Tiny Stories

I arrive early for the wedding, on a hot summer's day in Hawkes Bay. It's an auspicious date - or at least a memorable one - a palindrome and an ambigram, I'm told - the same backwards and upside down: 22022022. It is early, so we hide inside, the aircon buzzing, a few guests waiting under the trees outside. A name from the past shoots past my ears, and my subconscious starts ticking over. I look at the man, his height, his laughter, and it clicks. We were school mates, 46 years ago. We hug, we laugh, and he reminds me my hair was jet black back then. It is two years since my mum died. She was a gentle woman who loved pansies.  After my gorgeous brides say their vows, I drive to meet Mary for a commemorative afternoon tea. I have promised I'll bring the crockery, and she is puzzled to say the least. When I unpack the fine bone china from the bag, in mum's favourite colour, she gets it: it's our way of celebrating the Life of Joy, her crafty friend and confidant....

A helicopter hovers high above me, the buzzing dot juxtaposed against the clouds edged with sunlight, reminiscent of the Ascension. I am not Catholic, but even I am surprised when I recognise this term and share it with my husband all those years ago. I am even more surprised to find that - as we attend a friend’s wedding - my responses are automatic. “Peace be with you,” he chants, “and also with you” I reply without hesitation. A suburban chick in the country, we pile into the car with his endless siblings, off to the early morning mass, my first foray into ritual and ceremony, my own family devoid of such things. I watch The Virgin, the pressed robes of the priest, take in the smells of humanity and incense, the shuffling as he genuflects in the aisle. I absorb more than I know. © S andy Millar - available on Unsplash Back in the moment, I watch the helicopter, framed with heavenly light, I wonder about their rituals, these pilots. Getting the call, the adrenalin starts pumping thro...

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 ...