Skip to main content

Taking Stock

Pip's class exercise, Taking Stock #blogwithpip:

Place for taking stock



Making : an effort

Cooking : new things, and healthier food
Drinking : red wine, on my own, and in company
Reading: blogs, op-eds, and NOT my book club book
Wanting: to exercise more
Looking: more closely at the world around me
Playing: guitar, well, dreaming of...
Deciding: to take more chances
Wishing: I was braver
Enjoying: being on my own at times
Waiting: too long
Liking: the coast
Wondering: how old I am
Loving: sea air
Pondering: what I want to blog for
Considering: more study
Watching: The Voice, with the kids!
Hoping: to sing a song one day soon
Marvelling: at the physicality of youth
Needing: reassurance
Smelling: salt air and seaweed
Wearing: the same clothes, day after day
Following: Twitter
Noticing: kindnesses
Knowing: times change and kids grow up fast
Thinking: I must read that book
Feeling: unfit
Admiring: young people who care
Sorting: some priorities
Buying: next to nothing
Getting: pleasure from kids' independence
Bookmarking: my op-shop finds for later reference
Disliking: the state of the nation
Opening: a new phase of life
Giggling: at nudity and cheekiness
Feeling: resolved
Snacking: on dark chocolate with sea salt-mmmmmm.
Coveting: healthy hair
Wishing: I cared less about what others think
Helping: kids to strengthen friendships
Hearing: live music!




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Not smiling, wanking

The bricks were always cold underneath my bum. Cold and hard. I could feel their sharp edges. In the nights we sat and talked. The smells of sour smoke and saliva on one, body odour on another, and menace on the other. The fluorescent globes hummed from the station platform, and the street lights pooled at the corner. Inside was out of bounds to these boys, so we met on our side stairs. The frosted glass door between us and our home. Outside; offside: the limits to friendships. These were the kids we didn’t trust, the boys from the wrong side of the tracks. Where were their parents? Absent fathers, unsighted mothers, these boys roamed the streets and set me on edge. The attraction to the dirt, to the smell of one’s mouth...I can still feel it now. It was an urge, but not an infatuation.  The hearts of these boys remained hidden. It was as if they walked in costumes, played their parts, and kept their distance. We weren’t allowed to welcome them in. One day, my m...

Coming of Age

The bricks were always cold underneath my bum. Cold and hard. I could feel their sharp edges. In the nights we sat and talked, my brother and I and the neighbourhood boys. The smells of sour smoke and saliva on one, body odour on another, and menace on the other. The fluorescent globes hummed from the train station platform across the road, and the street lights pooled at the corner. Inside was out of bounds to these boys, so we met on our side stairs. The frosted glass door between us and our home. These were the kids we didn’t trust, the boys from the wrong side of the tracks. Where were their parents? Absent fathers, unsighted mothers, these boys roamed the streets and set me on edge. The attraction to the dirt, to the smell of one’s mouth...I can still feel it now. It was an urge, but not an infatuation.  The hearts of these boys remained hidden. It was as if they walked in costumes, played their parts, and kept their distance. One day, my mum greeted me at...

Shadow of the Oaks

As soon as I saw it, I wished I hadn't. There was something deadly ominous about the darkened room. Bare wood floors, panelled wood walls, slices of weak light coming in through the long, autumnal windows. Funereal. I could hardly process it.  A sign. The room was empty, the service cancelled, the food and drink all dried up. Finished.  It was our last day in New York, and we had returned to the Oak Room at The Plaza to toast Dad with a negroni. At this stage, when we knew he was fading, e ach negroni seemed like a communion .  The Plaza was one of the places him and mum had honeymooned. The last time we'd been in NYC, with kids in tow, we had blown a couple of hundred dollars on fancy burgers and lemonades for the kids, and champagne and wine with dinner for us. Spending mum and dad's trip gift money.  That was nearly 5 years earlier. We had taken our girl to look for Eloise , the little literary inhabitant of the Plaza...