I travel inwardly as well as outwardly, looking for stories to change someone’s future outlook, and for words that hang together the delicate and uplifting. The golden light perches on the cane and our pet Mynah bird listens and repeats all the bird song he hears and then calls to me to have a conversation.
It’s holidays, less time for writing, more time for living and finding stories.
So what stories do I find? Stories of a sick, perhaps dying pet guinea pig, my son seeing how starkly different city and country upbringings can be, my husband saying goodbye to his top teeth and hello to dentures, and my daughter learning crotchet from a dear Aunty.
We watch Footy Legends and Dance with Wolves. We discuss improbable plots, great characters, magic filmic moments, and unjust histories. My daughter and I read the same book series, and discover new worlds of ghosts that love humans. I do some of the Story Cartel course.
I worry about places where sweatshops exist and how many of them provide the clothes on my children’s backs. Something has to change.
The children are out gathering hay for their guinea pigs to lay in, out in the early evening, making memories that will always be theirs.
That’s holidays just begun.