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Write on Wednesday … chose your own adventure

3 o’clock. An unexpected early afternoon at home. It was a warm but overcast afternoon. How to enjoy the extra time?

A trip to the shops. A time filler. An afternoon treat. Toddler’s favourite. We set off. Man, woman and child. Oh and the cat. At the bottom of the drive we encounter our first hurdle. The road.

Walk on the path. Walk with daddy, hold his hand. Off we go again. Back on the path.

Oh look here’s the cat. Following. The toddler wheels around to see the cat, then races for the road.

It's a slow procession

We are hold hands with the small boy between us. His legs swing, his shoes scrape the concrete. He twists and wriggles in our grasp. One hand and then the other wrenches free. The small boy pokes at a tiny moth lying prostrate on the footpath. A tiny victim of spring. The man leans down to tell the small boy all about the moth. He pokes it gently. Its damaged wings flutter pathetically but it is too broken to fly away.

Walk on the path. Hold daddy’s hand. I say these words over and over again.

The small boy wriggles free again. Takes a few rapid steps into a front garden. He runs around in circles all over the lawn which is still settling in. I notice the strips of turf haven’t matted together yet, the lines are clearly visible.

Eventually we all make it to the top of the strip of shops. I see a flash of grey and white dart into a shrub across the road. Our cat, sits crouched and anxious, waiting. We make our way down the wide footpath. Every sandwich board is carefully inspected, hidden behind. Each piece of street art examined in minute detail. I am impatiently pacing back and forth trying to encourage my unruly band to follow me toward the supermarket. But there are dogs to pat, rubbish to be picked up, sculptures to fondle. There is absolutely no urgency to the journey. I am the only one who is impatient. I shift from foot to foot. Check the time. Try once more to drag the toddler a few more metres down the footpath toward the supermarket. I am wearing myself out. He turns and runs back to me. His cold hands wrap around my legs and he buries his face in my skirt.

The Versatile Blogger

Too long has passed since I was honoured by lovely Jennifer Smart over at A Sampler with a Versatile Blogger Award.

Acceptance of this award comes with the following conditions; one, I am to tell you seven interesting facts about myself, and two, I share with you fifteen blogs that I have discovered. Without any further delay then, here are some facts and some great blogs you should check out.


Seven interesting facts about me

1. I hold a PhD in philosophy.

2. I like stripey things – especially clothes.

3. I love red lipstick and I have many of them; all of them are blue based red.

4. Once I played the piano in a competition in the Cremone Hayden Orpheum.

5. I love rosé. It will never be unfashionable to me.

6. I have read Ulysses. Every single word.

7. Occasionally, I select book purely on their thickness.


15 newly (and some not so newly) discovered blogs that I enjoy – in no particular order

Karen Charlton – http://therhythmmethod.wordpress.com/

Twitchy Corner – http://www.twitchycorner.com/

Trish Smith –  http://eatshootblog.com/

Lisa Lintern – http://lisalinternblog.blogspot.com/

Ruth Bruten – http://gourmetgirl-friend.blogspot.com/

K.J. – http://ourbigexpatadventure.wordpress.com

Nicole McLachlan – http://www.ironingandapostrophes.com/

Michelle Higgins – http://4kids1dogblog.blogspot.com/

Tina – http://tinkertines.blogspot.com/

Cat – http://beloverly.blogspot.com/

Very Bored in Catalunya – http://www.veryboredincatalunya.com/

Heather – http://www.notefromlapland.com/

Gill – http://www.inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/

Michelle – http://www.booktothefuture.com.au/

Benison – http://benisonanneoreilly.com/blog


Write on Wednesday … the re-write

Last night I dreamt I went to the dam and saw it.
I felt the chill standing there by the thick reeds and mud, while I tried the edge, it was too dark to go in. There was a dark house behind me. In my dream I heard children calling out and I searched the water for their faces. I peered in through the dark rust coloured reeds. I called but the dam had no answer.

It is always the same dream. The house has infinite rooms. Rooms within rooms. Boxes filled with treasures. Secret staircases that rise high into the building with no sense of reaching another floor. Then, suddenly, it is all on fire. Burning to the ground.

. . .

Read More

Write on Wednesday … great one liner

Such is my mother love that even though I know he only wants to sit on my lap so he can eat my breakfast, I let him.


Write On Wednesdays

This week’s exercise comes to us from  Karen at The Rhythm Method.
Write one good line to describe part of your day.
As Karen says the one line is like a “tiny little paper plane that must travel a big distance”.


Life has a bow wave

Time. Marching on.

There is a kind of truism about the doctor who won’t see a doctor, a hairdresser who can’t get a haircut and accountants who don’t do their tax. Some of it is professional fatigue. After seeing sick people all day, or cutting hair or doing tax, why on earth would you want to do MORE of it? To me, it is also a professional snobbery. If you are good at your profession, it is hard to find someone else who meets your own professional standard.

What about a more esoteric example. What about a philosopher who is struggling to come to grips with time? Someone who has spent a long time thinking about the central questions of philosophy and who has read a large number of books on the subject by other preeminent philosophers? What about her? Read More

Sometimes life is just annoying

It is true that sometimes, I resemble Zorg from the film Fifth Element. Not the evil, world domination parts, but they part that likes control of the domain he occupies, the clean, tidy desk he rests his feet on. As he tells Cornelius ‘Life, which you so nobly serve, come from destruction, disorder and chaos.’ He has clearly never heard of the ‘broken window fallacy’ but I digress.

I like it neat. I like it organised, smooth, well ordered. I like to be on time. I like things to just work. For plans to come together. I have been writing a post about this, but it is taking too long. It is full of huge concepts that I am trying to unpack. Read More

Piqued … write on Wednesday

Write On WednesdaysPiqued by the absence of wallet, the dark formal shoes, she waited impatiently for the evening.

For the actual date, the one they had arranged a week ago. Not the accidental, impulsive coffee date, which wasn’t a date, but it was.

The order of things was not quite right but the intrigue level was high. She rang one of her friends. Do I have to dress up? There was an audible intake of breath and then a shriek. YES, of course you do. Why are you on the phone? Go and get beautiful. Get dressed. Go now! Goodbye.

For weeks she had been trying not to think about the possibilities. Now, after coming back here to face the new life she had haltingly started only a few months before, romance was the furthermost thing from her mind. Now, mind racing, she had to think about it.




This week’s Write on Wednesday idea comes from this lovely place.

Thanks Felicity.

Dragonflies with magic steel wings

By popular demand, here is the latest installment from my writerly nephew.

He has recovered his mojo after the last battle with the definition of ‘narrative‘.

Thanks to everyone who commented and buoyed the boy!

Farmers and their markets

All the good stuff - especially truffle (front and centre)


Food has been on my mind lately. When is it not? Some would say I was quite obsessed by it. Sometimes I have been thinking about feeding my child. I didn’t completely understand the amount of time and energy that would be put in, usually by me, to plan, cook and arrange, meals for my child. Not always by me. Every morning, Benedict’s porridge is served by his daddy. It’s their time, breakfast. It is a two-fold joy. Usually, it is a smooth, easy time. It allows them to bond over AM and the news of the day and have a bit of time together. After Benedict has finished his own porridge, he usually helps himself to mine too, no matter how much he ate of his own. Read More

Write on Wednesday … character …

Write On WednesdaysRight. Down to business. This week’s Write on Wednesday is really truly a writing exercise. As a blog post, it may not be that interesting. I don’t know, I haven’t written it yet. If you get bored you may like to read this or this or this.

This week there were a few choice words of advice provided by Kylie Ladd over at Life In A Pink Fibro. To help. Or make us more intimidated by her excellent characteristion, depending on your point of view. This week too, there is a little more explanation required. The instructions the lovely Gillian has given for this week’s Write on Wednesday are ‘Think with Character’. I am going to write about the character from this post. Read More

When is a narrative, not a narrative?

My nephew Patrick is nine. He is in year 3. He is my first nephew. Needless to say, I love him to bits. Today I heard some news about his school work that made me furious.

This lovely, conscientious boy recently wrote a story for homework. It was rejected by his teacher. Why? It was rejected because it was considered not to have met the requirement for narrative. The NSW Education K to 6 syllabus definition of narrative that is. Read More

Write on Wednesday … the clock winked

Write On WednesdaysThe clock winked. In the dark room as she turned over, the green panel glowed and illuminated one side of her face. As she turned, she saw it over her shoulder. It was dark and quiet. A winter early morning, the sun wouldn’t make it over the mountain for another two hours. She was still but not asleep. She could see perfectly well by the glow of the clock, 2.56 it told her. It was mocking her again. Why was she awake? Again? All these freezing dark nights, with no early easterly sun streaming in. Too cold to get up early, it was the perfect weather for sleeping til the last possible moment. Yet here she was not asleep.

Over and over in her mind she turned the conversation. Just wait here, she had said. Wait? Here? Why had she tried to reconnect. It was finished. In the dust of the past. And then, suddenly, she re-opened it. Now here she was, in the glow of the clock, awake, in the middle of the night.