spotted

the way we go about our lives
trying out each empty room
like houses we might own
eavesdropping for clues in corridors until
standing at a gate or attic window
seeing beauty in a flag of sky
we're gone, leaving the doors open
all the lights burning

Buttons

Little buttons on little bits of string - little by little bringing bits of hope.

Ping Pong and the meaning of life

My sister is very good at Ping Pong.  My skills come and go.  Sometimes I'm good and sometimes I've very average.  When I was a teenager, ping pong was the game to play at a certain camp that I used to go to, held up on a local mountain.  Ego's were damaged, romances blossomed, anger management issues surfaced, all over a humble game of hitting a little plastic ball back and forth across a wee net.  I don't get the opportunity to play very much anymore (sadly) but this game has been on my mind a lot of late.

I really do think that if we can master in our lives some of the very simple principles of Ping Pong, then we may well be quite successful in life.  Ping Pong? Yup, hitting a little ball back and forth.  I reckon that alot of life is about back and forthness.  Particularly relationships.  You say hello, I say hello.  You laugh, I laugh.  I hang the washing out, you bring it in.  Oh, I don't mean in a tit for tat, everything has to be even kind of way, rather the gentle rhythms of back and forthness.  There is a sense of belonging in back and forthness.   When I have a need, you will respond.  When you have a need, I will respond.  Home comforts are often about back and forthness.  You boil the kettle, I'll cut the cake.  We fit. I know what you'll do and you know what I'll do.

Are there moments in your day when you just need to hit that little ball back over the net and keep the game going?

Luv up Brisbane 1

Operation 'Luv up Brisbane' hummed along very successfully during the 2010 ekka.  I went three times.  Yep, that's right, three times.  It might sound excessive but each trip had it's own highlights and was unique in it's own way.

Trip 1 - A Sunday night after church dash.  A few rides with a friend was just the trick to clear out a few cobwebs from the week before.

Trip 2 - Another late night dash for people's day.  2 Bertie Beetle bags + a Hubba Bubba bag and a few more daring rides.  Perfect.  There were a few moments where I thought I might get flung over Bowen Bridge road in a rather messy way.

Trip 3 - A free pass, visits to the animal pavilion and a rush through the showbag pavilion for some handouts as they packed up.

I love childhood memories from the ekka that get stirred up when you're there.  Being allowed to stay out late, spending hours choosing the right show bag with the few dollars of savings, dolls on sticks, strawberry ice cream cones, praying to not get sick and avoiding the looks of the 'carnival types' running the rides.

Dear Ekka, I'll see you next year.

and this is life

I did have every intention of writing something frivolous, shallow and meaningless tonight.  I really thought I had it in me.  Nope, turns out I was wrong.  The last two weeks have been quite full-on. Some of it full-on in an awe inspiring, yippity doo dah, kind of way, some of it full-on in an "I can't get out of bed because of the lurgy that's over taken me" kind of way, and some of it because of heart break that just can't be taken away, for some one else.

One of my dear dear sweet friends suffered a tragedy last week. An out of the blue, didn't see that coming and will never understand why, kind of tragedy.  I had the honour of holding her hand on a long taxi ride toward a hospital that ultimately provided no good news.  I was so struck by how holding her hand was really the only good thing I could do.  I didn't have any amazing prayers to offer up, any words of hope, or even anything much practical to do. Thoughts, prayers, and promises of many cups of tea to come are the only thing that I can offer.  A promise to be 'beside' my dear sweet adopted little sister as she walks this road of grief.  A promise to hear the story, as many times as it needs to be told, or to be silent, or to go on road trips in search of chocolate and sunshine. Anything that is called for.