taking stock: the art of journalling

One of my all time favourite bloggers is the lovely Sydney over at The Daybook.  I read this post yesterday and decided to follow suit with a little “taking stock” exercise of my own.  I felt really great afterwards – and I think I will be re-doing this in my own journal every day.  I love journalling, but some days I really battle to get anything out of my crazy brain and onto paper.  I suppose it doesn’t  matter how you go about it, as long as you take the time to sit down and put pen to paper. But following this exercise will help you get it all out and you’ll feel much better, more focused and hopefully, inspired, for it too. Happy journalling!

Making: lots of travel plans… more on that soon.
Cooking: erm… you mean what’s Andrew cooking? As I write this, there is a crap load of pork belly slow roasting in our oven for the little dinner party we’re having tonight.
Drinking: Ice water and lemon. Current addiction. Better for you than wine, I suppose. Reading: I’ve just finished Lauren Beuke’s The Shining Girls. About to embark on Anna Karenina.
Wanting: a quiet little cottage, with a big yard for our dogs to play in, far away from other people and responsibilities.
Looking: at my shiny MacBook Air (obviously). But looking forward to having some time to myself in a couple of weeks, as well as a visiting Andrea all to myself for what will surely be a wine-fuelled, cackling and much-needed catch up.
Playing: with new design themes for my blog.
Wasting: time by not speaking my mind.
Sewing: a very pretty shirt back together after an incident involving Thombi and a burning hot iron.
Wishing: for that little cottage as mentioned above.
Enjoying: long salt baths and early morning walks with my husband.
Waiting: for mid-October.
Liking: reading emails from one of my oldest friends in the world, Linda. (You should read her blog. She is pretty damn awesome.)
Loving: my husband. Always.
Hoping: for a Christmas bonus.
Marveling: at the occasional call of the Fish Eagle from the dam on the farm. Truly one of the most hauntingly beautiful and quintessentially African sounds in the world.
Needing: a light sun tan and some real alone time.
Smelling: the freshly-cut grass and the first rains of summer.
Wearing: shorts. Can you believe it?
Following: my dreams. Slowly, but surely.
Noticing: the sun rising earlier and earlier every day and the accompanying good energy that comes with it.
Knowing: I am loved.
Thinking: about the difference between a novel and a novella.
Bookmarking: travel blogs.
Opening: a lot of wine bottles tonight, I’m sure.
Giggling: at my chubby little black pygmy labrador. How can one little body contain SO much excitement?
Feeling: tired, and a little stressed, but also excited and hopeful.

*Page taken from the beautiful Sydney’s blog, The Daybook.

Image: source

she did not turn her head

Fell in love with a another guy’s girl
Maybe she knew it, maybe not
Never would admit it if she did and
Would never love me back either
Fell in love with the sparkle in her eyes
Her earth-shining laugh, the deep pool between her collarbones
How she knew she was lovely,
The way only a full-up-on-love woman could.
I fell in love with the way she looked at her husband
The way her eyes followed him around
Searching for him when he was gone
Smiling in quiet pleasure when he was back.
I fell in love with the way she touched his arm
So lightly, just so he knew that she was there.
I fell in love with the way her lips moved to equal his when he spoke,
The way she moved when he was around, confident that if she fell, he’d catch her.
I wanted to be him.
I wanted her to love me like that.
I left in the early morning mist
She walked me out in her nightgown
And ridiculous bunny slippers
Hair messy from sleep
Face still in last night’s smudged make up.
But to me she was beautiful.
And she knew it
In the sweet sympathetic way of a woman
Who knows she is loved by someone she would never love back.
She kissed me on the lips
Said she would write
I knew she wouldn’t.
I glanced in the rear view mirror as I turned the corner
Her back was turned and she was walking through the front door
Back into her perfect life
And as much as I wanted her to, she did not turn her head
Not even once
To watch me drive away.

Image: source

the day you died

Lift me in your arms – I can see the world from here… bright and shining, a sparkling orb of hope. The dark spots are hidden under your gaze. Or outshone by your love. Either way, they were much smaller and far less frightening back then. The sounds in the night were muffled, the monsters in my head subdued, the daylight hours long and full of spring blossom promise.

You almost-died once. Your pickup smashed to smithereens on a dusty dirt road to nowhere. You came out unscathed, like a god emerging from some deep ocean of long-lost secrets and power. You strength was in purity – or was it humbleness? I saw you cry only once, as you broke the neck of a bird with a broken wing. You said that strangling the life force out of an animal was far harder to do than shooting it. That guns made death easy and life cheap. I never let you drive that road again.

I still remember the day the light left your eyes. You seemed happy that morning, if perhaps a little shy. All smart in your church suit – one eye a little bruised from the weekend’s festivities. No one ever knew how you got that black eye. But I think I could guess. I was happy for you. Well at least I thought I was, and I put on a pretty smile and a prettier dress. You promised to look after her, and she promised to look after you. I wanted to scream what about me? but it’s not the done thing to show emotion like that. Strange how we can show happiness and joy in public but sadness and anger must always remain hidden. It’s all lies, anyway and we are more often sad than happy. Your spirit started leaving your body that night, I saw it with my own eyes. There was voodoo in the room, everyone could feel it, but no one said anything. A little girl in a pink party dress with red curls sat in a corner, crying. A dog barked incessantly in some far away yard and I was sure he was watching your ghost ascend, alerting the heavens to your arrival. No one objected, no one cried out. Not even me. And I’m sorry now. Her blade was sharp and there was madness in her eyes. And still no one said anything, as if in a trance.

He is just a shell now. A lost soul wondering, looking for the girl he once saved, a heart he once mended, a grazed knee he kissed better, a forgotten lullaby he sang. She wants to find him too and she wants him to save her again. Or perhaps, just this once, she could save him.

Image: source