Ready To Go

Blue sky, check. Sunglasses, check. You, check. It is time to hit the road!

I have wanted to make this run since forever. Okay, something of an exaggeration but it has definitely been on my list of things to do. Do you want to know where we are going? Well, that is the fun of it, I have no idea. We have one week, a set amount of money and a spirit of adventure. The deal is that we start driving north and we stop about every two hours (safe driving and all of that) or whenever we get to something of a crossroads. We flip a coin to determine our next move - there are four choices - stay or go, and then north or east (being our two directions available at the moment - that bit will change as the journey develops). And we continue like that for a week.

Where will we sleep - well we have packed a camping kit just in case but I am sure we will find a pub or a hotel or caravan or something as we go along. None of that matters - this is all about adventure.

What shall we do - we shall explore and discover and talk and ... well, just be.

We have both agreed to keep daily journals - and in one year from the day of our return, to swap them so we can read each other's version of the trip.

Let the journey begin.

Writer's Prompts Daily

Celebrate This ....

Happy Birthday!
Cheers!
Congratulations!
I Love You!
Cheers!
It's A Baby!
Thankyou!
Happy New Year!
Cheers!

It is time.
It is time
to join together
      and cheer
      and dance
      and celebrate!

And it is all
Just for you ....

Writer's Prompts Daily

Color Me In

I have worn black for years. I like black. I like not having to think about what to wear each morning - it all co-ordinates. I am not in morning, nor am I making any statement on the world. I just like black and it is functional.

Little Miss M does not agree with me. She wants to wear rainbows - all day, every day.

She notices the flowers and confirms that one color can really go with another no matter what else she is told. She looks at gardens and notices the abundance of shades and contrasts and the beauty that results. She walks the park and tries to count how many different kinds of green she can see, and how many shades there are. She watches and sunsets and again confirms that colors that others think clash, don't. She is happy to wear checks and dots and stripes together (she tells me she is not a "shapist" and there is room for all kinds).

Her favorite shoes are red. Her favorite wellingtons, purple with yellow daisies. her favorite socks come above her knees and are striped with the colors of the rainbow.

She has a beige sweater given to her by a well-meaning grandmother. She wears it covered in buttons or scarves or bows (now everyone will notice it she tells me confidently.

Yess, my Little Miss M is a walking rainbow, and if there is every any doubt, you can just look at her smile.

Writer's Prompts Daily

I Wanna Fly

"I wanna fly Mum, I wanna fly!"

I had tried to plan the day whereby we could split some of the exhibitions with some rides and then onto the animals and finishing with food and showbags as we exited the gate. It was a great plan - I know it was - I had used it for the last three years. But whether Rubee was onto me, or whether she just assumed that the ride was there, well, it didn't matter - I was sprung.

She was 5 now and had talked about nothing else but "flying" all week - actually for the past few weeks. She loved the idea of being strapped in, of being safe and then taking off with nothing underneath her but the ground which seemed oh so far away. She always giggled wildly as the wind blew in her face and her hair flew everywhere else.

We walked over and that was when she made her announcement - I wasn't to fly with her this year. "You keep telling me I getting grown up so I need to do this by myself", she explained. In many ways I couldn't fault the logic but the desire to protect sometimes has nothing to do with logic. I was hoping that the ride attendant would veto the idea but the day was early and there was no one else riding. He looked at me with what I assume was his most comforting look and explained that the belt would fit, she would be safe, and that he would run it slower than usual. There being no way out without disrespecting her new grown-up status, I nodded that it was okay.

I stood outside the fence and watched her fly.

"Faster, faster", she called "I want to REALLY fly".

The operator looked at me again and smiled. I nodded.

The look of exhilaration on her face as the ride sped up, as the wind in her face got stronger, her hair flying out behind her. She waved at me every time she went past. The rest of the time she was both laughing and singing at the top of her voice. She lifted her arms high to maximize the experience.

"Did you see me Mum, did you see me fly?" she asked as she got off and came running over to me.

"Of course!", I answered and tried to match her smile.

There would be moments like this for the rest of her life - moments when she wanted to fly and I wanted to keep her safe on the ground. There would be first love and first job and first time overseas. There would be a thousand firsts and I know that each of them brings the risk of falling. Maybe today was my lesson as much as hers - to wait until she was ready, to prepare her the best I can, to let go, and be there to share the experience - whatever it may be.

Oh my dear child, my one and only Rubee. As I look at your face today I saw the joy of flying, I saw your joy. And I know that I cannot deprive you of that. May you always fly by beautiful one.

Writer's Prompts Daily

Umbrella and a Handkerchief

"Never leave home without an umbrella and a handkerchief I always say". I looked at Nan and sighed - I had been hearing this all my life. Inwardly I rolled my eyes but respect stopped me from actually performing the act. I did love her but we were so different.

Nan was so very organised, so very neat, always prepared for whatever came her way, so very proper. Not that I begrudged that. This woman had been born at the end of the first World War, survived the Depression, volunteered during the second World War, raised four children alone after the death of her husband early in their marriage and taken in three others at various times. Without her 'umbrella and handkerchief' attitude, she would never have made it.

But me. Well I am not her. I have not walked her path. Her lessons are valuable but they are not gospel. I don't mind getting wet every now and then, or having to use a tissue. I don't wear a hat to go grocery shopping. And my hair is not always perfect. I am freer than Nan in the life that I live and in the circumstances that have affected me.

Would my generation be able to cope with rations and privations and making do and going without? Would we be able to cope with the hardships of the wars and a depression. How would we get by without the support of welfare in the tough times? My Nan and her generation did all of that and more.

I leave an umbrella and a neatly folded handkerchief on the table near the front door. I don't carry them as I leave the house but as I do go through my day, I do try and carry their meaning.

Writer's Prompts Daily

It's Always Darkest ....

He stood tall in the darkness. He had a job to do - not everyone's idea of a job but, hell, it takes all kinds to make a world. He watched the world below - everything was in shades of black and grey. Not that it would stay that way - he thought for some philosophical theory that matched his mood, accepting the moment, accepting change but it wouldn't come to him.

He wondered why so many were afraid of the dark - was it fear of the unknown, or the loss of control of not being able to see as they can in the light, was it religious or even primal. He couldn't decide. He didn't mind the dark - it meant that peaceful and quiet save for a crying baby sometimes, or the scream of a cat - was it mating or fighting - he could never tell.

He shifted himself to get more comfortable. He watched others who called the night their friend - there was the baker who always seemed to be in a hurry to get to work, or was always running late. There was the policeman who strolled around, swinging his truncheon as he went. The night soil man who works furtively in the alleys. There was always one or two faces he didn't know - travelers, or people up to no good he guessed. Almost always he only saw men.

He looked at the horizon and saw the gleam of silver that separated the darkness from the impending day. No more time for thinking, he had a job to do.

Writer's Daily Prompts

The Cinderella in All of Us?

She looked at herself in the mirror - and wasn't sure she recognized the woman in front of her. Gone were the jeans and t-shirts. Gone were the Blundies. Gone was the hair tied back from her hair in a pony tail.

She stood there are looked at the woman with her hair in an up-do, studded with diamantes. Her smile was broad and her lips shimmered in a pink, just a few shades deeper than they usually appeared. Her dress was pink like her lips and full-length. It floated and swished like she was underwater. Her feet were gently featured in silver sandals that added another 3 inches to her height.

She did a half-twirl while never losing contact with her reflection. Her legs looked great, she knew that - especially as the skirt brushed against them. Her breasts were heavy dew drops that had yet to succum to gravity and the dress hugged them like a lover. Her neck was gently sun-kissed from all that work outside and displayed the sparkles that hung at its base.

She was beautiful. Had she always been? She wasn't sure. She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. What would tonight bring, she wasn't sure but it had to be the start of something.

Writer's Prompts Daily

Reality Bites

People become vegetarians for a number of reasons including those of health, religion and ethics. I went through a stage that lasted for a couple of years when I was a teen and had just visited a meat works - and another when I was working with the lovelies and their food hygiene standards (and use of lemon pepper) were questionable. Actually I only eat meat about once a week these days - and yes my reasons are both ethical and financial.

What annoys me about omnivores is those who don't acknowledge that their meat comes from a living animal. That their cut is a piece of muscle, or an organ. And the bones are from the skeletal structure of the beast. I now adopt the belief that "if you can't kill eat, don't eat it" which isn't to say we should all be out there with guns cattle rustling, more of an acknowledgement that something must die for that steak to hit the plate - and there is no point denying it or pretending otherwise.

The first time I went roo shooting I was on spotlight duty. The shots were clean and we collected a number of carcasses that night. The animals were used as dog food (it was a farm after all). What annoyed me was when one of the yahoos that was trying to impress me with his he-man status grabbed one of the joeys that were in one of the mothers who had been shot. He grabbed it by the tail, swung it and bashed it against the ute. I have no problem with killing the joey - letting it live defeated the purpose - but the callousness he displayed, the joy he displayed in making me cringe had nothing to do with anything apart from him being a pig (no offence to pigs).

If something is to die so that we may live, we should at least acknowledge the sacrifice and treat it with respect.

Writer's Prompts Daily

Curtains and Walls

She wore her bangs long. She wore her bangs so long they were a curtain over her eyes.

We were never sure whether she was didn't want to look out, or didn't want us to look in. I am not sure she could have told us either.

I don't think it worried anyone as such, we just left her alone.

Maybe that was out mistake, leaving her alone.

Every curtain serves a purpose, but every curtain can be opened. Isn't a curtain that is always closed a wall - no matter what it is made of?

Maybe she drew back her bangs for others. Maybe she drew back her bangs when she was alone.

If the eyes are the windows to the soul then I can say I never saw either of hers. And I don't think she saw ours either.

That was out mistake, leaving her alone, behind her curtain.

Writer's Prompts Daily

The Joys Of Being A Woman

All her life she couldn't wait to be a real woman. And by real woman she mean makeup - and especially lipstick. Mrs Stone had one in a long gold case and when you twisted it, a red, round tip rose up to caress her lips. Mrs Stone was a real woman.

She wasn't sure where she would find a lipstick just like Mrs Stone's. She looked in the supermarket but they only had ones in plastic tubes. The colors were tempting - everything from various pinks and purples through to shades of coral and brown. The names were even more tempting: chocolate mousse, melted caramel, romance, French burgundy. All of them brought to her images of summer and sunshine and illicit kisses on moonlit nights. But that was what girls go - and she wanted to be a real woman.

Even if she couldn't find the same gold case as Mrs Stone, she knew she would never settle for anything less than a red bud rising up to touch her lips.

She paid special attention during Health Class when the sports teacher showed them how to apply foundation, eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, and coloring to her cheeks. She felt like she stopped breathing when she discovered there was a lipstick pencil with which she could plump or thin the shape of her own lips. The teacher asked the students which one piece of makeup should they never be without, that could be worn alone. Apparently the correct answer was mascara but she knew it was lipstick.

A trip into town some months later gave her the opportunity to seek out the department store, with its abundance of makeup and perfume counters. She gazed carefully at them all. She couldn't see the gold tube but she did discover that there is no such thing as "red" - there is brown- red, blue-red, purple-red, orange-red and a million other reds. And then there is gloss and matte, fuller lip or longer lasting.

She already knew that lipsticks were made of wax, oil, alcohol and pigment but the variations of all of these were limitless. And then there were the additional ingredients that added texture or feel or taste. You wouldn't readily eat any of it but ultimately she knew that she would - each time she licked her luscious red lips.

That would be one of may prices she would pay to be a real woman.

Writer's Prompts Daily

Oh What A Night!

Oh what a night - it will go down in history. Okay I can't remember too much of it but that is what it is all about. We all went out to the Top Pub - it was Friday and Thommo had something to celebrate - no idea what it is now - be he shouted a round or two because of it so it must have been good. I have no idea how much I drank - I stopped counting after five jugs - I was going for the record I set the night when I finished school.

Oh what a night! I had got my promotion, and Kelly let me know she was preggers. Okay the second bit knocked me for six to start with but, to hell with it, I would make a great dad - I could teach him how to play cricket and drive and .... well I would be a great dad. I met the boys at the Top Pub like we agreed, I even shouted a few rounds - just beer mind you. Didn't stay for long, I promised Kelly.

Oh what a night - well at least that is what Johnno said when he woke up this morning. I think that was before he realized he had slept on the concrete floor - last night he figured he wouldn't fall out of bed if he slept there - and we were in the lockup. And that was before he realized he would need to call Maureen and ask her to come and bail him out. Me, I can make bail - and have no one to call anyway.

Oh what a night! I was meant to be skipper, that's why I was invited - I mean why else would you invite a sheila to a boys night out - but after the fight my services were "no longer required" as the sergeant said. And I spent the night drinking orange juice too - should have added some vodka and had a night of my own like the guy behind the bar said!

Oh what a night! I hate working Friday nights. The Pub is meant to be the ok but I think the roughies from the Federal are coming up here. So tonight there was only the two fights - I managed one, had to call Snowy in to break up the other, we lost 18 glasses during that one - some were broken in the mellee, one was used as a weapon. I hate cleaning up glass - you always worry about missing a piece. Oh what a night!

Writer's Prompts Daily

Guess Who Dropped In For Breakfast?

.... well it would be you wouldn't it! I am so pleased you made it - hope you didn't have any trouble with parking. No, well that is good then.

Now can I get you an apple or orange juice to start with - I squeezed the fruit myself just before you got here. Orange, no problem here you go.

Now we have a few choices in the food department - would you prefer a fruit salad, or a homemade granola with some honey yogurt (yes I made that too). Or if you want something a bit more substantial, I can whip up some blueberry pancakes with mascapone and maple syrup. Or Eggs Benedict. Or I can do a full English fry-up.

Okay I can sit - but would you like a top up of the juice, there is a pot of coffee that is about ready - let me pour you a cup.

Okay I can sit, and do nothing. Can you tell I am nervous? It is the first time I have cooked for you. Oh, and I have toast and jam if you would prefer. Okay, just sitting and drinking my juice with you. Really? We have all day - you don't have other plans. No, it isn't a problem, I just expected ....

So tell me more about you.

Writer's Prompts Daily

The Heffalump Tail

Once up a time there lived a Heffalump.

Now this was a particularly fine Heffalump - he had a beautiful trunk, he was taller than most of his friends, he had been told that his ears were particularly magnificent. And more than just being an attractive specimen, Heffalump was both liked and respected by those around him. This Heffalump got invited to all the parties, other Heffalumps sought out his advice if they had a problem, and young Heffalumps wanted to be just like him when they grew up.

How this should have made our Heffalump a happy Heffalmup and he was - most of the time. Our Heffalump had a problem - he couldn't see his tail.

He could see everyone else's tails, he could feel his tail move when he wagged it. And he had been told more than once that his tail was as fine as his ears or his trunk or his height.

Now Heffalump knew that his ears were special, he knew that his height was more than just right. But deep inside him, he didn't know for sure that he believed his friends about his tail - he wondered if maybe his tail wasn't fine - after all everyone has a flaw or two - and if they were just being polite.

Over time this worried Heffalump more and more. He didn't eat much as his worrying took away his appetite. He lost condition. Heffalump began to second guess what his friends were saying - he reasoned that if they might be lying about his tail they might be lying about other things.

His friends grew worried. They tried to talk to him but nothing seemed to make a difference.

Eventually Heffalump wasn't invited to all of the parties anymore. And less people began to seek his advice. This suited Heffalump because he wasn't sure he wanted to spend so much time with the herd. He began to take long walks along in the forest by himself. Sometimes he didn't come back for days.

This habit went on for some years until one day he just didn't come back.

His friends took a while to notice. Some suggested they go look for him, others thought that maybe he was just taking a longer walk than usual. Still others, who began to forget that our Heffalump was once liked and respected - it had been so long since they say him laugh, so long since he had said just the right thing at the right time to fix their problem - began to wonder what the fuss was all about.

What became of our Heffalump, well no one but him knows.

So that is a tale about a tail.

Writer's Prompts Daily

Walk with Me

Walk with me, take my hand and walk with me. Together we can share the journey, show each others the wonders, help each other over the rocky sections, warm each other when it gets cold. We can walk over fields, up mountains and along sea shores. We can go anywhere so long as we are holding each other's hands.

I used to tramp and ramble alone and I loved it. I loved the exploration and the discoveries. I loved the freedom of deciding when and where and following the whim. I have walked here and there and everywhere and I wouldn't change a minute.

But now I don't want to walk so fast. I want to amble instead of power walk. I want to see more, experience more.

So take my hand and walk with me.

Writer's Prompts Daily

Hey Chickie

Hey Chickie, you going my way?
Aw, you don't have to be like that Chickie, I don't mean no harm.
So can I buy you a coffee Chickie Babe?
What about a drink?
Tomorrow, then.
Aw, Chickie, someone as beautiful as you shouldn't be saying such nasty things.
What about dinner Chickie Babe, can I take you to dinner?
Can I have your number Chickie, give you a call some time?
See this chain Chickie, it is real gold - I got dem bucks you know.
So you wanna be my Chickie babe?
No I am not following you, I am going this way Chickie, I told you I don't mean no harm.
Hey Chickie Babe, wanna walk with me?
Aw Chickie Babe, don't be like that, it aint ladylike now.
Do you smoke Chickie, can you spare a light?
Just give me ten minutes Chickie, okay give me one minute.
You're so hot Chickie Babe, don't brush me off.
Hey Chickie Babe, let me carry that for you, women like you should haven't to work like that.
You be fiiiiiine Chickie!
So you wanna be my Chickie Babe?
Don't be like that Chickie, that aint me.
So is that final Chickie?

Hey Chickie, you going my way? ....


Writer's Prompts Daily

As Dreams Go By

Do you remember when? You know, the Sundays when we would grab some fish and chips and a bottle of champagne and go down to the beach to watch the storm come in.

We would sit in the car in the sunshine and watch the clouds beginning to form on the far horizon. And then as we ate our food, toasted each other and had silly conversations, the clouds would begin their crawl towards us.

We could watch the rain progress like a curtain across the water.

We could watch the changing colors and texture of the sea .... well that might have just been me, I am not sure it was your thing.

We could talk of other storms and fireplaces and keeping warm.

We could hold our breath as the curtain got to the water's edge - it wasn't miles to go now, only feet - and then .....

The delicious moment when the rain hit the car.

A kiss to seal it all.

Writer's Prompts Daily

It's A Matter of Perspective

They gave her the label that implied she was broken, maybe not defective as such, but not perfect, not like the rest. And people accepted the label and stopped looking for the real beauty, stopped seeing her for what she really was.

And we all went along with it - after all she was
too tall
flat chested
boobs on legs
black
white
a whore
fat
skinny
"emotional"
a victim of ....
pre-menstral
menopausal
high-maintenance
blonde
frigid
not smart enough
too smart
a barbie
"independent"
a lesbian
barren
a bitch
a slut
just a pretty face.

No wonder she felt like she should be in the gutter.

But if you look at her, you may see a tear, but you will also see her radiance. Pick her up, nurture her - see her for all of her.

Writer's Prompts Daily

The Parcel

"I am going to send you a present"

"You don't have to do that"

"I am not doing it because I have to" (laughs)

"That's not what I meant"

"I know. So what present do you want?"

(aaah) "I don't want anything"

"Everyone wants something"

"Not me"

"Okay let me think - books, too easy. Jewelery, not you.

"You don't have to do this you know"

"We have been through that. Lingerie, na, you wouldn't wear it. A painting, no your walls are full"

"Are you finished yet?"

"Not till you tell me what you want"

"I have no idea"

"Yes you do, you juts don't know it yet. Plants, well you like your garden so that is a good idea, and you have some inside plants too. A food hamper - no you can cook better than anything I can buy"

"What if I did have a little idea"

"Well ...." (silence)

"I do want one thing, maybe"

"Finally" (laughs)

"I want to be loved"

Writer's Prompts Daily

Story Time

The stories are not just fairy tales they are the history of a people that stretches over nearly 100,000 years. They are the stories of the Dreaming and why the world is the way it is. They are the lessons on what to eat, when to travel and how to treat each other. The songlines are maps that allow peoples to traverse thousands of miles. They are passed from generation to generation with a scared trust that will allow their transmission for time forever more.

In my culture (a white Western one) we are reliant on the written word - in books, in newspapers, in documents of all kinds to keep records - if I want to check something I can look it up, if I want to understand something, I can research it. So many cultures, including the many indigenous peoples of Australia, have traditionally relied on oral traditions.

I understand it but I cannot comprehend the nature of being the storyteller or the keeper of the tales - the honor, the responsibility, the need to tell the stories just as they were told to me, to teach the dances the way they have always been taught, to ensure that the generations that would come after me would understand themselves, their land, they culture.

I am fortunate to live in an age where people of my culture can learn some of the stories too - from books and tv and radio and the internet. In my community one of the Uncles even does a traditional storytelling sometimes. And I can learn the stories from my land - Noongar country, and the land I live on - Gumbaynggir country, from all over Australia. And I can learn stories from all over the world from peoples that all have something to teach, something to contribute.

Those who call them "primitive" have got it oh so wrong.

Writer's Prompts Daily

Splat!

Learning how to walk is something that most of us only have to do once. An inherent lesson is that you will fall- sometimes it will hurt, sometimes it won't but you need to take the risk in order for that extra degree of independence.

The first time I saw Jaida fall on her butt while learning how to walk (on of those non-hurt-yourselves-fall) I cracked up laughing - it was such a definite "splat", I said it out loud in between guffaws. I noticed her face was about to launch into one of those "I fell over so I must cry" moments but then there was a flicker and then she laughed too. And so "splat" entered our world.

By the time Jaz came along and was going through the same stage, Jaida was an expert. There were "splats" flying left, right and centre. Jaz, ever the entertainer, started doing it just for the reaction. Jaida joined in and instead of playing "statues" we played "splat".

You can never have too much laughter in your life. And it continues over the years as they ask me to tell them a story about when they were little - which is usually a repeat of a core three or four stories.

And I know that as I have grown there are times I too go splat - maybe not literally but certainly metaphorically. I try so hard not to screw up my face and wail in embarrassment and pain that isn't there - I just call out splat and see how long I can laugh for :-)

Writer's Daily Prompts