All posts tagged: thanks

Thankfulness: Time’s Paperweight.

I have on my shelf a paperweight. Remember those? It’s on the shelf because I don’t use it – but it’s too pretty to turf. A glass orb encasing a whorl of deep violet. I guess paperweights once held down loose pages on desks. On a scorching summer’s day, Executive Director Whatsit might have flung open his windows to let the breeze through, making everything quiver and dance. Lucky he had that paperweight to hold down important budget documents! These days, our desks have trays of incoming and outgoing left loose and free, without a thing to pin them down. The windows are screwed shut and air-conditioning doesn’t generally have the same gusty force. So, our paperweights sit as useless objects on shelves. Until last week. I’m reading One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp, a New York Times bestseller (she blogs HERE). If you think my writing is flowery, you’ll think hers is positively botanical! She introduced me to a new – and better – way to handle the finite hours and minutes in a day that begs for …

Thank You to the Taxi Driver who said “Don’t Go With Him!”

This is not a story I’m overly proud of.  I was young and naïve – a Tassie girl in the big smoke of Sydney. I had moved there to study as a fresh-faced 17-year-old, full of courage and optimism, determined to turn my passion for dancing into a career.  Yes people, the starry-eyed, teenaged version of myself wanted to eke out a living turning pirouettes on a stage somewhere.  Goodness knows the stress I put my parents through when I told them I wanted to move to Sydney to study a bachelor of dance before I’d even reached the legal age to have a beer at the local (although, that may have been more of a comfort…). My sister came to visit a few months in – she would have been all of 14-years.  I met her at the airport and in the taxi rank we got talking to the middle-aged man she sat beside on the plane.  He said he lived near my lodgings in Leichhardt, so we shared a cab to split the hefty …

The Parable of the Lost Ring in the Skip Bin

My better half came home from work the other day all cheery and exhilarated. “You are not going to believe what happened to me,” he said, landing me with a kiss. He goes on to tell me how after school that day (he’s a teacher) he was helping clear out a classroom for renovations, emptying armloads and binloads of rubbish into a skip bin.  They’d been at it for a good half-hour before he realised he was no longer wearing a ring on his right hand, middle finger.  The hammered silver one that we had made for our five-year wedding anniversary.  Gone. At this point my eyes traveled to his right hand in the same way that some of us skip to the last chapter of a suspenseful novel.  His fingers were bare.  He caught my eye and, with a grim smile, continued. So there he was standing beside the skip bin, knowing that somewhere in that immense jumble of junk was a little piece of precious metal that he’d likely lost for good. “I …

Design Your Own Family Traditions

My dad has a pretty warped sense of humour. Case in point: I’m going to title this example The Vegemite Assassin. At some point in my teens Father Comedy thought it would be a funny prank to creep up behind his unsuspecting victim (one of his three offspring) and smear vegemite across their face, usually leaving a brown smudge that travelled from the bottom lip to the opposite cheek, allowing for an unexpected punch of salty goop in our mouths. Aussie or no, this is not something you can prepare for. As we groaned and rolled our eyes, licking our lips and heading to the bathroom to clean up, the not-so-covert Vegemite Assassin could be heard practically choking on his own laughter. Tears, holding his sides, the works. It began to happen more often – dad’s courage being fuelled by our reactions. He even did it to a friend once. Mortifying. It wasn’t long before The Vegemite Assassin got a taste of his own… gag, and that, my friends, was the start of a decades-long family tradition that is …