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Showing posts from March, 2014

Silent Sundays

I awake to find my world shining:  tiny droplets cling to leaves and birds; shingles and window panes, making everything sparkle.
A light drizzle had fallen while we were sleeping.
"We have ants mom!" my son said opening  the front door in the dark of Saturday night, his arms weighed down by shopping bags.  He was becoming a man, fast. The kind of man who carries bags and opens doors.
"Looks like its gonna rain," I said, "we can do with some rain."

Sunday.
I leave the kitchen door open to let in the smell of newly washed earth. Our garden looks wild and untamed, no manicured lawns or beds of flowers, but lush guava trees and thick bushes, and a bird bath holding crisp clear rainwater.
Tiny birds are having a party, tweeting and splashing about amidst the quiet of a sublime Sunday.
A solitary car hums in the distance disturbing the peace and they scatter.
"Lucky birds!"I call to them.
 They have flight when noise imposes in their world.
The pair …

Spring cleaning

Saturday dawns with blustery winds and a cool disposition. It is inside-weather and inside the four walls of my home, is a sanctuary. 
It is my time and I'm in the mood to clean out cobwebs & cupboards, to tackle the old & the new.

Spring cleaning is therapeutic; it provides physical exercise and mental stimulation. It is so much more than brooms and mops; irons and washers; creases and dust.

My mother's hand grips the iron tightly, pushing down hard, veins thick and ridged and deep blue, fighting stubborn creases like I'm gonna get paid.
"Bony," my dad used to call her, lovingly; bursting into song: "I've got a girl named Bony Maronie, she's as thin as a stick of macaroni..."
I have her hands and feet, fingers and toes long and slim, refusing to allow fat to deposit there, sending it all to the bum and thighs.
A burst of steam whooshes out, hitting me in the face like a facial.
A slow smile wrinkles the corners of tired eyes as I iron out crea…