By The Candlelight

Candles flicker at the end of the soap-sudded bathtub.  Some have company; most are alone.  Bubbles prickle and whisper and pop.  A naked body with one silver chain, battling the thoughts within.   A time when thoughts bounce around your head, tasting the temptation of letting themselves free or otherwise remaining forever in secret. 

The bubbles begin to disappear, revealing the bare skinned body to the empty room.  A naked soul.  For none to see.  The pen meets paper but the thoughts won’t come.  There are no words.  

A pen lid.  Submerged in water.  Drowning in words; dispersing splotched ink.  Swimming in a sea of what could be written.  But never to be seen.   These crispy, yet soft damp pages, of thickness and trust.  Will one day turn to dust.  

Birthday Cards

Dear Readers,

Yesterday was my mum's birthday (for her sake, I will keep her age in discretion, but I will say she doesn't look a day over 25 :P).  I was lying on my bed the night before, pen poised over the page of the card that I had made.  What should I write?  I didn't want to do the generic thing and write 'Happy Birthday I hope you had a great day, it's lovely to celebrate with you, thanks for being a great mum, yadda, yadda, yadda," because, whilst true, these words simply are not special.  They are some regurgitated pleasant words that, in contrast to much of my writing, seem hollow.  

So, I decided to embrace my inner creativity.  For my Nanna's 80th birthday this year, I was expected to write a speech; being the oldest grandchild.  Instead of making a corny speech filled with words previously said ("we are so lucky to have you in our lives, we love you, what a great way to celebrate a milestone blah blah blahdy blah"), I chose to write something a little more creative.  *Ding ding ding* went the fork against the glass; and I rose from my seat.

"In our hearts there live the memories.  Those that we cherish and love to death.  

There’s picnic’s down at the rivers, three children running around the wharf's of the yacht clubs.  There’s endless games of hide and seek (or just running away from each other) through the Lisle Lodge gardens, with winding paths and echoing giggles.  There’s perfectly shiny orange nail polish spread delicately onto the ends of dainty fingers; and lipstick to match.  There’s many Christmas Days, wearing those ridiculous hats and smiling amongst seafood and salad.  There’s Easter’s with special white chocolate Lint bunnies given every year.  There’s the old fashioned telephone that sits on the wall, the French magazines and comfy cushions.  There are Nanna’s famous chicken sandwiches and piles upon piles of books collected over the years.  There’s the memories we can’t quite remember; with kiddy pools and puppy Hugo.  There’s the colour white.  There’s fancy hats and not-so-fancy hats.  There are stories about the bus.  There’s the wisdom and the warmth that Poppa Billy brought into our lives.  There’s music and dancing and hugs and kisses and speeches.  And of course, there’s this moment here, spent on your 80^th Birthday, Nanna.  

May we never forget them all." 

This way, these words mean something.  They required thought, they required memory and they required proper punctuation and grammar.  I hope that they stuck in the minds of my family, took root and began to grow, fueling their own flourish of memories from times spent with those they love.  It's interesting for people to see what parts of them get noticed, what things other's remember or cherish about them.  So for my mother's card; I wrote a poem that goes exactly like this:

Fluffy dark hair and a big toothy smile on a petite frame filled with love. 
The smell of nice perfume. 
An eagle, swallow, blue wren or even a dove. 
A ‘huggy woo woo’.
An added ‘achooooweee’ on the end of a sneeze and; 

‘I need to do a poo’.  

Green tea that sits on the counter, growing cold.
A steamy plate of coiled spaghetti topped with meaty tomato bolognaise. 
“God I’m getting old”.
Washing hung on the line and no dishes in the sink.
Beds made, cat tray clean.
Who would do all those things if it weren’t for mum, you think?
And for god’s sake take the bin out - it honks like no tomorrow!
You’re always there to listen,
Or to hug throughout our sorrow.
With hugs and kisses for your daughter teens.
And poems and words and crystals and crosswords. 
And “does my bum look big in these jeans?”
You’re not afraid to curse and swear
But we love you all the same,
For it’s you, our dearest Mum, who never forgets to care.

So, next time you are about to write in a card, even if you're not a particularly creative person, think about the things that remind you of that person, the reasons you are happy to have them, things that make you laugh.  And perhaps, they will cherish that card and hold onto it forever. 

Lots of Love,

Annabel xxx

A Letter To Two Years Ago Me

Hey there chickadee,

First of all I just want to say don’t dye your hair red.  No matter how much you want to, don’t do it.  Actually, stop dying it altogether and see if it will grow.  Secondly, don’t stop writing.  Ever.  I know you feel like you’re not good enough now, but you just have to stick by it and believe. 

In about 4 months you’re going to get a boyfriend and he’s going to cheat on you, but don’t worry, you get to meet your soul mate this year.  Your final year at school is going to be tough but you’ll love every minute of it; even the bad parts.  Don’t work too hard, you’re going to get in the 90s (I know, I didn’t expect it either!).  While I’m at it, try not to eat too many packets of Cheese Doritos, you’ll put on like 5 kilos!  But you will get into Curtin studying writing and you’ll absolutely love it.  First year will be hard, but you’ll get there.  I promise.  

You’ll have some of the greatest friends in the world; some you didn’t even expect.  Your dreams of becoming a mermaid are going to come true as well – sort of.  You’ll know what I mean.  You’ll lose your best friend, and it will hurt like hell.  I’d like to say that you’ll get through it, but I’m still working on that.  I’ll let you know how it goes.  Your cat still loves you to death, so you’ve got that at least.  

Mum is still working hard, your sister now has a boyfriend and you’ve started cycling with Dad again (could be a disaster, who knows).  You’ll enter writing competitions, become a writer for Curtin Uni’s magazine and your blog will reach 4000 views.  Sometimes you will feel like giving up and letting things work themselves out.  Don’t.  Don’t wait for things to happen.  Make them happen.  Hang in there, gorgeous, you’ve got talent.  Use it.  

Run For Your Life

Running is a lot like life.  For starters, it’s a journey.  A long one.  If you look at the distance as a whole, you become overwhelmed.  There is too far to travel, too much to cover; your mind cannot comprehend it and you become more exhausted.  But if you focus only on what’s right in front of you, it becomes manageable.  If you can just make it to that pole, then to that shadow, where the two ducks are sitting, passed the man in the blue sneakers, to that third tree; it doesn’t seem so huge.  Little by little.  Take each piece one at a time. 

Sometimes you will run with some friends by your side, perhaps a lover.  Sometimes you will run alone.  Sometimes you will trip over – and yes, it will be embarrassing, but you will get over it.  Sometimes someone will be there to help pick you up, but sometimes you will have to do it on your own.  You may pass people, those you only see for a brief amount of time.  Others you will see a lot more of, perhaps even jog near them for a while.  And some will be there every day, just like you.    

You might hurt your ankle, or pull a muscle, but if you take good care of it, or take it easy for a little while, it will heal.  Sometimes breathing will be heavy, difficult, like knives in your chest when you heave.  Others it will be steady, controlled, fresh air filling your lungs and making you feel more alive.    Sometimes your legs may burn and it becomes harder, but you have to keep going.  You cannot stop because if you do, you’re not sure you’ll be able to start again. 

Nobody said you couldn’t slow down.  A slow jog is sometimes what you need to regroup your energy, to figure out where to go next.  A sprint may come when you least expect it; or perhaps you’ve been preparing for it for a while.  If you need to, you can walk.  Just keep strolling.  Feel free to wander; it’s not always about how fast you can go.  Sometimes you simply need to enjoy the ride.     

In Another's Shoes

I’m sitting on the picket fence.  Balanced precariously, deep in thought and scanning the street.  I watch the cars go by, twitching ever so slightly when they do.  It would be so easy to walk out in front of one by mistake; to feel the hot granite on the pads of my feet.  A fly buzzes around my face and I swat it away, agitated that it’s ruining this time for me.   I get distracted with it and try to catch it, or at least injure it in a way that makes it squirm around in circles next to me.    

I’m locked out of the house and I’m hungry.  Half an hour ago I was inside in the cool, then I made the mistake of leaving; forced to wait with patience I don’t really possess. 

I could go for a massage, around my shoulders and my temples; soothing into my skin and relaxing the muscles that are now spasming from sitting on the fence.  I would close my eyes and grin; maybe even softly purr my thanks. 

Suddenly I feel sick and I heave, losing my balance and falling; landing square on my feet.  I choke and splutter over the grass and then stagger away onto the pavement.  For a moment I still feel sick, but then I swallow and feel my strength coming back.  I have no idea when I’ll be able to get back into the house so I decide to go for a run around the oval, my feet padding against the grass, the sun warm on my back.

 

I become exhausted and plonk down onto my back, staring up at the sky and the trees and the birds.  My ear twitches.  I stretch out and yawn, flipping onto my stomach with bits of dry grass sticking to my back.  I wonder what it would be like to fly.  I wonder why the kid across the oval is kicking that ball.  I flinch when another car speeds passed.

I’m bored so I pick myself up and stroll back into the gates of home; listening to the dinging of a bell.  I perch on the front deck.  She should be home soon.  She’ll open the door for me and I’ll sprint in, munch on some food and collapse on the bed in the third room, stretch out and fall asleep, dreaming.    

---

If you didn’t pick it up,
this is told from the point of view of a cat.
Now read the story again :)

When We Were Little; a 90's Kid's Trip Down Memory Lane

When we were little, the boys sat on one side and the girls sat on the other, because boys had cooties, but so did girls, and only the ‘tom-boys’ were cool enough to play soccer with the boys at lunch time. 

When we were little we watched Postman Pat, Noddy, Blinky Bill, and of course, Round the Twist.  There was the old Playschool, the good quality Bananas in Pyjamas, Thomas the Tank Engine, Pingu and Brum.  We watched the ones you might not remember – Budgie the Little Helicopter, Johnson and Friends, Gumby and The Trap Door.  And we loved them all, even though some may have creeped us out at the time.

When we were little, the girls played Mildred Hubble, The Saddle Club, Charmed and H20, Just Add Water.  Because yes, we were that lame. 

When we were little we collected CD’s.  ‘So Fresh’ was one of the best.    

When we were little it was still baa baa black sheep and ‘vegie monster’ was cookie monster and he ate cookies, except he didn’t actually eat them because crumbs just flew everywhere instead. 

When we were little we would fall asleep on the couch and wake up in our own warm cosy bed.

When we were little we sat on Santa’s lap at the shopping centre, telling him what we wanted for Christmas while we bounced with excitement, and somehow didn’t notice that his beard is clearly fake. But we believed because we were young and naïve, and why couldn't a fat man in red slide down the chimney to fill our stockings with gifts and our hearts with joy?

  

When we were little The Easter Bunny seemed legit, and the tooth fairy would leave us gold coins under the pillow or in a jar of water. 

When we were little, computers were chunky and bulky and to connect to the internet you had to ‘dial up’, listen to that awful noise it made and then you couldn’t use the phone.

When we were little, jumping off the swings whilst you were swinging pretty high was considered “living on the edge”.

When we were little we played Gameboys, with Pokemon and Mario, and the first ever Playstations, with Spyro and Crash Bandicoot.  Then Tamagotchi's were invented and we hung them around our necks from sexy lanyards.    

When we were little we spent more time outside and less time on electronic devices.  We played hide and seek and 44 home and sometimes even Wavo. 

When we were little the classic Nokia’s had snake.  It was a simpler time. 

When we were little, staying up passed 10pm was a treat. 

When we were little we weren’t allowed to have bare feet in the playground sand because there might be syringes, although I’ve never actually seen or heard of a kid stepping on one. 

When we were little we played marbles in primary school, trying to collect the most out of anyone; especially the big colourful ones. 

When we were little, it didn't matter who was dark skinned, who was white, who was Asian, who was skinny, who was fat, who had glasses and who didn't.  We were all the same.  

When we were little, that annoying tune from the Mr Whippy van was the most exciting thing in the world (and for some of us, it still is). 

When we were little we all were a part of, attended a, or heard about a primary school ‘wedding’, binding two little kids together in ‘holy matrimony’ (I doubt we could even pronounce that back then). 

When we were little we couldn’t step on the cracks or we would break our mother’s back.

When we were little we believed that if we pulled an ugly face and the wind changed, we would stay that way forever.

When we were little we didn’t have to worry about money, a job, what to study at university, the ending of relationships, or a broken heart.  We didn’t have responsibilities and dinner would always be on the table for us without a second thought.  We didn’t have to pay for fuel or watch what we ate or pick what to wear every day.  

And when we were little, we just couldn't wait to grow up.   

Budgie the Little Helicopter 

Gumby 

 Johnson and Friends 

The Trap Door 

Fate

She stands on a jetty, the wind blowing wisps of blonde and brown hair around her face.  In her right palm she clutches a silver necklace tightly.  She lifts her arm into the breeze, pulling it back, ready to throw.  Then she stops.  She slowly brings her arm back down and opens her hand.  It reveals a silver heart, from which two chains fall, silver balls on the end of each.  She gingerly touches the smooth, cold heart, grasping it in her fingers and running them down the chains to the baubles.  Then, in one swift, unthinking motion, she hurtles it into the sea.  She waits for the “plop” and then she turns around and sprints away. 

With a sparkling green mermaid tail she dives into the sea.  She opens her eyes underwater and swims as fast as she can to a point beyond the jetty.  She lifts out her hands and begins fossicking in the sand, clouds of murky clusters rising around her as she moves along the ocean’s floor.  The idea is that if she can find the necklace, if the sea doesn’t swallow it whole; lost for all eternity, then it is meant to be.  And if she can’t, well, then she just has to let it go.