The girl who came and went

She came in the half light, when most of the house was asleep.

She stood in the hallway, close to the door of the boy's room.

She looked intently at the sleeping child.

Would he wake to see her this time?

Her bright auburn hair hung gracefully about her pensive face.

She waited patiently, as patiently as is possible for any six year old.

She fiddled with the ties on her bright yellow raincoat and made squelching noises by stomping her feet in her water logged rain boots.

A smile reached her face now ... Oh how she itched to play!

Should she wake him?

Just then, the boy stirred.

He opened his eyes a little and stared at her.

"Does he see me?" she wondered.

She wanted to speak, but instead she smiled at him.

He smiled back in his dopey state.

Her heart quickened and she was about to go to him, but she heard footsteps behind her.

The girl spun around, ready to flee.

It was the mother, the boy's mother.

She smiled at the girl.

It was a warm smile and the girl stayed to watch as the mother went into the boy's bedroom and sat upon his bed.

She whispered something to him.

He turned over and closed his eyes.

The girl was disappointed, she had come to play.

But the mother was not angry with her.

She looked at the girl with a knowing smile.

"We've met before litle one", whispered the mother.

The girl cocked her head and tried to think.

"At the house where you used to live ..." the mother said gently.

The girl smiled.

Yes, she remembered now. The place where she had been the happiest in her life.

But her parents and baby sister had left some time ago. Instead, a family of strangers with no children had moved in. There was no fun in that!

"It's okay little one", said the mother, "you just need to find your way home."

The girl looked at the mother quizzically.

She did not want to go back to her home. She wanted to stay here with the boy and his mother.

But she guessed the mother wanted her to go now.

She hung her head with sadness, her hair fell carelessly over her face.

"Look for the light, little one, and there you will find others to play with", said the mother reassuringly.

A light?

The girl remembered seeing it.

But she had been afraid.

With the quickness of someone with clear intention, the girl left.

Only the mother was left awake now, sitting on the edge of her son's bed.

She leaned over the boy to see his face.

His eyes were closed, his breath slow and steady.

The mother smiled and lovingly stroked his hair, then she walked back down the half lit hallway.

She hoped the girl had found her way and was at peace now.

I've been hit by lightning!

What happened? One minute I am sitting at my computer writing about diversity and discrimination in education; the next minute I am sketching an image from my head, a book title and scrawling a summary for seven chapters.

If ever I felt like a lightning bolt had just hit me, then this was it! And the experience is as close as I want to come to the real thing. It was fast, furious and full of energy. Thankfully I have no burn marks on my body to record the exit point of the energy; however, I am left to hold a folded piece of A4 paper that is marked by a brown coloured sketch and two pages of my distinct scrawl. A time estimate you ask? Mmmmm, I would say no more than a minute. Wow! Were it not for that piece of folded paper, I would not have believed it.

The question I am asking myself now though, several hours later, is ... do I have the outline for my first book?

Dare I believe it has finally hit me? I have been dreaming about writing a book for so long now; I think I have been close, but not this close! The image of the front cover came to me two days ago, but I didn't know what it meant AND I didn't sketch it. This time, however, I followed my instinct; I picked up the nearest pen (a brown texta), folded a piece of paper in half and began to draw. There was no time to process anything! It simply flowed onto the paper seemingly without my guidance or a conscious thought.

As I sit here now, I still feel a sense of disbelief. Yet here it is in front of me. Abandoned. A soldier stands with his back to us, he is in silhouette, his head hangs down slightly and you sense his feeling of disbelief at being left behind. The sun is setting on the horizon of the desert, a desert of sand dunes in the North of Africa ... Why is he there? Why is he alone? Who abandoned him? What happens to him?

Luckily, I know the answers to these questions. They came like a lightning bolt from somewhere unknown, yet I now realise this story has been simmering quietly in the back on my mind over the last four years. My deeply personal journey is now bearing fruit, unexpected fruit.

Of course, I will dedicate the book to my Father. ❤❤❤

Writing

Why do we write?

It seems such a strange question to ask. Yet, I have always felt an urge to write, so to me it is not such a strange question to ask.

I usually write because it forces thoughts, ideas and memories from my head. It also provides relief from the powerful emotions that often attach themselves to these thoughts, ideas and memories. After my writing experience, which can be quick and easy, slow and painful, or somewhere in between, then my mind is clear and my heart is free.

I also write for pleasure. I see a beautiful scene before my eyes, I feel a beautiful feeling within my body or I remember a beautiful memory ... and I know I need to write in order to capture the beauty of the experience. After reading lots of rhyming books with my children, I have these rhyming songs fill my head when I lay in bed attempting sleep. I used to ignore them and think they were silly. Sometimes now though, I write them down and enjoy the surprise of re-reading them the following morning.

Some people like to write for others; some people like to write for themselves; whilst some do not like to write anything at all. My husband is one of the latter. He doesn't even like lists; particularly of the 'to-do' and shopping list variety!

These days I view my writing as history; a kind of history-in-the making. I record my thoughts concerning events that trouble me, that delight me as well as those that change my preconceptions or judgements. I do like to be jolted from my mental comfort zone and be asked to consider an alternative view.

My Grandmother taught me that life is a rich tapestry of stories. I have subsequently learned to cherish my own stories, and therefore my own life. On many occasion I believed my life was not worth living; I could not see my place in or value to the world. My early teenage diaries document my confusion about and frustration with the world around me. However, now I tend to view those few moments of fear, hopelessness and also faith as such -- moments. I do not allow them to be so life consuming or blinding.

It is such a blessing to have learned such a simple lesson of how to love and cherish your own life. I know that writing has saved my life and continues to enhance the way I live.

Bless all of you. ❤❤❤

The Magic Hand

Oh, the magic hand, the magic hand!
It moves like this, it moves like that ... AND
It moves paper through the air, both to the left and the right,
So your scissors cut the paper without much fight!

Oh, the magic hand, the magic hand!

It moves like this, it moves like that ... AND

It moves paper through the air, both to the left and the right,

So make sure your thumb is up on top and in plain sight!

Oh, the magic hand, the magic hand!

It moves like this, it moves like that ... AND

It moves paper through the air, both to the left and the right,

So hold the largest bit of paper to cut off the smallest white!

Oh, the magic hand, the magic hand!

It moves like this, it moves like that ... AND

It moves paper through the air, both to the left and the right,

So your scissors are cutting straight and the shapes are right!

(Adapted from Mem Fox for teaching children how to cut-out properly)

A memory stirred ...

A memory stirs. It comes from somewhere forgotten. The memory looms closer until the light shines upon it, thus banishing it from the darkness.

How long will it stay? Should I let the memory go or encourage my conscious to explore the scene now illuminated?

A boy and a girl sit alone in a sunlit room, each reading a book.

Feelings of companionship circulate and warm my body. I decide to let it stay with me. I am comfortable now to explore ...

They glance occasionally at each other and smile; there is no need to talk. This is a special moment. They can hear the world going along on its usual business outside. Somehow they find themselves in a time capsule, where even the hands of the noisy clock upon the wall seem to have slowed.

The connection between the boy and girl has been evident before now, but neither of them realised its depth until this moment.

Other memories are trying to enter the spotlight now. They are a mixture of new and old, and threaten to sabotage the clarity of the first memory. The peace has been shattered. Yet, I am not ready to give up -- I decide to shut the door on the other memories and drift back to the room from fifteen years ago ...

Who is this girl? I cannot recognise her. She is full of self-doubt and criticism, yet there is an abundance of hope and enthusiasm that she has for the future. What a contradiction. She is yet to understand herself and trust that she can face the world around her without a mask.

And what of the boy? Who was he back then? I cannot get a clear feeling about him. He seems closed off from the emotional world. He is so different from the man he has now become.

It is almost time to leave ... The shadows of the present are falling over them, casting different feelings and memories between the boy and the girl.

Neither the boy nor the girl knew the connection was more than friendship. Both of them had someone back "home" in the world far beyond the one they worked in every day for weeks at a time. It took them some six months to disentangle themselves from their previous lives in order to be free to unite as a couple in love.

Perspective

Perspective is an amazing thing ...

It is a thing required by artists, such as photographers, painters and architects. But perspective is also a thing that normal, every-day people require too -- we just don't always know it.

Whilst some people dwell on whether their outfit makes them look fat or not, whether their hair is too frizzy or dull, or whether their house is perfect like in magazines ... others dwell on whether they will be able to feed their family, whether they will find the strength to get out of bed because of depression, or whether they will survive the beating or verbal abuse likely to come their way.

However, perspective can be elusive. Often it is gained once a struggle or difficulty has been surpassed -- such that one can look back over recent events and realise the insignificance of it all. Should one feel guilty? I don't think so. Yet, the event can be filed for future reference in order prevent a loss of perspective under similar circumstances.

I am constantly reminded of the importance of perspective. Last week I enjoyed a wonderful few days away with my two children ... we read books, played games, went shopping, collected shells, stayed up late and snuggled in bed until the sun shone through the window. It was bliss. I realised the long, hard grind of recent months ensuring the girls were well nourished, rested, educated and challenged now paved the way for us to relax and strengthen our bond under more joyful circumstances. Thus, I realised that although learning is important ... so is relaxation and family unity. There is need to make time for both.

As two of my closest friends are currently dealing with the reality of a parent with terminal cancer, I know the importance of keeping perspective about my day-to-day dramas. Like the fact that I spent 40 minutes this morning herding a run-away cat back into its owner's house! Grrrr. And I would dearly love to take away the mental anguish my two friends are suffering, but I know the importance of having someone simply be there to listen or to hug or to just be with ...

Today, I can look back over the de-railment of my own life over the last three years (due to grief upon the loss of my grandmother) and make this experience assist me to be the best supportive friend I can be. In addition, I can use a sense of perspective to realise recent disappointments will not prevent me from successfully moving along my chosen path. :)