I’m busy, I’m always busy. I am not sure what life would look like if I wasn’t. The spaces between sometimes allow for a moment of stillness. I write of course, but writing mops up the dark voids of sleeplessness, so not sure that counts as stopping. I lurch manically from one thing to another, sometimes one begins before the other ends. It’s exhausting to watch, people say, but my White Rabbit habit is hard to break; my watch is heavy and ticking. I brush my teeth and scoop my hair up infront of a mirror but generally, do not spend much time looking at myself.
The traffic on my way home from work makes me stretch my fingers away from the wheel with irritation. I hit the buttons on the radio to escape the adverts, and think about the millions of things I have to do. I think about the walk on the beach with my dog and unconsciously look to the sky for clouds.
Continue reading “Campfire Story”
OMG I am in Paris
I have just woken up and automatically reach for my phone. I search in the dark, something falls to the ground and fills the room with its annoyance at being disturbed. No phone. My brain catches up, this isn’t your bedroom, you are in Paris, it reminds me with a sigh, I told you last night.
OMG I am in Paris, yes I remember looking up and seeing wrought iron balconies bursting with flowers as I left the Metro.
I remember, get out of bed and stumble around the room, banging my legs, tripping, arms outstretched. I do not know this space so slow down and feel for the walls. I now know where my phone is, I remember telling my husband to plug it in, to recharge. It is by the coffee machine, I watched him do it before I fell back to a jet-lagged sleep on a turquoise bedspread. My stomach full of red wine, pasta, truffle, pizza, meringue cheese, cream, sponge, cocktails, I had been greedy, I am in Paris and could not decide on just one thing. Continue reading “Campfire story”
Just Another Head Magnet Day – in my native tongue
NOGGIN – nut – conk – melon – noodle – block –loaf of bread – uncle Ned – LUMP OF LEAD
I would say I have an average sized head, so I am not sure why things keep hitting it.
East London, I went out to admire a full moon from my parents suburban garden. A bat flew into my Loaf. We were both a little stunned. I had never, ever seen a bat in the London skies before.
Walking my kids to school in Essex, I turned the corner and foam, from the top of a window cleaners soapy bucket, caught the breeze and gave me a bubble afro. The guy nearly fell off the ladder laughing. He could have hit his Noodle.
“That was Donkeys Years ago.”
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After the rain
I stood and looked out. The air was thick and heavy and made my hair curl and frizz about my head.
It has been ridiculously hot and humid lately, a month of record temperatures was broken with a big dump of rain recently. The sudden and violent downpour caught suburbia by surprise, it’s hot, bothered and sleep deprived citizens flooded and swore.
Mother nature was not surprised, she had been watching and waiting, when the rain came her people were ready. Relieved and thirsty they embraced the rain or burst through the dusty brown earth showing themselves to drink greedily. All life here was changed temporarily by the rain. Continue reading “Campfire Stories”
I am not sure what moved me
I have been trying to catch a picture of a Monarch butterfly for about six weeks now and have driven myself crazy. I am never quite ready enough to get the shot I am after. Many of them have sailed through my life this summer, flirting, but they are busy and my mission is none of their concern. They have only four or so weeks to do their thing and a camera shoot with me is not on the agenda. My husband laughs at me and sometimes tries to help with “quick quick” calls to the garden. I am not ready to give up, there is something enchanting about just watching their swooping air shows I console, when I leave my camera on the kitchen bench.
I felt my heart crack a little when I saw a monarch whose short weeks had ended on the side of an exhaust black dual carriageway. I was trudging, under hot sun and through petrol fumes, from one car dealership to another when a flag of rust caught my attention. Continue reading “Campfire Stories”
A Fight To The Death for my Bagel
My husband and I were lucky enough to be invited by one of my favorite humans to share a few days at the top of this beautiful island. It is at least a four and a half hour drive from where I live, and so to my shame, the last time I visited it must have been at least four years ago. The thought of the journey is worse than the actual miles and the reward worth the dust on the car, so no excuse.
I found myself grateful, relaxed and alone embraced by a stunning start to the day on the beautiful Karikari peninsula wondering why it has been so long. I popped the kettle on and pushed a fat bagel into the thin space of the toaster and prayed I would not burn the batch down before I opened the ranch sliders and breathed in the heavy salt-laden air. I had intended to set up a folding chair but the view had held on, I heard the bagel pop up and gave silent thanks for the toasters resolve.
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Would you still write if no one listened?
I read somewhere that over 6.5 million people blog, double that if you include social media. Most of us are woman. What are we doing, why are we doing it?
WordPress made me think about this recently whilst setting goals I found it uncomfortable, it made me admit I wanted to be heard, that I wanted more followers; I am actually socially shy and private, so I was confused. My answers showed a path that I had not intended.
Cat plays her throat trumpet announcing she will be sharing my space for a while. I am full of questions and rub under her chin as I silently try to answer them. The pressure confuses her body and her back leg lifts, performing a scratching action midair. That happens to the dog sometimes, I wonder if the pressure of my words have any impact, do they cause an action somewhere else. Continue reading “Campfire Stories”
I look out, the windows need cleaning.
Disconnected, I contemplate the work.
She reaches in, her bright fingers search
For something to cling to,
A secret place to hide her light.
Her pink body already sinking,
I wonder why she fights so hard.
Night always comes, he wins Continue reading “Campfire Stories”
When glass gets broken
I am reading a note, in my husband’s thin blue handwriting, it starts.
- ask about prescription
- appointment at doctors?
- sick days?
I feel the familiar prickly sting start at the back of my eyes, I do not want to cry so I put his list back down on the table by the bed and continue to hoover. My husband is in the shower and I have a few minutes to clean up a little, take away old flowers, change the sheets and suck away crumbs. He can not tolerate the noise, so I work quickly. The water stops and I turn the hoover off and hit the button that pulls back the chord. The black line pulls the plug back quickly, the machine and I feel we should not be here. I pull the door shut quietly and wince at the loud click of the lock as I leave. I do not want him to see how upset I am. Continue reading “Campfire Stories”