Month: February 2026

The gift

My sister gave me a gift the last time I saw her. She handed me a little red felt box and said, ‘I know this isn’t your kind of thing, but I want you to have it. And don’t sell it.’ When I opened the box, it contained a small brooch, possibly made of ivory. I recoiled. She knows full well what I think about the ivory trade. What to do?

There is a ten-year difference between my sister and me but it has often felt more like twenty or thirty. From a young age, she had to mother me and although we lived apart for many years of my childhood, she still sees herself in that role. I cannot see that ever changing. This has made situations like receiving unwanted gifts difficult between us. I did say that while it was beautifully carved, I would not wear it, but she still pressed it into my hands. So now I have it, along with a large gold pendant with a silver coin from my birth year, and a couple of German porcelain figurines, apparently collectors’ items, stored away in a cupboard.

I keep reading about baby boomers wanting to downsize and give their precious belongings to the next generation, to no avail. Nobody wants the things we have loved and cherished and it breaks my heart to think of my beautiful mahogany chest going to an op shop one day. Of course, I am aware that I will have no say in the matter. My daughter will have enough of a headache going through my books and personal belongings. Why should I burden her with ivory and kitsch figurines as well?

I am loyal to a fault and will probably keep things I do not like because I do not want to offend the giver. Or maybe I keep them because I really do not know what to do with them and cannot make the decision to try to sell the items or give them away. To whom? Many of my friends are of a similar age and certainly do not want anything else to add to their stash. They too are at the ‘Do you want this?’ stage of their lives.

When I think of our house when I was growing up, there were probably no more than a few hundred items in the whole house. I would have more items in my kitchen now than we had in that entire house. My wardrobe consisted of two pairs of jeans, maybe three blouses, a couple of windcheaters, two jumpers, a jacket and a parka. Footwear was a pair of sandshoes, a pair of leather shoes, sandals and a pair of treads. I wore them day in and day out as we had no uniforms at school. Now we would call that a capsule wardrobe.

Reminiscing about times gone by does not help with my present-day quandary. Do I keep the brooch, do I sell it, or take it to the op shop? I am not a Marie Kondo who can say arigato, think nice thoughts and then send it on its way. I have much more in common with the hamster I kept when I was eight. Keep stuffing it in even when it seems no more can possibly fit, then run furiously on the wheel, hoping that if I run long enough, I will arrive at a decision.

Arriving Home

Recently, I had to spend a couple of days away from home. Not for pleasure, although I did catch up with a couple of dear friends while I was away. As always, I enjoy their company and feel looked after and enriched by their presence in my life. Good friends know how to hold you gently. They also know when it is time to let you go.

The drive back home was long and uncomfortable. I stopped at Eling Forest Winery to stretch my legs and have a cup of tea. How many times have I driven past this little gem? If it hadn’t been at the behest of a friend, I would never have stopped. How well she knew that I needed a rest in picturesque surroundings.

The rain pelted down, allowing only brief glimpses of the road ahead. Wind gusts pummelled the car while large trucks barrelled down menacingly from behind. Clenching the steering wheel, I drove on, my shoulders inching steadily upward. There were moments when I dared not breathe. Then, as I crested a hill, we left the wet road behind and were greeted by blue skies. I relaxed my grip, returned to my audiobook and breathed steadily.

There is a particular point on the Federal Highway where Telstra Tower appears in the distance atop Black Mountain. I can’t help but rejoice at that moment. It is as if a banner were stretched above the road declaring WELCOME HOME. My heart quickens every time. There is still another ten or fifteen minutes to go, but my heart has already arrived.

As I park the car, reach for my keys and walk towards the front door, I notice myself exhaling. The key in the lock, the small click as it turns, and I step inside. I am home. There is still washing to do and emails to answer, but for a moment none of that matters. Arriving is enough.

Manna from heaven

It has rained steadily all night and day. Not the heavy torrential type of rain but the soft, calming mizzle that settles on gently on leaves. I woke to the sound of rain pittering on the window and instinctively pulled the blanket around my shoulder. Cozy and snug, I lay listening to that blessed sound, so tranquil and serene.

The past couple of months have been savagely hot and dry. Scorched earth comes to mind. Burnt and withered plants have not survived the heat or ferocious winds. I have pulled out many of them and have limited pot plants on the balcony to four survivors. I had to get used to walking on tufts of grass that crunched underfoot, strangely reminiscent of snow. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine being rugged up and walking along snow covered paths in Europe. Then as I opened my eyes all I could see was tufts of brown baked native grasses stretching ahead of me.

I had been watering a small section along the side of my house where I planted citrus trees. This little patch of green is where grass and weeds have thrived over the past couple of months. As the long dry and heat persisted, I began to notice kangaroo scat close to the trees I had been watering. There hadn’t been much for them to graze lately.

The rain has been a blessing. When I walked the dog, people commented on how wonderful it was to have everything smelling so fresh. No-one grumbled about getting wet. The heady smell of eucalypts was what I noticed first. The rain releases the plant oils together with organic matter in the soil to give that wonderful fresh slightly lemony smell. I took deep breaths, letting the cleansing aroma fill my lungs.

Then the sound of frogs bouncing off the pond like popcorn. I hadn’t heard any for weeks! Even the lone shag on a dead branch overhanging the water seemed to be more alive. Muted birdsong could be heard as they came out looking for worms. A slight drizzle never stopped a hungry bird from foraging!

At first, the paths were filled with puddles as the compacted earth was unable to absorb the water. As the day progressed, the ground became softer and the rain began to seep in more easily. By day two, everything looked refreshed like a house after a spring clean. The dust that had settled everywhere has been scrubbed away. Sometimes, all we need is these small acts of grace.