Vintage Friendship

Our fierce summer of brilliant white,
bleached honey blonde locks to wheaten bright.



Small bodies lay on sun-baked grass,
bursting giggling, pealing laughs,
dripping wet bodies and spiky lashes,
polka dots and towels like sashes.



Homegrown produce shone ruby red,
golden sticks, homemade bread.


Homemaker's love spread out under cool leaf shade
and around the bounty we like children laid,
and linked the words the year had missed,
igniting mettle of our friendship tryst.


It is an honour marching with those ones,
who read the unwritten, hear the unsung,
who hold us in arms free of scorn,
and mourn with us, who mourn.




Love-company fills the cup,
and delighted, drips in friendship.

For my delicious girl friends who read books like Apples for Jam, wear red shoes, love pink lipgloss and cherry nail polish. Those precious wahine, those three, who know me, the real me - to you - my thanks. It was fun hanging out this summer.


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Undone



They sat in a little breakfast trio, my M&M's, on the rug at the foot of our bed. A tray was laid out before them with independently made french toast and jam, plus a brand new packet of icing sugar I wryly noted, and they were amusing themselves by listening to cassette tapes from my childhood, lips smeared powder white and berry-red. From the passage I suddenly heard the hair raising and unmistakable splinter of glass and rushed to them. A large, old painting that had belonged to my grandfather, had tipped in a sudden gust from the open window and had collapsed off its easel, showering the children with glass shards. No one was seriously hurt. Only one tiny shard in M1's foot and a bruise across her back where she had borne the impact of the frame. We rubbed arnica. Hugged. And I surveyed the mess and felt a kinship with the glass heap.
I sat down again at the computer and looked down to see M3 fall over with a cupful of cereal. The pieces of nutrigrain spun and flew across the floor. I sighed. Hugged. Surveyed the mess. Felt a familiar kinship with the tossed cereal. And so on the day went, edges of the saw of progress biting into the gritty moments with multiple time outs, grumbles and undone chores, tripping over toys, relentless whacking of a drum-beat on a pot and the fence palings with two of my wooden spoons; a dropped egg on the kitchen floor, vivid red and green iceblock drops on white beanbags despite me thinking my eyes said no and that common sense would prevail, and tears, sniffs and crossly folded arms of resentment. Stories, hugs, panadol and deep breaths while I tried to link the consuming scattered feeling to the clasp of reality.

And somewhere in that weird gap between going about the numb necessary, and the hollow of secret and faraway thoughts, I accidentally tipped. And out tumbled out creatures of flight from their heart-cage, door swinging open on the hinging memory of last night. Beside my bed there lay a wire and bead bracelet, made for me by M2 when she was away last week with friends. I had lain in sleep free stillness, feeling like I was hurling through space, eyes fixed on the little circle of wire and the way the lamplight caught with prisms, shone off each globe of love. As I looked at it, the last few months fell into unexpected clarity.

During the lilt and sparkle of summer, my string of mind-beads broke. As we played by the glittering shoreline, swam in the chips of paua-blue sea, built castles in gold and ebony sands, etched memories under tree leaf and sunset, the weave began to loosen. In gardens that were not ours, in houses that were full of strange noises and in the new normal of an old embrace, the thread that held the orbs of myself simply broke apart. Detached, almost idly, I watched the beads slowly hurl away from their neat line of orbit and get swallowed in black corners.

Later, on knees in the dust feeling about me with tentative hands for the pearls of my mind, I fought the temptation to lie down in the dim, cool hull of undemand and stay there for the rest of my life. I experimentally laid a head on boards of blankness and closed my eyes ignoring a thousand unwritten words that leaped and flapped against the skin of my eyelids and the surface of my bones. Cradling the few beads I had retrieved from the ground, I sat up tiredly and looked at the incomplete huddle of coloured balls in my palm. They did not make sense. I stared harder, as if somehow my gaze would electrify the few that were left into some semblance of order and value; re-string and present them, willing, accounted for and ready for some sort of purposeful action that made sense to the world, and to me. But they glinted balefully back at me from the half-light. Irregular blobs, some stippled, some tiny and round, some lumpish, unsymmetrical, each with a hollow eye. I raised them to the slant of light above my head and looked up to see the sun ignite each one like fire, turning their faintness to drops of insane brightness. But, and my shoulders are still slumped slightly with the truth of this, most of them are spread about. Lost. Incohesive and literally scattered about in the bottom of some unknown vessel. And I have no clue how to begin the process of re-stringing. The circlet that was, is not.

Fortunately, I know Someone. Someone eternally masterful in the art of restoring and creating.


Someone who heeds well the cries of those lost, those searching on their knees for spilt kernels of identity and purpose and those who are sitting in the quiet dark because they have become undone and they have simply no idea how to hold those loose baubles of their hearts in line.

Come to me all who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest.

He is near to the brokenhearted, saving the crushed in spirit.

He himself will restore, confirm, strengthen and establish you.

You will be kept in perfect peace.

My head rests on my knees, weary of the hunt for the missing pieces, tired of wondering how to keep everything together and stinging with the breaking of the thread as well as the loss of the completeness.

Tipping up my palm, the rainbows run off my hand and roll away back into the darkness.

I am undone. And at last, with some relief, can feel it.

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I am...


Photo credit - Reuters

...speechless.

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Happy Things x 10

Meredith from Count it all joy is a delight to read. She is the kind of soul that spills pleasure onto the pages of her blog, making it certainly a joy to peruse. She has tagged me in Ten Things That Make You Happy.

Many more than ten things make me happy, but here are a few :)

1. This gentleman. Yum. And what makes it even nicer is that he's actually mine.


2. Fun times with my sweet babies, {especially when good coffee is involved}.


3. Nurture, rest and comfort - I am quite simply, a home-girl.



4. Bloom - I find there is something especially enchanting about cherry, plum, pear and apple tree blossom.



5. Polka dots, any kind will do.


5. Old things; I have been known to stare at brick work, chipped paint and vintage books for hours. Those things do funny, skippity things to my heart {and sometimes my wallet}.

6. Baby toes - nothing like 'em.

7. The unspeakable beauty of light.

8. Picnic whimsy underneath the skirts of our walnut tree.

9. Little birds do wonderful things for my spirit. They carry the chirpy possibility of hope.


10. Time on my own. No picture needed for this. Just uninterrupted solitude from behind the lens, on the computer or deep in the folds of a book. Sheer, sheer, bliss.

And now to tag a few treasured happiness-inducing bloggers in no particular order:
Kristin - enchanting journal of crisp, clever writing and side splitting humour.
Emily - insights that inspire.
Carmen - photos that blast my socks off and make me smile.
Ashleigh - such sweet words and heartwarming love story.
Kelly - delicious.
Sarah Haliwell - she takes the dreamer in me to the skies.
Alyssa - what can I say? She challenges and inspires me at a breathtaking level.
Paige - an amazing homemaker with an inspiring story.
SJ - honest words and journey of discovery.
Cassandra - so deeply treasured, are this dear writer's thoughts at the Moonboat.
Of course there are lots of others gorgeous bloggers who have already been tagged, I hope they know what a priviledge it is to read their words.

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New Year


The entrance to a new year
can push us out into the path of potential hazards.
But it can also be a steady gateway to the light,
throwing out extravagant prisms of the sun
and being petal-strewn with possibilities.




This year my prayer is that I remember to seek a joy higher than what
my own feeble heart can muster,



I hope to see shadows as larger reflections of beauty,


I want to see colour beyond the palette of the ordinary,


I will make time to stand in awe of glory,


and I am joining the heart-dance of illumination with fresh steps of trust.


Live bigger I say aloud to myself.

Stretch beyond the shroud of emotion.

Rest.

Acknowledge.

Create.

Gather.

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Reindeers & Cricket in the Sunny South Pacific

Long time no blog - it has been a lovely break but my friends Pippa, Kate and Sarah have hassled me into posting!


It was not a cookie-cutter Christmas.



It was an array of old and new,

We focussed on keeping things simple,

And remembered the reason for the season,


And how to rest.


We tried to protect the beautiful home we had the priviledge to stay in,
from the thirty little fingers that extend from our offspring.

Our very trusting friends provided us with a haven away from the world, this pretty white house on the edge of a meadow, and unbeknown to them, the surroundings were just what we needed after a few months of hard work. These friends deserve a medal, it is a new house they built themselves and shows the love they have for others.

Thank you K and H.

The 25th itself was relaxed and peaceable and although admittedly we all had moments of realistic apprehension, the day itself unfolded itself gently. Sitting outdoors, we unwrapped gifts in the sunlight, under the arms of a walnut tree.

Six blonde little girls were doted on,


and frolicked with in the sun,

read to,

while the ladies sipped wine and dodged cricket balls from the fine game that the men played, (these two below being my brothers)

the chaps cavorted,

the girls conspired,

and delicious new baby nieces were cuddled.


Hope you all had a restful and special break.




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Copyright - Amy Lynas

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