A man with a young son waves in a friendly way and joins us where puppy has flopped in grassy shade. We chat briefly. He is a property manager, organising tradies for an empty rental property just over the road. When a tradie arrives, he gestures to his little boy “Would you mind... just while … Continue reading Trust – the how of it.
Tag: prose
Ark. Ark. Aaaaaaark.
I don't often do this but this blog is going to be something of a journal entry. Yesterday afternoon we left our home and drove for a few hours to my parents' place to celebrate Christmas with my family (postponed a week due to COVID19 related complications). While away, we had arranged for my father … Continue reading Ark. Ark. Aaaaaaark.
Unsolicited Calls
The caller from Telstra rings. Well, she says she's from Telstra but every time it's the same story: "There's a problem with your internet connection". This particular caller keeps saying "Madam" because our surname is pretty hard. "Madam" sounds abrupt and I find it jangles me. I let my anger ring down the line to … Continue reading Unsolicited Calls
Just a slice
She's sitting in her armchair, the blue cattle-dog slumped solidly against her calves, watching the golf on TV. Those great white-blue sky-arcs that almost never find the ball. "There was nothing else to do in Wentworth Falls," she has told me before. "That's how I met your grandfather." Balanced on her knees is a plate … Continue reading Just a slice
Newsletter (Part II)
When I was ten, or there-abouts, I made a friend. At the time we were living in Jakarta, Indonesia. This other girl (let's call her Sophie) was a little older than me but we were in the same class at the International School because of how we'd both come from southern hemisphere schooling systems and … Continue reading Newsletter (Part II)
Hangzhou Memories
It was summer and the humidity hung in droopy browning sheets above the city. We emerged from the cool chrysalis of the Youth Hostel, ducking under the little wooden archway that divided the green oasis-like yard from the city outside. We were looking for some lunch. We often had different instincts in this regard. Having … Continue reading Hangzhou Memories
An Instant Library
Recently, my parents acquired a book put together by their community about the fires and then the floods which swept through the area last summer. People contributed photos and stories of their experiences. The book shows humans doing their best in a world turned totally crazy. On their faces are fear, sadness, determination, and hope. … Continue reading An Instant Library
A Reflection on Captivity
Oleg Oprisco I was thinking about the refugees fleeing from Ethiopia to Sudan when my son said: "I like the way, when a cheetah runs, its ribs move like this..." and he shrugged each shoulder forward slowly one by one - so feline immediately. I am awed by his observation - this animal's internal cage … Continue reading A Reflection on Captivity
I don’t think I’m alone in feeling this way…
Fandango’s Flashback Friday (only I’m late because we were away for the weekend) suggests posting a blog from this date on a previous year. I don’t have Friday’s exact date but this is only one day out. I hope you enjoy…
I
hate this wind and the brown sky and the pluming brown dust and the
brown, brown oval… except where the sprinkler has leaked and there
is a patch of rich green – a puddle reflecting what used to be.
The
scraping leaves exfoliate my heart like an acid. On days like to
today (today, when it was supposed to rain) I find it so hard to
believe that everything will be okay.
As
I walked this morning, a few spats of rain found their way to the
ground, like salt on a meal. When I got home I looked at the radar.
Down south, there is rain. So that is something.
Yesterday
at the fruit shop, the cashier lady, just returned from 6 weeks “at
home” in Bhutan commented that “compared to home, Australia is a
desert”. She landed, on Friday, in Sydney, thinking it an overcast
day, expecting…
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Revisiting my Childhood Home
I remember how it was back then with loved wood and clean paint and gleaming brass chains on the toilet cisterns. I remember the kind of old furniture that the families collected and wooden toilet seats not these plastic weird-coloured pieces of ... Well anyway, I know it's been 23 years but still, the way … Continue reading Revisiting my Childhood Home