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

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

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 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

Color My World

Some colors just go together, others don't look quite as right. And this applies whether you are a painter, fashion designer, decorator or whatever.

Nature though ignores this rule completely. Nature is not aware of the color wheel, of complementary colors or contrasting options. Nature has never heard the "rule" 'red and green should never be seen and blue and green should never be seen without something in between'. Nature's palette is determined by other factors and the result is amazing.

The ocean continually amazes me with its changing palette of shades of blue and turquoise and grey and green and silver and aqua.

The sky mixes various blues and white of clouds during the day and then exploding at sunset in reds and purples and oranges and corals and silver. Nighttime makes it black highlighted with the sparkles of stars, the greys of clouds. Sunrise is a muted palette of pastels in all shades.

Flowers of all sizes mix colors like an abstract painter under the influence of hallucinogens. And that doesn't even begin to describe who they choose to grow next to, or the planting patterns that we come up with.

And of course, fruit comes in all colors - eating a fruit salad is more than a collection of vitamins and different textures - it is a rainbow for the body. I personally, wouldn't have it any other way.

Writer's Daily Prompts

Morning Tea

I remember when you didn't meet up for coffee, you went to someone's house for morning tea (or afternoon tea depending on the schedule). Traditionally there would be three to five options available for guests. There was always hot scones, scalded or whipped cream and homemade jam (two varieties). And from there the creativity of the hostess took off. My personal favorites were: lemon marshmallow slice, shortbread with passionfruit icing, hedgehog slice, orange syrup cake, vanilla slice and custard creams with real butter icing and a touch of passionfruit.

There was mugs for the coffee drinkers and cups and saucers for those partaking in tea.

Any unlike today's High Tea tradition, you didn't need to get poshed up. Okay you didn't go in your gardening clothes either but you get the idea. And this wasn't an "event" it just, well, "was". The hostess didn't go to any trouble as such (it is no big deal to whip up a batch of scones or bake a cake) because baking was a regular part of life - you always had a cake and a slice or biscuits around the house.

Some of these women worked from home, others part time - all worked at the school canteen, the local show and a dozen other community events. And all were members of at least two community groups, and then there was the sporting clubs and maybe even a church group or two.

I remember the first time someone served Tim Tams - there was a mixture of shock that she served a "bought" item to serve to guests and relish that this holy treat was sitting in front of me, and that the plate would soon be offered in my direction. I had a similar experience with Kingstons :-)

At these morning teas (usually for between 5 and 15 guests - plus little kids) there would be lots of chatting about life and gardens and family and the goings-on of the world. There would be support for those who needed it. There was the organizing of babysitting swaps, recipe swaps, clothes swaps, magazine swaps and general advice swaps. It was women being a part of the sisterhood that has carried through generations since time immemorial.

This was a time of history that has well and truly gone - the sisterhood is still there, we just have recreated it to suit our world and lives - but I am so glad I got to experience it before it vanished completely.

Writer's Prompts Daily

Moments in Time

There are two moments in the day when time almost stands still - the first is just after sunrise and the second (you guessed it) just before sunset. The light seems to hang in the air for a few moments longer than it should before it continues on the inevitable path of time, of cycles, of change.

If one is lucky, you can have moments in your own life when the same time-stopping magic happen - maybe a first kiss with someone special, holding your child in your arms, crossing a finishing line. I have heard some deep philosophical discussions on this but I don't want the moments analysed - I want them there to be experienced and remembered.

And I do, everyday, in that moment after sunrise and the moment before sunset.

Writer's Daily Prompts

These Boots Were Made for Walking ....

I have dreams of bushwalking.

The big one would be hiking through the Tasmanian mountains carrying my pack on my back. Being that it is a dream I would probably start with a weekender but I would love to do a week long hike - taking photos on the way.

WA's Bibbilum Track would be longer (I think they say 4 - 6 weeks) but much easier (WA is pretty flat compared to Tassie) but to go in wildflower season with a camera in hand would be a once-in-a-lifetime investment.

For an afternoon, the Bundagen walk - admittedly I wouldn't need the boots for this one. It is a very easy 6 km - 3 km on mossy tracks through the rainforest, 3 km on the beach and not a hill in site.

Yes, these boots would have a good life and end up with many stories to tell - although I can't promise they will stay looking clean and new for very long.

Maybe they dream of bushwalking too ....

Writer's Prompts Daily