The walkers

Most days, on my way to work, I see them.  An older man and a younger one, walking. Perhaps father and son. 

Sometimes the younger man is just several steps ahead of the older, but often the time I leave dictates when I see them on their journey and they are often coming up the big hill near our house and the older man is quite a way back.

They never walk together, always the younger one ahead. Which is kind of weird but the younger one is fit and healthy while the older man sort of plods along, head down. No-one knows them in our street but we all notice them and have talked about them. The general view is that it's son and dad, and that dad has to walk for his health.

Last week, I passed the older man sitting on a railing at one end of a small park that cuts through between two roads. The younger man was nowhere and I almost stopped my car but kept driving. I hesitated at the bottom of the hill and almost turned back and then I saw the younger man talking to another man.

I wound the window down and heard him say "forgot his specs, silly bugger" and felt relief wash over me. The younger man gave a bit of a wave and started back to meet the older one. All seemed right again.

From the start

                                                                          

I knew I wanted to write when I was eight and a car was stolen from our street. The police came and I interviewed the neighbours, my mum and dad, my six year old brother and an indulgent policeman and wrote it all up in my own newspaper.

I studied, got a cadetship at a country newspaper, became a journalist. Learnt to observe, question the obvious, convey a story. Learnt to question and try not to be too intrusive except on those occasions when hard questions had to be asked. No Google then to conveniently help out, facts had to be sourced and it was often a hard slog.

I learnt to write impartially, factually, concisely, accurately. I learnt to keep myself out of the story. I learnt from a hard editor who would throw my story back across his desk and say "do it again" but often wouldn't tell me where I'd failed. I learnt to question my own work, and became a better writer for it. His name was Murray Tucker and behind his back we called him Motherf...think you can guess why. As in many things, it's in looking back you see the gift of that training.

And then, many years and three children later,  I left the world of newspapers, went to the "dark side" of corporate writing, media releases, speeches, opinion pieces. Other people's voices and thoughts conveyed by my words.

I think this has made me struggle with this blog. Finding my own voice has been a challenge, all those years of disciplined writing about others and for others. The voice that tells me to pull back and edit, not to overshare.

I'm going to try to do better, for myself. I guess it's like another cadetship. Learning as I go, letting those thoughts in my head breathe.

This year, I've jokingly said it's The Year of Jo but in saying that I'm talking to myself. I want to pull back from my work and rediscover some parts of myself that I've had to put away to get the job of work and life done. Writing for the love of it, not for work, is part of it. So is taking better care of myself, living in the moment, observing and recording this life. Wish me luck.

Swings and roundabouts

It's been a month of change.

My mum has moved from her home of 35 years and this weekend, my eldest moves out to share a house with a girlfriend.

She sort of left home once before but not really. At 18, she went to live with my mum and stepdad for two or three days a week during her first year of uni before transferring her course back to Melbourne.

This is different. But I'm okay. Living at home has meant she's had the opportunity to travel but now she, and we, are ready for her to go.

It will be weird, no doubt. Of my three kids, she is the messiest and can be pretty feisty when the mood strikes her. She is loud, sensitive and the least confident despite being the eldest.

She is her 16 year old's sister's biggest supporter but also her staunchest critic. Of late, there's been a bit of clashing between them as the 16 year old, in typical teenager fashion, is asserting her own personality. The bickering annoys the crap out of me.

We'll see her a few nights a week, I expect she'll need a good feed - don't thinking gourmet cooking is on the agenda!

It will be strange but it's true life goes in swings and roundabouts. I will finally be getting a Room of My Own, to quote Virgina. For writing and my craft, finally not having to pack up the kitchen table and put things away.

My fingers are crossed it is all going to work out okay.

Celebrate

 I am celebrating a milestone birthday this weekend. I had hoped to be here * sigh * but not to be. So I am bringing a little bit of Paris to my celebrations.

• There will be a daiquri machine...or two..
• Eiffel Tower...gotcha
• Chanel themed cupcakes....stat.
• Moreish finger food...oh yeah. Some created by my little hands, others purchased from lovely gourmet shop.
• A croquemboche...let me at it.
• Fancy LBD (Little Black Dress).....locked in.

It's not a big bash, I have always been a less-is-more kinda girl when it comes to friendships. Two of my oldest and dearest mates will be there...the girls who were my bridesmaids all those years ago and who were my co-conspirators in my teenage years. Can't wait.

But before my party there is a funeral. Today. Of an old friend of my mum's, a man small in stature but with the biggest heart.

This man was an important person in my younger years, when my brother and I would stay with his family as our own was crumbling. He had a wicked sense of humour, loved a drink and a laugh, was an enormously generous soul.

His three children have, in the past month, buried their stepfather of many years and now their dad. It's heartbreaking. As can happen in circumstances where two families have come together following a divorce, there was some angst with the new wife and despite it being many years ago, old problems have resurfaced in the grief of his passing.

They'll get through it, but the loss of him...it's a hole that will never be filled.

Life goes so fast. Today I will say goodbye to this lovely man and hug his children. And tomorrow I will celebrate another day.

Moving on

It's been the busiest time I can remember.

A large chunk has been taken up moving my ma out of her home of 35 plus years. She was mad keen for it but then had a bit of a meltdown about it all.

I found it really hard to deal with. Sometimes we butt heads - we are very different people - but I've found in the last few years that I tend to be more the calming voice whereas before I would get upset and be offended by some of the thoughtless things she'd say. I'd arc up about something she'd say, she'd get defensive and shut down and all the old wounds would be lacerated open to bleed out again.

This time I didn't bite. It was plain that she was struggling, seeing her house in chaos and frightened a little by the prospect of change. Her husband  - my second stepdad - had never moved house before and was out of his depth.

The thing was, she'd been at me to come and help (we live an hour and a half away) so in the midst of a crazy month with work and other stuff my husband, son, his girlfriend and I had headed off to pack, clean, move. When we got there, she wouldn't have a bar of it. Didn't want us to do anything, didn't want any of us taking over. Aaaghh!

After a bit of negotiating, we were able to help out - my strong 6ft 4in hubby and even stronger but equally tall son did some heavy lifting and things were accomplished.

It was a bit sad, my capable ma so flustered. When I went back again a few days ago with my youngest Blossom on moving day, to unpack at the new place and then clean the old, she'd turned the corner and was looking ahead, not back.

I took a last walk through the house, where I'd spent some of the best and worst times of my life, where I'd learnt about love and fear, heartbreak and honour, betrayal and beauty. The house was quiet and waiting for its new life. My mother had already begun hers.

In the blink of an eye

I'm working from home today and I'm a little anxious.

Blossom (my youngest) has scratched her cornea. She doesn't know how she did it, possibly something was in her eye - a piece of grit - and she's rubbed it. I sent her off to school yesterday, bad mother, though it was sore but we'd eyedropped and she wanted to go. Still..... bad mother.

School rang of course and I bundled her off to the doctor. The doctor thinks it's not too deep and she applied some ointment and whacked on an enormous eyepatch which is totally mortifying to a 15 year old. We had to sneak out the back door of the clinic, lest anyone see her pirate look.

                                    Daryl Hannah can carry it off though.
                                                                               

It was itchy and hurting last night and she lurched between laughing about it and being in tears. Teenage hormones are a challenge! The Man is, of course, away so it's just me. And one of our dogs, Harry, opened up a sore behind his ear where the dog clipper nicked him so I had to patch him up too.

Florence bloody Nightingale I'm not. In these sorts of emergencies, only wine and chocolate will suffice.

We're back to the doctors at noon, am hoping it will be good news.

What's on

It's been a full on couple of weeks. Eldest has headed to the US on her first trip overseas alone although she is joining up with a tour and will make friends there. Much effort beforehand getting her sorted.

So this weekend I'm looking forward to finishing putting in the new lovely handles on my kitchen cupboards - have about six to go - and giving them a touch up with the white paint.

Pruning the 20 rosebushes in my front yard. It's an annoying job but I cheat a bit and get the MoH to chop them down roughly and then I do the "proper" pruning. It's worth it in Spring when they bloom so beautifully. I chose all my roses for fragrance and colour so it just smells gorgeous when they are all out. Must keep thinking of that when I'm mopping up the scratches.

Also have been commissioned (oohaah) to make two baby blankets by a friend at work. I'm making two lion blankets with an adorable lion and lioness appliqued in supersoft velour. Will post some pics when I'm done, hoping to finish one off this weekend. This is one of giraffes I did recently, was very happy with it.

                                                                               

Harry and Ralph (our two maltese shitzu fluff balls) will be given a wash this weekend. I hope. Harry's excited about the idea.

                                                                               

In between there'll be coffee, wine, chocolate, walks, movies, some yummy comfort food ( lamb shanks, roast chicken) and some missing of my big girl. There'll be some delight in her bulletins from overseas and hopefully a chance to just linger and chat in front of the fire.