Absent Friends and Brilliant Memories

Counting Moments of Awesome

Today, as I was swinging on the chandelier I was thinking God, please don’t let this break… and also let me be this wild when I have a real job. I was pretty glad it didn’t break because it looked super expensive. I think it was the second funnest part of my day; the funnest part was when you arrived, and all the minutes we were together. The best thing about opening the door and seeing you is knowing that the best hug of my day is about to happen. Yours is the best hug because you squeeze like you mean it, and hugging someone who means it is the best feeling in the world.

The third best part of my day was hunting for the possum in the roof, I wasn’t in the roof, but the possum was. I took the broom and went about tapping the ceiling with it. I don’t know how to get rid of the possum, I don’t want to kill it, if it was a rat I’d kill it, but possums are better than rats. I kind of feel like they have a right to roofs, no one else is using them anyway, but he (or she) has been keeping me awake. That’s how I know it’s a possum, it is only busy at night.

The fourth best part of my day was learning how to knit a purl stitch, it’s important to know these things, just in case all of the sewing machines in the world stop working all at once and fall apart. This way I’ll know how to make my own clothes… I might have to learn how to spin wool.

The fifth best part was right after dinner, I sat cross-legged on the lawn and stared up at the stars and I felt like you would be doing the same thing, except on your lawn. My cousin came and sat next to me and she held my hand and asked me if I remembered playing Marco Polo in the swimming pool when we were kids. I did. She squeezed my hand and laughed, then she said “Man, how long ago was that?” I said it was over ten years she said “Far out, how’d we grow up so fast?” I said “I’m not quite done with that yet.” We both laughed. Twenty is weird.

The sixth best part of my day was when I climbed into bed, and as I waited for my body to warm the sheets my phone flashed blue and buzzed on my bedside table. It was a message from you ‘I had fun today, I’m glad you’re back.’ I wrote back ‘Me too.” And I went to sleep.

Creative Pieces: The Soldier's Wife

The Soldier’s Wife

If I wrote you one story, I’d have to write you a thousand. I’d write you a story in the Winter time, when it is windy and raining and cold outside. You would be sitting by the fire in that enormous armchair with a coffee mug in one hand and a book on your lap, your other hand would be resting in my hair because I would be sitting on a cushion at your feet, learning to crochet and daydreaming about flames dancing romantically.

I’d write you a story in the Spring, when the sky is blue and rambunctious white clouds chase each other across the sky. We’d be sitting on a picnic blanket making tiny houses out of carrot sticks and telling each other tales about the tiny people that lived inside them. I’d tell you that Miss Snow-pea was in love with Mister Celery-Stick, but her father didn’t approve. And you’d tell me that Mister Celery-Stick would ask her to marry him anyway because he couldn’t bear to live without her, and he would build her the biggest carrot house in town where they could raise their kids. And then you would eat Mister Celery-Stick in one munch, I’d have to eat Miss Snow-pea too, because she’d never cope without her love.

I’d write you a story in the Summer time, when the sky is totally clear and the weather is scorching. You’d be packing the esky and your surfboard into the van and yelling out questions like “Have you packed the sunscreen?” and “Have you seen my green boardies?” I’d tell you yes and they’re in the bag with the towels. And then I’d come out carrying my sun lounger which you’d take from me and fling in the back before you would swing me up into your arms and say “You know, I think this Summer is going to be the best ever.” And you’d kiss me like we wouldn't get another.

I’d write you a story in Autumn, when the mornings are colder, but the nights are balmy and the leaves clog up the gutters. You’d be packing your clothes into your big khaki green canvas bag while I leaned against the door watching you. Your hair would be shorter than it was in the Summer, and your eyes wouldn’t be smiling so much. I’d walk up behind you and put my arms around your waist, and you’d say “It’s only six months; I’ll be home before you know it.” And I’d believe you, mostly. You’d turn around in my arms and I’d close my eyes and you’d kiss me because you wouldn’t be able to for a long time after that.

I’d write you a story in safe places and strong houses. I’d write you a story in my arms. I’d write you a story in sunshine and clear skies. I’d write you a story with family and friends. I’d write you a story about walking down an aisle. I’d write you a story about waves and beaches. I’d write you a story about holding my hand, and I’ll write you a thousand stories until you’re home again.

You're Braver than you believe: An object lesson on the pitfalls of incorrect referencing.

This evening as I was busy not thinking about as much as I could, that is to say I was avoiding thing as best as I could manage it, though I fail in this enterprise daily with considerable consistency, a quote came into my head. Now I imagine this happens often and to many people, but one would assume the context would precede the quote in many circumstances, in my case this wasn’t so. 

I’d finished watching a very bad episode of an even worse television show, this I do from time to time to assist in the prevention of taxing thought. Anyway I was enjoying those moments immediately after the end of this episode wherein the mind doesn’t need to process anything, and a quote came to my mind. I mulled it over a bit and then I thought “I want to send this quote to someone else, nicely written out on some pretty card in a nice envelope with the least cheesy postage stamp I can find.” Once that thought was completed another one immediately followed with the appropriate suggestion of who to send this lovely card to… my lovely mum of course.

So my next step was to google the quote to be sure I had it correct. This led to a general search which was very useful, the quote was there, and the author was included, however, the source was not. Immediately my much-academically-exploited brain began to question the validity of a quote lacking the adequate reference material. That led to the tracking down of the source, which wasn’t what I had hope, and then a further search to ascertain with absolute certainty that my new information was correct. It was. I was disheartened.

The quote that had arrived in my head is a well-loved Winnie-the-Pooh quote and although it is a masterful collection of words, it was not actually written by A. A. Milne. It was written by a Disney studio writer. The point of this is that in these matters I am a purist, mostly because my mum is a purist, and now I wonder why. I haven’t got an answer, I write about it because I wonder how many genius things I will reject because I am, essentially, a bit of a snob when it comes to literature. Then I remember someone wrote Fifty Shades of Grey and I subsequently remind myself that at some point someone’s really got to draw the line!

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together... there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart... I'll always be with you.” - Christopher Robin to Winnie-the-Pooh  (Disney)

All of this having been said, some of the best pieces of dialogue ever written were created by Disney writers, and I quote pop-culture like only someone who is too young to have watched any of the Star Treks in their original era could.

And I hope I never read Fifty Shades of Grey. 

Because I'm a snob like that.

But not snobby enough to not adore this.