wakey wakey blog..

well hello world.. I am awaking from my hibernation (at least in this blog).

Although Melbourne seems to have not gotten the memo that it is now actually spring and temperatures are supposed to be rising to sundresses and cardigans weather, I will take the lead and Spring back to life. The clocks have changed an hour early to accommodate more of the daylight so this blog should now skip to its task of recording the things that I have been getting up to and random thoughts and rambles.

Posts are soon to come mouthing on about:

• the Northcote High Vibes
• Jean’s visit to Melbourne
• Mitch and my holiday to Sydney & Canberra

slowly but surely, I promise I will go through them like someone actually cares.

For now I will leave you with this beautiful poem my dad posted on my sister’s facebook wall (she just turned 27, which explains why we braved the cold force field that is Canberra).

Dad writes: I will share the poem i gave to mama on her 27th birthday. I guess this was the clincher for her. Naaks.
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SOME THOUGHTS FOR BENSON GREEN ON HIS TWENTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY

Having just gone through the year myself
I know that twenty-seven can be hard.
But there are Sunday breakfasts

and April fields
and blue on blue
and green growing things
to change all that.

I know that spring is hard because you wait
for summer
and fall is hardest of them all-
because you must not be alone
when winter comes.

I know
that love is worth the time it takes to find.
Think of that

when all the world seems made of walk-up rooms
and hands in empty pockets.

I know your smile
and it is much too warm

to waste on people in the street

(though smiles are plentiful)
and I know
that if you keep the empty heart alive a little longer
love will come.

It always does,
maybe just at the last moment, but it will come

You must believe that
or there isn’t any reason to be twenty-seven.

- from “Stanyan Street & Other Sorrows.”
Written in 1961 & first published in 1966

And one that I scribbled on my notebook at the break of dawn while trying not to wake Mitch

When morning is about to wake

And  the night is yawning

The soul stirs

Rousing memories

Somewhere in the middle

Of asleep and awake

Are the things left unsaid

Feelings that are kept

Between the slits of the blinds

Lines of light make their way to where I lie

As my heart beats

As a tear slips

Sleep reclaims the right

To let past emotions lie

Where it is doused

By the morning light

When morning is about to wake

And  the night is yawning

The soul stirs

Rousing memories

Somewhere in the middle

Of asleep and awake

Are the things left unsaid

Feelings that are kept

Between the slits of the blinds

Slivers of light make their way to where I lie

As my heart beats

As a tear slips

Sleep reclaims the right

To let past emotions lie

Where it is doused

By the morning light

That is all.

For now.. keep calm, carry on.

X