Observation

The stories we tell ourselves

When I wrote this piece, I was questioning the idea that our experiences make us who we are; a belief that had, until then, provided me with both justification and reassurance. I’d come across the work of Kahneman who suggests that it is not an experience per se that we remember; what we remember is…

All in the name of research

I’d have to say that one of the best things about being a writer is that you can justify anything under the guise of ‘research’. Okay, maybe you can’t justify anything anything, but you can pretty much justify most things. As long as it isn’t illegal. Or immoral. Or bad taste. But everything other than…

Rarely linear, sometimes chaotic, always meaningful

One of my dear writing friends wrote to me recently, saying that she thought she shouldn’t be blogging because she felt that her semi-regular posts which touched on a range of topics made it look as though she had five personalities. ‘Your posts don’t strike me as being inconsistent at all,’ I reassured her. ‘If…

Beauty

Look. Do you see? There in the lengthening shadows, in the dappled light kissing the roses. There, where each petal caresses the next. There. Look. You will see.

I’m sorry wind, but I’m just not that into you

I don’t like the wind. It makes me agitated and unsettled. I think maybe it’s because my body struggles to settle into its own rhythm amid the noise and chaos of a windy day. Everyone in my family feels the same. Anytime we’ve ranked the weather elements on a likeability scale (yes, I have the…

The man

His eyebrows sit neatly between the boundaries set for them. They are so striking in their symmetry that at first you don’t see the way his left eyebrow arches slightly higher than his right. How it lifts even higher as he enquires as to your health. How his lips disappear into his mouth as he…

A sense of occasion

In a previous post, I wrote about not being much of a photo taker and that my favourite photos are the imperfect ones; the ones that capture life as it unfolds, rather than life working to a script. In today’s world of the camera phone, it can be hard to remember there was a time…

Does the kettle really have emphysema?

‘Why did you call your blog The Kettle has Emphysema?’ no-one asked me ever. In the absence of any data, I can only assume that this means one of three things. It’s obvious why No one is curious (translation = no one cares) The one person who is curious just hasn’t got around to asking…

For the (photo) record

I don’t take many photos. It doesn’t matter if I’m at a family wedding, catching up with friends I don’t see very often, or on some amazing travel adventure (remember them?); you just won’t find me behind the lens. Lately I’ve been thinking about why this is. The best reason I can come up with…

Just because …

Because it is Sunday. Because it makes me smile. Because Tillandsia is such nice word to say. Because a friend and I have been talking about our house plants. Because I said I would post everyday in February and I have nothing else to offer right now. Just because.

My Grandmother’s Teapot

This was my Grandmother’s teapot. I can’t recall ever going to to her house and not seeing this little teapot sitting on the kitchen table, alongside her tannin stained teacup. As was the custom among her generation, she always used tea leaves and she always, always, steeped her tea way too long for anyone of…

‘To be or not to be’ should not be the question

As a rule, I don’t like definitions. It isn’t really that I don’t like them, it’s that I don’t find them very helpful. Their purpose seems to be to divide and conquer. In their assumption of an ‘other’, they trap us in unhelpful, unproductive, ‘either or’ thinking. Take the glass half-full or half-empty scenario. The…

Grey Box remnant

Like the Girl in the cafe, this piece riffs on the work of another. This time, my inspiration is from David Foster Wallace and the opening sequence of his unfinished novel The Pale King. His poetic first sentence is something else. Past the suburban chaos and false borders of ill-claimed land and past the bleak…

Girl in the cafe

It’s easy to get into a bit of funk with your writing practice but it’s not always easy to find your way out again. One of the things I’ve learned to do when creativity goes missing is to pull out some writing from someone I admire and to try and imitate their work. I find…

Morning reflection

My home. My land. My space. My life. The kookaburras rouse us from our sleep with their staccato laugh and zest for the day. It is not possible to wake up unhappy here. The magpies greet us as we venture out onto the verandah with our coffee. They show off the newest additions to their…