Thursday, October 02, 2003

She belongs on stage.

She is happy again, I see a spark in her that has been missing for too many months. She stood the other night, microphone in hand, and let the sound pour out of her, it filled us, it ran through us and it touched us. She knew I was so proud. I looked across at my oldest friends, and looks can say it all.
Later on the phone, "You dreamed her up, she is the daughter that you dreamed of. I can't believe how well she sings" This from one whose talent I have always admired and envied. So I thank them, not just for words of praise but for a look which brought the spark back to my girl's eye.

Tuesday, September 30, 2003

25 years

The silence is almost deafening now that they have left.
We had late nights and karaoke, beaches and mountain walks, photos and non-stop talking. We had feasts and coffee on the deck, laughter and tears, champagne, home brew and chocolate.
Most of all though, we had renewed friendship and I feel honoured and humbled and blessed.
We sat by the table last night and the candle wax melted away as fast as the years and I listened to their voices, unchanged. The music cutting through time like nothing else ever can. 

Saturday, September 06, 2003


We are going shopping this morning, my daughter and I. I will walk beside her tall lithe figure feeling slightly worn and shrunken. I will notice the appreciative glances all the boys give her, while she tells me she is grotesque. I can only be stunned, but next to her petite and anorexic looking friends her 5 foot, 10 inches make her feel like a giant.
She is looking for something to wear today, but all her clothes seem to belong to somebody else, another smaller girl who she feels has betrayed her. Her frustration is palpable. I curse fashion and society and being fourteen. She shakes her mane of dyed brown hair over her shoulders, steps out of her room and even wearing all black as she tries to shrink herself, we can all see that she is a goddess. One day perhaps she will see it too.

Thursday, September 04, 2003

After school

The afternoon air is sleepy and cool. I am fighting to keep my concentration, not to let my focus slip. Today is making up for other days of procrastination and digression. The computer hums, the phone rings, the words fly and the task list shortens. I am coasting along in my tiny world of order, achievement and calm. A cloud of self satisfied smugness surrounds me.
Then, with crashing, a rumbling and a torrent of laughter and words, the kids rush up the stairs from the school bus. The cupboard doors bang and the fridge door swings wide as two hot bodies push for access to whatever is on offer. The television is switched on at full volume, bags are thrown, crumbs are left and in a gradually decreasing flurry of activity they retreat to their rooms, a bedraggled line of possessions in their wake. Now the piano starts in one room and the voice excersises in the other. The television is still blaring, unwatched. I switch it off as the phone starts ringing again, this time not for me. I put work on hold until tomorrow, or later tonight or whenever I find my concentration again.
This is an afternoon in my house

Tuesday, September 02, 2003

On hold

I am on hold on the telephone. They play some recorded orchestral music, tinny through the handset. I listen half heartedly as I gaze out the window at the leaves dancing in the breeze. Then suddenly, she is there. Her fingers tracing the air as she plays the conductor, the twinkle in her eye laughs at my expression and laughs at her joy in the music, then I see him out of the corner of my eye. He is smiling at her. My memory plays this moment like a scene from a movie and I know that part of the reason I feel so fond of him still is because she loved him too.
She lives so vividly in my heart, she walks through my days in her words and her ways and her love and that she is gone now can never really be true when I feel her so close as I do. Perhaps I value him more than I should because when I think of my happiest times with her, he was there too. When I hear his voice I remember the utopia of that time, which can never be lost as long as I remember. So I love to hear his voice, it may not bring my Grandma back but it seems to bring her closer. 

Sunday, August 31, 2003


Lunch - There seems no point to the stress and tension, the careful sidestepping and tactful conversation.
I try to sit back and look upon this scene from the outside, as it plays out again like a broken record. The same false niceties and snide remarks, age providing a respect that may not be wholly deserved. I consider the release and relief I would feel if I could remove my children from this damaging environment, but perhaps the control and self belief required to withstand this charade is teaching them something they will need in life. I bite my tongue.
She can say whatever she likes to me, it does not touch me, but if she speaks to my son in that tone one more time....

Brisbane - The city flies past my window and I promise myself I will come down again soon and visit the friends I haven't seen for ages and walk the streets I never have time to walk. Sometimes I think I want to live here again. I love my town, I love my beach, but here are things that I love too. Live theatre and live music and a little bit of style. I have only been to see a live band once in the last six months. Perhaps I am greedy for life, do I think for some reason that I should be able to have it all? I look at my children, the truth is, I want them to have it all.

Wednesday, August 06, 2003


There is a tinkle at the tops of the trees outside, the birds sound pleased that spring is not too far away. The air today is so bright and clean, I want to start fresh and place the grimy shut-inside feeling of winter behind me. Throw out all that sad collection of trash and spent emotion from the past few months and put some flower buds in a jar on the table. They are filled with promise.

Sunday, August 03, 2003


The light tap on my door merges with my dream and I know I have to leave my dream behind and wake myself up, I pull myself out of it, it is like dragging myself out of a pool of molasses, a sweet laziness which is warm to lie in but uncomfortable to leave.

My sister has made me a cup of coffee. I want to be awake to speak with her before she leaves, but my brain is slow, still drenched with the heaviness of my dream.
I listen instead, trying to make the right responses but my mind is still in the dream.
My daughter was there, she said she was having a party because she is going away. She didn't invite me, and I am sad because she is leaving. I want to get to the party so that I can see her, but it is too far away and now my sister wants me to drink coffee with her and I am going to miss the party. It will be over before I get there, so I sit there sipping and I make the right responses.