Tiny Stories

It is You I sprawl in the grass looking up at the clouds A skylark hovers above, a dot in the blue I wonder if it is you I sit on the beach The black sand warming my body A gull squawks overhead I wish it is you I lie in our tent, my clothes scattered around Darkness pressing against me A morepork cries out I know it is you. (Sandy Millar, 1 January 2019) The ruru or New Zealand morepork. Image by Don Millar (my dad) circa 1960.

It’s the 1990s. We live in a quiet cul-de-sac in suburbia, a new home and a new baby, my heart full of love, my bank account stripped. We know our neighbours, a wonderful mix of families with kids and grandkids, divorcees and immigrants. We wave to a nervous Tracey as she drives off on her wedding day, her father pleased as Punch, her mother’s eyes wet with tears and pride. Less than six months later, we are in the chapel. Tracey is in her wedding gown, but we cannot see it, even though she takes centre stage. Her husband is distraught, a lifetime of hope gone. Celine Dion plays in the background, a song that I will forever associate with this beautiful bride, It’s All Coming Back to Me Now. As I sit at my computer today, listening to this long, dramatic ballad, I’m transported back to the chapel, to conversations, to happiness, to the intense grief. ~ The amygala, the hippocampus, the adrenal glands - these are all parts of our bodies which kick in, responding automatically to our en

My mother tells me I turn Japanese when I meet her friend in the sleepy streets of Taradale. Her friend, a diminutive, black-haired woman is a company wife, marooned in a strange company. But she is strong, and shares her love of embroidery and quilt making with my mother, language less important when the hands are busy.  I am 30 or 35, or maybe 40 years old, and yet I immediately go into role, bowing, covering my face with my hands, so unlike the Sandy that is bold and assertive. I chuckle to at myself, knowing that empathy and mirroring are part of my skill set.  Ah, this blog is starting to take shape. Tiny Stories is for me, for you, for us. My stories, a channel for creativity, a chance to share. But also a learning place, a place to discover new things. The world is endless, the stories of others so rich and free. I have midnight musings, and Japan is on my mind ... Mastuo Bashō  is famous, the haiku his genre of choice. I search him out , and find hundreds of haiku. A lot resona

It’s late at night as I sit at my computer compiling a funeral service for David, a person I’ve never met. Earlier in the day, I sat with his partner and family, devastated that the man they spent Christmas Day with has gone, his life extinguished in a heart beat. My job is to craft the words, provide structure to the ceremony, hold space for them as we farewell him on a hot summer’s day in Auckland. But first I need to write, I need inspiration, I need energy. Fragile and fragmented - and oddly enough, sometimes funny - conversations with families and friends are my starting point, even when a death is unexpected. But after the meeting, after the tears, it's time to explore, and the internet is a great place to begin. Start with Google (or other search engines) to see what’s available, what’s already been done, and what’s popular. Here are a few things I’ve found useful:   1. Quotes: there are millions of quotes on the internet. Type in a few key words, and you’ll be flooded with

 Yes, yes, I know. I only started the blog today, but I want to get busy. After all there's so much I want to share.  If you're an independent celebrant, a writer or blogger, or just someone wanting to be a bit more creative, this post is for you! It's hard to stand out in a world full of reposts and shares, where algorithms follow our every move, pushing and pulling likes and advertisements towards us. But there are endless possibilities to create your own stories, readings or images, helping you to stand out from the crowd. 1. Cut the cliche - one of my favourite sayings - and get original! Write a poem or a new introduction. Give yourself 20 minutes, and see what comes to mind. Try metaphor (their love was like the sea, the waves of passion crashing on the shore) or fall back on that primary school favourite, the acrostic poem. Play, scribble, share if you're brave enough.  2 . If you've got a Kindle, get to know the highlights feature. If you're old school

"The only way to find your voice is to use it." Austin Kleon's quote appears from the endless store of resources I have. I squirrel stuff away, in hard copy and electronically, knowing I'll find a use for it one day. Austin from Austin. A Texan. A man who creates, regularly, without hesitation. He posts when it's good, he posts when it's not. He works at creativity. And then it comes to me - I'm creating a habit, a habit of creativity. I'm inspired by this distant man, though distance is irrelevant in our new normal. It's a fresh start, and a vision board has taken over the glossy side of my pantry, in my line of view as I sit at the laptop. My quote - creating a habit, a habit of creativity - in the centre, surrounded by images and sayings and stickers and the best process for an apology. I ruminate, I wonder, I stare at the wall.  Then it comes to me, the epiphany I'm waiting for, as I walk in the summer rain. It's time for a new blog. Th