Optimism in life. Curiosity in travel. Highlights in photography.
So excited were my sister and I buying new plants for the garden, that we completely forgot we had Mum and Dad with us. They’d been left sitting in the shade at the garden centre with strict instructions to ”behave yourselves”, while I sauntered around deciding what perennials and shrubs we needed. The purchases were carefully placed into every available space of the car so there was no option but to shove our parents in at the last minute.
Random ideas bob into my head with tidal regularity. Most of them are usually washed away with the next wave of craziness. Except during 2017 one thought arrived like flotsam, and much as I tried to jettison it back, it kept returning. Continue reading “Living between two Shores”
A few years ago, when the earthquake damaged roads of Christchurch reflected my inner being, a friend lent me his compass. Continue reading “Life Intersections”
The mist has rolled in, silent and insistent. It’s crept under locked doors and into private spaces, obscuring what was. I want to return to when the sun shone every day; when he was strong; when I could call out “Dad can you fix this?” But for the first time in our lives, he can’t. So a fog has settled on the household. Continue reading “It can’t be fixed”
Spending time with my elderly parents is more adrenaline pumping than a roller coaster ride.
Sandwiched between every airport goodbye and hello are millions of family members who cope with living apart. Continue reading “Dry Eyes”
She had an open plan living area that welcomed you into her bosom; wrapped arms around you and smelled of the soft scent of acceptance.
As kids we grew up in the shadow of the Korean War but were protected from the details
My red shoes (the replacement ones) are no match for mum’s black canvas tackies with their neatly tied laces. The rhythm of her rubber soles racing down the corridor wakes me. I follow to help but am not quick enough off the starting block and when I do eventually run up alongside she refuses to pass the baton. It’s then I realise this is not a team relay but an individual marathon. Continue reading “Following Her Footsteps”
