Today is the anniversary of my mother’s passing. A day of reflection and unease for me. I adored my father. As a child, as far as I was concerned, my mother was a distant other parent. This preference lit a fuse whenever our paths crossed. The wire sizzled but never extinguished itself even though my father died decades before her passing. As I’ve grown older the memory of the dynamics between mother and daughter is a haunting presence in my life. She was a perfect woman to all who met her. To a child, she was an impossible role model.
To my surprise today I found I had observed her closely. I see her in a different light. 
If you’ve taken the time to observe a blade of grass after rain, you’ll know what I mean. You see details, magnified. The ordinary, made beautiful. You may even wonder, how did I miss that? That’s where I am today.
My mother’s family history is rich as it is complex. I’ve written about it in another post. The ties that bound the ten siblings were elusive but impossible to sever. They argued with passion. They loved each other the same way. How did we, the next generation, emerge from that family kiln unscathed, remains a mystery to me. I haven’t seen some cousins for over 35 years. Yet, we talk like we saw each other yesterday.
I’ve been home for a few days, making my house a home. I got a corner here or there looking exactly like I want it to. I’ve even dared to buy indoor plants. Perhaps subconsciously I’m planning to be home more often. I’m nesting briefly.
My mother’s home, my home, was so different. Her touch was different to mine, yet, our yearning for creating a home is one. I remember our lounge room once had heavy raw silk curtains in a rich cream with burnished orange cushions to contrast. It was luxurious to the touch and eye. I’ll never understand how she managed to keep our grubby fingers away from her prized lounge room. As for me? I’m especially happy with my ‘organic’ cabinet with my collection of emu eggs, shells, rocks and painted boab nuts. They are symbolic of my journey and distance travelled.
I stepped away from the mirror I was wiping down. How did I get here flashed through my mind. As I did, I caught a glimpse of my mother, in my smile.
The familiarity startled me. The smile was not mine, nor my mother’s smile.
It was a Mona Lisa smile.
Maybe some things are meant to remain a mystery.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I’m planning more adventures.
And will travel winding roads with destination in mind.
I will spend time seaside in the company of seagulls.
I will seek wisdom in silence.
And enjoy working with purpose. Head down …. you know the drill.
I will learn a sunset is always perfect, and like life, never marred by the unexpected. 
And like waves, transiency is also beautiful.
I will take time to watch in awe …
The palette I am given each day.
I will look for the unexpected in whimsy, maybe even throw caution to the wind and let walls once built strong crumble, to let ‘Barry’ in!
“All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind” (Khalil Gibran)
The monastery has several buildings including a small church, all built in Spanish influenced architecture. I stayed here once overnight. It was quite an experience! I drove up the drive way, the building before me resonated of Tara, so naturally the phrase, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!” looped in my head.
I’ve returned several times here to visit. I love the little church where I spend a quiet moment or two.
There were two large boarding schools here, now hired out for events.
The monks live behind the ornate gate. They often run retreats. I’d like to attend one some day. As a child I enjoyed a weekend silent retreat once a year that we had at school. On reflection, I have enjoyed moments of silence all my life. I’ve just realised this.
A young boab tree, Roebuck Bay, Broome, Western Australia
Esperance Bay, Esperance, Western Australia
Young bee catcher, Parry Creek, Wyndham, Western Australia
Gum trees, South West, Western Australia
Purple enamel orchid, South West, Western Australia
Like the tree in a Japanese park, folks seemed to sense where the vulnerability was so support was given psychologically, and also in practical ways.
I knew in an instant where I was in my life. I was at one with the real me. That mattered a lot. It had taken me years. I was not prepared to compromise on anything and there was nothing worth compromising. It was liberating to walk away. An ending became a new beginning.
The church itself is austere from the outside. The architecture is Bavarian, stark white in the fierce sun.
Inside it is resplendent in mother of pearl that is evident everywhere.
As for me, … I’ll be somewhere on a beach, waiting for sunset.
I wanted to visit Shell Beach up in Shark Bay some day. I was there to see white shells. I did. Trillions of them.
I love photographing seagulls, perhaps because of my love for the book ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull’. They remind me, I was given wings of freedom. So I chart my own course and fly.
I also love the white wave that brings a poised surfer to shore.
The white sundew in spring.
A beautiful pest, the arum lily, blooms in the hundreds, roadside in Busselton in the south west.
The exquisite white boab flower that blooms up in the Kimberley.
The snowdrops that bloom at my front door, around the anniversary of my father’s passing.
Then there are the roses in my garden. Some pure white.
Others, tinged with pink.
And then there are those that appear against the white picket fence. They are the first thing I see when I return from trips. They say “Welcome home”.
December was to be a month of transitions for me too. I was anticipating a whirlwind of final visits to all regions. My trips were booked back to back and with three suitcases (Midwest, South West and Wheatbelt) all packed, it would have been easy to accomplish. I started my month in Merredin. I usually spend the night there after the clinic as it is a 3.5-4 hour drive home in open farming country. Driving at dusk is hazardous with fox and kangaroo being a real threat to safety. It was a beautiful start to summer with clear skies and early warmth. I worked steadily all day, but about twenty minutes before my day ended I looked outside the window and noticed a sepia glow. I walked outside and found massive clouds were rolling in. I’ve experienced a storm cell in this region before. I hurried, wanting to escape the onslaught. I got as far as Kellerberrin, some 30 minutes away when it hit with force for the next hour and a half. Spectacular lightening, thunder that made my teeth chattered and hail and rain violently smashing my car. I calmed my nerves saying the insurance would cover any damage (my car is brand new, bought five months ago!). I was second last in a convoy of several 4WDs, no doubt all contractors like me, headed home in a hurry. I stayed with them for safety. Along the way we were stopped, the police and ambulance helping at a roll over. I averted my gaze. This is not how a work day should end. I was perfectly fine all day but by the time I got to Perth I could barely function. My car was unscathed but not me. I came down with a flu like virus and spent five days in bed. I had to cancel two clinics.
A Shared Space 
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