In the Garden – Written for children 8-10
Poppy winds her way along the gravel path, edged with smooth black rocks from the nearby gorge. Poppy can smell the quiet and warm smell of sunshine. A little yellow butterfly stops her in her tracks. It hovers near her face and she can see the veins through the clear wings. It stays for a while, darts into the flowers then returns, eager for Poppy to follow.
Poppy was the name her mother had given her because she reminded her of a new flower, a bud springing into life, a happy dancing red poppy flower. She had inherited her mother’s passion for flowers. Even at only 8 years old, she is a master at flower arrangements and she has been asked to make up flowers for the Harvest Festival at the local church.
The butterfly leads her past the rose garden where the long straggly and thorny stems bend and weave in the breeze. They are hanging out for a prune. She wanders around the bend, past the lavender bush. She pauses briefly to pick a couple of smooth mauve flower heads. Mum doesn’t mind her beheading the flowers, and she rubs the tiny buds in the palm of her hand.
“uuuuuuuuuuuum” she breathes in the sickly, heady but also fresh smell.
She spots the Sunflowers, smiling and peering out over the top of all the other flowers and shrubs. With big yellow heads the size of dinner plates they will be the focus of her arrangement. She wades through the front part of the flower bed and gets down on her hands and knees to cut the stems low down, then gently lifts them back onto the pathway. Five long, beautiful stems just lie there.
For just a few minutes Poppy stands still, her little hand protecting her eyes. She searches the flower gardens to decide what next. She can feel the excitement in her tummy as she visualises the flowers.
“I know!” she shouts to the yellow butterfly. “Let’s go” and they both skip along the path. Round by the fish pond there are two large clumps of Birds of Paradise. Their yellow and blue heads are strong and solid and there are no dead brown bits to spoil their look. Poppy picks just 3. She smiles as she recalls her Mum’s advice.
“Always collect flowers in uneven numbers”
And “keep it simple, just a couple of special blooms are more startling than a muddled mix.”
“So now I need 1 something. Something extraordinary” says Poppy.
The yellow butterfly is going berserk. He is flying backwards and forwards, he seems to be getting agitated and keeps returning to Poppy’s side. Obediently Poppy follows down into the glade of trees.
In the middle of the forest, a giant Liquid Amber tree has pride of place. Poppy looks up. His leaves are the most extraordinary colour of burnt orange and maroon. But they are high up in the tree, tempting but unreachable.
Head down and feeling just a little forlorn, she collects the Sunflowers and Birds of Paradise then detours around the tennis court. She starts to run as she notices a clump of Red Hot Pokers.
She grins. There will be ten Red Hot Pokers added to the Sunflowers and Birds of Paradise and won’t they look amazing alongside the rich orange carrots and yellow dappled pumpkins?
Sunday 31 January 2010
Something new (by Heather)
You're standing outside a restaurant next to a phone booth when, suddenly, it rings. Your gut tells you not to answer it, but with each ring you can't resist. Finally you pick up the phone – and end up having the most amazing night of your life.
Amber was just starting to relax when the bloody phone started ringing again. A pay phone isn’t supposed to ring at all, and there’s something bone-chillingly insistent about one that rings and rings and rings. Now it was starting up again, as if it were an alien that could see her standing there. She looked up the street hoping to see her dad’s big Lexus with its reassuring “Doctor” on the licence plate. For once, she just wanted to see him.
She tapped a toe. He KNEW her shift ended at midnight. And though he didn’t like her job, and he hated that she’d quit school, and as far as she could see he didn’t like anything about her – he had SAID he’d be here at midnight and where the bloody hell was he? She’d put in a six hour shift at the restaurant and she wanted her lift home and she wanted it NOW. Especially with the damn phone drilling away at her.
She pulled her short skirt down in the direction of the tops of her thigh high boots and shifted from one high heel to the other. Her feet were killing her. The neon sign flashing “Danny’s Diner” turned off, meaning that Danny had left by the back way and was pulling out himself. She felt very alone.
On the seventh ring, she could stand it no longer. She darted toward the phone booth, muttering, “All right, all right, already!” She pushed open the folding door and grabbed the battered handset.
“Hello?” she said carefully.
A hysterical female voice immediately assaulted her. “Hello, hello, you help, you help me, you come up here now!”
“Wait a minute. What are you talking about? This is a phone booth, I’ve just…”
“I know phone box, I know phone number of this box,” the voice shouted. “I see you there. You nice girl, you help me. I have baby coming, I need help now.”
Amber reeled backwards, nearly dropping the receiver. “Lady, you need to call triple-0. You need an ambulance.”
The note of hysteria increased. “No, no ambulance, no hospital. You come now, I see you, you see me and come up. Door open!”
Reluctantly, Amber looked up at the row of flats above the restaurant. Sure enough, she could see a face and a wildly waving hand on the top floor, in window nearest the stairwell. In her ear, the tenor of the voice changed. There was an anguished groan and a clank as the phone hit something hard.
Amber stared at the window. Now only a white hand was visible, palm pressed to the glass.
“You come please. I so scared,” the voice said, more quietly. “Baby coming now.”
Amber swallowed and reached a decision. “I’ll be right there,” she said. “It’ll be okay.”
Why did I say that? she asked herself fervently. This is NOT okay! She dropped the phone into its cradle and pressed out the door, catching a heel on the door frame and nearly tripping. She ran toward the building, grabbing her phone out of her bag as she went. She found her father’s number in her call list and rang. As she raced up the steps, she got his voice mail recording. “Dad, where the hell are you? I think a woman is having a baby and I need you!” She gave him the location and ended the call.
She reached the door near the top of the stairwell, swallowed hard and stepped in.
Amber glanced about her. It was a tiny room, sparsely furnished and very neat. She saw a little buddha on an intricate table under a mirror with a colourful frame. And on the floor, leaning against the wall under the window, an Asian girl, looking younger than Amber herself, sat on a white blanket that had been laid out precisely. She clutched a mobile phone. She wore a faded sundress, darkened at the armpits. Her black hair was matted with sweat. She was wildly holding her bulging stomach and writhing in pain, barely acknowledging Amber’s presence. “Baby want to come,” she gasped between clenched teeth. “I cannot, I cannot. Hurt so bad.”
Amber closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to remember what her father had done the time she had watched him deliver the baby in the subway station. She met the girl’s terrified eyes, removed the phone from her grasp and took her hand. “It’s okay; you’re doing fine; this is the worst part. It’ll be better if you squat. Like this,” she scrambled to demonstrate while her boots resisted the sharp bend.
“I feel baby coming,” the girl groaned.
Amber balanced herself with a hand and leaned down to check. “Jesus. Jesus Christ, it’s coming, it’s coming, I can see the head crowning. It’s coming!” She looked at the girl in amazement, then willed her voice to sound calm. “It’s all good, relax a moment. You’re doing great. Okay, push now. Push!”
Amber held out her hands as she watched the impossibly big head with its shock of dark hair emerge. She cried, “That’s it, that’s it, push again; I’ve got it, I’ve got the baby, I’ve got it!” Her voice dropped and she found herself blinded by tears as she held the tiny blue squirming being. “I’ve got him,” she whispered.
She carefully untangled the baby from the umbilical cord. The baby reached for breath and suddenly a cascade of sound emerged from the tiny lungs. He wailed an indignant roar, and in a moment the little blue body was flooded with colour. Amber reverently pressed the tiny body into the arms of its exhausted mother, then slid to a sitting position, her shiny boots out in front of her.
“No hospital,” the girl repeated, holding tightly to Amber’s hand as she pleaded with Amber’s father. “Please no hospital.” She lay now on her bed, the baby contented on her belly. She looked to be summoning energy for one last battle.
Amber huddled close to her father. He had arrived shortly after the young mother had delivered the afterbirth, and had matter-of-factly checked over both patients before cutting the umbilical cord. Amber looked at him questioningly. “She’s likely not here legally,” he said to Amber, “and she doesn’t want to come to the attention of the authorities.” He studied the girl closely. “You are very healthy,” he said. “And your baby is healthy. But you will need help with this. Who do you have who can help you?”
“My cousin is here, this her place, but she away for today. She back soon and she help me.”
Amber took her father’s arm. “Dad, I’ll stay with her tonight. I’ll just be here, like a nurse in the hospital, in case she needs something. I’ll ring you if I need help.”
Her father regarded her closely. She held his gaze.
Finally he turned to the mother. “I will come in the morning to make sure you are both okay,” he said. He took one last blood pressure reading while the mother stared at him, relief in her eyes.
He packed his bag and then stopped in front of Amber, who was supporting herself by leaning against the back of a chair whilst unzipping a boot.
Without a word, he tousled her hair.
Without a word, she reached out and hugged him closely.
Amber was just starting to relax when the bloody phone started ringing again. A pay phone isn’t supposed to ring at all, and there’s something bone-chillingly insistent about one that rings and rings and rings. Now it was starting up again, as if it were an alien that could see her standing there. She looked up the street hoping to see her dad’s big Lexus with its reassuring “Doctor” on the licence plate. For once, she just wanted to see him.
She tapped a toe. He KNEW her shift ended at midnight. And though he didn’t like her job, and he hated that she’d quit school, and as far as she could see he didn’t like anything about her – he had SAID he’d be here at midnight and where the bloody hell was he? She’d put in a six hour shift at the restaurant and she wanted her lift home and she wanted it NOW. Especially with the damn phone drilling away at her.
She pulled her short skirt down in the direction of the tops of her thigh high boots and shifted from one high heel to the other. Her feet were killing her. The neon sign flashing “Danny’s Diner” turned off, meaning that Danny had left by the back way and was pulling out himself. She felt very alone.
On the seventh ring, she could stand it no longer. She darted toward the phone booth, muttering, “All right, all right, already!” She pushed open the folding door and grabbed the battered handset.
“Hello?” she said carefully.
A hysterical female voice immediately assaulted her. “Hello, hello, you help, you help me, you come up here now!”
“Wait a minute. What are you talking about? This is a phone booth, I’ve just…”
“I know phone box, I know phone number of this box,” the voice shouted. “I see you there. You nice girl, you help me. I have baby coming, I need help now.”
Amber reeled backwards, nearly dropping the receiver. “Lady, you need to call triple-0. You need an ambulance.”
The note of hysteria increased. “No, no ambulance, no hospital. You come now, I see you, you see me and come up. Door open!”
Reluctantly, Amber looked up at the row of flats above the restaurant. Sure enough, she could see a face and a wildly waving hand on the top floor, in window nearest the stairwell. In her ear, the tenor of the voice changed. There was an anguished groan and a clank as the phone hit something hard.
Amber stared at the window. Now only a white hand was visible, palm pressed to the glass.
“You come please. I so scared,” the voice said, more quietly. “Baby coming now.”
Amber swallowed and reached a decision. “I’ll be right there,” she said. “It’ll be okay.”
Why did I say that? she asked herself fervently. This is NOT okay! She dropped the phone into its cradle and pressed out the door, catching a heel on the door frame and nearly tripping. She ran toward the building, grabbing her phone out of her bag as she went. She found her father’s number in her call list and rang. As she raced up the steps, she got his voice mail recording. “Dad, where the hell are you? I think a woman is having a baby and I need you!” She gave him the location and ended the call.
She reached the door near the top of the stairwell, swallowed hard and stepped in.
Amber glanced about her. It was a tiny room, sparsely furnished and very neat. She saw a little buddha on an intricate table under a mirror with a colourful frame. And on the floor, leaning against the wall under the window, an Asian girl, looking younger than Amber herself, sat on a white blanket that had been laid out precisely. She clutched a mobile phone. She wore a faded sundress, darkened at the armpits. Her black hair was matted with sweat. She was wildly holding her bulging stomach and writhing in pain, barely acknowledging Amber’s presence. “Baby want to come,” she gasped between clenched teeth. “I cannot, I cannot. Hurt so bad.”
Amber closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to remember what her father had done the time she had watched him deliver the baby in the subway station. She met the girl’s terrified eyes, removed the phone from her grasp and took her hand. “It’s okay; you’re doing fine; this is the worst part. It’ll be better if you squat. Like this,” she scrambled to demonstrate while her boots resisted the sharp bend.
“I feel baby coming,” the girl groaned.
Amber balanced herself with a hand and leaned down to check. “Jesus. Jesus Christ, it’s coming, it’s coming, I can see the head crowning. It’s coming!” She looked at the girl in amazement, then willed her voice to sound calm. “It’s all good, relax a moment. You’re doing great. Okay, push now. Push!”
Amber held out her hands as she watched the impossibly big head with its shock of dark hair emerge. She cried, “That’s it, that’s it, push again; I’ve got it, I’ve got the baby, I’ve got it!” Her voice dropped and she found herself blinded by tears as she held the tiny blue squirming being. “I’ve got him,” she whispered.
She carefully untangled the baby from the umbilical cord. The baby reached for breath and suddenly a cascade of sound emerged from the tiny lungs. He wailed an indignant roar, and in a moment the little blue body was flooded with colour. Amber reverently pressed the tiny body into the arms of its exhausted mother, then slid to a sitting position, her shiny boots out in front of her.
“No hospital,” the girl repeated, holding tightly to Amber’s hand as she pleaded with Amber’s father. “Please no hospital.” She lay now on her bed, the baby contented on her belly. She looked to be summoning energy for one last battle.
Amber huddled close to her father. He had arrived shortly after the young mother had delivered the afterbirth, and had matter-of-factly checked over both patients before cutting the umbilical cord. Amber looked at him questioningly. “She’s likely not here legally,” he said to Amber, “and she doesn’t want to come to the attention of the authorities.” He studied the girl closely. “You are very healthy,” he said. “And your baby is healthy. But you will need help with this. Who do you have who can help you?”
“My cousin is here, this her place, but she away for today. She back soon and she help me.”
Amber took her father’s arm. “Dad, I’ll stay with her tonight. I’ll just be here, like a nurse in the hospital, in case she needs something. I’ll ring you if I need help.”
Her father regarded her closely. She held his gaze.
Finally he turned to the mother. “I will come in the morning to make sure you are both okay,” he said. He took one last blood pressure reading while the mother stared at him, relief in her eyes.
He packed his bag and then stopped in front of Amber, who was supporting herself by leaning against the back of a chair whilst unzipping a boot.
Without a word, he tousled her hair.
Without a word, she reached out and hugged him closely.
Thursday 28 January 2010
The Dice (by Heather)
Do you have choices? Write about making choices (or not) and the consequences.
This story is autobiographical.
Sometimes you know you have the power.
One such moment occurred as I leaned against the piano, half listening while our good friend Thom quietly played something jazzy. Another cluster of friends grouped around the fireplace, feeding logs into the fire and discussing the end of civilisation. It was 28 years ago, at the peak of the cold war with a global recession threatening. This group of friends had been discussing possible perils, painting scenarios and hatching plans for many months. There were eight of us, a diverse lot – including a mother and teacher (that was me), a computer analyst (my husband Rick), an accountant, a stock market analyst, a cook, a shelf-stocker and a first violinist for the Vancouver Symphony. The group was informally led by Klaus, an eccentric genius who had been a scientist researcher at the Berkeley lab’s particle accelerator before escaping to Canada for tax evasion.
The plan at the top of the group’s list involved moving to Australia – a peaceable, English-speaking, democratic, warm and fertile country tucked safely away in the southern hemisphere. No one had actually ever been there but it looked like a good, safe place to raise a family and live a life.
…So, back to the piano, with Thom tickling the ivories. On that particular evening, notwithstanding my casual demeanour, I was terrified – and it was because I had the power. I was the one who recognised the group was at a cusp, that we had begun talking in circles because we were breathing the thick atmosphere that precedes a major decision to be made. Somebody was going to have to say, “Stay or go? Give it up or get moving?” And I knew that I, as a mother of two (a newborn and a two year old), close to my family with a strong network of friends, had the most to lose and the most to gain. That, and a reputation for being grounded and practical, gave me the power.
Suddenly I had an image that there was a giant dice in front of me, and that I was shouldering it up, up, up onto its sharp edge. I pictured how I could walk over to my friends and say, “Look, we’ve had a great time talking; let’s pack it up and make the best of what we’ve got here,” and the dice would effortlessly topple back to its normal position.
Or I could say, “Okay, time to make a move, who’s down to the Australian embassy with me tomorrow?” and the dice would topple the other way. The Australia way; the falling-off-the-end-of-the-earth way. The Here-there-be-dragons way.
So I took a few deep breaths and concentrated for a moment on Thom’s rich chords. I checked the dice, poised there in perfect balance. Then I walked over to the fireplace, waited for a break in the conversation, and said, “So what’s the deal? Are we going to keep talking, or give it a go?” It was a gauntlet thrown at the suspended dice.
There was a long moment of silence. I watched the dice hover, the faces become tense. Then Klaus said, “Well, the lady has issued us a challenge!” and the dice slowly toppled. At least, MY dice toppled. Over the next few minutes, everyone else confronted their own totems of choice and one by one, embraced a new future.
…Which brings us back to today, almost 27 years to the day since we arrived in Sydney with two small children, 100 cubic feet of possessions and very pale skins. I’m sitting at my favourite café, a spot right on the water (over the water, actually) in a little coastal village called Manning Point, in New South Wales, Australia. I’m admiring a cormorant who’s drying himself on a pole. A few minutes ago I watched a dolphin glide in and out of the water. Rick is off on his daily beach walk. Our beautiful house perches on a hilltop a few kilometres from here. I will video-conference with my mother on Skype later this morning. An abundance of wonderful friends surrounds us.
I saw none of these things in that moment while the dice stood on its edge. I also didn’t see, for example, that we would spend hundreds of thousands of dollars in travel expenses and lost income travelling back to see our families. I didn’t see that when our children became adults, they would be drawn back to Canada to try their hands at the country of their birth. I didn’t see my father or my brother drawing their last breaths while I was twelve thousand kilometres away.
How can you ever know these things?
You can’t. You can only watch for the power, for that moment of choice, and do your best inside that moment.
And then watch for the dolphins.
This story is autobiographical.
Sometimes you know you have the power.
One such moment occurred as I leaned against the piano, half listening while our good friend Thom quietly played something jazzy. Another cluster of friends grouped around the fireplace, feeding logs into the fire and discussing the end of civilisation. It was 28 years ago, at the peak of the cold war with a global recession threatening. This group of friends had been discussing possible perils, painting scenarios and hatching plans for many months. There were eight of us, a diverse lot – including a mother and teacher (that was me), a computer analyst (my husband Rick), an accountant, a stock market analyst, a cook, a shelf-stocker and a first violinist for the Vancouver Symphony. The group was informally led by Klaus, an eccentric genius who had been a scientist researcher at the Berkeley lab’s particle accelerator before escaping to Canada for tax evasion.
The plan at the top of the group’s list involved moving to Australia – a peaceable, English-speaking, democratic, warm and fertile country tucked safely away in the southern hemisphere. No one had actually ever been there but it looked like a good, safe place to raise a family and live a life.
…So, back to the piano, with Thom tickling the ivories. On that particular evening, notwithstanding my casual demeanour, I was terrified – and it was because I had the power. I was the one who recognised the group was at a cusp, that we had begun talking in circles because we were breathing the thick atmosphere that precedes a major decision to be made. Somebody was going to have to say, “Stay or go? Give it up or get moving?” And I knew that I, as a mother of two (a newborn and a two year old), close to my family with a strong network of friends, had the most to lose and the most to gain. That, and a reputation for being grounded and practical, gave me the power.
Suddenly I had an image that there was a giant dice in front of me, and that I was shouldering it up, up, up onto its sharp edge. I pictured how I could walk over to my friends and say, “Look, we’ve had a great time talking; let’s pack it up and make the best of what we’ve got here,” and the dice would effortlessly topple back to its normal position.
Or I could say, “Okay, time to make a move, who’s down to the Australian embassy with me tomorrow?” and the dice would topple the other way. The Australia way; the falling-off-the-end-of-the-earth way. The Here-there-be-dragons way.
So I took a few deep breaths and concentrated for a moment on Thom’s rich chords. I checked the dice, poised there in perfect balance. Then I walked over to the fireplace, waited for a break in the conversation, and said, “So what’s the deal? Are we going to keep talking, or give it a go?” It was a gauntlet thrown at the suspended dice.
There was a long moment of silence. I watched the dice hover, the faces become tense. Then Klaus said, “Well, the lady has issued us a challenge!” and the dice slowly toppled. At least, MY dice toppled. Over the next few minutes, everyone else confronted their own totems of choice and one by one, embraced a new future.
…Which brings us back to today, almost 27 years to the day since we arrived in Sydney with two small children, 100 cubic feet of possessions and very pale skins. I’m sitting at my favourite café, a spot right on the water (over the water, actually) in a little coastal village called Manning Point, in New South Wales, Australia. I’m admiring a cormorant who’s drying himself on a pole. A few minutes ago I watched a dolphin glide in and out of the water. Rick is off on his daily beach walk. Our beautiful house perches on a hilltop a few kilometres from here. I will video-conference with my mother on Skype later this morning. An abundance of wonderful friends surrounds us.
I saw none of these things in that moment while the dice stood on its edge. I also didn’t see, for example, that we would spend hundreds of thousands of dollars in travel expenses and lost income travelling back to see our families. I didn’t see that when our children became adults, they would be drawn back to Canada to try their hands at the country of their birth. I didn’t see my father or my brother drawing their last breaths while I was twelve thousand kilometres away.
How can you ever know these things?
You can’t. You can only watch for the power, for that moment of choice, and do your best inside that moment.
And then watch for the dolphins.
Wednesday 27 January 2010
The money or the box (Kerry)
Do you have choices? Write a story of 500-750 words about making choices (or not) and the consequences.
“Choices suck.” Mary spat the words out. Her friend, Jess, nodded sympathetically.
“Why do I have to choose between the man and the job? Why can’t I have both?” Mary moaned.
“Well, there are a couple of things about that,” Jess said, considering the possibilities. “Firstly, if you’d got a job in London where Frank lives you wouldn’t have to choose. Secondly, you could have both if you could persuade Frank to go to Egypt with you.”
“You know I applied for lots of jobs in London but they didn’t suit me. I’m more interested in adventure and challenging myself. All the London jobs would have me stuck in an office behind a desk, never seeing the sunshine. And Frank is already dreaming of the brass plaque on his door etched with the word ‘Registrar’.”
Mary closed her eyes and stretched out on the sofa. She had been busy since early that morning packing boxes and suitcases. She and Jess had been sorting through the accumulated mass collected over the last three years. Mary had already disposed of a pile of stuff to throw out, boxes full of stuff to recycle and plastic bags of stuff to send to Vinnies.
“My whole life in six packing boxes,” she sighed as she surveyed the heavily taped boxes labelled ‘Mary Jenkins, Cairo’. “Those six boxes represent a lot of choices. I wonder if I’ll have regrets down the track.”
“I reckon you should savour the moment, Mary. My family can’t move without hiring a couple of container trucks these days. So much stuff to carry around.”
The girls were interrupted by the doorbell. Frank stood at the door, dishevelled, eyes bloodshot. He mumbled something incoherent as he stumbled through the doorway and fell ungracefully onto the end of the sofa that Mary had hastily vacated.
“I think he said he needs a strong coffee,” Jesse smiled and walked out to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
“I haven’t been drinking, Mary,” Frank protested softly as he sat up. “I’ve been up all night. Not at the hospital. I just couldn’t sleep. I’ve been walking since two this morning.”
Mary sat beside him on the sofa. She held his hand as he struggled to go on.
“I was devastated when you told me last week that you were going to accept the Egypt job. My life was going well, good hospital, new apartment. And I had you. I put on a brave face at the time. I could see it was a good choice for you. But as soon as you had gone the reality began to seep in. How could I live without you here with me? I know we had agreed that it would be best to split and see how things went for a few months. But….”
Frank paused and wiped a hand wearily across his eyes. He laid his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes.
“I know,” Mary whispered. “It’s so hard. I wish we didn’t have to choose.”
Frank sat up again.
“That’s the thing. That’s why I’m here, why I’ve been up all night. I’ve made a choice. I’m going to quit my job at the hospital, join Medecins Sans Frontieres and come with you to Cairo. I’ll be with you in two months. We can live a life of adventure together.”
Mary jumped up, shouting to Jess, “It’s going to work out. Frank’s coming too.”
She pulled the protesting Frank to his feet and danced him around the room.
“Choices suck.” Mary spat the words out. Her friend, Jess, nodded sympathetically.
“Why do I have to choose between the man and the job? Why can’t I have both?” Mary moaned.
“Well, there are a couple of things about that,” Jess said, considering the possibilities. “Firstly, if you’d got a job in London where Frank lives you wouldn’t have to choose. Secondly, you could have both if you could persuade Frank to go to Egypt with you.”
“You know I applied for lots of jobs in London but they didn’t suit me. I’m more interested in adventure and challenging myself. All the London jobs would have me stuck in an office behind a desk, never seeing the sunshine. And Frank is already dreaming of the brass plaque on his door etched with the word ‘Registrar’.”
Mary closed her eyes and stretched out on the sofa. She had been busy since early that morning packing boxes and suitcases. She and Jess had been sorting through the accumulated mass collected over the last three years. Mary had already disposed of a pile of stuff to throw out, boxes full of stuff to recycle and plastic bags of stuff to send to Vinnies.
“My whole life in six packing boxes,” she sighed as she surveyed the heavily taped boxes labelled ‘Mary Jenkins, Cairo’. “Those six boxes represent a lot of choices. I wonder if I’ll have regrets down the track.”
“I reckon you should savour the moment, Mary. My family can’t move without hiring a couple of container trucks these days. So much stuff to carry around.”
The girls were interrupted by the doorbell. Frank stood at the door, dishevelled, eyes bloodshot. He mumbled something incoherent as he stumbled through the doorway and fell ungracefully onto the end of the sofa that Mary had hastily vacated.
“I think he said he needs a strong coffee,” Jesse smiled and walked out to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
“I haven’t been drinking, Mary,” Frank protested softly as he sat up. “I’ve been up all night. Not at the hospital. I just couldn’t sleep. I’ve been walking since two this morning.”
Mary sat beside him on the sofa. She held his hand as he struggled to go on.
“I was devastated when you told me last week that you were going to accept the Egypt job. My life was going well, good hospital, new apartment. And I had you. I put on a brave face at the time. I could see it was a good choice for you. But as soon as you had gone the reality began to seep in. How could I live without you here with me? I know we had agreed that it would be best to split and see how things went for a few months. But….”
Frank paused and wiped a hand wearily across his eyes. He laid his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes.
“I know,” Mary whispered. “It’s so hard. I wish we didn’t have to choose.”
Frank sat up again.
“That’s the thing. That’s why I’m here, why I’ve been up all night. I’ve made a choice. I’m going to quit my job at the hospital, join Medecins Sans Frontieres and come with you to Cairo. I’ll be with you in two months. We can live a life of adventure together.”
Mary jumped up, shouting to Jess, “It’s going to work out. Frank’s coming too.”
She pulled the protesting Frank to his feet and danced him around the room.
Monday 25 January 2010
Date With Destiny (Jenny Jan 31)
Sometimes, when you look back and try to find the beginning of something, the turning point, it's hard to see. Life is full of currents and co-incidences, intentions and initiatives. Who can really say what causes anything to begin?
But sometimes, the cause is right there, sticking out so large and bold that no matter from how far in the future we look back, we will never have a moment's doubt as to the cause of our current state of being.
My iPhone buzzing in my pocket, summoning me to a weekly relationships discussion, can be traced directly back to a pay phone outside an Indian restaurant, long, long ago in what feels like a galaxy far, far away.
It rang.
That's it. Just ringing there, on a cool March evening. Startling at first - a pay phone? Haven't seen one of those for a while. Imagine one on a quiet suburban street like this. Where is Michael, anyway?
It rang.
I hate waiting. I was used to it by then, having dated Michael for three years, but I still hated it. I wish that phone would shut up.
It rang.
Poignant, really, when you think of it. On the other end of that phone, someone is waiting, wondering if they are important enough to warrant the attention of someone they love. Wondering if they will ever come first in his - or her - priorities. Wondering why there's nobody there when they reach out. Wondering how to break through. Wondering how much longer it's worth holding on.
It rang.
How long until it rings out? This is driving me batty.
I moved a little further away.
It rang.
We looked at one another, then, the phone and me. Come on, it said, what have you got to lose?
Before I dated Michael, before I dated Richard, when I think about it, back then I would have answered it already. It was a bit of a shock to admit it, but I had definitely become a bit prissy in my new-found maturity. I looked back at the phone, feeling a slightly flirtatious twist to my head.
It rang.
Why not? It said. You know you want to.
I sidled closer, feeling the argument between the shoulds and my essential nature, knowing that in the final analysis, my loyalty would always be to myself.
It rang.
I was close enough to smell it now, plasticky and slightly old, close enough to feel the vibrations on my skin.
Dance with me, it sang. Swing out and dance.
I fell.
"Alternate reality," I breathed into the mouthpiece. "How may I direct your life?"
There was a cascade of Asian syllables, then a pause.
"The door on the left? A fine choice," I soothed.
A few more Asian syllables, and the line went dead.
I hung up the phone slowly, feeling the pieces of my carefully-constructed social self floating gently outward on a river that would not be denied.
I never saw Michael again.
I went to the beach that evening, and danced in the waves until my clothes were soaked and my teeth chattered. I yelled at the stars, got sand in my stockings, and lost one of the ear-rings my grandmother bequeathed me as her eldest unmarried.
I drank hot chocolate from a machine in a 7-11, and left a trail of damp and sandy footprints on its floor.
And that was where it all began. I could bore you with the details of it all - my gorgeous, darling lover who could be with a supermodel his own age, but prefers my passion and authenticity to the neuroses of the twenty-somethings; the incredible power of Tantric energy work and my life as a mystic and healer; the books we have written, my lover and I, and the books we are yet to write - but the happy ending is never as interesting as the moment in time when it all pivoted on a single moment of choice.
The Universe held its breath.
And that damned pay phone just kept ringing.
But sometimes, the cause is right there, sticking out so large and bold that no matter from how far in the future we look back, we will never have a moment's doubt as to the cause of our current state of being.
My iPhone buzzing in my pocket, summoning me to a weekly relationships discussion, can be traced directly back to a pay phone outside an Indian restaurant, long, long ago in what feels like a galaxy far, far away.
It rang.
That's it. Just ringing there, on a cool March evening. Startling at first - a pay phone? Haven't seen one of those for a while. Imagine one on a quiet suburban street like this. Where is Michael, anyway?
It rang.
I hate waiting. I was used to it by then, having dated Michael for three years, but I still hated it. I wish that phone would shut up.
It rang.
Poignant, really, when you think of it. On the other end of that phone, someone is waiting, wondering if they are important enough to warrant the attention of someone they love. Wondering if they will ever come first in his - or her - priorities. Wondering why there's nobody there when they reach out. Wondering how to break through. Wondering how much longer it's worth holding on.
It rang.
How long until it rings out? This is driving me batty.
I moved a little further away.
It rang.
We looked at one another, then, the phone and me. Come on, it said, what have you got to lose?
Before I dated Michael, before I dated Richard, when I think about it, back then I would have answered it already. It was a bit of a shock to admit it, but I had definitely become a bit prissy in my new-found maturity. I looked back at the phone, feeling a slightly flirtatious twist to my head.
It rang.
Why not? It said. You know you want to.
I sidled closer, feeling the argument between the shoulds and my essential nature, knowing that in the final analysis, my loyalty would always be to myself.
It rang.
I was close enough to smell it now, plasticky and slightly old, close enough to feel the vibrations on my skin.
Dance with me, it sang. Swing out and dance.
I fell.
"Alternate reality," I breathed into the mouthpiece. "How may I direct your life?"
There was a cascade of Asian syllables, then a pause.
"The door on the left? A fine choice," I soothed.
A few more Asian syllables, and the line went dead.
I hung up the phone slowly, feeling the pieces of my carefully-constructed social self floating gently outward on a river that would not be denied.
I never saw Michael again.
I went to the beach that evening, and danced in the waves until my clothes were soaked and my teeth chattered. I yelled at the stars, got sand in my stockings, and lost one of the ear-rings my grandmother bequeathed me as her eldest unmarried.
I drank hot chocolate from a machine in a 7-11, and left a trail of damp and sandy footprints on its floor.
And that was where it all began. I could bore you with the details of it all - my gorgeous, darling lover who could be with a supermodel his own age, but prefers my passion and authenticity to the neuroses of the twenty-somethings; the incredible power of Tantric energy work and my life as a mystic and healer; the books we have written, my lover and I, and the books we are yet to write - but the happy ending is never as interesting as the moment in time when it all pivoted on a single moment of choice.
The Universe held its breath.
And that damned pay phone just kept ringing.
Saturday 23 January 2010
The Ultimate Choice (Gordon)
The Ultimate Choice
"Do you have choices? Write a story of 500-750 words about making choices (or not) and the consequences".
Mark drove furiously to be there at 6 o’clock in the evening. He was running late. He had a light green 1974 Holden HJ that he drove with a great sense of pride and satisfaction. He had worked hard to bring the car back to an as new condition. It was now shiny and new. The patches of rust had all been repaired, the chrome on the bumpers, door handles and trim had all been restored, the seats covered with new material and the rust holes in the foot well repaired. All this work involved welding, grinding, polishing, painting and then burnishing to harden the paint. It was now complete and he could sense new dimensions were possible for his life.
Jane was ready for dinner. She watched as Mark drove his shiny Holden up the gravel driveway and put on the brakes with a stylish sense of coming to a complete stop on a surface which growled and complained as you drove over it. The driveway was grand and bordered with stone edges. As he looked to the left and the right he could see the shrubs and trees grew taller the further you looked. The edges were bordered with red and white and yellow flowers. It was a beautiful garden. He felt a sense of intruding on a space he could only go into with the very special permission that Jane had given him.
Jane could hardly wait for Mark to come. She knew he would impress her parents. He was tall and slim yet strong and agile. She knew he would come with a sense of respect and acknowledgment of her parents and may even come with a gift of flowers. She also knew he could hold a conversation together, and he had no need to show off. She was proud of him and had a real sense of delight in his company.
“Mum, Mark is here. Is dinner ready?”
There was a knock on the door and Jane walked, yet wanted to run, to the door and opened it. “Hey Mark, great to see you. Come in.” “Hi, how are you?” he said. The question was left to hang in the air. “Hello Mrs Hamilton, thank you for having me to dinner tonight.” He then quickly presented a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “Mark it is great to have you with us and these are just wonderful”, she said. “Come and join us for dinner”.
--------
Long after dinner Jane and Mark sat on the couch quietly chatting about the rather violent video they had watched. Jane was uneasy. Mark began to think the video had really upset Jane. What was wrong? Suddenly, Mark had a sense of “I might loose Jane.” With an intensity of emotion he put his arm around Jane’s shoulder and said: “Jane, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” There was a moment of intense silence. Jane was in another space and her mind was now suddenly jolted to a reality that stood starkly before her as a choice. Jane was not ready for this, yet she new it was a moment that would forever alter her life. It was one of life’s ultimate choices and she knew it.
As fast as her mind could work she considered what if I say “no”. I may never meet another Mark. “Am I too young to get married?” The questions raced through her mind. Then came: “Mark, I love you, and yes I will marry you.”
Gordon MacAulay
23 January 2010
"Do you have choices? Write a story of 500-750 words about making choices (or not) and the consequences".
Mark drove furiously to be there at 6 o’clock in the evening. He was running late. He had a light green 1974 Holden HJ that he drove with a great sense of pride and satisfaction. He had worked hard to bring the car back to an as new condition. It was now shiny and new. The patches of rust had all been repaired, the chrome on the bumpers, door handles and trim had all been restored, the seats covered with new material and the rust holes in the foot well repaired. All this work involved welding, grinding, polishing, painting and then burnishing to harden the paint. It was now complete and he could sense new dimensions were possible for his life.
Jane was ready for dinner. She watched as Mark drove his shiny Holden up the gravel driveway and put on the brakes with a stylish sense of coming to a complete stop on a surface which growled and complained as you drove over it. The driveway was grand and bordered with stone edges. As he looked to the left and the right he could see the shrubs and trees grew taller the further you looked. The edges were bordered with red and white and yellow flowers. It was a beautiful garden. He felt a sense of intruding on a space he could only go into with the very special permission that Jane had given him.
Jane could hardly wait for Mark to come. She knew he would impress her parents. He was tall and slim yet strong and agile. She knew he would come with a sense of respect and acknowledgment of her parents and may even come with a gift of flowers. She also knew he could hold a conversation together, and he had no need to show off. She was proud of him and had a real sense of delight in his company.
“Mum, Mark is here. Is dinner ready?”
There was a knock on the door and Jane walked, yet wanted to run, to the door and opened it. “Hey Mark, great to see you. Come in.” “Hi, how are you?” he said. The question was left to hang in the air. “Hello Mrs Hamilton, thank you for having me to dinner tonight.” He then quickly presented a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “Mark it is great to have you with us and these are just wonderful”, she said. “Come and join us for dinner”.
--------
Long after dinner Jane and Mark sat on the couch quietly chatting about the rather violent video they had watched. Jane was uneasy. Mark began to think the video had really upset Jane. What was wrong? Suddenly, Mark had a sense of “I might loose Jane.” With an intensity of emotion he put his arm around Jane’s shoulder and said: “Jane, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” There was a moment of intense silence. Jane was in another space and her mind was now suddenly jolted to a reality that stood starkly before her as a choice. Jane was not ready for this, yet she new it was a moment that would forever alter her life. It was one of life’s ultimate choices and she knew it.
As fast as her mind could work she considered what if I say “no”. I may never meet another Mark. “Am I too young to get married?” The questions raced through her mind. Then came: “Mark, I love you, and yes I will marry you.”
Gordon MacAulay
23 January 2010
Is Death a Choice? (Eve)
Not what you’d expect. She looked radiant, not like radiantly healthy. No, that would be ridiculous. But, if you saw her, you’d see light shining through her skin. Amazing! This effect, along with her impossible thinness and one hundred percent baldhead, could have had her look like ET. Instead of looking unearthly or gaunt, she was stunning in a way I’d never imagined she could be. The structure and symmetry of her face was always near-perfect but never before revealed in this way. I learned something - that radiation can make you look radiantly beautiful.
My little sister, 51 years old, was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer (read: aggressive). Her doctor stumbled on this after farting around for months (read: me being judgmental), thinking that all Sue was experiencing was a protracted flu. And then, stalling even longer, thinking it must be RSI because she began to lose sensation in her arms. The actual reason was she had 60 metastases in her brain. Who is it that counts individual metastases at this point?
I was furious with her G.P. for not catching the cancer in time, angry with Sue for her treacherous smoking habit, and pissed off with Life for serving up a death penalty to someone so relatively young, with two kids still at home.
We, the family, chose to line up on the side of Possibility. Best care, best protocol, best clinic, and, of course, our best positive attitudes. We thought the oncologist’s prognosis of 3 months to live could be beaten. Sue was not old, she had been in reasonably good health before the cancer, and she would want to live because of her girls.
I don’t know if it was completely the result of the cancer, which had set up camp in her brain, but Sue became increasingly anxious and disoriented. Remarkably, she still looked stunning but her behaviour was becoming frailer by the day and she now even seemed elderly.
She didn’t want to fight. She just wanted to be alleviated of any stresses. The most helpful thing I could do was let her rest her head in my lap and stroke her smooth, lovely head. It was soothing for both of us. I felt I could let go of all my anger and judgments in this intimate act and let her be and let me be.
She was my little sister in these moments, not the one I had bullied and terrorised with threats of “telling on her” when we were kids. Rather, she was my precious blood kin, all the more to be cherished because I could hear the relentless clock ticking.
Warren and the girls, up until the end, never stopped believing Sue could be cured. For me, even though it seemed like it was traitorous not to believe, I tried to practice being with Sue without expectations. I could see her, in my company, begin to unclench emotionally and loosen up physically.
I don’t believe for a moment that I chose death for Sue, but perhaps what gradually happened is that I opened up to a kind of choiceless being-with-what-is, discovering that it brought me closer to her.
She lasted just four months from the date of the specialist’s prognosis.
Eve 23/1/10
My little sister, 51 years old, was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer (read: aggressive). Her doctor stumbled on this after farting around for months (read: me being judgmental), thinking that all Sue was experiencing was a protracted flu. And then, stalling even longer, thinking it must be RSI because she began to lose sensation in her arms. The actual reason was she had 60 metastases in her brain. Who is it that counts individual metastases at this point?
I was furious with her G.P. for not catching the cancer in time, angry with Sue for her treacherous smoking habit, and pissed off with Life for serving up a death penalty to someone so relatively young, with two kids still at home.
We, the family, chose to line up on the side of Possibility. Best care, best protocol, best clinic, and, of course, our best positive attitudes. We thought the oncologist’s prognosis of 3 months to live could be beaten. Sue was not old, she had been in reasonably good health before the cancer, and she would want to live because of her girls.
I don’t know if it was completely the result of the cancer, which had set up camp in her brain, but Sue became increasingly anxious and disoriented. Remarkably, she still looked stunning but her behaviour was becoming frailer by the day and she now even seemed elderly.
She didn’t want to fight. She just wanted to be alleviated of any stresses. The most helpful thing I could do was let her rest her head in my lap and stroke her smooth, lovely head. It was soothing for both of us. I felt I could let go of all my anger and judgments in this intimate act and let her be and let me be.
She was my little sister in these moments, not the one I had bullied and terrorised with threats of “telling on her” when we were kids. Rather, she was my precious blood kin, all the more to be cherished because I could hear the relentless clock ticking.
Warren and the girls, up until the end, never stopped believing Sue could be cured. For me, even though it seemed like it was traitorous not to believe, I tried to practice being with Sue without expectations. I could see her, in my company, begin to unclench emotionally and loosen up physically.
I don’t believe for a moment that I chose death for Sue, but perhaps what gradually happened is that I opened up to a kind of choiceless being-with-what-is, discovering that it brought me closer to her.
She lasted just four months from the date of the specialist’s prognosis.
Eve 23/1/10
Saturday 16 January 2010
The magician - Sue
Freda cavorts around the tiny bedroom with her i-pod hanging out of her left ear. She is still in her pink flannelette pyjamas as her hair whip lashes around her face and her bare feet spring effortlessly from the carpet. The white net curtains billow slightly in the wind and the early morning sun sends a shaft of brilliant light onto her dance floor.
She slips, her foot rolling over an overturned cup, and lands bum first on the floor. But her bum doesn’t stay on the floor. It bounces off the red carpet and hovers just a few feet from floor before bouncing again, and then again. Her body is behaving like she’s on a trampoline, not a hard bedroom floor.
“I can bounce? What? How odd!” the questions hover unanswered.
She clambers up onto the bed and jumps onto the floor. The same thing happens, her feet bounce off the floor, pause a while in mid air and then bounce another couple of times before she, or they, stand still.
Her curious young mind doesn’t really argue with what’s happening. She accepts that she has developed a weird super power that allows her to bounce around the town. She heads for the stairs and breakfast, being careful not to jump and bounce.
Half an hour later she’s on the school bus, sitting next to Claire. The secret bouncing burbles irresistibly out in a fit of giggles.
“Guess Claire, go on, guess what happened to me this morning” and without pausing for breath
“I bounced. I bounced when I fell on the floor and I bounced when I jumped off the bed.”
“You what? You bounced? Only balls bounce you idiot”
Freda hesitated.
“I swear I did”
“OK, OK, but why?” and Claire slips her arm around her best friend’s shoulders.
“Now that is the million dollar question?”
“I know” whispered Claire. “Let’s just wait and see what happens. It will be our secret.”
Nothing happens all day. Freda and Claire keep glancing sneakily at each other, trying not to laugh. Claire goes home with Freda, pretending that they are going to do their homework together. Instead they sit upstairs in Freda’s bedroom and wait and watch and listen.
“Shall I try now?” says Freda
“No, I think you should wait until you need to bounce somewhere. Maybe it’s important”
There’s a pathetic whimper outside the bedroom window. The girls look at each other. It comes again, but much much louder. It sounds more like the roar of a lion. They peer through the curtains, not sure what to expect.
There, balanced on the tiniest of branches, right at the end where it’s thin and brittle, is Mischief the Siamese. But he has something in his paws.
“It’s Leo, my stuffed lion. How mean. Oh Leo” cries Freda.
“Well you can’t get up that tree, it’s miles too tiny. But you know what, you can bounce up there” says Claire. “Off you go, let me see you”
“I’ve got to rescue Leo before Mischief mauls him to pieces. You think so, you think I can bounce there?” and she’s out of the bedroom door.
But she jumps the last number of stairs, lands on the polished floorboards of the hall and bounces. She hits her head on the chandelier which shatters into pieces sending glass raining all around the hall. Mischief wakes up. He is so terrified, he leaps out of the tree and disappears. Leo lies on the grass with a weird sort of smile. Does he have magic powers?
She slips, her foot rolling over an overturned cup, and lands bum first on the floor. But her bum doesn’t stay on the floor. It bounces off the red carpet and hovers just a few feet from floor before bouncing again, and then again. Her body is behaving like she’s on a trampoline, not a hard bedroom floor.
“I can bounce? What? How odd!” the questions hover unanswered.
She clambers up onto the bed and jumps onto the floor. The same thing happens, her feet bounce off the floor, pause a while in mid air and then bounce another couple of times before she, or they, stand still.
Her curious young mind doesn’t really argue with what’s happening. She accepts that she has developed a weird super power that allows her to bounce around the town. She heads for the stairs and breakfast, being careful not to jump and bounce.
Half an hour later she’s on the school bus, sitting next to Claire. The secret bouncing burbles irresistibly out in a fit of giggles.
“Guess Claire, go on, guess what happened to me this morning” and without pausing for breath
“I bounced. I bounced when I fell on the floor and I bounced when I jumped off the bed.”
“You what? You bounced? Only balls bounce you idiot”
Freda hesitated.
“I swear I did”
“OK, OK, but why?” and Claire slips her arm around her best friend’s shoulders.
“Now that is the million dollar question?”
“I know” whispered Claire. “Let’s just wait and see what happens. It will be our secret.”
Nothing happens all day. Freda and Claire keep glancing sneakily at each other, trying not to laugh. Claire goes home with Freda, pretending that they are going to do their homework together. Instead they sit upstairs in Freda’s bedroom and wait and watch and listen.
“Shall I try now?” says Freda
“No, I think you should wait until you need to bounce somewhere. Maybe it’s important”
There’s a pathetic whimper outside the bedroom window. The girls look at each other. It comes again, but much much louder. It sounds more like the roar of a lion. They peer through the curtains, not sure what to expect.
There, balanced on the tiniest of branches, right at the end where it’s thin and brittle, is Mischief the Siamese. But he has something in his paws.
“It’s Leo, my stuffed lion. How mean. Oh Leo” cries Freda.
“Well you can’t get up that tree, it’s miles too tiny. But you know what, you can bounce up there” says Claire. “Off you go, let me see you”
“I’ve got to rescue Leo before Mischief mauls him to pieces. You think so, you think I can bounce there?” and she’s out of the bedroom door.
But she jumps the last number of stairs, lands on the polished floorboards of the hall and bounces. She hits her head on the chandelier which shatters into pieces sending glass raining all around the hall. Mischief wakes up. He is so terrified, he leaps out of the tree and disappears. Leo lies on the grass with a weird sort of smile. Does he have magic powers?
Sand Castles
I guess you’d have to call this a miracle but if I have to be the victim of a miracle why did it have to be this one.
Maybe it was the electric storm that triggered it. I’ve been doing my bike tour around the coast of Australia and had my tent set up right down by the beach at Scotts Head. Sometime around 2 a.m. this ferocious thunderstorm hit and I swear at one point I must have been struck by lightning. The tent went blue with crackling sparks followed by a flash that blinded me and a crash that deafened me. I must have been knocked out because the next thing I remembered was awakening to bright sunlight with a splitting headache.
I thought maybe a walk on the beach would fix me up so off I went towards the head at the end of the beach. My head felt like it would explode and this flock of seagulls got up my nose with their raucous squabbling over a dead fish. As my headache went up a notch, I pictured myself throwing a stick at them and suddenly this stick materialized made of sand looking exactly like my picture and flew into the flock bouncing off a couple of them and sending them flying off in fright. I walked over and picked up the “stick” made of sand. What happened? Did this have anything to do with me?
I looked down at the sand and pictured a hot dog and suddenly there was this swirl of sand and this perfect sculpture of a hot dog was there. I’m sure I could see the mustard smear along the length of the sausage. Then I pictured it on a plate and sure enough, more swirling sand and the hot dog lifted and was placed gently on this perfect sand platter.
There was no doubt that I was doing this and equally no doubt that I had any clue as to how I was doing it. I just pictured something and the next second the sand was obeying my will. How about something with a bit more substance? I visualized a Rhine castle and as I pictured the ramparts and turrets, the sand did its swirling dance and there was this sand castle worthy of a Michelangelo. As I stood their gawking at it, this little boy came up behind me. “Wow mister. Did you build that?”
“I guess I did mate, but I sure don’t know how.”, I answered.
I turned and wandered down the beach a bit more leaving my admirer and castle behind. I wanted to try some more things out, but not with an audience. When I thought I was far enough away, I thought of a street light, one of those standard everyday poles that line the streets and sure enough, another swirl and there was a perfect copy about 8 meters tall and looking all ready to shine that night. Then I tried another one, but this time further down the beach. No problem and then another about 50 meters away. Still no problem. And all of this “sculpting”, if that’s what I was doing seemed to happen without effort. I had moved hundreds of kilos of sand around just by thinking about it and hadn’t raised a drop of sweat.
Ok I thought let’s try something a bit more robust. I conjured up a 1963 Volkswagen Beetle, my first car and with a bit more flurry and a few more seconds, there it was, complete with a coat hanger that I used to replace the missing radio antenna.
I’d like to say that I felt like a genius, like a superman but I didn’t. I mean I didn’t really do anything. I just thought some pictures at the sand and there it was. If I was looking a gift horse in the mouth, I sure hadn’t settled in on what the gift was.
Suddenly my musings were interrupted by the blaring klaxon of the shark alarm. I turned and ran back down the beach and there was the unmistakable fin of a large white heading towards some panic stricken swimmers. Without thinking I pictured this cannon ball hurtling at the shark’s snout and sure enough, this basketball sized boulder shot away from me and connected as thought just at the tip of his nose. I’m not sure what happened next, but the shark was gone and the beach was filled with a bunch of bewildered spectators.
“Did you see that?” “Yeah, but what was it?”
As the commotion died down, I slipped away from the crowd back to my gear. Time to sit down with a coffee and bacon and egg roll and think about what’s next. And I sure knew that life on the beach was never going to be the same again.
Maybe it was the electric storm that triggered it. I’ve been doing my bike tour around the coast of Australia and had my tent set up right down by the beach at Scotts Head. Sometime around 2 a.m. this ferocious thunderstorm hit and I swear at one point I must have been struck by lightning. The tent went blue with crackling sparks followed by a flash that blinded me and a crash that deafened me. I must have been knocked out because the next thing I remembered was awakening to bright sunlight with a splitting headache.
I thought maybe a walk on the beach would fix me up so off I went towards the head at the end of the beach. My head felt like it would explode and this flock of seagulls got up my nose with their raucous squabbling over a dead fish. As my headache went up a notch, I pictured myself throwing a stick at them and suddenly this stick materialized made of sand looking exactly like my picture and flew into the flock bouncing off a couple of them and sending them flying off in fright. I walked over and picked up the “stick” made of sand. What happened? Did this have anything to do with me?
I looked down at the sand and pictured a hot dog and suddenly there was this swirl of sand and this perfect sculpture of a hot dog was there. I’m sure I could see the mustard smear along the length of the sausage. Then I pictured it on a plate and sure enough, more swirling sand and the hot dog lifted and was placed gently on this perfect sand platter.
There was no doubt that I was doing this and equally no doubt that I had any clue as to how I was doing it. I just pictured something and the next second the sand was obeying my will. How about something with a bit more substance? I visualized a Rhine castle and as I pictured the ramparts and turrets, the sand did its swirling dance and there was this sand castle worthy of a Michelangelo. As I stood their gawking at it, this little boy came up behind me. “Wow mister. Did you build that?”
“I guess I did mate, but I sure don’t know how.”, I answered.
I turned and wandered down the beach a bit more leaving my admirer and castle behind. I wanted to try some more things out, but not with an audience. When I thought I was far enough away, I thought of a street light, one of those standard everyday poles that line the streets and sure enough, another swirl and there was a perfect copy about 8 meters tall and looking all ready to shine that night. Then I tried another one, but this time further down the beach. No problem and then another about 50 meters away. Still no problem. And all of this “sculpting”, if that’s what I was doing seemed to happen without effort. I had moved hundreds of kilos of sand around just by thinking about it and hadn’t raised a drop of sweat.
Ok I thought let’s try something a bit more robust. I conjured up a 1963 Volkswagen Beetle, my first car and with a bit more flurry and a few more seconds, there it was, complete with a coat hanger that I used to replace the missing radio antenna.
I’d like to say that I felt like a genius, like a superman but I didn’t. I mean I didn’t really do anything. I just thought some pictures at the sand and there it was. If I was looking a gift horse in the mouth, I sure hadn’t settled in on what the gift was.
Suddenly my musings were interrupted by the blaring klaxon of the shark alarm. I turned and ran back down the beach and there was the unmistakable fin of a large white heading towards some panic stricken swimmers. Without thinking I pictured this cannon ball hurtling at the shark’s snout and sure enough, this basketball sized boulder shot away from me and connected as thought just at the tip of his nose. I’m not sure what happened next, but the shark was gone and the beach was filled with a bunch of bewildered spectators.
“Did you see that?” “Yeah, but what was it?”
As the commotion died down, I slipped away from the crowd back to my gear. Time to sit down with a coffee and bacon and egg roll and think about what’s next. And I sure knew that life on the beach was never going to be the same again.
Friday 15 January 2010
When you’re hot, you’re hot (by Heather)
You wake up one day with an unusual super power that seems pretty worthless—until you are caught in a situation that requires that specific "talent."
I roll over and dodge the sunbeam that slices onto my pillow through the crack in the curtains.
I am instantly awake. I peel open an eye to check if Sophie is still there beside me – whew! – indeed she is, and I have to tell you, she looks even more wonderful than she did last night.
She looks like a goddess. Her eyes have tiny little puffy bits underneath them and her hair is sticking out in little spikes. The slightest little thread of drool is resting by her gorgeous mouth. She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I roll back carefully with my elbows akimbo behind my head. In one way, I feel like a regular dude (maybe for the first time in my life), in another way I feel like a super hero. I try to look cool in case there’s an audience somewhere, but I can’t help a happy little curl coming onto the corner of my lips.
I mean, Sophie wasn’t my first. Well, maybe sort of my first if you’re being really technical – as long as you understand that there’s something special about her besides being my, well, okay, first.
And I feel, I dunno, DIFFERENT somehow. I feel muscley and tough and protective and invincible. I recall the moment last night when, you know…when IT happened. I felt as if I could dart up the side of a building or lift a busload of trapped tourists or something like that. I still have that feeling. Call me an idiot if you like, but I have to test if I’ve really been given a superpower.
I slip quietly out of bed. I feel like a clown but nonetheless I put my hands against the wall experimentally to see if I can do the Spiderman thing. Surprise! – nothing happens. I put a finger on the bottom corner of the big dresser and try to lift it. Surprise! – I break my fingernail. I stare at the aftershave bottle and WILL it to rise into the air but it just sits there. I check out the guy looking look back at me in the mirror. He flexes his abs and the ol’ 6-pack looks just as pathetic as usual – except the guy is grinning and his eyes keep shifting back to check out that miracle on the bed.
Though the guy in the mirror looks a bit hopeless, it doesn’t alter my feeling that he should have a superpower. I look again at Sophie, who stirs a little. Then in a moment of blinding clarity, I realise that this whole thing with her is special enough that I don’t have to go searching for superpowers like a kid.
At that exact moment I notice voices outside the window. I draw back the curtain slightly and observe my two old mates, crimson rosellas, according to the bird book. The one hanging on the bird feeder calls out, “You! Speckles! Don’t forget to keep watch!” The other one, Speckles obviously, is sitting on the balcony rail and shouts back, “I’m watching, I’m watching, I’m watching. And hurry up because it’s my turn to get into the food action next.”
They squabble back and forth for a full minute, the one on the feeder pecking away, stalling and taking his sweet time while his partner gets increasingly antsy. Finally he says, “All right, sweetie, over to you. I’ll stand guard. Have you noticed our guy in the window watching us? Harmless obviously but I won’t be taking my eye off him.”
Suddenly my heart gives a little stutter and I realise I’m even stupider than I thought. It’s taken me THIS long to realise that they actually are talking, ENGLISH no less, to each other, and I’m listening.
I am gob-smacked. My first thought is, “Well, THAT’S nifty. Fancy being able to understand bird conversation!” And then my second thought is a little whinge, something like, “Geez, I DID get a superpower, but does it have to be THIS one!?”
Suddenly I feel the lightest touch on the back of my neck, and there’s Sophie standing beside me, stretching a little and rubbing her eyes. She looks out the window and says, “Aren’t those rosellas stunning!? I’d give ANYTHING to know what they’re saying to each other.”
I look at Sophie, I look at the rosellas, I glance at my reflection in the window.
Maybe I won’t trade in this superpower just yet.
I roll over and dodge the sunbeam that slices onto my pillow through the crack in the curtains.
I am instantly awake. I peel open an eye to check if Sophie is still there beside me – whew! – indeed she is, and I have to tell you, she looks even more wonderful than she did last night.
She looks like a goddess. Her eyes have tiny little puffy bits underneath them and her hair is sticking out in little spikes. The slightest little thread of drool is resting by her gorgeous mouth. She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I roll back carefully with my elbows akimbo behind my head. In one way, I feel like a regular dude (maybe for the first time in my life), in another way I feel like a super hero. I try to look cool in case there’s an audience somewhere, but I can’t help a happy little curl coming onto the corner of my lips.
I mean, Sophie wasn’t my first. Well, maybe sort of my first if you’re being really technical – as long as you understand that there’s something special about her besides being my, well, okay, first.
And I feel, I dunno, DIFFERENT somehow. I feel muscley and tough and protective and invincible. I recall the moment last night when, you know…when IT happened. I felt as if I could dart up the side of a building or lift a busload of trapped tourists or something like that. I still have that feeling. Call me an idiot if you like, but I have to test if I’ve really been given a superpower.
I slip quietly out of bed. I feel like a clown but nonetheless I put my hands against the wall experimentally to see if I can do the Spiderman thing. Surprise! – nothing happens. I put a finger on the bottom corner of the big dresser and try to lift it. Surprise! – I break my fingernail. I stare at the aftershave bottle and WILL it to rise into the air but it just sits there. I check out the guy looking look back at me in the mirror. He flexes his abs and the ol’ 6-pack looks just as pathetic as usual – except the guy is grinning and his eyes keep shifting back to check out that miracle on the bed.
Though the guy in the mirror looks a bit hopeless, it doesn’t alter my feeling that he should have a superpower. I look again at Sophie, who stirs a little. Then in a moment of blinding clarity, I realise that this whole thing with her is special enough that I don’t have to go searching for superpowers like a kid.
At that exact moment I notice voices outside the window. I draw back the curtain slightly and observe my two old mates, crimson rosellas, according to the bird book. The one hanging on the bird feeder calls out, “You! Speckles! Don’t forget to keep watch!” The other one, Speckles obviously, is sitting on the balcony rail and shouts back, “I’m watching, I’m watching, I’m watching. And hurry up because it’s my turn to get into the food action next.”
They squabble back and forth for a full minute, the one on the feeder pecking away, stalling and taking his sweet time while his partner gets increasingly antsy. Finally he says, “All right, sweetie, over to you. I’ll stand guard. Have you noticed our guy in the window watching us? Harmless obviously but I won’t be taking my eye off him.”
Suddenly my heart gives a little stutter and I realise I’m even stupider than I thought. It’s taken me THIS long to realise that they actually are talking, ENGLISH no less, to each other, and I’m listening.
I am gob-smacked. My first thought is, “Well, THAT’S nifty. Fancy being able to understand bird conversation!” And then my second thought is a little whinge, something like, “Geez, I DID get a superpower, but does it have to be THIS one!?”
Suddenly I feel the lightest touch on the back of my neck, and there’s Sophie standing beside me, stretching a little and rubbing her eyes. She looks out the window and says, “Aren’t those rosellas stunning!? I’d give ANYTHING to know what they’re saying to each other.”
I look at Sophie, I look at the rosellas, I glance at my reflection in the window.
Maybe I won’t trade in this superpower just yet.
Tapping into the universe (Kerry)
You wake up one day with an unusual super power that seems pretty worthless—until you are caught in a situation that requires that specific "talent."
Tapping in to the universe
The incessant ringing in my ears was becoming unbearable. I struggled, twisted this way and that. I wanted to switch it off, turn it down. But the sound was coming from inside my head. There was nothing I could do. I had suffered from tinnitus for years and knew there was nothing I could do about it but this was beyond anything I had previously experienced. Then suddenly it stopped.
I felt the tension melt from my body. My limbs began to feel heavy. I experienced a sweet release from anxiety. But, best of all, my head was clear. It took several seconds in this blissful state of torpor before I realised that another sensation had replaced the distressing high-pitched ringing. I could describe it as a murmur but it was more like a soft low babble. Like hearing a crowd through a thick stone wall, nothing distinct but distinctly something.
The king wave had swept me off the rocks. I recalled the shock of being hurled out of control onto the sand, the pummelling as I tumbled in the gritty foam, the terror of not catching breath, the fear of being thrown against the rocks that I knew were strewn all around this part of the bay. Perhaps I lost consciousness. I don’t remember.
I became conscious then of pain. Intense pain flooding me, threatening to drown out that sweet background babble. With the pain came a clearer understanding of my situation. My shoulders were wedged between two rocks. My body was washed by the sea each time a wave came in. Only my head was clear of the water but I knew that the tide was rising.
And I didn’t panic.
I felt as though my mind was being washed by the silvery babble, cleansed of distressing thoughts, bathed in serenity. The more I became conscious of the babble the less I experienced any physical pain. However I was also aware of a curious tickling sensation in my feet and legs. I wondered briefly if my legs were paralysed and this was my last phantom feeling. I glanced down to make sure my legs were there. And then I saw them.
Hundreds of tiny shining fish flashed around my legs. I had the impression they were nudging me. Their behaviour struck me not as hostile but as urgent. I somehow knew they were sympathetic, on my side, wanting to help me. Again I became conscious of the babble. The two were related, the fish and the babble. I raised my leg off the sand a little to see their reaction. They swarmed underneath and I could feel them again nudging my thigh. They were acting as a single entity, perfectly coordinated in their intention and behaviour.
Once more I felt the tension drain from my body. I was relaxed. As the waves flowed over me I was aware of a gentle massaging over my chest and back. My shoulders relaxed. The sea was swarming with the tiny fish. Gently, gradually, as the water rose, they dislodged me from my rock trap.
I floated free. My mind was clear.
Tapping in to the universe
The incessant ringing in my ears was becoming unbearable. I struggled, twisted this way and that. I wanted to switch it off, turn it down. But the sound was coming from inside my head. There was nothing I could do. I had suffered from tinnitus for years and knew there was nothing I could do about it but this was beyond anything I had previously experienced. Then suddenly it stopped.
I felt the tension melt from my body. My limbs began to feel heavy. I experienced a sweet release from anxiety. But, best of all, my head was clear. It took several seconds in this blissful state of torpor before I realised that another sensation had replaced the distressing high-pitched ringing. I could describe it as a murmur but it was more like a soft low babble. Like hearing a crowd through a thick stone wall, nothing distinct but distinctly something.
The king wave had swept me off the rocks. I recalled the shock of being hurled out of control onto the sand, the pummelling as I tumbled in the gritty foam, the terror of not catching breath, the fear of being thrown against the rocks that I knew were strewn all around this part of the bay. Perhaps I lost consciousness. I don’t remember.
I became conscious then of pain. Intense pain flooding me, threatening to drown out that sweet background babble. With the pain came a clearer understanding of my situation. My shoulders were wedged between two rocks. My body was washed by the sea each time a wave came in. Only my head was clear of the water but I knew that the tide was rising.
And I didn’t panic.
I felt as though my mind was being washed by the silvery babble, cleansed of distressing thoughts, bathed in serenity. The more I became conscious of the babble the less I experienced any physical pain. However I was also aware of a curious tickling sensation in my feet and legs. I wondered briefly if my legs were paralysed and this was my last phantom feeling. I glanced down to make sure my legs were there. And then I saw them.
Hundreds of tiny shining fish flashed around my legs. I had the impression they were nudging me. Their behaviour struck me not as hostile but as urgent. I somehow knew they were sympathetic, on my side, wanting to help me. Again I became conscious of the babble. The two were related, the fish and the babble. I raised my leg off the sand a little to see their reaction. They swarmed underneath and I could feel them again nudging my thigh. They were acting as a single entity, perfectly coordinated in their intention and behaviour.
Once more I felt the tension drain from my body. I was relaxed. As the waves flowed over me I was aware of a gentle massaging over my chest and back. My shoulders relaxed. The sea was swarming with the tiny fish. Gently, gradually, as the water rose, they dislodged me from my rock trap.
I floated free. My mind was clear.
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