The well trodden path

Piper fled to Europe.

Although she was not technically running from anything or anyone, she felt as if she needed to get away quickly. So she booked her flight, packed her bag, deferred university, quit her job and left a note for her housemate all inside an hour. She was in a taxi to the airport before she could lose her nerve.

When she was over the Atlantic her housemate discovered her note, shrugged his shoulders and opened a beer to watch television like he did every evening. She had left him the kettle, toaster, microwave and DVD player and knew he would be happy with these in exchange for a months rent. He would soon find another housemate to take her place as the flat was in the city and dirt cheap.

With loose ends tied up she pondered airplane food, deep vein thrombosis and french buns. She had an unsatisfying conversation with a fellow passenger about the dangers of jet flight. She had watched Grey Gardens on the small monitor in front of her and whacked her knee on the dinner cart on the way to the bathroom. She had read part of a book on European architecture, fallen asleep twice to be woken by a baby grizzling for mother’s milk. All of these things had happened before she wondered what the hell she was doing. In the grip of a question for which she did not know the answer, she had her first bona fide panic attack.

Remembering something vaguely about paper bags she searched the small pouch in front of her frantically. Her hands fumbled as she flicked the in-flight magazine and laminated safety card backwards and forwards desperately trying to establish the whereabouts of a thin paper vessel she could clasp around her mouth and nose and breathe into. Midst this searching the stewardess noticing her distress glided silently over to her and handed her a bag. Cupping her shoulder in her hand the stewardess flashed a beauty pageant smile and then silently glided away.

The short interaction served to distract Piper. What the hell was that? Her dazzling smile was supposed to transition the traveller seamlessly from hysteria to bliss? Slightly stunned she watched as the stewardess sashayed back up the aisle, occasionally leaning in to check on a passenger, working her magic and spreading world peace.

And so a moment where she could have succumbed to anxiety was saved by an orthodontic enhanced smiling air stewardess. There was most definitely great comedy in life.

Washing it all away

It rained.

It rained for days, so hard and so heavy it washed everything away.

It washed away the drought and the top soil.

It washed away river banks, pulling over river gums, turning bird nests into small boats, till they became water logged and sodden and pulled into the muddy maelstrom.

Cattle moved to higher ground were they stood waiting for lakes to recede to dams.

It crept between my jacket and my shirt, a drip turning quickly into a trickle.

I felt disappointment fall away, saturated and spent. I saw it drift down river with guilt and anxiety. Funny how strange you feel without the usual heavy heart.

I was liberated by a torrent of water.

Now I step lightly through the puddles, with a tingle all the way down into my fingertips.

St. Andrews Market

And feeling good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues,
You know feeling good was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.

Some Saturday mornings there is no better place to be.

This morning I bought a necklace and pendant for my mother in law, a beautiful broken piece of blue and white porcelain depicting a tulip and leaf framed in silver; pieces of Rose Quartz, Chrysophrase, Yellow Calcite and my favourite Aquamarine; organic eggs; organic swiss brown button mushrooms; and a coffee.

The best part about a visit to my local market is that something will make me laugh, a real hold your belly and choke type of laugh. This week it was a food stall owner. Last week he had an opinion chalked on his blackboard in white- this week he added a few words. I asked him if I could take a photo. He said yes if he could be in it......

Words of wisdom and apology

The half way mark

Yes I am just over half way through my first year of trying to write regularly.

Feeling slightly nostalgic, and I really have no right to, I wonder what it is I have learned?

One thing mainly- you just have to try. Oh, and then you have to get people to read it, and get their feedback. There is no magic formula, no correct way of approaching the matter. At times I apply strategy sketching an outline as if planning to open a business, other times random moments become frenzied words flying across the page with no respect for time of day or structure.

I will continue as I am having a ball creating and weaving these characters that develop on the paper before me.

My next step is a short story course which I hope will take me to another level in my development.

Watch this space.......and thanks for your feedback so far.

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