Sunday morning on Chapel

It was one of those unusually quiet mornings on Chapel. I sip my coffee with quiet contemplation, savouring the bitterness and waiting for it to wake me up. I sigh with the morning, or it sighs with me – the traffic drifts by in waves with engines roaring and then disappearing into the distance. I watch the figure slumped against the shop window across the road. It doesn’t move.

I put my coffee down and reach into my bag to put on my glasses and squint. He doesn’t move. I stare through gaps in the traffic at the people walking past him, stepping over his lifeless legs, glancing briefly and then walking on. Person after person in their designer sunglasses and polished manicures ignore him. I should do something, call someone, be a hero, do the right thing. I reach for my phone and …hesitate.

At the same time as my internal crisis rages a young girl, a better girl than I, walks by and stops. She stares down at the man for a moment and walks into the shop to get help. Another young woman emerges with her, a customer service tag clearly identifying her as a shop girl. She looks around nervously. Another day, another body. It is Sunday morning on Chapel after all.

A girl crossing the road at this exact moment sees shop girl and girl huddled together and holds up her phone like a beacon of light as she hurries on towards them. After assessing the problem, she dials and speaks to someone. Young girl, shop girl and mobile girl all look down at the body slumped against the shop window. It hasn’t moved at all. Perhaps there is still someone left in there. Then again, perhaps not.

Neither of the three girls is game to touch him. Shop girl leans in close than then pulls away. Young girl does the same and mobile girl looks around for the ambulance she has just called. Where are they?

Hero walks by; he is wearing Havaianas and work man shorts. This is either a man of many talents or a complete poseur. What Seems to be the matter girls? I imagine him asking. He, too peers closely at the body slumped in the window and suddenly pulls away. Perhaps there is an odour, or something equally offensive about the lifeless man. Hero scratches his head and looks at his companions. The others have already done their bit and he needs to up the ante. He leans down and yells hey! down at the guy. Nothing. Not a twitch. He gingerly leans in closer and closer until he is kneeling on the floor. He puts the man into the recovery position. Surely there is a life in there left to save.

They wait. Traffic begins to back up on Chapel as people in their cars slow to catch a glimpse of the show. I watch their rubbernecking, twisted heads and wide eyes as they struggle between a good view of the man and keeping an eye on the road. The sun beats down on the man in the recovery position. A homeless guy with all his worldly goods in tow has stopped in to have a look too. He speaks to the crowd gathered before moving off down the street in a slow shuffle.

The ambulance arrives without fanfare.

The boys get out of their vehicle and they walk towards the man. There is no rushing or yelling, everything is calm and measured. One ambulance guy leans in closely and says something to the man on the floor. Nothing. He reaches out a hand and does something I can’t see through the cars in the traffic. The man stirs and awakes. I can feel the relief from here. The man gets up, stumbles and slurs something at the paramedics. He walks into the traffic and towards my side of the road but heads the other way. The boys look at each other scratching their heads and shrugging their shoulders. All in a days work, I guess.

T for one

Nat tagged me with coming up with 10 songs starting with the letter T. I created some rules for myself because I knew that there would be a few favourites (150 favourites actually)
1) I immediately ruled out all songs starting with “The”
2) If I had done a song for Musical Monday previously I couldn’t include it in this list.
3) I had to be able to find it on Radio.blog.club.

These rules knocked out a lot of contenders and so with these provisos in place I give you my list of ten T songs (in no particular order).

1) Today – Smashing Pumpkins

I love this for the passionate lyrics mostly. Pink ribbon skies that never forget. I love that. That’s exactly what they are.

2) This Woman’s Work – Kate Bush

There are a few songs I would put into world’s saddest songs category. This one always has me blubbering just a tiny bit. I adore Kate Bush. I love her wacko dancing, her unusual voice..everything. She is one of my early memories. A poster with wild hair and red lips on my cousin’s wardrobe. From that perspective, when I grew up, I wanted to be the girl on the wardrobe.

3) Try A Little Tenderness – Otis Redding.

Honest to God, I was going to do a whole Musical Monday on this song alone anyway. I first heard this song when it was performed so passionately in the movie Pretty in Pink when Duckie serenades Andi. If someone serenaded me like that I swear to God I would worship them. Duckie was one of a kind – and he had strong lips (love a man with strong lips!). But the song, I just fell in love with it and replayed that bit over and over until the tape got fuzzy. A few weeks later I rang up the radio station and requested it. The guy got all huffy on the phone We don’t play THAT song here. Well, they should. Everyone should.

4) Town Called Malice – The Jam

How can you have a T list without Town Called Malice? Quite frankly a perfect song in my eyes. I love the beat, I love the words, I love the melody. Hell, you can even dance to it (albeit looking rather like you’re on drugs).

5) Teardrops – Womack and Womack

How about this for a blast from the past? When this song came out in the 80s I distinctly remember making fun of it. Now? I absolutely adore it. It’s soulful and it’s sung beautifully. The last shining beacon of RnB before it all went to shit. I like my RnB soulful not sexed up and on steroids like it was in the 90s/naughties.

6) This Charming Man – The Smiths

I got into The Smiths at exactly the right kind of depressing time. Uni student – check. Wearing black – check. Philosophising about the state of the world – check. Life is pain – check. God love Morrissey. I don’t know if I would have enjoyed wallowing so much without him. I just adore The Smiths. I adore this song – it’s beautiful for the whimsical melancholy of the lyrics coupled with an oh so perfect beat.

7) Taxman – The Beatles

Old timers to the journal will already know my Beatles story. There is a Musical Monday to follow, but suffice to say that this is one of my all time favourite Beatles’ songs. It featured on the very first album that was all mine – Rock and Roll Music Volume II – The Beatles (it was a compilation tape). It was a Christmas present gone wrong. I never asked for The Beatles. What kind of wacko 8 year old would? I asked for Cindy Lauper. I love Cindy, but boy am I glad I got The Beatles instead. Completely shaped my musical tastes. I was obsessed with that album. Taxman featured and so, it’s been a favourite of mine since as long as I can remember.

Take to the Sky – Tori Amos

For Tori non-fans. This song doesn’t have any screeching on it. I promise. Now go listen. It’s a b-side from her Winter single. This is probably my favourite single. All the songs on it are fabulous and this one – Take to the Sky, I adopted as my own personal mantra. You know how everyone should have a personal mantra in the form of a song? This is one of mine.

okay, I lied – there’s a bit of operatic screeching on it. Oh, go on, you love it!

9) Take Five – Dave Brubeck

This song will forever remind me of fresh Turkish Delight and afternoon tea on a sunny Sunday afternoon while sharing stories with my best friends as the light streamed in through the kitchen window. It was the day I really discovered Jazz. Never looked back. An amazing piece of music.

10) Teardrops – Massive Attack

Melancholy, thoughtful, beautiful. I don’t know how anyone can listen to this song without floating away into the clouds. I’m always disappointed when it’s over. It’s just gorgeous. The video clip too, is wonderful.

[T-songs done as Musical Mondays - To Her Door (Paul Kelly), Teenage Riot (Sonic Youth), The Mercy Seat (Nick Cave), The Vagabond (Air), Tyrone (Erykah Badu), Terrible Lie (NIN), Thriller (Michael Jackson - album)]

[Honorable mentions (aka, I wish the list let me have more than ten) - Total Eclipse of the Heart (Bonnie Tyler), Tu Sonrisa (Elvis Crespo), Throw Your Arms Around Me (Hunters and Collectors), There's No Other Way (Blur), The Deadwood Stage (Doris Day), The River Rise (Mark Lanegan), The World Seems Difficult (Mental as Anything), Trampled Underfoot (Led Zepp), The Dam At Otter Creek (Live), Teenage Whore (Hole), Talk about the Blues (John Spencer Blues Explosion), Time is on My Side (The Rolling Stones), Tiny Dancer (Elton John), Tainted Love (Soft Cell), Tracks of My tears (Smokey Robinson and The Miracles), The Day I tried to Live (Soundgarden), Tick (Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs), Trippin' on a Hole in a Paper Heart (Stone Temple Pilots), Temptation (new order), The Message (Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five)]

EDIT – since it’s the meme issue – Stolen from Scorpy

1. Height?
5ft4 (I think)

2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
um, no.

3. Do you own a gun?
no! christ, I ain’t Starsky and Hutch!

4. Who would you let eat crackers in your bed?
Bed is for many things..and eating might be one of those things. So..if you’re sticking around you get to eat in the bed.

5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
I’m one of those people that research my symptoms before going to the doctor. Worst patient EVER.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?
They are nature’s greatest food!

7. What’s your favourite Christmas song?
um, O Holy Night, Carol of the Bells, ….anything by Bony M *hangs head in shame*

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
who has time for drinks? I’m always running late!

9. Is your bathroom clean?
yeah.

10. Can you do push ups?
HAHAHAHAHAHA

11. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry?
I don’t really wear a whole heap of jewelry. Maybe one of my many pairs of earrings. I love earrings.

12. Do you like painkillers?
This is the weirdest question ever. I wouldn’t consider them a friend. I usually only take them if I have a headache. Headaches are my kryptonite!

13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
lips, they’re pretty squishy.

14. Do you have A.D.D.?
No I have the opposite of it – whatever that is.

15. What’s your name?
Marianne.

16. Middle Name?
Iris? (I don’t have a middle name).

17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?
reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally don’t want to get up.
Need the loo
I want a hug.

18. Name the last 3 things you bought:
grocery shopping
breakfast
movie ticket

19. Who is your favorite visual artist?
Dave McKean, Van Gogh, Dali…

20. You’re stuck on a deserted island with two other people, who would you want to be stranded with?
One of those freaks who know a whole lot about catching fish
The love of my life (hahaha)

21. You’ve won a major award and have thanked your family, who else would you thank?

My friends? I dunno.

22. Current worry?
Too many things. Myself probably.

23. Current hate?
Getting up.

24. Favorite place to be?
People watching while sipping my coffee in Melbourne

25. How did you bring in the New year?
with friends.

26. Where would you like to go?
Egypt, Paris, South America, Canada, Croatia, US (I have simple tastes. lol)

27. Do you own slippers?
Yes, but I rarely wear them. It looks like I have muppets on my feet when I do,

28. What shirt are you wearing?
PJ – singlet top.

29. Do you burn or tan?
both.

30. Favorite color(s)?
in the red family.

31. Would you be a pirate?
Only if I could be one of those land pirates. I don’t have sea legs and I certainly don’t have a sea stomach.

32. Are you gay?
nope.

33. What songs do you sing in the shower?
My next musical monday. stay tuned. I’ve been singing it everywhere.

34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child?
I thought someone would come and kidnap my family while I was sleeping.
Also, Satan – I secretly watched The Exorcist when I was about 8. It fucked me up BIG TIME!

35. What’s in your pockets right now?
I don’t have pockets.

36. Where are you?
Bed

37. Best bed sheets as a child?
I never had novelty bedsheets. I loved my soft comfy flanny ones.

38. Worst injury you’ve ever had?
Twisted ankle when trying to learn a dance off the tele.

39. You’re on a trip around the world and have to select five landmarks to visit, what would you pick?
The Pyramids, Great Wall, Uluru, Broadway, Graceland (hey cityscapes count as a landmark. I love cities. I also must see Graceland before I die).

40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
2

41. Who is your loudest friend?
E

42. Who is your quietest friend?
F

43. Does someone have a crush on you?
ha! Only in my head.

44. Do u wish on shooting stars?
yes, I wish on everything.

45. What is your favorite book?
oh god, I have too many. Jane Eyre is one of them.

46. What is your favorite candy?
my best friend, chocolate.

47. What song do/did you want played at your wedding?
I dunno.

48. What song do you want played at your funeral?
Marianne – Tori Amos or Don’t rain on my parade – Bab Streisand.

(you might think it rather disturbing I’ve thought of funeral songs but wedding songs involve someone else as well)

49. What were you doing at 12AM last night?
thinking. Don’t you just hate that?

50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up?
nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

okay, no more memes

inventing the perfect man

cinema under the stars on a balmy night.

The sun had already disappeared behind the buildings by the time we got there. This is the last pretty place left during this drought I sighed as I lowered myself down onto the grass. The lawns were filling up quickly, some families with their children in tow, a couple of lone spectators, girlfriends toasting the summer and couples snuggling into the crooks of each others necks. I notice the little knowing smiles on their faces. I look around at all of us, brightly animated, relaxed and happy. From above we must look like a giant patchwork quilt of colour.

E is swatting at her legs – the mosquitoes a menacing beast. L is busying herself with preparing the food and I am looking out over the wave of people around me. A group of men sharing a slab of beer. A couple smiling at each other. A father, rocking his young daughter to sleep in his arms. He looks at her adoringly. My eyes notice a young woman directly in front of me sitting alone on a picnic rug. Her lipstick is freshly applied and hair looks immaculate. She is a vision… waiting to be viewed. She rearranges the cheese platter a thousand times while looking at her watch, then at her phone and then out towards the entrance. I follow her gaze, hoping to see a man rushing, late, anxious – but there is nothing but more families and giggling girls.

The sky darkens into a hue of mauve, indigo and pink. People are settling into their rugs, lazily picking at their dips and crackers. E is talking about her new pup and L is offering sound advice to stop the night time whining. I am scratching the back of my legs. Stupid prickly grass. The girl with the shiny hair stares at her phone intently. She picks it up to make a call. Frown, hushed whisper, Where are you? But you said.. She hangs up and looks down at her cheese platter. She wipes at her eye – it is a fleeting movement – quick, embarrassed, frustrated. She turns away and looks at the sky.

This brightly coloured patchwork quilt of people are now shadowy silhouettes against the dusky sky and sad girl with the immaculate hair and lipstick looks so alone on her rug for two. A couple of bats fly overhead at the botanical gardens – the last remaining few of a colony relocated elsewhere.

The movie starts and I am staring at sad girl. I would have left by now whispers E. I’d be digging into the food and watching the movie offers L. I’m not sure of what I’d do if I was Sad girl. I think I would have started to cry, but pretended I wasn’t.

The opening song has settled the children and there is a strange hush over the crowd as they watch, enthralled by the action on the large screen. Then suddenly from nowhere, there he is – bespectacled and casual. Sad girl looks up and the sadness disappears. I can almost see the lights of electricity dancing around her hair with excitement. He plonks down beside her and gives her a kiss on the cheek. She beams up at him. He will never know how sad she felt when she thought he wouldn’t come.

Gone with the Quote

I’m feeling a little ‘under the fire’ at work at the moment. I haven’t been in the art room teaching art. I’ve been in the classroom teaching English, Maths and other assorted goodies. This is a temporary change while our school undergoes student testing. I’ve loved being in the classroom, and felt like my creativity has returned. It’s funny that while teaching art I’ve felt that my own creativity has been stifled but while in the classroom my fight instincts are switched on and I’m constantly challenged to be on my toes, thinking of new ways to make old ideas exciting. In art – everything is pretty much already exciting. I mean how much do you really have to work to make red paint exciting? It’s bloody red paint! It’s slimy, it’s colourful, it’s messy and it’s sloppy. What’s not to love?

The stifled creativity that I’ve felt in the art room however is made up for by the fact that I am basically my own boss. I decide, plan and execute my program. I pick out the materials. I decide on the displays. I get to say which work goes up and which work doesn’t. I get to be as organised or as disorganised as I like and fuck ‘em if they don’t agree. This freedom is wonderful. I love it. That is, I’ve loved it until now. Until one particular teacher has decided that she’d like to plan an extension art program for talented children.

This particular teacher is a senior teacher and well respected. She’s also a friend. I don’t always agree with her professional opinion – that is when it comes to what is considered talent in art. She’d like to work with me to plan an extension art group. I’ve been thinking of doing the same anyway, so that’s no problem. But the issue is that I want to choose who goes into the group and I want to plan what goes on in the group. I know that S’s idea of who goes into the group will be a little different from mine. She will pick talented artists (based on my wide recommendations) but her proviso is that their IQ needs to be high as well (since that’s the point of her program). I, on the other hand would like to see children who don’t get a go in anything else BUT who are also talented at art to do the program. I don’t want to choose on IQ. I also don’t want to be a strong arm when it comes to this… I feel a bit pressured to create a program now that is going to make the powers that be happy, when all I’ve been doing for the last year are things that make me and the students happy.

I don’t like this feeling.

Readers of cbg will be aware of my little flirtation with public bathroom graffiti. For those that haven’t seen cbg, I saw a message the other day on a toilet door that said “you are loved beyond your capability to even comprehend”. I thought it was an interesting message for me to have read and wondered if anyone else had seen the message on that day and felt a little like looking over their shoulder, just like I did. I already know that roughly 99% of people who read this journal think that fate or messages or any of that stuff is bullshit, so I won’t ask you what you think. But sometimes I wonder whether the universe gives a little tap. Why? I don’t know.

In other news, quotegirl!

choir master – Okay kids, I want you to stand up straight and tall and sing the National Anthem – you all know the words to that, right?
8 year old – would you like me to sing it vebratto or Deep vebratto?
choir master – uh..just your normal voice will do…
hahaha, the kid was being serious too

#1 – So, S have you been doing your Pelvic Floor Exercises
me – oh shit, do we have to start talking about this?
S - How do you know you’re even doing them right?
me – just stick a squeeze toy up there and if you get a noise out of it then you know you’re doing it right.
S, #1, F – ….
I sure know how to stop traffic

Fashion Cousin - He texted me “I’m stressed at work. I need some space”. What does that mean?
me – doesn’t sound so good…
Fashion Cousin – if he wanted to break up, would he have just said so?
me – um, I dunno maybe but something tells me that men are only forward when it comes to football …and beer.
What an arse – seriously, TEXT MESSAGE? bah!

C - the only bad thing about getting flowers is playing it up for the guy. They’re only flowers but you have to stand there for just a little longer than you want to – admiring, cause if you don’t you’ll never get them again!
oops, that convo was supposed to be for girls only

C.O - I know this family that had a child called Luke. Then they were granted custody of their niece whose name is Leia. Earlier this year they had a baby and wanted to keep up the star wars theme so they named it Ben.
Me – Freak alert!
H – you think that’s bad. I know someone who named their child Philippa Condon.
Me – ….oh. my. god no way!
H – I also know someone called Richard Coch.
Parent’s are cruel.

Me – WHAT THE FUCK HAS HE DONE TO HIS FACE?
sly stallone.

could he make a picture and get them all to fit?

In my world there are a few main types of art.
-That which tells a story
-That which allows you to tell the story
-That which is the story.

In visual art I totally reject the claim that abstract art is not art. That kind of claim is ignorant. Sorry, if you are one of those people who believe abstract to be “lesser than”, but you’re narrow minded. Abstract art allows the viewer to tell the story, to re-interpret, to invent and to dive in. Abstract art is not always my cup of tea, but it’s important.

That art which tells the story is different to abstract. The art which tells a story has it all planned out from the word go – it’s a straight forward narrative, and there is certainly merit in that. It might be a historical account, a dance or a slice of the madness within. It allows the viewer to sit back and ponder the life and times of what was happening when the art was created. It’s also important.

Then there is that which is the story itself. This is the piece of elusive art that captures by controversy, or by titillation, or because it’s simply famous – and fame breeds fame. Also important, people respond to it.

Music is the same. Sometimes I don’t want the lyrics, because I want to make my own story up, and sometimes I just want a bit of fame-whore pop to get senseless too – but sometimes I want to be told a story. For me there are a few wonderful storytellers through music out there – Bob Dylan, Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell… so many more. But in recent years Paul Kelly has really captured my imagination. He reminds me of being young and having a story read to me. He reminds me of being a bit bewildered and excited by something which takes me outside of myself and also for reminding me of the things that are intrinsically me, maybe just because I’m Australian. When I think of Paul Kelly, I think of Melbourne and her stories nestled in the spaces between buildings and drifting along the power lines of the outer suburbs and then outwards again into the wide deserted landscape of the ‘country’.

When it was Australia day I wanted to write about how being Australian is really only ever defined by the stories we tell. I got caught up in other things – but I really believe that our stories are all we really ever have. It’s what this country was founded upon – Dreamtime stories and dances and myths and song and…art. Then stories of settlers and their struggle with the land and the stories of immigrants and their young families, of exclusion, sadness, wisdom and triumph. Now, the stories we tell are the ones which feature everyday maladies of being young, or old, in love or …just reality.

That’s what I like about Paul Kelly. He has a story to tell – and it feels real. This song is one of my favourites. I always wonder what happens next…

To Her Door – Paul Kelly

wonderings on a Sunday morning.

** There certainly seems to be a wealth of strong opinion on our PM John Howard’s comments about political candidate Barak Obama’s plan to take troops out of Iraq by 2008. Should Australians be weighing into American politics? I in no way shape or form align myself politically with John Howard but I do believe that when it comes to Iraq, it’s something that concerns us too. Australian politics doesn’t affect the American way of life in the same way that American politics affects us. I loved Barak’s retort that if Australia is so passionate about it, why don’t we send more troops in? Ha, indeed!

I’ve seen clips from US News and current affairs shows which ridicule the move. Fine. I have no problem with that, however Australians will remember in 2004 when US President GW Bush argued that Labour Leader Mark Latham’s promise to take Australian troops our of Iraq was “disastrous”. Then, to add to the debate, senator John Kerry also put his two cents in about Mark Latham as well! Talk about a bunch of hypocrites! It’s okay for them to weigh into our politics but not for us to do the same to them? Apparently so. In any case – what do you think? Should opinions about other countries’ elections be made known from leaders in countries which are seemingly not ‘involved’?

** Meanwhile in slightly weirder news wacko Queenslander (Townsville) Shane Knuth has proposed a Cane Toad Bounty to clean up Australia. Yes, apparently since environmental science hasn’t yet got rid of the pests, Knuth believes that the answer to cleaning up our cane toad problem should be left in the hands of young Australians – who under this new idea will be paid to “collect” (read: bludgeon) cane toads by the bag full. How much is a cane toad worth I hear you ask? About 40cents each, baby! Let’s get cracking! I remember in the 80s it was all the rage to collect alumminium drink cans, squash ‘em down and then get paid a buck per kilo. Cane toad squashing is a much more lucrative money making venture than can collecting. Of course it’s messier, and there’s all that poison in their glands but hey…FORTY CENTS!!

QLDers who read this blog: Is Townsville by any chance considered the “Tasmania” of QLD?

**In the weirdest news of all, check this out. That’s right, dating by natural selection! That is only SUPER RICH guys (200K + – the salary needs to go up the older you are – financial data needs to be submitted) are paired with only STUNNING women (photo submitted and beauty is judged). Could this work?

“They” say that men are visual creatures – but this dating idea also has the added factor that says that men can be as visual as they want but if you earn an average, or even high average or ever super average wage then you can forget it. Only if you’re a MILLIONAIRE do you get to partake in the bounty of female beauty – otherwise shut yer trap. Interesting. Do I think this is a bit on the disgusting side? Um, yes – it’s horrific. What do you think? Can it work? What about the rest of us schmoes?

message from the divine cosmos

distant thunder rumble…

This is your street today. You can feel the warmth of the smooth black bitumen through the soles of your shoes as you stand waiting for the light to turn green. You lean slightly against the pole and watch the jaywalkers brave the traffic under clouds of charcoal – threatening to burst for two days now.

It feels like there is a small hesitation in the evening before the light finally turns green. Like time stops momentarily, a split of a split of a second, but you notice it. You’re not sure what it means. Then you feel like you’re being gently pulled by an invisible string down this small street. Feet have no choice but to keep up. Tar, and gravel intercepted by occasional sections of cobblestones make up the road beneath you. Melbourne, once upon a time, you think.

The weather is like a thick blanket – hot and suffocating, but there is something in the air that smells like change. The sun fights its way through the heavy clouds making everything look slightly silver. The sharp triangular peaks of the old buildings glisten under the glare of the sun and the tree leaves look slightly glittery – a celluloid moment. It is not unique though, everything has always been slightly celluloid to you, ever since you can remember. A little twinkle where it shouldn’t be, a soundtrack softly whistling in the background, imagined perfect dialogue and always the most brilliant cinematography. Your imagination has always teased you. Reality has finally caught up for a tiny moment, so it seems.

The loud merriment of a group of young people slash through your daydream and you move aside to allow them to pass. They walk arm in arm or hands animated, with hair in loose bunches caught in coloured hair clasps and fabric bags across their shoulders as they make their way towards the university. You miss the simplicity of no adult expectations and of being completely self indulgent. The clouds seem to crack as a distant rumble sounds. You allow the invisible string to pull at your thoughts…

the wedding waltz

Holding hands in a circle, a chain linked and strong but fluid, not stoic. Someone new enters and the link breaks to allow them in, again it closes. A smile, a wink, a knowing glance is shared and the dance continues, around at a frenzied pace. Another bond broken suddenly when two more hands slide in between the clasps and then another and another. The chain grows longer until the circle has no choice but to be broken and so it is – and the dance is lead in towards the centre. It swirls inwards like a pattern on a snail shell and curls around on itself like an twirling, vigorous whirlpool.

Around we all go interlocked hands all clasping, rough skin on smooth, sweaty palms on dry until there are circles within circles of people all laughing and singing and stepping in unison. Never mind a wrong foot, just hold on and keep going. At this delirious point you can’t tell where the chain begins or ends and it doesn’t matter.

This is a different kind of wedding waltz, a shared moment rather than private. It says that marriage is something that you share with the people who are important to you. Where it might be suffocating, breathless, sweaty and crowded it also promises to be uplifting, supported. Always there will be someone willing to clasp your hand, support your dance and hold on, come what may, until the very end.