The Swing

The Cross

Taken, appropriately, on Easter Sunday.

My Mother's Arms

On the bus tonight, I looked down in the dim light at my folded hands and realised, for the first time, that I have my mother's arms. Long and stick-like. My wrists extend from the sleeves of my jacket, bony and so thin that they look like they might be snapped like twigs if pressed too hard. The skin on the back of my hands is smooth, but like my mother's, protruding veins belie my age.

The last time I saw my mother's arms, they were lined with bruises from the collapsed veins of too many drips and IVs. The nurses were apologetic and it must have been an awful job, trying to find yet another good vein in that mess. Her arms were skeletal. Olive and purple skin, wrinkled and sagging from the bones.

She did not deserve such an end.

There are times when I need her so much. In my moments of deepest despair, I cry out for her to come to me one more time, for her to wrap those thin arms around me and hold me close, stroke my head, and say "It's okay, baby. It's okay".

Perhaps one day she will.

Roses

Roses are known as the flower of romance, but I think they have such a sensuality about them, a physicality that assaults the senses. Lush, velvet to the touch, fire reds and yellows, and the pungent smells. Yes, almost a decadence.

Starburst

Taken at the beachhouse. I don't know the name of this plant, but it should be called starburst or fireworks.

Dark Pines Under Water

by Gwendolyn MacEwan

This land like a mirror turns you inward
And you become a forest in furtive lake;
The dark pines of your mind reach downward,
You dream in the green of your time,
Your memory is a row of sinking pines.

Explorer, you tell yourself this is not what you came for
Although it is good here, and green;
You had meant to move with a kind of largeness,
You had planned a heavy grace, an anguished dream.

But the dark pines of your mind dip deeper
And you are sinking, sinking, sleeper
In an elementary world;
There is something down there and you want it told.

--------------------------

I recently discovered MacEwan, and wondered where she had been all my life. Just north of the border in Toronto, it seems, and I didn't even know. Tragically, she died in 1987 at the age of 46. A sad loss, but yet she was a prolific writer, and left us with over 20 published works. I intend to read them all if I can lay my hands on them.

Succulents

I love succulents, and these belong to my neighbour down the path. Did you know that there's even a Cactus and Succulent Society of New Zealand? Who'da thunk?

Hormonal Blues

Okay, stop the biological clock right now. I want to go back! I've got some weird hormonal shit happening right now that is reminiscent of my teen years, and I'm getting a wee bit tired of it.

For starters, my face has become very oily in that t-zone area, and I'm getting pimples.

I am also shedding hair at an alarming rate. Fortunately I have so much hair that I can afford to lose a bit, but hey, enough is enough. I find hair everywhere - the clothes, the bed, the floor, the bathtub, the dryer. And not only that, but my lush, shiny, bouncy hair is suddenly and without warning - limp and lifeless.

Is this premenopausal stuff going on, or what? I looked up premenopausal symptoms on the Internet, and I don't seem to have any of the symptoms that they list. Except maybe irritability, but I suspect that's more a personality trait than a physiological symptom. Oh, okay, and unexplained weight gain, except mine is completely able to be explained - I eat too much and don't exercise enough.

I don't have, though: mood swings, inability to handle stress, lower sex drive, depression, low metabolism, water retention, vaginal dryness, hot flashes, irregular periods or pain and stiffness in the joints.

But god, what a list to look forward to.

Okay, I'm not really complaining. I'll put up with the pimples. I'd just like my bouncy hair back, please.

Dunes

I love walking in the dunes. It is peaceful, strange. Like being on a different world.

Kids and pets

Take one long holiday weekend, add in eight adults, seven children, and one dog at a beachhouse. Shake liberally. Throw in a bit of vomit, head lice, shit, and dead animals to taste - and you pretty much have my weekend. Sound like fun?

Good Friday started off with the discovery of head lice in Matthew's hair. Infestation is the word, I think. The little buggers were having one hopping, hoe-down party up there.

Head lice is absolutely rife in schools here in New Zealand, and although there are still those who believe the old myth that head lice is associated with uncleanliness, they are becoming few and far between. And that's because everyone's children gets it here - poor and rich alike. And we all DO know that head lice actually prefer clean scalps, don't we? The teachers and school nurses just shrug their shoulders. They have more pressing things to worry about - like kids who are so hungry they can't concentrate, and children who have bruises up and down their bodies. Little things like that. Head lice just doesn't rate on the scale of health crises.

Anyway. Matthew has been treated with two lots of spray, and two lots of delousing shampooing, and has had his poor hair gone through with a nitcomb about a dozen times. So his head is definitely deloused now. Josh and I didn't seem to have any, but we have both been sprayed and shampooed and combed, just in case.

I figure we end up doing this about twice a year. Sigh.

Saturday brought more fun. Joshua was supposed to be having an afternoon nap. When I peeked in on him, I found him sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor, nappy off, playing in the poo he had just done.

Believe it or not, even that wasn't quite as bad as cleaning up his vomit on Sunday night. Big chunky bits of vegetables, orange jelly and banana. All over the floor, the bed, his pajamas. All over him. We must have cleaned for about half an hour. Then he ended sleeping in MY bed, and I slept on the couch.

Easter Monday we arrived home to find a dead mouse and half a dead bird under the kitchen table, compliments of the cats. I don't even dare to think where the other half of the bird is...

Kids and pets - who'd have 'em?!

I'll get my own back one day, though. I'm collecting pictures to embarrass them with when they turn 21.

Here are my goofy kids. I really do love them.

Here be dragons

A late night Photoshop whimsy... a photo collage of an old map, a Renaissance painting, a bit of overlay and some text. It seemed to go with the poem below.

Yeah, yeah. Humour me, folks.

Yes and No

by Laura Riding Jackson

Across a continent imaginary
Because it cannot be discovered now
Upon this fully apprehended planet—
No more applicants considered,
Alas, alas—

Ran an animal unzoological,
Without a fate, without a fact,
Its private history intact
Against the travesty
Of an anatomy.

Not visible not invisible,
Removed by dayless night,
Did it ever fly its ground

Out of fancy into light,
Into space to replace
Its unwritable decease?

Ah, the minutes twinkle in and out
And in and out come and go
One by one, none by none,
What we know, what we don't know.