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spleen: My (spiritual) island home
http://jacquelineforster.blogspot.com/2014/09/my-spiritual-island-home.html
Thursday, 25 September 2014. My (spiritual) island home. My connection with New Zealand started well before I understood that the Australian suburb where I attended primary school, Waitara, was named after a place of historical significance in New Zealand and is in fact a Maori word that means mountain stream (according to Wikipedia). A subliminal connection to the land of the long white cloud? Perhaps. A growing love affair with Aotearoa? This is an excerpt from my travel diary on that first trip:.
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spleen: June 2015
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Saturday, 6 June 2015. When I die, I hope people remember that I enjoyed life. That despite the anxious moments I took great delight in foolishness and sunsets and crisp autumn mornings. That I loved animals and mountain views and good food. That I lived for my children, their laughter and company, our impromptu drives through the suburbs and the way they’d implore “turn the music up! I hope they know that I knew about death and what it means to those you leave behind. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).
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spleen: September 2013
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Tuesday, 3 September 2013. A poem for Gary Tweddle). For two days helicopters buzz the cliffs and ridges like metallic lammergeiers. Aiding and abetting the grisly retrieval work of the police ground crew. Our very own Broadchurch. Unfolding on the pretty streets of a tourist town. The decomposed deceased, missing for six weeks, putting paid to delight in an early spring. And yet here comes another unwitting victim, map and Mars bar in hand, gob-smacked by the sun-drenched sandstone edifice. Mt Vic and me.
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spleen: My shadow
http://jacquelineforster.blogspot.com/2014/05/grief-my-shadow.html
Tuesday, 27 May 2014. I’m ironing my husband’s one good shirt, the one reserved for weddings and funerals, when it hits me. A tsunami of grief that knocks me sideways, washes over me and holds me under until I fight my way back towards the light and surface, god knows how long later, in foetal position on the couch, grief all cried out. But this is not what happens. Instead, I get on with it. I continue with the everyday. I remain calm and carry on. I risk delight in sunshine and autumn leaves.
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spleen: May 2014
http://jacquelineforster.blogspot.com/2014_05_01_archive.html
Tuesday, 27 May 2014. I’m ironing my husband’s one good shirt, the one reserved for weddings and funerals, when it hits me. A tsunami of grief that knocks me sideways, washes over me and holds me under until I fight my way back towards the light and surface, god knows how long later, in foetal position on the couch, grief all cried out. But this is not what happens. Instead, I get on with it. I continue with the everyday. I remain calm and carry on. I risk delight in sunshine and autumn leaves.
jacquelineforster.blogspot.com
spleen: December 2014
http://jacquelineforster.blogspot.com/2014_12_01_archive.html
Tuesday, 30 December 2014. A parcel arrived today post-marked Phnom Penh, Cambodia. The return address was Top Banana Guesthouse on the corner of Street 51 down by the riverside, and it was sent by my daughter Indi, aged 18, travelling solo around South East Asia since early November . What was also enclosed in the bubble wrap and newspaper but clearly not labelled on the customs document was much less tangible. This is the letter I wrote to her when she left on her adventure:. I suppose I brought this o...
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spleen: Old mate
http://jacquelineforster.blogspot.com/2014/03/old-mate.html
Sunday, 2 March 2014. I looked up an old friend on facebook the other day. Actually my teenager did after I recalled yet another story from the past about “Parky”. He accepted the friend request within hours and I was able to greet him in the ether. A phone call ensued. But most of all, after the considerable loss and grief I’ve experienced over the last few years, it was good to know he wasn’t divorced, widowed, suffering from cancer or staring down the barrel of addiction or mental illness.
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spleen: January 2015
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Tuesday, 6 January 2015. Me and Mr Darcy. I have a confession to make. I’m not very good at community. You know how we are all supposed to get our jollies from embracing our fellow man/woman, loving thy neighbour, pitching in and stuff for the common good? Well, “community” sort of scares me. I guess I'm just not a joiner. But then I met Helen and Darcy. But time ran its course for Helen and in early 2014 she died. I often scuttle in between work deadlines and loads of washing to rush the near-empty bins...
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spleen: October 2013
http://jacquelineforster.blogspot.com/2013_10_01_archive.html
Monday, 28 October 2013. I'm the red head. When I was growing up my siblings were my best friends. And being a middle child I had it good. My little bro provided escapism and adventure, outdoor games til sunset and someone to lord it over. He possessed a remarkable ability to make me laugh at the silliest things, and still does. Although we are chalk and cheese, in so many ways, the bond we share will never be broken. Happy Birthday Bec! It was Mental as Anything. At the Manly Vale Hotel. Me on a rusty s...
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spleen: Detritus
http://jacquelineforster.blogspot.com/p/detritus.html
From a train window, washing strung like bunting festoons the council flats. Summertime jacaranda confetti litters backyard swimming pools. Above my head a trail of stars like so many alien camp fires. Colour pops from maple trees fairly shimmer in the cool of morning. At the curry house, you came in barefoot, a band-aid on your big toe. Hazard reduction smoke haze taints the day with asthmatic amber hues. Like a swarm of v. angry wasps the chainsaw gang are at it again. 26 March 2013 at 17:11.
