I’M THE GIRL
I’m the girl who loves cats, scrawny or fat, fluffy or flat, cuddly or coy.
I’m the girl who loves the jingle jangle of an armful of bangles, and the sweet sentimental memories of an amethyst necklace.
I’m the girl who loves cats, scrawny or fat, fluffy or flat, cuddly or coy.
I’m the girl who loves the jingle jangle of an armful of bangles, and the sweet sentimental memories of an amethyst necklace.
Our home on the farm was a small, off-white, timber house with a grey roof, and an assortment of grey galvanised iron sheds spread about. Surrounding the house was a vegetable garden with seasonal vegetables like pumpkin, beans and rockmelon, as well as a small number of flowers. In my early years the house had a lean-to kitchen and three main rooms – mum and dad’s bedroom, the dining room, and a spare room for visitors.
I know his story intimately well. September 17 1968. I’m just two and a half when Christian is born at Calvary Hospital. Five weeks later he’s gone. A perfectly healthy baby boy, dying in his sleep. Sudden infant death syndrome the doctors said. A syndrome. It’s not how my parents describe it.
Sandra shares her inspirational story of discovering strength, fitness and a whole new outlook on life at the age of 56.
In order to successfully publish my memoir next year (hopefully next year) I need to have people to tell about it. So in a desperate and shameless act of self promotion, I’ve created an author page on Facebook and I’d be very chuffed if you liked it.
Eurydice Dixon was raped and murdered last week. I confess, prior to hearing the news, I had never heard of the fledgling […]
This morning I woke to the news one of our founding members, mother to the firstborn of the August 1996 babies (arriving early, in June 1996) passed away suddenly and unexpectedly.
As I may have mentioned once or thrice, I suck at art. And the thought of doing art therapy leaves me feeling cold and slightly nauseated. However, it is also true the art therapist is not only a lovely person, but also a very good therapist. Plus she’s nice to me – and by that I mean, she often lets me write in lieu of drawing. So here’s a few of my art therapy, “works of art”. Spontaneously produced. Unedited. Raw. Cheerless…
How small a world becomes when locked away, be that lock constructed of our own fruition.
I am a master procrastinator. Yes. It’s true. When I want to do something, or necessity dictates I have to get off my butt right now, I’m an amazing gogetter. But when I’m feeling a bit blergh about something, or don’t really want to do it, I can out-procrastinate the world champion procrastinators. In fact I believe if there were such a competition, I’d be inclined to win.
I’ve been away (again) for four nights – in a beautiful shack by the sea for a couple of nights with a friend, then a couple of nights with my husband (not friend and husband at the same time – just to be very clear for anyone wondering). It’s time to go home today, but I was thinking how very calm and peaceful I feel while I’m here – for myriad reasons – and it occurred to me – I’m very much a nature gal
Today I did some dream writing. It was a technique I learned through Joanne when I did her Seven Day Challenge. I was super teary and tired when I started the day today. It’s been a bit of a rough road but you know – that’s life. These things happen. It’ll be fine. I knew I needed to do some writing and couldn’t think of what I needed to write. So I thought I would do some dream writing – I want to mix and match a lot of writing over the period of this January challenge (have I mentioned the January challenge is to write a thousand words every single day? Which doesn’t daunt me in the least. But I don’t want to write the same thousand words in the same boring place every day.) So today I thought – dream writing. And I did. Dream writing involves setting a timer for a set period of time (just 15 minutes today), starting with a “prompt”, and then letting your hand flow across the page for the entire time without stopping or resting or going back at all – just an unbroken stream of thoughts. I wrote the prompt “In the clinic I hope to…” and then my hand flew across the page for fifteen minutes with the following stream of consciousness.
I’ve started reading again. Please let it be known, this is very good news – on numerous levels. In case you haven’t picked up on it before, I have a somewhat addictive nature, and one of the many ways I’ve numbed myself is with candy crush. I take no pride in this. It is a stupid, trivial, pointless game. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with playing candy crush if you’re the kind of person who pops on and plays a couple of levels every now and then. But if you’re like me and managed to get past level 3000 in a depressingly short period of time, then clearly there’s a problem. And no – I haven’t spent any money on it – just a ton of time, which is far more valuable than money.
Well it’s been 25 days since last I wrote – that is a long time for verbacious me! I haven’t been slacking off […]
I have a confession… I am feeling a teensy bit of pride. Pride is something I feel very uncomfortable with – it […]