Life

Stop

by Veronica Foale on July 25, 2010

in Life, Navelgazing

Stop.

Just stop,

Take your moment; this moment and stop. Breathe in and savour the smells of living and stop thinking, because the world is likely to overpower you with its wrongness.

With the wrongness of a 6 year old not knowing what a tomato was, with the wrongness of a chicken living 39 days from birth to slaughter, with the wrongness of oil spilling into the Gulf and the cheers when the leak is stopped, but why are we cheering? Aren’t there still eleventy million barrels of oil floating on the water down there? Aren’t there still pelicans suffering and turtles being burned and a journalistic silence being held?

Why are we smiling?

Because it could have been worse.

Worse? It is worse. THIS is the worse.

When the spill was stopped, we shouldn’t have cheered. It was not a success. It was a chance to just stop and breathe out.

In relief.

In disgust.

No cheers, because things are still broken. Stopping the spill is not better.

Things are not suddenly fixed.

The wrongness is still there, lurking under the surface, tainting the smell of seagulls with a darker undercurrent.

When hormones can produce you a chicken for eating in 39 days, we should not be cheering for profit margins and congratulating ourselves on a faster turnover. When did people become removed from suffering? When did we become so overloaded with wrong that we couldn’t see for the dark? When did humans lose their humanity?

But, but there’s too much. I … I can’t.

Stop.

Just stop.

Take measure of where you are and breathe deeply.

When the tipping point comes, when you say ENOUGH and you stop.

Then stop.

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Am Ow-Side!

by Veronica Foale on June 23, 2010

in Children, Family, Life

I didn’t want to go outside when my son stood wailing at the baby gate, crying for ‘ow-side!’ I wanted to stay inside and hibernate, curling up with my book and a hot drink. I didn’t want to have to do anything, just be alone inside my head.

Instead, I took him outside to join his sister in running around the paddocks.

And the look on his face was worth it as I opened the front door and he, newly clad in bright blue gumboots, clomped out to join his father.

It was worth it when we grabbed some wheat and fed the chooks and ducks, together.

It was worth it, to hear him calling duck-duck-duck-duck as he tried to chase them a little.

It was worth it.

He spent the first 10 minutes we were outside happily exclaiming ‘am ow-side! am ow-side!’

He chased a duck and paddled in the water. He stomped through a mud puddle and ran around the tyre arena. He helped to check for eggs and chased his sister.

And finally, he asked to be picked up and we came inside, to eat lunch and nap.

It was worth braving the cold and bitter wind. It was worth not getting to write what I was going to write. It was worth not curling up with a book.

It was worth all that, just to see his face light up as he called ‘Am ow-side!’ to me every few steps through the grass.

Seems I’m not the only one who hates the indoor isolation of winter.

And we’ll be going ow-side more often.

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Clocks ticking

by Veronica Foale on June 15, 2010

in Life, Me, Navelgazing

When I wake up, colour has disappeared. A phone ringing cuts through my sleep, but being only my mobile, I ignore it. You can do things like that when the world is frozen and your phone takes messages. Slowly my children surface and I throw open the curtains to reveal a world frozen, icy white.

No colour for me. Not today.

It’s the kind of weather that seeps into your bones and sinks fingers into your soul.

Frozen pipes herald the middle of winter, when you turn the tap and nothing but icy air appears.

Even as I warm up and the world defrosts, I feel frozen inside.

***

It’s like a clock ticking.

tick

tock

tick

tock

Twelve months ago she was alive still.

Twelve months ago we had nine days left. We didn’t see the countdown hanging over our heads, hiding just out of sight. We didn’t see it then, but I see it now.

***

I sink myself into my archives from June last year.

I survived that.

How did I survive that?

My body takes over and leaves me moving, one step at a time.

Don’t think, don’t count, don’t look at the calendar. Turn the music off, pull your eyes away from there. Don’t listen, don’t feel, don’t think about it. Keep your eyes focused, smile, laugh, your mind can’t go where you don’t send it. Be matter of fact, keep your practicalities. We need more sugar, who spilled the milk, where did that nappy go? What’s for dinner, who’s peeling potatoes, can I have a hand? Amy get down, Isaac shush, Mummy needs a moment. Don’t think, don’t look, don’t make any sudden movements.

We can do this.

One step at a time.

tick

tock

tick

tock

One step. And then another.

We’re moving closer and I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

***

What was I doing twelve months ago?

You were surviving.

How?

I don’t know.

***

Life is hard.

No wait, scratch that.

Living is hard.

But it’s also beautiful.

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Thursday Night

by Veronica Foale on May 26, 2010

in Life, Me

This is where I’m going to be thursday night:

Click image to see it bigger.

It’s going to be interesting.

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Headfuck

by Veronica Foale on May 21, 2010

in Life

Sitting curled up in the chair with hot chocolate and a book, I am content. The music flicks over to a new song and suddenly, my breath comes ragged and I am broken.

That song, it takes me back to Nan’s funeral, train wreck that it was. The car breaking down, the bitter silence from my uncle and his family when I entered the funeral home, strung out, stressed and grieving. The same kick in the guts, remembering the music playing while a casket sat in front of us.

I remember my son sitting on my lap while silent tears ran down my face.

I remember the wake afterwards, half of our broken family icily angry with me, with us.

I remember and even when I try not to, small things bring it back in detail, taking my breath away.

At almost eleven months later, this doesn’t feel like it’s gotten any easier.

And I still can’t cry.

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