Part Suburban Sonnet, Part Ambush, With the Occasional Rainbow

As a girl, I dreamed of becoming a surgeon (Medicine, to its credit, seems to have carried on without me). I like to think that teaching English and performing surgery have a lot in common. Both demand close attention, careful excisions, and someone convinced they know what the author intended.

This year I found myself washed ashore, gasping for air, wondering how I got here: daughter, sister, niece, wife, mum, educator, colleague, friend, neighbour, rate-payer – the one holding all the maps while having absolutely no idea where I was. Somewhere between the obligations and the endless to-do lists, I lost sight of the shoreline.

Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.

Lungs waterlogged, I needed a rescue breath.

And so… here we are.

This little corner of the internet is where I set down the burdens of responsibility, expectation and hurry, and let words do their quiet work. I write about moments that are easy to hurry past and miss.

Toast cut into soldiers. “We should have left five minutes ago!”
Meanwhile, a mermaid has declared the shower recess her permanent residence, the puppy is making off with the school cap, and the ten-year-old is conducting a Hot Wheels car wash at the sink with hand soap, water, and complete confidence in the enterprise.

Somewhere between the washing, the waiting, the laughter, and the things we cannot quite explain, the ordinary begins to shimmer.

Here, we linger over the small things: lost hats, rainbow puddles, impossible mornings, unexpected grace, and the semaphore secrets fluttering from suburban washing lines. Join me in the whimsy, wonder, and ordinariness of life and love.