At Your Heels!

Sydney Morning Herald, April 30th 2012

We have a shoe thief. She is shameless and persistent.

We used to leave our shoes on a sheltered verandah, far away from the street. We preferred quiet entries and wanted to postpone the wear and tear on timber floors. It worked for 10 years, living this way.

It takes a brave person to open the rickety gate, walk down a floodlit path and repeatedly steal every pair of size eight women's shoes lying on that verandah. Given three people in the house share a shoe size, our thief was spoilt for choice during 2010.

Dorothy

I find myself drawn to vintage bathing suits and the stories of the women who filled them. Bathing suits hide as much as they reveal. Like a woman's body, the fabric becomes threadbare and worn, yet she is still strong and imposing. Both the bathing suit and the female form continue to be a rich source of inspiration to explore memory, nostalgia and the transitional phases of womanhood.

The pretty postcard flier lay snail-nibbled and slimy in the garden bed under the letterbox. Josie meant to throw it in the trash, but something about the words drew her in and serendipity took over. They shared a love of nostalgia. They had worn vintage clothes for decades. One had been collecting vintage swimming costumes. The other had been painting them. When Josie walked into the exhibition space, she saw the artist before she was pointed out. She wore an emerald green party frock. Josie’s was blue.

Boxing Day in the Swill

On Boxing Day, veteran yachtie Caroline Wheeler said “It’s fair to say there’ll be plenty of people spewing tonight.” I love boats, but I came to know what she meant. Following a rare invitation (I only know two people who own a boat), I was up early the day after Christmas. I slapped a few slices of leftover turkey onto stale bread and grabbed my hat, wet weather coat, a towel and sunscreen. Boxing Day marks the start of one of the most difficult races in the world, the 65 year old Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race and I was going to be at the starting line when the cannon exploded.

Christmas Mall Crawl

It's that time of the year-Christmas-and off we trot to the mall. We enter an outlet which specializes in cheap t-shirts. The racket is fit to pop my eardrums. A wake up coffee hasn’t helped. It is too early and I am bleary eyed and desperate.

“Would it be possible to turn the music down, please?” I ask a chirpy shop assistant who immediately turns nasty. I have crept over to the sales counter while the teenager is trying on the merchandise. I want to spare her the pain of knowing I have approached a salesperson for any other reason than to pay.

Christmas in the City

Published: www.everywritersresource.com

A medley of cathedral bells punctures late afternoon apathy and heads look up to find the source of the din. They’ll see nothing, no lonely hunchback hanging off a rope. Just a tall thin spire recently unveiled with predictable pomp and ceremony. A perfect match to its magnificent twin.

A crowd gathers in the square below; friends and relatives mostly, and a few stragglers waiting for something which feels a bit special. Blokes with shirt sleeves rolled up impatient for the holidays; groups of mums pushing bag-laden strollers and toddlers dancing in their very own fairy orbits, decked out in pink and expecting a party.