My other gran

Mim was my other gran. Dad’s mum. Tiny in height but not girth, she had many names, but not Gran or Nanna or Nanny! No way. She was Mim or Mimi (pronounced ‘me-me’, something folk on my mother’s side occasionally noted). Doll to her friends, sometimes, I suspect Dolly, and christened Dorothy.

Mim was naturally fun, bubbly, a personality.

Mim took  Heidi and Robert and me fishing on the harbour and once fought off a feral goat that nearly butted me off the pier. A tangle of goat, fishing line and Mim heaving on the decrepit wooden pier, 3 foot above the shark infested waters, ‘the very spot’ she used to tell us ‘where an actress taking part in a shark documentary was snatched during filming and never seen again.’ The truth was of course slightly less interesting, but her story added a satisfying amount of terror to the scene.

It was Mim who taught me to lie on my back in the surf, feet facing the waves and watch surf and sky roll gently overhead.

Mim was married to Pop, a rather stern character. She once confessed that she married him by proxy, never thinking he would survive the war. I believe this was at least partly true.

When Mim was widowed, she kicked up her heels a bit. Driving around in Pop’s enormous mint condition gold Holden Statesman sedan was a bit much, but Pop had refused to part with it. Well, one day Mim spotted a brand new red Barina (a real cutie!) in a service station. She walked in to the station and asked who owned it. A young man nervously replied that he did. And so she offered him a swap. He accepted. That’s the type of woman she was.

Sadly, she wasn’t the type to take too much notice of silly doctors and she ended up suffered a series of debilitating strokes, being invalided for an age, before passing away.

They might say she’s resting in peace, but I don’t think she’s wasting any time lying about. That hyperactive, fun-loving extrovert, my crazy old Mim is out there somewhere telling tall tales, sharing a laugh, catching a fish, maybe even having a beer with some mates. I can even hear the clink of the glasses and her laugh right now. ❤

information overload

There is so much bad and sad news about.
And all of it important: Deforestation, Pollution, War Crimes, Domestic Violence, Hate Crimes, Homelessness, and so much more.
To ignore any of it seems a crime in itself. Do I want to be ignorant and unfeeling?
And yet is lying awake at night in a state of paralysis doing any good either?
And so I picked one thing I can do, one thing that is the very best of what I have to offer.

I plant trees.

I plant trees and have faith that those of you who document, march, write letters, offer safe harbour and commit other acts of nonviolence are all out there taking action with me.

All of us, all giving the very best of ourselves.

via Daily Prompt: Overwhelming


I had a friend with 11 fingers.
The 11th, a tiny pinkie that curled and stretched in perfect imitation of the one beside. A marvel.
But she told me that every new doctor, dentist and sometimes strangers on the bus would offer to her mum to reduce her to ten.

via Daily Prompt: Ten


Driving up past Karalee and seeing the big bulldozers pushing down acres and acres of enormous gums.

Getting told by Ipswich City Council that it was ‘out of their hands.’ But I could be grateful that they had ‘insisted that a suitable person be employed to relocate any koalas.’ (What of the other animals? And where the hell would the koalas go?).

Turning up to habitat group that weekend with twenty other volunteers to tend to a piece of land a fraction of the size lost that after years of work was starting to look good and comparing it with what had been destroyed in one week.

Seeing miles of ticky tacky houses being built bang on top of each other on the bare naked earth. Hot boxes for the poor, miles from schools, transport and jobs.

Thinking about it all these years later.

via Daily Prompt: Devastation

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