Tiny Stories

It's been a rough 20 months I reflect, as we near the end of 2021. Me? Ups and downs, but nothing I can’t weather with good friends, my constant companion Skylla, and a little money in the bank. Others have done it hard, and my heart reaches out to them. Significant events for my own two sons, who have drawn on the resources they have to brilliantly manage the shituation. I am proud of them both, in only the intense way that parents are. Serious injury, the death of a pet, moving cities and of course, that which shall not be named. It is raining this morning, after a hot, hot, hot day yesterday in the Bay. I welcome the rain, the dry soil thirstily drinking the nectar from the clouds above. The pied stilts in the wetlands are squawking, a handful of the chicks now heading towards adolescence, despite the odds and night-prowling felines. My mate is coming to visit with his husband, and I’m elated. That’s why I chose to move, out of the rat race, swapping my two-beddy terrace for a h...

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...