Sunday, February 1, 2009


My daughter, Justine, asked what I was reflecting on last weekend. Just life, I guess. My life in particular. Not so much what it's been in the past, although there was a bit of that, but what it will be in the future. The unknown is always more interesting! So there I was reflecting on the unknown and that's a sure way to not get very far.

Then, during the week, I found a lovely quote on someone's blog. Sorry, I can't remember where it was, but he said he had found it on another blog too. At least he had the manners to remember where he had got it, whereas I can only say thanks, unknown blogger.

“In spite of illness, in spite even of the arch-enemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.”
Edith Wharton

I've printed it out and put it on the fridge. To me that is a quote worth remembering! If I can carry those thoughts into the future, I think I can slow down the "disintergration".

When the idea came (or was sent?) to start this blog, I thought of it as a way to preserve my stories and poems. Something to leave for the grandkids, those I have now and those of the future. (Don't let me get off the track, just let me state I know there will be more grandies to come.) I have no desire to be "published", I know I wouldn't enjoy the marketing aspect, I've never been good at promoting my own cause. And to print them out and organise them into some sort of order would be boring in the extreme. But I love writing stories, recording the funny little things that kids say and do.

Grandad Osborne, my maternal grandfather, was a storyteller, he loved to give his funny version of everyday happenings and he loved a good laugh. I don't remember Dad as a story teller when I was a child, he was always too busy working and fathering us all, but as he aged he did love to have company for his 5 o'clock beer and to talk about days gone by. And my brothers and sisters - just get them going!

My grandchildren Michael and Georgia are also storytellers. Last Friday evening I accompanied 15 year old Michael down to the beach for a late swim. I offered to hold his shirt, cap and towel while he was swimming and he flipped his baseball-style cap on to my head, with the peak jutting sideways, the way the cool young dudes wear their caps. I straightened it but he said, no, I had to wear it the right way. (Thought by straightening the thing I had put it on the right way but we see things differently.) I said OK I'd wear it that way but only if no other people came along. Of course, a couple of ladies did come around the rocks at the end of the beach and the cap was whipped off. After his swim, as we strolled back along the beach, he said I should be a cool granny and then proceeded to describe Cool Grandad he had seen at the mall last week. Every detail had been noted, the make of the jeans, the shirt, the shoes and the hat. And then to top it off, he did an imitation of Cool Grandad's walk. That boy is a storyteller.

When we got to the track going up the cliff, making the climb easier for me than all the steps we had taken to get down to the beach from the clifftop, he strode out ahead. But it wasn't long before I had to call a halt to catch my breath. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up with him so no point even trying. He came back and offered to push me from behind but there's no way I would agree to that. I'm not an old lady just yet, thank you! Michael, being Michael, came up with a solution. He stepped ahead of me and, holding one end of his beach towel, he flipped the other end back to me and said, "Hold on to that and I'll pull you!" Now there is a huge difference between being pushed and being pulled. Being pulled is fun! We laughed all the way to the top. Must be 20 years since I navigated that track so quickly! He'll probably be able to turn our cliff climb into a good story when I'm not around!

Georgia loves nothing more than a story, to hear one or to tell one. Over a year ago as we were out walking around the farm, she announced she was going to tell me a story. This was a first so I was very interested. She started out telling me what the rabbit said to the duck, then stopped, cast her eyes up to the sky, and said she was listening to her "magination" but couldn't hear what came next. Then, just like her grandmother, she got off the track and proceeded to talk about her "magination". I was pleasantly surprised to learn it is a tiny little thing, only about as big as a flea, she sends it into her head to find "stuff". Her imagination has improved a lot since then!

The only thing I do know about my future is that I will continue as a storyteller.

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