Telling Tales (true or tall)

MEMORIES I reach over in my sleep To cuddle your warm, tousled body. But the sheets are cold. You no longer seek my comfort in the night.   I hear you chuckling down the hall, Are you playing and hiding in the kitchen? But the cupboard’s bare. There’s no laughter in you anymore.   I think I see you waving to me from afar And run towards you to find out why. Then you turn away. My advice no longer needed; you know all.   My mind knows this too will pass But my heart yearns for the happy toddler Who saw me, her mother, As the love and the light of her life.   Sandy Gillis ©   Submitted to Hinterland Times July 2019  -  Published Mar 2020

I am under siege! Every day I come under a constant barrage of complaints from my 13 year old daughter: "It's not fair. All my friends are doing/wearing/having/getting  it ." Last year “it” was getting a signet ring (heart-shaped, preferably with a red stone,  not  silver).  I daresay next year “it” will be something equally as earth-shattering to a girl of her age. At the moment, “it” refers to the wearing of make-up.  I might add that after watching her friends closely, I have found no evidence to support her claim that they’re  all  doing anything, except gang up on me.  One signet ring does not a sorority make. I intend to go down fighting, though.  I vow I will not succumb to the endless sniping.  It may be paltry ammunition but the tried and true “when I was your age...." will hold her off for a while and then I can trot out my favourite, “I’ll think about it”.  Recycling is the key to resistance. It has...

My favourite, summer holiday-spot in Queensland has been Caloundra on the Sunshine Coast, for as long as I can remember.  More particularly, Golden Beach, where my grandparents owned a beach shack.           Every Christmas we would pack up, along with various aunts, uncles and cousins, not forgetting of course grandad and grandma, meet up with more aunts, uncles and cousins and proceed to have a whale of a time.  At least, we kids had a whale of a time.  Apparently, that’s not quite how the adults remember it. Sometimes we’d go at Easter time but Christmas and those hot summers, complete with Christmas beetles and the buzz of cicadas, are the memories I recall most fondly.           It seems it was only we children who thoroughly enjoyed sleeping on the floor or camping downstairs; trooping off for another glorious day at the beach; counting the hours till Santa (or the Easter Bunny) deliv...