Being fifty-something, I do some of my best soul-searching midst the library shelves. The soul hunter … I shall not want the promised world: green-eyed demon trainspotting another man’s life captive spirit captive soul. (Geelong West Library, 24 December 2012)
Being fifty-something, I’ve learnt to laugh at myself. Goodness knows there are more opportunities to do so every day. Over the last few weeks I’ve been busily telling anyone who will listen that I’m joining a book club in the new year. I’m quite excited to be popping my book club cherry … it’s been… Continue reading Earning a wedgie from my big-girl braggy book club pants
Being fifty-something means I’m always looking for learning opportunities. Always. Mr P and I have been married for thirty-something years and I’m still learning about what we have in common. And what we don’t. Last weekend we shared a repaving project to even up the pavers in the alcove between our front gate and newly-laid… Continue reading Paving like a couple of bosses (or Venus and Mars tackle the yardwork)
“Being fifty-something means I’ll keep practising until I get something right. Here’s my third attempt at book spine poetry: “Broken bodies where they lay. Empty cradles forever to remain until we meet again.”
Being fifty-something, I’m old enough to decide what Christmas looks like in our house. And so it came to pass that when I gingerly peaked inside the Christmas storage boxes a couple of weeks back, I saw nothing inspiring. There were all the usual suspects collected over the years … shiny baubles, hanks of tinsel,… Continue reading I’m dreaming of a simple Christmas
