. The fluff, warmth and structure has worn thin away, leaving my inner child exposed to the elements and although this is disconcerting, there are frost-free slivers of my mind that know it will not last.

My own threadbare patch is only a smidgen of the story, for there are others far more bruised, cracked and weary than me. The big tapestry we all are woven into in the netting of family has come apart and frayed torn places remain. The happenings of the present tend to distort my perception of the contours of the past, like seeing previously unnoticed and invisible rips and holes suddenly illuminated by the current flash of events.

I close my eyes and picture the Great Mender having us laid over His knee like a quilt and tenderly moving his fingers over the threads, re-stitching, adjusting, unravelling, straightening and firmly knotting back the loose threads, so that despite the structure of society that sets the words and phrases according to the circumstances, we are knitted back into wholeness of heart again. My thoughts are not deep like those of the Great Mender's. Only He sees the big design.

I have nothing but respect and honour for my parents. I do not question the choices or decisions they have made regarding their separation, knowing that their own walk is exactly that, their own. I admire their courage, humility and transparency and despite the tearing of the fabric of identity that I took from birth for granted and blissfully wrapped about myself, I understand that in order for freedom and healing to come to pass, pruning, snipping and painful mending needs to happen. Seeing that my security should not come from my earthly parents anyway, this has been a timely reminder for me to focus my eyes of who I am in light of my creator and not look with expectation towards others. Marriage is partly about owning the responsibilty to keep yourself whole in order to offer the other one hundred percent partnership and it is worth them pursuing this individual desire for inner restoration regardless of the outcome.

My tear-filled, wintery, threadbare season is merely that, and a comfortable fairytale existance having never been promised to me, I am no longer as desperate with lament in these cooler darker times. Instead I am settling the fluttery part of myself down to reside in this place under shelter of wing, allowing hope to rise and surrendering to the season with a quietness of heart knowing in due time, spring will come calling.

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Coruscation in cataclysm

"The LORD is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear?"
Psalm 27:1

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