Where the Carol Bird Sings

Battle

On the top shelf of the fridge in the supermarket sits a small stubby caramel pot: cacao and dates, lactose-free. When I stumble through the front door with fat shopping bags dangling from

Alone

How can I feel alone in a crowd of shoppers? It’s easy when we have to stay 1.5 metres apart. When we have to stand on our crosses. Remain behind the line.

Where the Carol Birds Sing

The carol birds slip in unannounced. Nobody sees them arrive. They hide behind the leaves at the top of the trees in the bush. I’ve never seen a carol bird. Maybe few people

The Secret Thrill of Getting Older

Many years ago, whenever I walked along the street followed by my gaggle of kids, people used to say, “You don’t look old enough to have that many children!” Of course, I

The Shaming Things People Say

She was so fat she couldn’t fit into a telephone box. How could anyone be that big? It didn’t seem possible. But it was. It was common knowledge. How did she feel?

What if Wrinkles Were Beautiful?

“What if people liked wrinkles?” I say to my girls. “What if wrinkles were thought to be beautiful? If I looked in the mirror and discovered a new line, I’d smile and

One Day at a Time

I open my eyes, and I immediately realise that nothing has changed overnight. There is still a huge ache in my chest, and one all-consuming thought in my mind: Thomas. Although it

The Extraordinary Ordinary Things of Life

I’m at Thomas’ wake. I have his memory box on my knee, and I take out a few photos and pass them to a friend. “He was a chubby baby!” she exclaims.

Music, Funerals and Tears

From my diary: 19th March This morning at Mass, the first hymn was On Eagle’s Wings, which was the hymn we sang at Thomas’ funeral, as we processed to his burial site.

Feeling Crazy

Yesterday, we buried our baby. Today, I am kneeling on the ground beside my son’s grave, tears streaming down my face. I thrust aside the mountain of funeral flowers, and then I

My Starring Role

Years ago, I was Marcia Brady and I had two younger sisters, Jan and Cindy. It was the seventies and we were children and we all pretended we were Brady Bunch girls.

The Bath

Some years ago, we lived in a run-down old cottage in the middle of 100 acres of nothing: a few stunted trees, some low growing bush, hard-packed dry earth, a mob of

Ashamed of Being Ashamed of Looking Older

The other day, while I was browsing the shelves in our local library, a book title jumped out at me: Why Time Goes Faster as We Get Older. Yes, time is definitely

Ironing Away the Pain

“Are you okay?” she asks. “No, I am not!” My words whip her in the face, and it crumples as she takes two steps back from the ironing board. I don’t care.