Dial-A-Muse

2002-03-20T02:01:00.000-08:00

pitter-patter

they race together through the house
small fingers entwined
curious looking for possibilities
circuit completed she drags him back
to where their mothers sit chatting

come on says the boy exasperated
her doubtful blue eyes darken ominously
he tugs coaxing
you coming wiv me?

she backs away lips pursed
he squeezes her hand tightly
his face crinkled with concern
pushes closer
she freezes

he nudges smiles all masculine charm
you want to play piano wiv me?
that does the trick
she giggles her smile radiant as sunlight
she runs pulling him small feet flashing

voices like flutes mingle with the tinkling
of keys in the music room
childish laughter clear as bells refreshes
penetrates corners cleanses

2002-03-04T19:19:00.000-08:00

Well, that great big moon brought a sharp disappointment, closely followed by a wild elation. I knew it was tricky, the way it loomed up behind those buildings like a huge Dutch cheese. Surreal.
The disappointments were two of my stories bouncing back with rejection notices. The thrill came two days later on Friday night with a telephone message on my machine - to ring the magazine.
After a twitchy weekend of suspense, Monday brought the confirmation; the magazine wants to buy another of my stories. Luckily I'd kept sending them in one after the other, before the rejections struck. They could well have stopped me in my tracks.
Far out, man! I could have jumped right over that moon, big though it was. Life is certainly full of ups and downs and surprises.

2002-02-26T01:44:00.000-08:00

Tonight the moon is full, a huge yellow orb, rising silently from behind the glittering city buildings, extinguishing their fire.
Whenever the moon appears like this, a shiver goes through me, as if it is a sign, a portent. I can only hope it is a good one.

Full moon is a testing time. Those who are inclined to fancies or nervous conditions can be set off by it. Even animals, capering and skittering about the place, their claws scraping on floorboards as they chase their own tails until they exhaust themselves and fall into fitful twitching sleep. I try not to look at the moon for too long when it is full. I sneak glances at it now and again, wary of its pull on the tides, the emotions.

It rises quickly, ascending into the darkened sky, diminishing in power as it climbs higher.

2002-02-13T02:34:00.000-08:00

The weekend before last, I was sitting on a sofa with all four of my grandchildren while their parents and grandfather were glued to the television watching the cricket.
We were engrossed in the Pinocchio book which I'd given Josh to mark the important occasion of his entry into Big School! All the children, but especially Josh and Samantha, who are both four, love the adventures of Pinocchio, especially the part where he turns into a Real Boy.
Jaimie, who is three, and Samantha had put on their fairy costumes, and Josh was an action man I think, or something similar. Ben, the youngest, who is still two, was never still, hopping on and off the couch and doing his own thing when the story went on too long for his liking.
After a while, I noticed one of the fairies had fallen asleep next to me. We kept reading while Jaimie the fairy slumbered on.
They all get on so well together. I always get asked to be in one of their 'plays' when we visit. Sometimes I am a princess, sometimes a dwarf, ather times I have been Miss Clavel or a tree. It's always interesting!

2002-02-04T00:34:00.000-08:00

This afternoon, my view of the city skylineis obliterated by a white mist, as the rain pelts down relentlessly.
When my four-year-old granddaughter, Samantha, comes to stay, she is most concerned when she can't see her beloved city on days like this. She says, 'The city's gone!'
Her big blue eyes fill with tears as she holds up Edward Bear to survey the tragedy. Sam is a real city chick!
So, to calm her, we say it's still asleep under the doona (duvet) the lazy thing. She tells her mummy and daddy, that naughty city slept in all day.

Earlier today, as the car almost acquaplanes down a steep eastern suburbs hill, I recall one of the few rainy days we experienced on our holiday last year.

In the ancient city of Dubrovnik, we are high up on the city walls when the first flashes of lightning strike, and the thunder rolls menacingly in the distance.
Some of these darkening landscape and streetscape photos are the best I've ever taken.
The mountains behind are lowering in a grey rage, but we keep walking, keep shooting. I know these will be better shots than the classic sunny-day-blue-skied ones. And, by golly, they are.

By the time we have circumnavigated the city, it's time to run for it, up millions of limestone steps, polished with age and umpteen million footsteps over the past two thousand years, to the dry haven of our room in an old lady's house.
We make it just in time, the rain bucketing down the old steps in great rivers, lightening stabbing all around, and, most awesome of all, the great rolls of thunder reverberating off the thick stone walls like an enfuriated wild beast trying to escape their confines.

Afterwards, we open the window and see a sodden blue shirt belonging to an English visitor, hanging dejectedly opposite us.
Shortly, the English couple return and we hear the man exclaim, 'I say, will you look at my shirt!'

You can hear everything that is said or whispered in this street. There is no privacy. A young waitress complained bitterly to us about it.

2002-02-02T15:20:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I walked to Leichhardt to buy book for my grandson, Joshua, who has just started school.

A sumptuous volume of Pinocchio caught my eye. This is a special edition of Carlo Collodi's original story, illustrated by late 19th and early 20th century artists. Magnifico. I had to have it. Such richly coloured illustrations, such wonderful stories.
Joshua loves stories, and I know he will enjoy this one for many years.

For myself, I bought a little pocket edition of Sappho's poems. Sappho, the mysterious lady from long-ago Lesbos in Greece. She writes exquisite little gems.
I read some of them while licking lemon gelato in a waffle cone in a street-side cafe in Norton Street, across the road from he bookshop.

2002-02-01T16:36:00.000-08:00

seas, endless seas, roll in, break, foam, on sand, roll back, roar anguish, sigh pleasure
gain strength, roll forward, forever, roll back, sands shift, form patterns, in rhythm, constant, changing

from rock to rockpool, teeming with life
pounded by waves, is sand renewed; black, brown, red, yellow, soft and white

sands filter time, as dreams sift sleep

leaves, whispers, trees, swayings, roots deep in earth
tell ancient truths
on, and on, patterns, change
sea, sand, leaves, truths