Today, the river of life is warm.
It’s all the lovely things.
Today, the river of life is warm.
It’s all the lovely things.
I’m sitting by the fire in the black of the night.
The sun shines on the other side of the world and yet here my mind is, alive without it, wondering when sleep will call for me again. My nose is cold. I’m wondering how I might fix that, too.
When the night wakes me, I lay in bed for the longest time, quite clear about the world inside of me. It’s a mystery, isn’t it, that the answers we seek in the light of the day seem somehow more visible in the dark (the actual dark).
Perhaps this awake time is good for me. A gift of energetic privacy: a land of alone, where there is no one but me to answer to, no societal rules to burden me, no expectations to snuggle in with them.
All there is in the dark of night is me, and the fire, and the moon.
I am soothed by the quiet of that.
I’ll be asleep soon.
It’s 6:00 pm, and I’m fairly certain of it— tonight will be an 8:30 kind of night.
My goodness, it’s been a full twenty-four hours. My body is fighting a chest infection/cold and yet I’ve continued to move through life, sucking in just about every form of stimulation the universe has had to offer. However tiring, it’s been all sorts of lovely.
I spent a great deal of the day with one of my most precious friends, one of the few people in my life that I consider to be a ‘soul mate’ (and I’m sure I don’t need to explain the criteria needed to make this particular category of friends. It’s something your heart just knows, wouldn’t you say?)
Anyway, midway through my corn fritter, whilst trying desperately not to cough into the sugar bowl, it occurred to me just how much my homebody ways limit me from experiencing life’s good stuff. Like friends. Like coffee. Like coffee. ( I’m sorry, had I mentioned coffee, already?)
I’m an alone person, that much will never change. But today the universe reminded me that even alone people need someone else.
Bonus points for those of the ‘soul mate’ kind.
The soft girl spoke to me again.
She was quick, as usual, so quick I almost didn’t notice she’d come. But I caught her. Yes! And when I did, she spoke to me in moving pictures and silhouettes: a projected future scene, playing like a movie on the blank screen of my mind.
When her ‘flash’ of advice came I was on the couch, hugging my pink blankie and gobbling up leftover pizza. What songs might I play on my walk when it came time to brave the cold, I wondered. 80’s pop? Musical theatre? List by eclectic list rolled over in my musical mind’s eye, but a solid decision was yet to announce itself.
That’s when I heard her. Saw her.
And what did the soft girl whisper to me, you ask? She whispered a change of plans. Not an outright change, nothing drastic. Just a tweak. A slight nudge to move me into better alignment with the makings of a greater day. A greater me.
The soft girl showed me a vision of my walking track— the one I’d be springing along in the not too distant future, whistling up fat-armed gum trees, crunching along a pathway of pebbles grey, red, and brown.
But things were different in the soft girl’s version of events. In the soft girl’s version…I wasn’t alone. My little baby elephant— my adorably delightful five-year-old boy—had come along for the pebble crunch of it all, and it-felt-good. It felt…right.
It was that feeling, the feeling of rightness I experienced upon mentally viewing my little mister striding along beside me that confirmed it. The soft girl. Her subtle, intuitive language had whispered it’s quiet hello so that I might use it and make this life of mine better.
An hour later I walked out the front door, trailed by an ever so excited little boy. An hour after that…the two of us bounded back into the house, huffing, puffing and smiling from our Super Mario ‘star run’ down the street to home.
The soft girl got it right again today, the lovely duffer.
And my goodness, I’m grateful.
How I have adored you.
How you will linger
like the scent of cherry-chocolate
and minty tea
How you have moved me.
Opened my bright,
and soothed my aching
Ever my darling,
To my dearest blog friends,
I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed spending these days of May with you all, spilling my heart out, my joy, my sadness— my everything. Thank you for reading my words. Thank you for absorbing my hidden extras. Thank you for your friendship, your compassion, your insight.
Thank you for your inspiration.
It’s been fun. 🙂
Lots of love, Brooke.
Ps. See you tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. And probably the next. Because how could I leave you now? Let’s see how this blog post a day works out for a bit longer shall we? xx
My hands are not happy with me. If there were little faces in the middle of my palms, both faces would feature a raised eyebrow and an angry forehead, absolutely. They’ve had a big day, the poor muffins. But because they’ve had a big day…I’ve had a good one. A satisfying one.
It all started when a GIGANTIC load of firewood landed in the driveway. I’d just finished putting my little girl into bed when I noticed the truck and the man and the wood, ALL the wood, goodness gracious me.
I called my husband and tried to explain to him the faces my hands had begun to make in preparation for the mammoth effort that lay in front of me. In other words. Oh, bother. Wood. In driveway. Who is going to move it? Oh, yes, that’s right: me.
My husband (who was at work, probably grinning) suggested that I tidy the firewood storage area and, If I could do that by the time he got home, he would happily do the lifting, the wheelbarrowing, the stacking. The stacking. The stacking.
Well, could I just leave it, and wait for a man?
I would not just leave it there, NO, Sam I Am!
Instead, me and my little people bundled into our ‘cold day’ clothes, and with the Super Mario Brothers theme song blipping away in the background, Mummy moved the wood. All of it. All-of-it.
What a legend.
What an amazing, awesome, mega wonderful—and unbelievably modest—super champion I am.
How to convince my aching hands that this whole wooden adventure has all been worth it?
This may take a while.
My glasses are shining back at me from the library window.
In hindsight, I should have eaten. Actual lunch I mean, not just the Honey and Date Loaf that quite accidentally fell into my belly at around lunchtime today. I know I should have chosen a more appropriate lunch because I’ve been wandering around the library for an hour, in a daze, and only now have I begun to write: a blog post, might I add, that will likely make little to no sense at all, whatsoever, in the slightest, or even a little bit. (See what I mean? I have no one to blame but myself.)
Apart from a total lack of regard for my perfectly innocent human body, it’s been a wonderful day. The ‘wonderful’ began with a song about a garden. I was on my way to meet my husband and little people at the pool, wrestling with the gear stick of my husband’s zippy little beetle bug (I’ve never been a multitasker) when the lady on the radio announced the next song. Inspired by a home garden, apparently.
A song about a garden: I was intrigued.
By the end of the song— a dainty classical number, whirling with piano and violin— the butterflies in my heart had moved me out of my body and into a lavender-scented cottage garden.
Beautiful. Magical. Lovely.
Really it was.
When life returned to normal, I swam with my ‘watch this Mummy!’ little girl. I ate cake and I drank coffee. I wandered the shops, and I wandered the library, and here I am now. Writing a completely random blog post like only a hungry cooky girl can.
It’s been a happy kind of day (however random) thanks for asking. ☺️I’m sorry about the ‘not really about anything’ blog post.
Tomorrow will be better. Maybe. Probably.
I’ve blown up the heater, again. Both of them. First the ducted heating, then the little beige buzzy thing I set up to replace it. That went within ten minutes of me turning it on, so I suppose this means we really will need to get the fire going tonight. (Not a tragedy. I so adore the warmth and romance of a wood fire, don’t you?)
I thought I’d do a bit of a waffle session on the blog, today. The ‘soft girl’ has been punishing you all with philosophical musings for quite a few days now, and let’s face it— some days are absolutely made for waffling. Today is one of them. Friday! My favorite day of the week.
Friday is like a deep breath, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s even a gasp, for some, like breaching the surface of a way too deep week of work. The end of the working week is a comfort that most of us cling to as a means of reward, celebration, and escape. And, by most of us, I mean…me. I’ve always loved that about Friday, the feeling of peace and closure attached to it.
But I also hate that. Why should we (human folk) feel the need to rush through life, just so we can make it to that place where all the good things live. Family. Me time. Time to work for ‘the self’, rather than for ‘the self of someone else’.
I dream of the day we all slot into our perfect puzzle pieces. The day we all stand up and say, actually no. I feel there is something more for me, something that will light my soul on fire and have me feeling just a little less excited about Friday. About the weekend.
Yes, I’m a dreamer. But it’s possible. Anything is.
Well. At least, I think so. 🙂
Happy weekend, my beautiful bloggy friends.
Oh! And, Happy Friday! 🙂
Life is too short to dismiss the possibility of fairies.
I’ve never seen one.
And the imposter within me doesn’t even believe.
But I’ll never stop looking.
I’ll never stop pestering my children to look.
And when we find such magical lands as this…
I’ll look harder.
Ps: This is a public garden about twenty minutes from my home. Isn’t it the most beautiful place?
And then her name was Mum.
Just like that.
Happy Mothers day,
I see you.
And you are all the bits of magic.
Lots of love,
Brooke. xxx (Aka: Mum.)