Tiny Stories

There are four books on my shelf. I can’t feel them, these electronic copies, but the pages are shining on my tablet, bright in the darkness of my room. It is cold, spine chillingly cold, as a southerly blows snow from the south, and only one dry-skinned hand emerges from layers of blankets. But the stories are of warmth, of growth, of learning to love again. Three “incredible” books I find boring, self-aggrandising, repetitive; a fourth fills in time during bouts of insomnia. I browse the shelves again, and his name appears, a man whose writing I adore. It is Albert Wendt, now in his 80s, tracing his life in Ponsonby, the garden he shares with aiga and friends. And a cat. Immediately I reconsider this man who I’ve held in awe for years, since I read "Ola" a decade or two ago. Tanoa: an aloof, bird-stalking, pillow-cruising cat. Wendt, writing about hip replacements, friends dying, Vegas losing its pull. Writing about cicadas and sweet tomatoes. There's a tiny slip of pap...

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...

“He’s your favourite,” he moans, looking distraught and hurt. I laugh. No, not out loud, but the laugh that only parents know, maybe only mums. This is not a zero sum game. Every child is precious, welcomed to the world with open arms. As I write this, I realise it is true in my privileged corner of the world, unconscious bias raising its head, as it does. There are many babies that come forth unwanted, but today I will write of my experience, my aroha, my life. I remember Sofie’s Choice , a movie so powerful, so raw. I see Meryl Streep, beautiful even in her gauntness, standing in the dark by the grimy railway track, the soldiers demanding she must decide: her daughter or her son? An impossible choice, and one I hope never to make. (Photo: Rob McEldowney, circa 1999) But this post is not about favourite children, (except that it is). It’s about favourite books, favourite songs (strains of Julie Andrews ring in my ears - “raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens”), and favourite foo...

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 ...

 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...