When fathers read …


I saw this building as we walked back to the car after a meal in Kalgoorlie.  I just had to take a picture because it brought back a special memory for me.  This building is off the main street where the beautiful old architecture of Kalgoorlie is protected.  This building, too, makes a statement.  And, so it should.  Individuality.

The memory it brought back is a precious one.

Dr T loved reading to our daughter, and she, a captive audience, hung around his neck like a pendant.  He read to her in infancy and it continued for the next few years.  With nearly a five year gap between our two children, she had our undivided attention.  When he went on sabbatical to Sweden for several months, he recorded stories for her.  Each night for three months she would sit in a small plastic chair, faced the cassette player and listened to her father’s voice.  Oh! how he loved speaking in all the different character voices and she delighted in the variations.  The favourite books for both were Peter Rabbit, The Wind in the Willows and the all time favourite book, The Big Orange Splot by Daniel Marcus Pinkwater.  My daughter credits her strong need for individuality and creativity to The Big Orange Splot.  She still makes references to it and to the time her father read to her.  The bond between them is still as strong as ever.

The Big Orange Splot is a wonderful story about individuality, diversity, acceptance and community.  The message is timeless.  I wish political leaders and parents would read the book!  We would live in different times, if they did.

If you haven’t heard of the book, it’s a wonderful way to spend five minutes on You Tube. The suggestion is my gift to you today.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

In response to RDP Wednesday – BOOK


At the end, all we have is memories.  We don’t re-create them.  We make new ones.  And, sometimes, from the old.  Like left-over food, the creation can be memorable.  I’m settled in my chair, about to enjoy a feast.

thumb_IMG_1403_1024.jpgThe snowdrops in my garden first appear in August.  The anniversary of my father’s passing.  Far from saddening me, the flower, like memories of him, delights the heart.

Today is the birth anniversary of my father.  He and my mother shared a birthday in the month of June.  Their birthdays made our home into a house of celebration.  It was an open house where people came uninvited, dropping in for a meal and drink.  My parents, the ever gracious hosts, would treat each person with unconditional warmth.

My parents were business people.  They managed their world of finances and friendships, with uncompromising integrity.  I feel blessed to have been raised in their world.

IMG_2035.jpgMy father was my David Attenborough.  He showed me the wonders of the world in words and books.  Through his eyes I see softness in ranges and know Nature’s hand can shape and smooth the most difficult terrain.

thumb_IMG_1406_1024Jostled in the air, I have learnt to focus on the sun ray bursting through a storm.

thumb_IMG_2343_1024.jpgI know no fear travelling in desolate outback.  I’ve come to learn, there is beauty in the barren.  There is peace in void.

thumb_IMG_2730_1024.jpgMy steps are measured and mindful because I know there’s more to experience in the journey between A to Z.


Did my father teach me to think differently at his knee?  I’m not sure but the training certainly came early, much like our beloved pooch who at 12 months will get a toy and pose, Instagram ready!

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird