This photo is to remind me, more than anyone else, that I have invested a lot of time, money and energy into moving from visual art practice and management toward writing.
Here I am with my constantly bewildered mother who somehow manages to keep a brave and proud demeanour about herself despite having to adjust her thinking about who her daughter may actually think she is during any given decade.
It should be mentioned that said mother is referred to as Cecily these days which has nothing to do with her real name - she just likes it better. Reinvention is apparently genetic in our family so understanding is the least we can do for each other.
I am sure I mentioned that this year was the one for a commitment to writing and to my blog (commitment to the garden will be discussed another time) so on Tuesday morning, I headed to the city for my monthly writers' gathering - two hours of engaging with other writers and exploring ideas. Tick for commitment.
Dashed out of there around midday, met the ever-loyal-and-accomodating Badger, grabbed sushi for lunch and headed to Cecily's for tea and cake - the latter purchased en route. Niceties done, we crammed the great junk that Cecily had found for us on the side of the road into the car-of-ever-expanding-capacity before we raced off for a blissful two hours to the discount fabric shop for me while Badger ventured further afield to organise new bowls shirts for his chums.
Around 5pm, having left home at 7 that morning, we finally get to our home-away-from-home in the city. Unpack car and off to dinner with The Son and his one-woman-support-crew for a fab time and great veggie food before ending the day with a bit more knitting on my patchwork blanket - my first-ever knitting project.
I am up before the sparrows on Wednesday to put the words that have been whirring around in my head since 4am onto paper. Yes, writing. A quick weed of the garden so paths can be found, load up the car with jigsaw puzzle precision before hurling myself around the local shopping centre in search of soccer shorts for Mr Five Years Old. The Badger meets me at pre-arranged pick up point (not joint) with take-away coffee in hand. No success with shorts for the boy so we head back to Cecily's to drop off the things I forgot yesterday via The Son's letterbox to drop off the things I forgot to give him the night before.
With those boxes ticked, we fly up the highway heading north to collect a fan light for the bathroom which we have been waiting on for two years (long story), then to the picture framer for yet more work to be framed and the ever-ensuing discussion about the need for more walls and/or present lack of such due to too much framing. Petrol purchased then back in a southerly direction to the city for the not-to-be-missed Anish Kapoor exhibition with quick bite of hopefully gluten free lunch (fingers crossed) to follow.
Finally on the way toward home, we pop into an outdoor furniture shop to look at some chairs that we love and have been driving past for 12 months. No room in car so purchase delayed (and credit card relieved) so grab some more petrol as it is now cheaper on Wednesdays than Tuesdays and make a quick stop at the lottery that is service station toilets. We are moving along nicely and out of the suburbs, when we strike a thirty minute delay on the freeway due to an accident - and aren't we glad we stopped to look at chairs or this could have been us. With home almost in sight, we stop to do our supermarket shopping because who knows when on earth it will get done otherwise - and Cecily is coming to stay next week - and the vegetable peeler was thrown out sometime last week with the vegie scraps.
Into the home turn with a desperate dash to the newsagent just before closing time to get the daily paper so vital to Badger's state of mind and collect the mail from Post Office Box.
An hour and a half later, a very basic dinner is on the table with a few phone calls amidst the cooking, unpacking of groceries, locating storage spot for great junk and washing school shirts for Miss-Teen-Nearly-Eighteen. As I inhale my meal, I realise something is not quite right in the gut department - the Mocca guzzled while shopping must have had wheat in the chocolate - so away from the table to commence an energetic evening of running to the bathroom between catching up with emails and phone calls as I endeavour to plan the next day/week/month ahead. Finally I take some anti-nausea medication and crawl into bed with cup of tea in hand and bucket at my side.
Another tick for commitment ... or is that commital?
Here I am with my constantly bewildered mother who somehow manages to keep a brave and proud demeanour about herself despite having to adjust her thinking about who her daughter may actually think she is during any given decade.
It should be mentioned that said mother is referred to as Cecily these days which has nothing to do with her real name - she just likes it better. Reinvention is apparently genetic in our family so understanding is the least we can do for each other.
I am sure I mentioned that this year was the one for a commitment to writing and to my blog (commitment to the garden will be discussed another time) so on Tuesday morning, I headed to the city for my monthly writers' gathering - two hours of engaging with other writers and exploring ideas. Tick for commitment.
Dashed out of there around midday, met the ever-loyal-and-accomodating Badger, grabbed sushi for lunch and headed to Cecily's for tea and cake - the latter purchased en route. Niceties done, we crammed the great junk that Cecily had found for us on the side of the road into the car-of-ever-expanding-capacity before we raced off for a blissful two hours to the discount fabric shop for me while Badger ventured further afield to organise new bowls shirts for his chums.
Around 5pm, having left home at 7 that morning, we finally get to our home-away-from-home in the city. Unpack car and off to dinner with The Son and his one-woman-support-crew for a fab time and great veggie food before ending the day with a bit more knitting on my patchwork blanket - my first-ever knitting project.
I am up before the sparrows on Wednesday to put the words that have been whirring around in my head since 4am onto paper. Yes, writing. A quick weed of the garden so paths can be found, load up the car with jigsaw puzzle precision before hurling myself around the local shopping centre in search of soccer shorts for Mr Five Years Old. The Badger meets me at pre-arranged pick up point (not joint) with take-away coffee in hand. No success with shorts for the boy so we head back to Cecily's to drop off the things I forgot yesterday via The Son's letterbox to drop off the things I forgot to give him the night before.
With those boxes ticked, we fly up the highway heading north to collect a fan light for the bathroom which we have been waiting on for two years (long story), then to the picture framer for yet more work to be framed and the ever-ensuing discussion about the need for more walls and/or present lack of such due to too much framing. Petrol purchased then back in a southerly direction to the city for the not-to-be-missed Anish Kapoor exhibition with quick bite of hopefully gluten free lunch (fingers crossed) to follow.
Finally on the way toward home, we pop into an outdoor furniture shop to look at some chairs that we love and have been driving past for 12 months. No room in car so purchase delayed (and credit card relieved) so grab some more petrol as it is now cheaper on Wednesdays than Tuesdays and make a quick stop at the lottery that is service station toilets. We are moving along nicely and out of the suburbs, when we strike a thirty minute delay on the freeway due to an accident - and aren't we glad we stopped to look at chairs or this could have been us. With home almost in sight, we stop to do our supermarket shopping because who knows when on earth it will get done otherwise - and Cecily is coming to stay next week - and the vegetable peeler was thrown out sometime last week with the vegie scraps.
Into the home turn with a desperate dash to the newsagent just before closing time to get the daily paper so vital to Badger's state of mind and collect the mail from Post Office Box.
An hour and a half later, a very basic dinner is on the table with a few phone calls amidst the cooking, unpacking of groceries, locating storage spot for great junk and washing school shirts for Miss-Teen-Nearly-Eighteen. As I inhale my meal, I realise something is not quite right in the gut department - the Mocca guzzled while shopping must have had wheat in the chocolate - so away from the table to commence an energetic evening of running to the bathroom between catching up with emails and phone calls as I endeavour to plan the next day/week/month ahead. Finally I take some anti-nausea medication and crawl into bed with cup of tea in hand and bucket at my side.
Another tick for commitment ... or is that commital?
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