BlossomYou go through endless weeks of the children being sick, the baby (now running) who wants to stay up all night just like her brother before her (and sometimes still); you see such sad things going on in the world that you want to switch off entirely, but then there is that silver lining around an unexpected corner that tells you again, and again that it is all going to be better. Lately, these have been the silver linings for me:

Signing up for Clare Bowditch and  Big Hearted Business’s Sing, Song Show-time Workshop, very much under the finding my bravery ribbon. This amazing event takes place on October 4 at the Abbotsford Convent in Melbourne, and even better, one of my beautiful friend Ayesha (former fellow del amitri groupie from this post) is going to do it with me! We won’t even be having a few glasses of wine for courage! I can’t wait. I wrote once about reciting poetry at my local bar in front of the eyes of one of the members of The Seekers, but what I had really wanted to do was sing The Last Day of Our Acquaintance. Alas, I was possibly brave enough (with wine), but have no sense of timing to music and that was enough to choose Pablo Neruda instead of Sinead. Not this time. Must be, will be brave.

I also got to collect baby carriers for Australian Babywearers for Refugees initiative. I sent off two of my own and three from friends, and what an antidote that was, to send the very things that I had held my sleeping baby safe within, next to my heart, to those mamas in carrying their precious children across Europe. They have collected thousands and thousands of wraps, slings and carriers from Australian mums in the same mind as me, and I think that that is enough to banish the ugly voices of Andrew Bolt and Alan Jones.

I bought a silky, swishy, long emerald green skirt. I can’t tell you how much this skirt makes me happy.

Play therapy every day with Boodi brings him out of himself, smiling and laughing. I am so grateful  for his key worker/speech therapist who comes weekly to make sure we are on the right track, so that although I know that a sheaf of papers will arrive one day soon in my letterbox with the results of his assessment, I will know that what makes him so beautiful can never be captured in that report.

Continuing on with my book, although my first three chapters didn’t make the long list for the Richell Prize, which was hardly surprising. It is a slow undertaking, but always a labour of love. I am enjoying seeing the unexpected places that the story takes me, and I love my friends belief in me as I write. It has a long way to go, with writing and especially editing and drafting. Oh, and I finished and submitted a short story, Cerulean, and am working on redrafting a post from here, Blue, for yet another competition. I write my days better.

And then there was the Spring sunshine, those glorious days of promise. Blue skies, blossom rains, the scent of jasmine heavy in the air, coriander sprouting, nude children playing in the backyard. All beckons, everything will be alright….