I had a birthday yesterday

55,

dad shares the day with me

and clocked in at 85.

we havent had many adult birthdays together

so this one was special.

the kitchen was a hive of activity

stanley boiling baking heating simmering,

whites whipped and beaten to stiffness.

bec the chef of hors d’oeuvre

or as she calls them horse duvvies

turning out platter after platter

of smoked trout, goats cheese, olives ,prawns ,capers and finger lime combos

oily grilled eggplant and red capsicum ,

tipples of chilled white wine and fat yaks ,

presents opened and examined

hugs exchanged.

there was meatballs ,pasta

and oyster bay sparkling wine.

there was quince and ricotta  cheesecake ,

glenda chief bottlewasher and helper outer

got behing a hazelnut sponge cake with a fejoa cream filling.

john did his french cookbook thing that involves the old black marble top to his dressing table being cleaned up and brought in for serious  chocolate scrolling.

photos were taken

don’t ask me,

I havent mistressed the addition of pics to this blog yet.

elsie held court on the pull out couch in the lounge room under piles of fluffy warmth

she was sick ,full of winter aches and chills.

Kingston spent a lot of the day in bed with her

reading books ,eating saos  and playing

nothing could have made else feel better than a solid nephew love in.

John was hands on most of the day in the kitchen

in his loving food way.

jess said to him  did you hear the phone ringing bonny?

and he said yes but I was stirring.

that is a man with a focus ,said jess, to let the phone ring out.

dad had the bestest time

swapping cheek with rob who never flinches

while telling a joke,

the master of deadpan .

I walked wallaby tracks

meandering and honouring this forest that enfolds me

that hears all my dreams and prayers

my griefs and joys

offering me strength and comfort

offering me reflection and growth

offering….

me.

the laughter of  this mob followed me

until I returned to the sunny afternoon spot beneath the elder angophora

soaking them up a while

before another wander

in another direction

for another story to be sung.

thanks john thanks bec thanks jess thanks greg who said great party sans,  thanks elsie and the  bright eyed boy

thanks glen and rob

thanks rosemary for popping in and having a cuppa

thanks dad for being here

thanks forest and water and air and earth

thanks for  music and dance

thanks for breath and expression

thanks for art and heart and fire and food.

what can I say ?

or perhaps leave it to dad who tells me that when I was very very little girl I used to walk around chanting,

“I’m a lucky bitch …I’m a lucky bitch…”

and so I am.

the travellers have arrived home

full of stories and red dust from the centre

the grandeur of bluffs and canyons

the big black eagles sharing  roadkill with the crows

 cold nights  hot days 

and the hideous  racism of Alice Springs.

another world away from this wet forest,

the four walls now enclose these hardened biker campers

the beds soft and comfortable.

we grow used to our prison

to our level of comfort 

to our ordered universe

to surety and pots of tea on the verandah

with cake and Kingston antics.

I see the stars when I venture forth for a wee

I spy the tawny frogmouth perched on a dead wattle branch 

when I walk further

to feel the forest nightness.

then I come back to  the fire dancing in our hearth

 the murmur of spanish lessons on the couch

 the soft strings of a guitar plucked

a snore from another chair

a rustle of bush rat running off with the soap again.

I pick up the crochet hook and choose another ball of wool

weaving a memory blanket  

to warm a bed or a person .

I came from a world of inside 

shielded by my culture from the elements

innured to the hard ground 

and the vastness of space.

when we camp we are reminded 

of our place within the hugeness

 feeling the rocks under our bedroll

smelling the ants crushed underneath

the dust and grit in our eyes

and if we are so fortunate

an opening of awareness 

lends a heightened clarity to all our senses.

but then we come home 

to our hearth

and enjoy the hugs 

the bed the cake.

those are not my words

they are part of a text message from John

him and Bec are on their way to Alice.

he has a way with words that lad

the hay plain becomes poetry in motion

instead of a land grieving for what once was.

of course  what he is really commenting on is the sheer stupidity of our forebears

in removing  all the forests  so they could industrialize the landscape   with farming and mining

AND  then have the gall to expect the land  to keep on providing for us.

They  have ridden as far as Coober Pedy now

so probably not a lot of forest around there either.

that is why we rename it desert  so we can feel better about what we have done and continue to do

the desert becomes a cool place to go to  for spiritual direction and far out sunsets

AND to say we have been.

once we prayed in deep glens at the feet of ancient trees beside stones and rivers of pure water

once we respected all of the land.

their respective BMW’s got loaded with swags ,the billy ,wattle sap & dried fruit munchies

and get this

they took the kefir along

kefir being a  plant,

it looks kinda like cottage cheese  and grows yogurt

every day we push the yogurt out thru a sieve  drink it and  add more milk.

most of the time  we run ours on goats milk,

I wonder what they using out there .

I have to say it

monoculture is a giant blight on the landscape

a unparrelled travesty against commonsense and maintaining our Selves on the planet.

we  dig deep into the earth and send it all to  China.

we provide  Japan with our forests

and have done so here in the south-east for 40 years,

4o years of  ships sailing the seas

loaded with  little chips that once were trees.

then we buy everything back from China, our shoes, t shirts, solar panels, garlic

the list goes on and on…….

free market they call it,

don’t complain,

we are all enjoying a high standard of living.

hello… reality check

some may be but most peoples on the planet aren’t

what about them?

AND what about the planet ?

you can probably get where I am coming from now  but do you know where I am going

and will you come with me?

that is the question.

will you leave the sad tired and nasty lies of a dreaming that has given us sinners ,degradation and capitalism?

I have already gone somewhere else

to living within a forest,

growing some veges

picking wild mushrooms

smiling at clouds

dancing with rainbows,

leaving well alone

allowing life to be it self

dreaming another story

another mind field

sharing, deepening connection

working for   spirit   heart   earth

loving honouring

AND

having a bloody good time .

yesterday the wild came to visit,

strong wind rattled our windows and coaxed beanies and jumpers onto our bodies.

yesterday was cold, and dad kept company with the fire  most of the day.

the wild elementals had come to celebrate  the Birth Day of Jessica May.

it is not anzac to me ,

why would it be when instead of the bugle sounds at dawn

my baby splooshed out of my body into the world of form.

born 29 years ago  to an aussie dad and a kiwi mum

that is my  contribution to anzac.

suddenly the whole vibe of anzac was washed clean and reinvented,

not a day of war but life renewing itself,

not a day of uniforms and medals

not a day of past deeds dusted up in glory lies,

but a day of bold beginnings,

a day to honour a terrific girl become woman

a daughter become mother .

a day to share our stories

another day to grow well together.

it was a feast ,

of baked chokos and polenta

of sphaghetti marinara

of antipasto and pinot noir

of chocolate cake and tiny  antique candles,

candles saved by my mum over many of my birthdays.

Jessica May

a  mistress of commonsense and  cheek

of generousity and take no prisoners

of bloody good fun.

we are all the better for her Presence in our lives.

I have no idea

still, after all this time

a grown woman

a learner of things metaphysical, herbal

a sometime yogi singer meditator,

an always  lover of forest and birdsong

and still ,I have no idea of what it is all about

or even, what it is???

we get up in the morning and go about our day

and I love that

I love making up my day.

sometimes the day has been made for you

there is little input required apart from what clothes to wear and lets face it uniforms take that one away.

it is school or work,

it is milking or ploughing,

it is mending tending and bending to the set up.

it is a given and all you have to do is comply,

sullenly  happily  crossly  passionately

it doesn’t  matter ;

the script is written and we each have our parts to play.

I have woken to a  blue  day of autumn chilliness

a last-minute crescent moon

within a  few strands of white cloud,

a cuppa in bed and blackberry jam toast.

I am making it up as I go along

testing realities.

discerning the truth of the current program.

And so I plant the leeks and the tatsoi

enjoy the presence of my father who is visiting

nearly 85, he has come over from the land of the long white cloud to hang out with us,

to  play with his great-grandchild,

to rewire our lamps and lights and radios

to act as consultant for the BMW team as they paw over Becs new bike changing oils and things.

he is great my dad

Murray,

he walks out to the gate and back every day

1km round trip thru the forest,

stops at a bench on the way and listens to his transistor radio that he carries in his shirt pocket.

He loves the trees and the birds ,all of it really,

we wish he would stay.

he is so valuable

particularly here in this environment,

has  a know how from an era when they had to be inventive and creative .

today he has hopped on the back of the bike with John and gone to Bega

Bec has wandered off to her studio,

ye old lily shack is having another makeover as an artist’s studio.

the baby has taken his parents and his auntie to Melbourne

and I have the quiet space to be in,

I like that too

and now I will go and make up the rest of my day

and I really have no idea what that will look like.