Since the last post the album has been launched. Norway has suffered a great and heart breaking battering. Amy Winehouse has died. England has experienced terrifying riots. And that is just 2 weeks in August. I will post about Oslo and London in a separate post.
What has finally prompted me to expose perhaps the most vulnerable part of my artistic process is this. My Grandmother is dying. She is 89 and I can't imagine a life without her. She is my history. My mothers history. My sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins history and without her I wouldn't have life.
I know we will mourn. Living so far away from home and knowing this was coming for some years now, I have mourned somewhat. Mostly because I have been back to see her twice in the last year and my heart breaks to see a strong willed, incredible and fascinating woman who gave birth to 7 children in the outback of Australia (and so many grandchildren and great grandchildren I have lost count) in so much pain and so frustrated with her helplessness. But I can choose how I want to remember her. So the first poem I will share with you, Reader, is for her. And for me.
Do you remember the orange trees,
How fruit would sweeten in the winter?
Cold hard bullets of juice,
Thats what I want to remember.
Remember standing in your dressing gown,
Arms wide when we came home?
A little sister for me was born!
Thats what I want to remember.
Do you remember Vegimite sandwiches,
Soft white bread and butter,
I'd squeeze them flat before I ate them,
Thats what I want to remember.
Remember swings in the back yard,
Ice cream dipped in sprinkles?
You always knew a child's want,
Thats what I want to remember.
Remember taking us to Church
Giving each a coin?
Stain glass windows, velvet offering bag.
Thats what I want to remember.
Remember the old toy box on the veranda?
Brightly jumbled, nothing matched.
Legacy of a happy child.
You're in my blood so I'll remember.
