I want to be an independent woman with enough financial security to provide me freedom. I want to continue writing and speaking and have time to dedicate to making art. When my daughter is older, I would quite like to be a counsellor or work in the funeral industry, consoling the grieving. I would love to age as these majestic ladies have aged!
Here are links to some of my recent work on Siren Empire.
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There are so many on my list! I am beguiled by my daughter’s enthusiasm for travel, and of course, must include the places she desperately wants to see!
Paris. We don’t want to go the tourist route; rather, we want to see Paris through a bohemian’s eyes. We want to dine at places off the usual map, and see wonders that aren’t in the brochures.
New York. It has the gritty, tough and optimistic energy of Sydney. Beautiful architecture and a big heart.
London. Actually, the UK as a whole! The history, the colour and the art. I reckon we could live there if it wasn’t so cold!
Australia. Our country is so expansive, that it would take many years to see it all! Heck, just getting around the beaches in NSW is a task in itself!
After conferring with my daughter, we have decided that we can’t narrow it down. We want to see everywhere in the world; the good, the confronting and the visually beautiful. We would like to do this all at once!
I woke at 5am, and made myself a cup of coffee. I am still on instant. Who has time for coffee machines to do their thing? My activity stirred the guinea pigs, who began squeaking for breakfast, shortly followed by the birds. When munchkin got up, she had her usual soy rashers in olive oil (she calls then not-bacon). She then made herself a hard-boiled egg in our Eggo, a little machine that tweets when the egg is done! We were at the bus stop by 7am, in perfect time for the express service. Our train was waiting at the station, so our travel was seamless. It is a rare thing! My daughter was going to do a puppet workshop, with a renowned puppeteer and ceramic teacher from the UK. We were early, so I went in search of refreshments and we happened across a Les Mis costume exhibition!
It is my daughter’s birthday soon, and she found herself the perfect gift in Mozi, a Melbourne designer’s store. It was a dear little tent. She wants to set it up with soft toys and cushions. Every kid needs a fort and the lady gave us 10% off as it was floor stock! 
My daughter attended the four hour workshop with the dear fellow and his wife from the UK. They quite often teach adults the act of puppet-making, and expressed sorrow that many grown-ups find it difficult to use their imaginations to make up a storyline. They came prepared with old plastic bottles, which became the puppet heads. They had already done the foundation, so the kids could begin painting. The children had a ball working together on a storyline, which they presented to us.
Afterward, we went back to the shops, and I bought my daughter some educational games. I then had the best peppermint tea of my life!
On our way to the station, we met a tame cockatoo. He was the dearest little thing. He came right up to my daughter! I was too enamoured by the scene to take a photo. We reluctantly left him to get to the platform. To our astonishment, he followed us! I had visions of him hopping onto my shoulder and catching the train home with us, but his friend flew down and coaxed him away. It was a glorious day! My spine was extremely painful, to the point I feared I may pass out from the pain. Fortunately I didn’t! In those times, I fly away from this body, and absorb myself in the sights, sounds and experience around me. It helps if those things are beautiful!
My wonderful friend, Swamiyesudas has just posted a piece about kindness over on his blog, urging everyone to perform an act of kindness each day. Imagine the ripple effect! My child never ceases to amaze me with her understanding of kindness. A few weeks ago, a little friend of hers had to have some medical tests. She was concerned about her friend, and wanted to go along for support. We were just about to leave the house to go meet them when my daughter turned around and ran into her room. She came out with her beloved bulldog, made at a soft-toy party a few years ago. She gave it to her little friend, and the joy exuding from both of them lit up the train carriage as we made our way into the city. Her friend had found a light sabre on their last playdate, and gave it to my daughter to keep. My kid hadn’t forgotten her kindness. It is hard to describe how ecstatic my daughter was when we bumped into her friend at the shops a few days later. There she was, clutching the bulldog. “She loves him!” my daughter exclaimed. “Yes, she certainly does!” I smiled.
Last weekend, I took her into the city. There were hoards of people around as we strolled through Haymarket, and I grabbed a hold of her hand. Suddenly, she paused. She retrieved the pocket-money from her purse and went over to a man sitting on the ground. He had two little dogs next to him, and was strumming The Beatles’ Blackbird on his guitar. She gave him everything in her purse. He looked up and smiled, tears in his eyes. As we continued walking, she said, “mum, I have a tingle all over. Giving feels wonderful doesn’t it?” Yes it does darling, yes it does. A child noticed a homeless man and his little dogs. I hope that he does indeed take his broken wings and learn to fly.
As we walked through Darling Quarter, we came across a table filled with exquisite paper flowers. A lady smiled at my daughter, and handed her one. I took an information card. They were giving away flowers in honour of Esther Day. Esther was sixteen when she died, and her wish was for people to spread love to others. She would be proud of these beautiful people, I am sure. Kindness is given and received, in an endless cycle of magnanimity.
The next day we met a grand elderly lady called Anna at the bus stop. I told her that I had been admiring her colourful way of dressing for the longest while, and had been meaning to tell her. She would board the bus smiling, her slight figure clothed in emerald, sapphire and ruby-red hats and coats. We got into a conversation, and she told us that she volunteered at our local palliative care ward, sitting with loved ones, offering cups of tea and comfort. My little girl was regaled by her stories, and sat with her the whole bus trip, Anna’s arm around her. Kindness goes around in an endless cycle of magnanimity…
To learn more about Esther Day and many other inspiring projects, check out The Deluminators
Siren Empire is a fabulous website that has gone live this past weekend, and I am thrilled to have been one of its writers. The editor is a visionary, and it has been a thrill to see the site spring to life. I have interviewed some amazingly colourful, vibrant and inspiring characters, and hope to do more profiles in the future. Here is a link to information about me.
Check out the inspirational Alessandro
Here is a piece about a dear friend of mine, who has made me lose any fear of aging, Dawn
Siren Empire is a wondrous mixture of colour, art, ideas, life and inspiring people. Check out the entire site!
MURTA
In 1905 an iridescent fey shed her gossamer wings and slid into a world of hand-wringing and sleep draughts. As she took her first breath, her mother took her last. “I have birthed a numinous creature, and its enough,” her mother sighed. “Its more than enough.” Murta’s tiny hand firmly gripped her mother’s wedding band.
As her life progressed, pastoral scenes and snatches of bliss made life seem a useful pastime. Tendrils of honey tumbled down her slight shoulders. Her eyes were Wedgewood blue, as though crazy-lace agates had been prepared for instalment. Pulverized Herkimer diamonds were scattered around her iris. Murta tremulously held her step-sister in her plush pink hands. Seven months of incubation hadn’t been enough and the babe left this world, despite Murta’s pleadings. She comforted Ma Ma (her stepmother), and wrapped her sister in a peach bunny rug,placing her in the icebox until the official farewell.
In time, Ma Ma delivered a little boy. Murta anxiously watched over Clint throughout the eventide, the silence broken by the redwood repeater in the hall. She stroked his cheek with her little finger,the summer evening engorged with floral aromas piped into the rhythmic breeze. Ma Ma admired the children from the veranda as she gripped the iron lacework. Murta was teaching Clint to ride his pony. She loved her little brother, a blessed gift from another woman.
Murta’s head was turned as a young socialite. Douglas Fairbanks had nothing on this young doctor. Mesmerized, Murta hurried when he called, his voice carrying her to Bowen in far Nth Queensland. She was impetuous, imbibing at parties thrown in the roaring twenties; climbing iron fences, dashing to the water’s edge. Wild, wilful, a dedicated suffragette. She caught a glimpse of herself as she polished a Venetian mirror. She smiled, recalling her box of secrets, fringed with satin ribbons.
She smuggled an orphaned joey onto a train in Brisbane and coaxed him to eat a little cereal. Murta proudly offered him to Clint. She watched from the veranda, rubbing her pendulous belly, her first child growing beneath her skin. She watched Clint, his hair falling over his absythne eyes. He and his best friend, Rex, played with the ‘roo and it bounded after them as a dog might. Robert, a sixteen year old chum, straggled after them. He admired Clint’s torrid, isatiable love affair with life.
(To be Continued)…
I wrote this when I was a little girl, and found it in a folder. I thought I would share it with you! I do love fairies!
The Rose Fairy
The soft morn’ dew settled on the grass,
Amid delighted laughs.
The sun rose in the sky above,
As the fairies had their bath.
Her face was little as a sliver of zest,
Her rose-red hair did flow.
Her lips scarlet as a robin’s chest.
The petals in her little hand would fell wherever she’d go.
I stumbled across her clear one day,
Whilst strolling through your garden.
She squeaked with fright when she saw me,
I said, “I beg your pardon.”
She giggled, “My name’s Mary-Bell, but you can call me Mary.
This is my home, roses I own, for I am their own rose fairy.”
I had to share these pictures. Guinea Pigs are a wonderful pet to have. They are affectionate, clever and eat the same things as their vegetarian humans!
It was the end of a heavy week, and I felt smashed. I would have touched base with Serena over the Queen’s Birthday long weekend… I miss you so much. We probably would have gone to see a movie, then ventured to the park with takeaway coffee. We would have giggled and talked about a myriad of things, completely unrelated.
Sunday, I went to a Biggest Morning Tea to raise funds for the Cancer Council. My friend’s home was awash with balloons, bobbing at the ceiling. Bright yellow, they represented those we have lost to cancer. Bright yellow, like sunshine and trilling canaries and everything hopeful. It was a solemn moment, writing messages and names onto the balloons.
Cancer may have threatened the lives of our loved ones, and taken some beautiful people away, but it can never steal the fight against this bastard of a disease. We will continue to fight you, smite you, sneer at you.
The event raised over a $1,000 and I know that as long as there are people willing to stand up to you, the battle shall one day be won. I once toured the Children’s Cancer Institute. I saw young researchers crouched over cramped desks in stuffy rooms without windows. They were working twelve-hour days, and their commitment was without end. One day you will be no more, but their names shall be written in the annals of time. When I hit the wall, overwhelmed by how many I love are seriously ill, flattened by grief over the loved ones lost, I think of these researchers. I think of a young cancer patient I know who was part of a trial and whose cancer has retreated rather than advanced. To know what is happening behind the scenes-to have seen it with your own eyes-is a wondrous thing.
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 