Exploring different ways of writing, capturing moments in time.
Do I owe, you, my reader, and explanation of what I have written. Or do I allow you to make your own meaning. I choose the latter.
Forever Part of Us
She knelt onto the dry, grey earth and reached into the slender stalks of wheat. She caressed the dry, brittle stalk, reached its head, the full roughness of the grain protected by thin husks. Gently she reached her touch to the tips of the thin strands of its beard waving, sighing into the hot air that bruised her breath.
Her glance upwards, across the waves of gold, held her, mesmerized. Paused in time and space. That spaciousness that would soon lose its heads of life-giving grain, to become mere stalks, food for the sheep in the next-door paddock.
Upwards, her glance, into the haze of white above the waving golden heads. Sweeping left, right, the curve of the horizon a container of the promise of a good harvest. But that was not what she saw today. Today she saw the richer blue, as her eyes lifted above the horizon and she knew there, in that richness, her father’s spirit – at one with his handiwork, blended into the earth that held his footprint, that grew his last harvest.
Her soul ached as it reached upwards, ever upwards, like the stalks of grain, straining into the energy that the sun emblazoned into the caked, dry earth. The same earth that held him, forever, now, becoming part of the star dust, beneath its crust.
It was too hard, being in this place. She knew she must leave it all behind when it became hers. That place where his soul lived and breathed. Where life is sown into the soil, reaped, and sown again.
***
In an earlier post, I shared a photo of stalks of grain from the last crop. These are long gone now, due to a carefree pet’s playfulness.
A highly readable biography, Maureen Walsh creates an enduring image of May Gibbs, Mother of the Gumnuts.
Snugglepot and Cuddlepie – May Gibbs’ creations
I came across Snugglepot and Cuddlepie as a child. At the time of my reading, May Gibbs’ tales were already enmeshed in Australian culture; these unique tales of fantasy cosily snuggled into the bookshelves of my family home.
Where are the original copies of the books we owned? I’ve no recollection. However, I do recall the covers, a faded brown, with the gumnut babies proudly peeking out of their homes and the title in shades of golden yellow. The whole image as I recall it, is faded, partly due to time, and possibly the print at the time. The spine is bound with a foreign material, possibly to keep it all together. Like many books in our family library of historical novels, comic books and journals that graced our shelves, it was ‘part of the furniture’ of my childhood home. I am hoping my memory serves me correctly.
May Gibbs would, I am quite sure, be horrified at my recollection of such a cover. Her letters, quoted in the biography, note her preference for strong colours, tones that are rich and full. (An example of one of her letters, specifying layout and colour on pp 103-104 of the book). Regardless, the quirky images remain strongly imprinted in my memory banks.
As I fossick through my bookshelves today, I come across a 1983 edition, printed by Angus and Robertson. On this cover, each colour is as rich as our Australian bush and skies: gum leaf green, wattle yellow, reddish-pink blossoms and gumnut brown set against a vivid blue.
My current copy is part of the small repertoire of books I’ve kept for my grandchildren.
Looking Back
II gained a great deal of pleasure reading works by a range of authors in our family library. An abbreviated list includes –
Mary Grant Bruce, Australian, children’s author of the Billabong stories
L.M. Montgomery, from Prince Edward Island, Canada, who wrote the ‘Anne’ series, (Anne of Green Gables…)
Louisa May Alcott, an American author who wrote Little Women
Emily Bronte, English author of the classic, Wuthering Heights
Jane Austen, a classic English author who wrote Pride and Prejudice, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion and others.
Back to Snugglepot and Cuddlepie
Maureen Walsh has captured a lasting impression of a strong-minded woman who made her way in the world of the late 1800’s and early to mid-1900’s on her own terms. Such spirit and fortitude enabled her to support herself on her income from the comic strips. Men of the day, many of whom did not achieve the same measure of popularity as May Gibbs, were paid much more. I, for one, am thankful that such inequity, did not hinder May Gibbs’ fiercely independent personality from producing and publishing her adorable, uniquely Australian characters and their stories.
At the time of her passing, in 1969, I was still living at home where her books graced our shelves. Now, fifty plus years on, her legacy remains a bright colourful contribution to Australian literature.
State Library, Sydney, where I discovered an excellent display of May Gibbs’ cartoons.
Perth to Sydney – May Gibbs lived in WA
As happenstance would have it, on my visit to Sydney earlier in the year, I stumbled across an exhibition of May Gibbs’ work.
Meandering through Sydney’s Royal Botanical Gardens, I exited opposite the State Library of New South Wales. As I take a leisurely tour of the displays, I am delighted to see her original drawings, housed behind glass viewing windows.
Cartoon strips of other characters such as Bib and Bub were popular in their day.
On my return home, I pulled my copy of May Gibbs, Mother of Gumnuts from my bookshelves. I learnt how she frequently travelled between Sydney and Perth. She often visited her family in the south west of Western Australia where she roamed the bush. It was here that her love of Australian flora flourished.
It was a delight indulging several leisurely hours of reading. May Gibbs ‘carved for herself a distinct niche in the world of Australian art’ (p88) and literature.
***
Links to authors and places mentioned in this post:
It’s wildflower season here, in WA. Are you a lover of wildflowers? I’ve found a few and I’m keen to spot a lot more!
Exploring our own back yard as local tourists is a favourite past time. With warmer, spring weather, we head out for few hours – along with fellow picknickers and trail-walkers, and an endless stream of traffic, possibly with much the same idea! Our Sunday drive takes us to Walyunga National Park.
At the park
Exploring as local tourists, we find a handful of wildflowers as we drive through the park. We stop and discover a walk way, paved and much used, leading to a river.
An unexpected volume of water is flowing. I recall my visit to Canadian rivers, near Lake Louise, in the Rocky Mountains. The flow is much gentler here, and the debris not as heavy. But that is where the contrast ends, for right here, now, I capture the presence of this flowing river. And its unique beauty.
Wildflower memories
As a child, I recall my dad driving between our farm and the local town. As we pass a stretch of newly cleared land, he comments that burning off the scrub would probably bring it to life in a fresh way. That spring, the paddocks are sea of blue leschenaultia waving in the warm spring sunshine. Their bed of dark soil and ashen sticks of black and grey wood are a stark contrast to the bright blue flowers and rich green leaves. Fire had burst open dormant seed pods and birthed a lasting impression of stunning beauty. An image that is forever printed on my mind.
Sharing the love of wildflowers
On my childhood farm, stretches of uncleared, scrubby bush along fence lines were home for seasonal wildflowers. Many flowers were tough, and prickly, but the hardy leschenaultia is softer, and the petals delicate.
For one of our parent’s wedding anniversaries, my brothers and I gifted a print of Meryl Bell’s vase of Blue Leschenaultia. Why did we buy the painting? My mother liked that Meryl was a local artist whose work captures the beauty of our native flowers. The painting held pride of place in the lounge room for many years.
.
Wildflower seasons are short
There are many wildflowers drives in WA: further north, along the coast, and inland. This season, our planned trip up the coast and back via the midlands is deferred due to an inclement weather forecast. If we wait too long, though, we may miss out! That’s just the way it is!
It might take a couple more weeks of sunshine for the plants to blossom along our local roadsides and in the swathes of bush along the highways. A week or so ago, at the start of spring, we checked out our Great Southern Highway. We enjoyed a random show of colour.
The drive is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. I’ve travelled it more times than I can count, as it is the link between the city where I live, and my childhood home town. Innumerable visits to family for over fifty years!
I am accustomed to the glorious spread of green paddocks and the stark contrasting trunks on different varieties of gum trees stretching tall into the sky, canopies of green for the grazing sheep. Others, stark grey, dead wood reaching high, proud reminders of what they were before cockatoos stripped their branches clean, or an untimely disease diminished their greatness.
A rich smell of lanolin from the unshorn sheep drifts across from the grazing mob. I feel very much at home as I lean into the scene, capturing more than images – revisiting inner mindscapes of childhood paddocks.
Will there be wildflowers later this month?
We plan a trip to Bunbury at the end of September. We hope to spend time capturing more yellows, reds, pinks and oranges and all shades in between as we travel south.
With the shifting seasonal patterns, we will just have to take pot luck!
In the comments below, do let me know your favourite wildflowers. (Or click here and scroll to the end of the post.)
Have you ever wondered how someone copes with the magnitude of grief? Of loss? Of another person moving on into the energetic world, leaving a bereft hole in the space and endless amount of time one wishes they’d fill? How do you find comfort in loss?
My grandfather comes to mind – not of my loss of him, that is a story for another day, but of his loss of his daughter. Perhaps there is something in my story about his loss that may resonate with, and in some way, help you or someone you know.
Grief is a journey of unknown duration
In 1969, Elizabeth Kubler Ross outlined a process, a graph, of the journey through grief. Much debated over the years, it is generally acknowledged that these five stages are recognisable, and recognised. However, they do not necessarily follow any order, and may occur over any length of time – including a lifetime.
In 2022, Healthcare Central published a discussion around the Kubler Ross’s five stages of grief, given the acronym, DABDA –
Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance
It is a path I discovered and found useful as I sought to negotiate my own losses, the first of which, as it happens, was my grandfather, five years before Kubler Ross published her insights.
My grandfather had no map for his grief
My grandfather’s lifetime preceded this publicly available knowledge that may have guided his journey through losses he experienced. (He was born in June 1897 in Midland, Western Australia and lived until 4 Feb 1965, aged 67 years.)
I recall a hymn, apparently his favourite. It is this, in all it’s archaic phrases, heavily doctrinal, and profoundly insightful words, that I believe he found solace when he tragically lost his little girl.
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul.
Refrain: It is well with my soul, it is well, it is well with my soul.
2. Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control, that Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed his own blood for my soul. (Refrain)
3. My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought! My sin, not in part but the whole, is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more, praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul! (Refrain)
4. And, Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, the clouds be rolled back as a scroll; the trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend, even so, it is well with my soul. (Refrain)
Not having anything more than a light recollection that this was his favourite, I would hazard a good guess as to why.
He was a staunch Methodist, a churchgoer, together with his wife, Nora. They brought their three children – should have been four – up ‘in the church’. This phrase means, they attended church every Sunday, as part of their life: they served the community with their Christian faith as the rock-bed of their beliefs. In short, he saw and lived his life through the lens of his Christian faith.
I am not sure where I read it, or grew to believe that the original words of the hymn were penned and inspired by a father who lost his wife and children on a sea voyage. My recollections are modified in Wikipedia, a summary of which follows –
Horatio Spafford, who penned the lines, was a business man and hymn writer. His financial difficulties took their toll on his life but it was in his role as an evangelist, he planned a trip to England from America. On that trip, he tragically lost all four daughters, and almost lost his wife as they travelled ahead of him on the sea voyage. When travelling to join his wife, he passed the spot where his daughters died, and as a result these words were penned. A deeply tragic story.
“It Is Well With My Soul”, also known as “When Peace, Like A River”, is a hymn penned by hymnist Horatio Spafford and composed by Philip Bliss. First published in Gospel Hymns No. 2 by Ira Sankey and Bliss (1876), it is possibly the most influential and enduring in the Bliss repertoire and is often taken as a choral model, appearing in hymnals of a wide variety of Christian fellowships.[a]
When sorrows like sea billows roll
In my imagination, I see the prospect of my grandfather’s version of coping: he may well have found resonance in this hymn. Harold, my maternal grandfather, lost a daughter, the youngest and last of his four children, at barely 18 months old. Even though I cannot imagine the loss, the words, “when sorrows like sea billows roll” resonate with me for my grandfather after the loss of his little girl. She died from an inoperable hole in the heart.
Captured moments
As a parent, I know the fear of the possibility, whether one’s child is a baby, or is a grown adult, I know how the fear of prospect of loss tore at my heart at the times they arose. Losing a child, at any stage in life, is traumatic.
Rewinding time
If I could go back in time, I would ask my grandfather, how did you cope? How did you manage losing a brother-in-law while your wife grieved the loss, while she carried the child who became my mother? How did you manage, barely four years later, losing your fourth baby, only eighteen months old?
I cannot though.
Furthermore, in his generation, emotions were not freely expressed. As loving as he was, in my recollections, he may have been a closed book when it came to talking about matters of the heart. Hence, I imagine an outlet in the words of this hymn, sung from the depths of one’s soul, giving a measure of release.
All is not lost
Spafford’s hymn creates a positivity. I can understand the hymn in the context of the Christian teachings that are integrated into my upbringing. That of faith in God, of belief in Christ’s redemption and how these beliefs can bring comfort. Also, the belief that, in the long run, there is the day of resurrection – when all souls go to be with God and it is then that he (Spafford) will be reunited with his loved ones. I read and grasp how he longs for the day when he will join his loved ones, when the trumpet sounds for him.
Emotional freedom
Today there is greater freedom amongst men to express their emotions openly. The road is long to full acceptance by society in general, and by men themselves, but it is happening.
It would seem that, for Spafford and possibly for my grandfather, grief was something he/they lived with every day. It shows that, for some, there is no ‘finality’ of grief. There may be an acceptance of the loss, and with it, a capacity to move forward. And that is okay.
My way forward
Today, my beliefs are simply that we move from the human form to being purely energetic: that reconnection as pure energy is what happens after death. In having lost my parents and grandparents, I can and do connect with them now. It does not short-circuit resolution of the emotional loss, but it does bring immeasurable comfort.
That is how I find comfort in loss.
Faith Jeanette with her brother
NB: Please check out this link for further insights on coping with grief, should you feel you need it, or know of someone you love who may find it helpful.
It rains cats and dogs during the night. Sunday morning dawns, bleak, damp and with a chill in the air that bites to the bone. Where’s the sunshine? We scrabble – or is that scramble – for ideas.
Do we go for our planned Sunday outing in the rain, or not? Prevaricating over breakfast, a decision is made. Let’s see what the sky says later in the morning.
In the meantime…
A newly acquired Scrabble game begs to be opened. It’s been waiting a week now. Perfect! We spend two hours or so discovering new words, and using old ones.
A word of explanation
We decide to break a rule and allow dictionary checking so long as the proposed word is declared before Dr Google’s Scrabble Dictionary is consulted. Fingers crossed we hope the online dictionary gives approval.
It’s fun being creative with spellings. We laugh about potential discoveries from absurd combinations, and eyes twinkle in surprise at some that prove to be real words. Always, in the background of these checks is hope. Hope that the letters in our hand will dwindle more quickly, or that the new word will magically give us that brilliant score.
Is there an official Scrabble dictionary?
According to my search on Google, there’s numerous ‘official’ Scrabble Dictionaries. There is “an Official Scrabble Players Dictionary or OSPD, a dictionary developed for use in the game Scrabble, by speakers of American and Canadian English. Merriam-Webster, Inc. Merriam-Webster, Inc.”
I count no less than 12 ‘official dictionaries’ on Amazon! There’s a plethora of words to choose from! Just so long as they are acceptable as Australian English!
In my childhood home, I remember a massive tome of words, our very own Webster Dictionary having pride of place. I believe my brother laid claim to it years ago.
I am amused
We each grew up in households that played Scrabble. I suspect mine played less often than my partners did. He recalls playing ‘quite a lot’ in his teen years. We each grew up with different applications of the rules, and this is to his advantage. He sees words in ways my mind is not yet attuned to. Quite simply, in our games, we could place a word on the board – one word. We usually saw it linked to a letter.
My partner sees letters create a word that links up with other letters to create more than one word. He meshes words together! It is an easy skill for my partner. I need a scrabble board of words to show you what I mean! This inbuilt habitual way of seeing the board and his ability to create great scores amazes me.
Cheat!
We each used to play online Scrabble for a while. My partner is so darn good at finding words and matching letters to create two or more words in the one ‘go’, that he was accused by his online players, of cheating. I can assure you; he doesn’t cheat! He doesn’t need to!
An hour or so later, it’s game over. I add up my remaining letters and boost his score by five points. He doesn’t need the extra. He’s won by a rather large margin!
Family fun
I like board games. Lots of family fun nights. Monopoly, Squatter, Scrabble and Yahtzee are just a few I recall as a kid and still play. Holidays were our fun nights for games.
My other option on a rainy day is to read a book, a solitary choice. You can check out some here. Today’s game of Scrabble was simply good fun. We hit the target. It turned a drizzly kind of morning into sunshine.
We hit the target 🙂 Picture_ Pexels
What do you do on a rainy day? Please let me know below or by clicking here and scrolling to the end of the post.
I search for suitable music to inspire me to write today. I pull out all the stops, scroll through several playlists and stumble across Spotify’s Classical Summer compilation.
Promises of selections by composers include three well-knowns –
Beethoven, (not my favourite composer – too ‘heavy’)
Bach (‘lovely and light’) and
Chopin (likeable)
…. make for restful listening.
Although, depending on who I listen to, symphonic music is not always an easy listen. Like Beethoven. I find his music heavy and downright sleep-inducing. I hope I’ve chosen wisely.
Panorama of Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House
A pause in pulling out all the stops
I pick up a novel I finished recently. Winner of the Women’s Prize, The Song of Achilles by Madeleine Miller is a well-paced read I found difficult to put down. I flick it open, ready to write a review.
Inside the cover I find two tickets I used as book marks. One took me on a tour of the Sydney Opera House and the second, to Saint-Saen’s Organ Symphony the same night.
My review is deferred
I learn a great deal about the Sydney Opera House on my tour. I discover –
It was designed by Danish architect Jørn Utzon. Something I knew, but had forgotten.
It took fourteen years to build. Also knew this, but also forgotten.
Building commenced in 1959, four years after I was born and was officially opened the year after I commenced university, in 1973. I recall Her majesty, Queen Elizabeth II visiting for the official opening.
Costs began at $7million and blew out to $102 million dollars! The purchase of lotto tickets helped subsidize the build. I didn’t I contributed. I live in WA, capital – Perth. It was a State Lottery.
Utzon, the original architect never saw the finished building. He got ticked off over the numerous changes to the original plans and quit in 1966.
And – the point of this piece of writing – it houses the largest mechanical tracker organ in the world. You can read about it being the largest in the world, how it is played and who has the privilege of playing it, here and here.
When I see the organ I liken it to the WA Goldfields Pipeline! Meaning, the pipes are HUGE!
And that organ is, according to my brilliant and information packed tour guide, only played around 4 times a year. I think he means for 4 different ticketed ‘shows’.
Sydney Opera House organ pipes
What? Only 4 times!
I cannot resist the opportunity to experience one of those occasions.
Over lunch, part of my ticketed tour, I search for online tickets. I can’t decide on a seat. I know it’s not supposed to matter where you sit in the concert hall. Every detail is acoustically optimized.
Recently refurbished within an inch of its life around 2020, it took two years to complete. The original acoustics were short changed (ie not enough money) and hence, of poor quality, apparently. Today it boasts –
massive speakers
carefully designed wooden panelling around the walls that are acoustically friendly
pink, vaulted tile-shaped shells that hang from the ceiling
Sydney Opera Hall acoustics – capturing the magnificent size is challenging.
The concert pulls out all the stops
I am blown away – moved to tears – by the sheer beauty of the rendition of St Saen’s Symphony. The organist, Olivier Latry, is given latitude to play above – or more loudly – than other instruments. He pulls out all the stops in a brilliant performance.
The term ‘pull out all stops’ originated with the pipe organ. When a player pulls the organ’s stops out, more air flows through the pipes and the volume increases. Pulling out all the stops results in extremely loud, energetic music. In every day use, the the phrase also means to use all resources available to achieve an outcome.
Typical concert chats with co-fans sitting next to me reveal at least one attends this symphony any time he can – to date that’s 5, or 6 times! Clearly he’s pulling out all the stops to listen to a favourite!
Who was he?
Saint-Saen was a musical prodigy, rivalling his contemporary, Mozart, and liked Bach, according to some background reading here. Even though the critique is offered by a Pulitzer Prize winner, Mozart remains my favourite.
It both amazes and amuses me that Saint-Saen’s contemporaries like Schumann, Liszt, Wagner, Verdi – are names I am familiar with. In my early childhood I learnt some of their pieces on my grandmother’s piano. (You can read about my childhood piano here.) But I didn’t play around on the organ long enough to move past church hymns.
Where to from here?
My serendipitous choice of Classical Summer music makes me smile. It reflects the very composers Saint-Saen’s talent is compared with and the contemporary he enjoyed. How could that be? I had no idea about this composer, famous for his organ symphony, until that Friday night concert in the Opera House. Nor of his history, until I read about him (of course!).
I add a previously unknown composer (to me) to my repertoire of incredibles and listen, once again to a rendition I find on You tube of the Symphony in C: Organ – the whole symphony, here and of the Finale alone, here.
Have you been to the Opera House? Or have you discovered a piece of music or composer in an unexpected moment that brings joy? Please let me know below or by clicking the link here and scrolling to the end of the post.
9 am start. Pick me up from the Smash Repairs? he asks.
When? Oh, 9am? Okay. Where?
He tells me, again. The local Smash Repairs.
Why is he going to the local smash repair workshop?
He’s getting the ugly slash of a dent removed from his almost brand-new all-wheel-drive. In fact, the entire boot is being replaced. $4K! For a dent! $500 excess! It’s expensive parking in our local grocery store car park. Too-narrow car bays, too little room between this side and that to reverse in or out. Unknown perpetrator of the car wound has left his or her mark. Argh!
Okay. 9am. I pace myself. Alarm for 7.15. Yes, it takes me an hour to wake up, and half an hour to get ready. It means a window of about five minutes or so to ‘get there’, the repairs workshop, where I am to dutifully collect from the roadside.
His pride and joy for low key camping trips. Once pristine, now at the smash repairs.
What? Now?!
He calls out – ‘see you there’. It’s 8.30! It’s 5-7 minute drive, just down the road! I’m still naked, freshly showered, putting on my face in the bathroom.
You’re leaving too early! (He always does. Why didn’t I factor this in?!)
‘See you when you get there’, I hear.
The muffled sound of a diesel motor gurgles into life. Muffled because it is in the carport and I am in the bathroom.
I never quite got the sound of non-petrol cars. Once upon a childhood time, when I was a farm girl, diesel sounds belonged to tractors, trucks, heavy duty farm vehicles. Anyway, his choice, diesel I mean – and to leave at, what is now, 8.31.
I do not, read again, do not hurry – to get to the Smash Repairs!
It’s chilly, crispy, borderline winter cold. As I pull up curbside, a large slither of guilt oozes its way into my heart. I don’t like being in the cold. Neither does he. He’s been standing, waiting for my 3 minutes past 9, late, arrival.
Belt up!
It took a few minutes to cross the highway
He explains his early arrival. As do I, why the 3-minute oversight. Too much traffic on the highway I had to cross.
He explains. He likes to arrive early to talk about the work to be done, pay the excess and…
I don’t really care! For me, if I have a 9 am start it means I arrive at 9am! At which time I discuss the job, and ‘pay the excess’, and…
We laugh. We poke our tongues out at each other. Mirth sparkles from his gentle brown eyes. Rarely annoyed over anything, he suggests breakfast ‘out’ in the same breath and space as I am turning my petrol-run hatch toward my already pre-chosen – already thought about it – breakfast out, direction. “Snap”! We laugh again.
Choose a different way
‘Don’t go that way!’ I do. I know the shortcut via a lane. “Pretty Lane” it’s called. Because it is. A lane lined with Aussie bush. A shortcut between the light industrial, smash repairs, tire replacements, auto fix-it businesses and ‘A Patch of Country’ café in the heart of the local shopping zone. The zone where the culprit pinged his car.
I’ve avoided the highway I had to cross earlier. I’ve bumped my hatch over the curb into and out of the lane. We’ve enjoyed the patch of winter green bush, with its rich grass trees wearing their skirts and slender gums that create a canopy. We skirt a roundabout or two and park near the cafe.
Grass trees and Aussie bush…a summer’s take of our winter scene
Smashed Avocado or not?
Our chosen bacon and egg sandwich with toasted ciabatta and salmon eggs Benedict without avocado café is a quaint, old original farm house. Complete with wood paneled walls, galvanized iron roof and wide wooden floor board verandah. It is a little patch reminiscent of country life with a modern menu of almond milk flat whites and cappuccinos on a sun-warmed verandah. Or, it’s where you can enjoy inside warmth amidst local artisan’s crafts, available for purchase. A quaint place, with excellent service, country-style friendliness and waitresses (or should I say waitpersons?) with smiles and laughter that radiate into this early spring-like morning.
We smile across the table, indulging in the retirement privilege of breakfast out. Of a late or early morning start to the day – whatever we permit ourselves to call it after 9am.
Or was that 8.31?
I’ve written about other mini adventures in my own backyard here, and about being a local tourist here.
We are indeed fortunate to have access to people who can guide, lead, show the way to the truth of who we are. Whether directly, in person, at retreats, via social media, or through books – there are so many ways that can lead us to the truth of who we truly are. Vibrant energetic beings, in a world that is shimmering with hope as more and more people find their way to their true self.
Insights gained from spiritual teachers significantly changed my life. I traveled to Canada to take part in a retreat offered by Eckhart Tolle. This changed the way I approach life. I wrote about here.
I took part in local workshops with a healer in our own community. Books that lead me to deeper understandings are one of the most valuable ways I learn.
And the learning continues. It is never static.
A peak into The Younger Self Letters
Reading this anthology showed me there’s so much to learn from our younger selves. Most of the time it’s a challenging path, but it is rewarded with insights into who we truly are, sprinkled with increasing joy and loads of love for the person we have become and the person we can become.
…an anthology of inspiring stories
When you start reading an anthology, there’s no golden rule about the order in which to read the stories. With that in mind I turn the pages of The Younger Self Letters to Anandi Sano’s story and read her story addressed to Little One. Why did her story capture my interest?
My mind flicks back in time to when I first heard Anandi use the name, Little One. In her imaginary children’s story, The Gentle Dragon, she gently transports the listener to a place of calm and peace, and finally to sleep. Its magic always quietens my very active granddaughter as she relates the story she now knows by heart, and when done, asks for the recording to complete its magic and lull her to sleep. But I’ve sidetracked. Back to the letters.
Anandi Sano and her younger self, Little One. Image credit: Anandi Sano and here
…the letters
Although I heard Anandi’s story at retreats and workshops, reading about how she advised her younger self to manage her adult life added deeply moving insights. So often we think we can do better. We wish for a different path in life, a life free of trauma and of health issues. Anandi’s story is utterly inspirational – she draws upon her intense spiritual awakening and path to healing self through peiec energy medicine, and how she continues to rise to the challenge of sharing with the world what she has learned so others can benefit from her experiences and divine transmission of energy.
Some responses to Anandi’s unique story –
I just finished reading your chapter … and the energy that emanates from it is something next level! The soft gentle embrace from the words has created so many shifts for me that I feel like I have had a beautiful healing. … So much resonates. Thank you for sharing this with the world. It brings me so much joy to know that these words bring love, hope, joy and healing. I’m looking forward to reading the rest of the book, too. (Tiana)
Finished reading your chapter, cried, did my layers, released life moments. Thank you. Can’t wait to read the rest of it. (Elaine)
Anandi’s unique voice joins other authors as they share their stories.
After I read two further stories by Michelle Kulp and Adriana Monique Alvarez, co-authors behind the anthology, I knew I was in for some deeply inspiring letters about how they, too, turned adversity into success in their lives.
A quick insight from one reader:
I’ve started reading other chapters from my paperback…so good!!! Best advice! (Elaine)
Why not read it?
Within hours of being released the anthology hit best-seller lists! A few dollars for the kindle version is well worth the investment. And there’s a paperback version filled with 30 letters. Here’s a link to buy it, if it strikes a note within you.
Above, Anandi Sano and some of her peiec students celebrating the success of The Younger Self Letters.And looking forward to her own anthology, Beautiful You which was published later in 2021.
Beautiful You
Another book, well worth reading. It highlights personal journeys in healing energetically. “Beautiful You will leave you committed to never again diminish your light or limit the capacity of who you are. It shows us that we can have the ability to reclaim our voice, redefine our story, heal deeply, create the life we desire and step into a place of deep stillness and inner peace through the power of energy healing” quoted from Amazon where it is available.
If you would like to learn more about peiec energy medicine, you can check it out here.
My personal journey
More on my journey into inner healing may follow in future posts, if I am brave! I’ve written snippets here, here and here.
It’s a very intense and personal journey. I am certain, many, many people can and do attest to deep challenges when sharing their own story. I am gradually learning the value of sharing some of my story. Primarily I do so, as it may help someone, just one person, ‘out there’.
Sharing my journey resonates
I am encouraged, recently, through an in-depth discussion with a wonderful peiec energy healer whose energetic work in healing and insights blow me away. It is always a joy to journey through this life with others who ‘get it’ and with whom we can openly share, heart to heart, soul to soul.
Recently we had a dry-ish sort of day, the sort of day that invites you to jump in your car and go explore the countryside.
Not ones for too great a distance for a day trip, we head to a nearby water fall – Noble Falls. With the idea in mind that, after exploring the tumbling waters, lunch at the tavern across the road would be ideal.
Short drive or long?
We drive the half hour – yes – a short ‘day trip’ indeed, and discover that there has been enough rain in recent weeks for the falls to be running.
My memory flashes to our trip to Canada several years ago, and again, more recently, where the sight of rushing rivers, debris ridden, gushing beneath bridges and down the rocky mountainsides literally took my breath away! I had never seen so much fresh running water in one place in my life! You can read about my trips and why I travel, here.
River near Lake Louise in Canada
It is still a strong memory, of the powerful, gushing water washing over rocky beds and fallen tree trunks. Of leaf litter and smaller branches tumbling. Of the sheer volume of water!
Being a local tourist
Back to Nobel Falls, off Toodyay Road, north of Perth. A small tumbling stream by comparison. Yet it is evidence of rain having fallen this winter. It is still a dry season, by comparison. And farmers, further along the road, in the adjacent wheat belts will have dry-seeded long before now.
A dry vista, by comparison. Noble Falls 2024
A tourist’s memory lane
Back home, I touch the remnant broken stalk of wheat from the last crop my father grew nearly 25 years ago. (Thanks to our kitty cat who played with vase full and left one tiny piece for a keepsake! Yes, I am a sentimentalist, to a point!) My main point here is, it reminds me of the challenge of farming, of late rains or rain-less seasons, the hope for a crop that yields enough per acre (back then), (hectare now) to cover costs and make enough money to support the family.
The complete vase of wheat stalks – a good crop, from 1998! One lonely broken stalk remains today as a tribute to the memory of the crop. Already signs of cat play in the one bent stalk! Jam tree sticks added as there were many on our property.
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Feeding a nation and more
I only talk about a tiny corner of the bigger picture: that of ‘feeding a nation’ which my grandfather proudly contributed to. My memory recalls a visit with him at his home in our country town where he proudly stated his role and contribution.
I take a brief look even further back, to the land his father, my great grandfather, pioneered to become part of the history that has made wheat production one of the key exports of the nation.
According to statista,Australia is known for its vast agricultural land and diverse range of crops…Wheat, barley, and canola are the three winter crops most frequently cultivated in Australia, (now) with wheat contributing the most to the total yield.
It is no comfort to read that 2024 is projected to yield less than the previous yearly incremental increase that meant good yields for over a decade.
Childhood links
As a child, I was naively unaware of the uncertainties of how much the weather impacted our daily lives and potential income. Of my two brothers, my younger brother undertook the scope of work involved in continuing the family legacy. Not an easy task. Much of the land is now either sold, or leased.
All of these thoughts tumbled forth after a simple visit to a running stream of water!
Back to the Falls
Fellow picknickers – it is school holidays – play in the water. Children throw sticks into the creek of water and watch them tumble over the rock. We take photos at the wonder of some running water and leave.
Images from a previous visit to Noble Falls, with my granddaughter, flash through my mind.
Time to eat
We try the tavern across the road. It is closed. Despite billboards and Facebook ads of Open 7 days a week, shutters are down, the car park is empty. We won’t be enjoying a meal here, as we had on a previous visit, with our granddaughter.
We enjoyed a meal at the tavern on a previous visit a few years ago.
A great meal at a local bakery
We bite the bullet, and head back home. On the way we discover the delicious range of baked goods, fresh bagels and coffee at the Gidgegannup Bakery. We bask in the warmth of the sun on the screened verandah outside. The food is delicious, the café is busy with people waiting patiently to be served. The staff are efficient and greet each customer with a smile. We have discovered another local place we can haunt in the future. If it were summer, children could play in the safe, fenced space where outdoor tables invite – if it were summer!
We head home, light the fire and sit in the warmth of past and freshly created memories.
Are you a back yard tourist?
Where is your favourite coffee shop to grab a bite to eat and enjoy a great brew – a local place you love to support? Let me know in the comments below.
My childhood dream was to become a teacher. As we know, one of the fundamental roles of a teacher is to enable each student’s learning through knowing how to read and through valuing reading.
Initially, as a primary teacher, I loved teaching reading the most. Apart from the rudimentary lessons in decoding the language, I experienced great joy in reading a story aloud to the children. Also, I felt a thrill at their delight in sharing what they read. These reading sessions were a favourite part of my days. Yet, as we all know, reading is not confined to the subject of reading. It is a necessity across all subjects.
After a short break from teaching primary students, I took up high school teaching as the Reading Resource Teacher. Yes, it was an actual title in secondary schools in Western Australia for many years. My superintendent virtually guaranteed my continuity with a comment along these lines – Literacy is something that will never die. We all need to be literate, to read.
Reading is essential across all subjects
What? No books!
In my role as a reading teacher, it took very little time for me to realise that I had been one of the most fortunate of children. In my thirteen years teaching in just one high school, I encountered too many secondary students who had slipped through primary school without mastering the skill of reading. Many had no books in their homes. Even more had no reading material at all – no newspapers (still popular in the day), no reading matter of significance. The profound impact on their lives had already begun.
I took much joy – and experienced a lot of pain too – in helping teens with little background in reading acquire skills in
reading for understanding;
reading for real life situations (recipes, job application forms; how to make a kite – a great fun project) and
the crème de la crème of reasons for reading – reading for pleasure.
They listened to me read Storm Boy and many other novels. They talked about books they read as part of my programs. They enthusiastically took part in writing their own stories for each other to read and for me to read aloud to their classmates. They were not only valuing reading, but also creating what they read became a pleasure for them.
Other levels of reading
As well as those lessons, in my general English classes I dared introduce Shakespeare to a relatively young group of students who were astounded that they could understand and respond to the classic. It reminded me to never underestimate the power of words. I was passing on what I imbibed as a child from my role models, my grandmother and my parents and from my peers – the joy of being read to and the joy of reading for pleasure.
Valuing reading: Students were surprised they could understand Shakespeare.
A little more ‘proof’ on the value of reading
As a Reading Teacher, I was required to measure the ‘reading age’ of all incoming Year 8 students. My colleague and I ran standardised tests (I know, a whole new topic!) which we used as a benchmark. Curiously, I found these surprisingly accurate when I became more closely acquainted with some of the students in my own classes. An age-appropriate score didn’t always guarantee they understood everything they read, but it did mean they often had a good grasp of the act of reading and comprehending much of what they chose to read.
Without going into the whys and wherefores of such tests, I used these as a benchmark to closely monitor a Year 9 class for a full school year. This class read for 10-15 minutes at the start of every English class. I ensured that every child had reading material for each session.
A box of books to choose from sat on the front desk for errant students who’d forgotten to bring a book. It was also useful for those who finished their current novel and didn’t have their next one to hand.
Some reluctant readers grabbed a comic book which was allowed as not all students could get their heads into novels, even though that was preferred. Every student kept a reading log showing what they were reading. Each entry had start and finish dates. I’d check these at some stage during the lesson. Keen readers stood out as they usually showed a growing list of novels they’d read both at school and at home.
What does valuing reading have to do with frogs?
Of course, it would go without saying that we had the school library on board. The wonderful librarians fostered the love of reading in collaborative program that supported the classroom. One popular recollection is RIBIT – Read in Bed, It’s Terrific. Students chose novels from those promoted by the librarians or by classmates who shared a quick spiel about their latest favourite book.
The joy of reading, the marked pleasure I noted on the students’ faces as they shared what they read about, or chose to read aloud to their friends, remains with me many years after leaving the teaching profession.
Libraries will always have a place.
Did all this reading make a difference?
Over the year I noted a gradual shift in reading habits for some of the reluctant readers. They appeared to enjoy the exercise of reading.
At the end of the year, we retested all participating students. Without exception, reading ages improved. The argument for natural growth according to age was factored in. Compared to the start of the year, reading every day – or at least every other day if only done at school – showed that students improved in their ability to comprehend what they were reading. (Comprehension of what was read was inherent in the tests.)
Other ways to encourage and value reading
For a year or two, I recall the entire lower secondary school being engaged in what was then the trend of silent reading for a few minutes after lunch. A compulsory ten minutes of Silent Reading was scheduled into every class regardless of the subject.
Ideally, this time was to be Uninterrupted Sustained Silent Reading, viz USSR – a huge ask in a large high school of over a thousand students. I must add that we had admin on our side for the program – and perhaps they too stopped and read for ten minutes! Teachers – imagine – books out, bags tossed aside, no PA announcements and complete silence for ten whole minutes. Bliss!
Where are we at today as a nation, with valuing reading?
Australia Reads states….“From reducing stress, to getting a better night’s sleep, reading for pleasure has proven benefits for mental health and wellbeing.”
According to a recent news bulletin received from Australia Reads, reading is once again on the agenda in Federal Parliament (Australia), and was spoken about as recently as June 27th this year, 2024.
Children deserve that learning to read should be treated as a fundamental right. Today’s social media is not fulfilling the role of novels, of reading for pleasure, nor is it teaching discernment about what one reads. Literature that constructively teaches about life, or which engages one’s imagination in creative ventures is vitally important in today’s world. I hope that any nationwide initiatives will foster a love for reading.
What can you do to encourage and show that you value reading?
As a child I had a home that supported reading. I was fortunate. My father and mother read books for information, magazines, newspapers, and novels.
As a parent I’d encourage all parents to encourage their child or children to read from an early age. If books are not readily available, the local library is usually a great source. I loved sharing books with my children and grandchildren and often quote snippets or phrases that we all know. It creates a bond – something that beyond the mere words on the page.
Let’s leap back to frogs. My granddaughter loved a simple book called The Wide Mouthed Frog. She’s now several years older since we first enjoyed reading it together when she visited. We still quote sentences from the story today.
A random thought crosses my mind. Imagine the importance and value of reading to that surgeon who’s about to operate on you!
Our well-used copy of a book that appealed to my granddaughter
To be continued…
It is clear, I should hope, that I firmly believe learning to read and valuing reading starts in the home. In my next post, I’ll share more of the joys I’ve experienced with my own children and grandchildren. You can read about one example here.
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