Being fifty-something, the reality of an empty nest has been on the horizon for some time. Foresight was cold comfort when I returned from a recent holiday to discover that Boy Wonder (my last little chick) had kicked himself out of the family snuggery and into a new adventure with his girlfriend. Don’t get me… Continue reading Dearest Coffee Machine
Being fifty-something, I’m happy to grab my life philosophy and learnings when and where I can get ‘em. I especially love it when I discover them in unexpected moments. Last year I blogged about our Year of the fecking fence. As I suspected, our fencing phase overlapped into 2013, though only just. As soon as… Continue reading The fence philosopher
Being fifty-something, I’ve got thirty-something years of driving experience under my pedal foot. Yet, I haven’t mastered the parallel park. Actually I did have parallel parking down pat at one time – when I first took my driver licence test. I’ve rarely put my parallel parking skills to the test since. I like to say… Continue reading Parallel parking – a life-long learning opportunity (apparently)
Being fifty-something, I’m starting to think that there are already too many photo’s of me in this world. If I was never captured on film (or in pixels) again, the world wouldn’t shift from its axis and I’d be happy enough to be remembered by my pre-fifty-something snapshots. Which is saying something … most of… Continue reading Psyching myself up for the family portrait
Being fifty-something, the thought of joining a new club is at once daunting and exciting. Recently I accompanied my friend W to our first (for both of us) meeting of the Geelong Bottle and Collectors Club. I was uneasy, unsure whether I’d meet the club membership requirements. I’m not a fanatical collector. I have more… Continue reading Gone clubbing … fifty-something style
Being fifty-something, I know we can learn a lot from the animal world. Especially from our domesticated friends, like our Jack Sparrow (pirate cat and bon vivant). Jack’s not the most worldly of cats. He didn’t venture outside for the first seven years of his life (not unless you count that time he fell out… Continue reading Jack Sparrow and the (metaphorical) circle of life
Being fifty-something, I consider myself a poet … a poet of life. Aren’t we all? Here’s my debut attempt at book spine poetry: There, but for the crossfire framed in lace, the architecture of song captured a perfect revenge. (Geelong West Library, 6 September 2012)
