Author: bone&silver

Travelling with a teenager: Then and Now

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I last came overseas with my son when he was 12, three years ago. We went to the UK to reconnect with the cousins he hadn’t seen since he was 6, and his maternal grandmother, who used to live in France. We snuggled in the same guest beds, took tourist tours on open-top buses, and ate familiar foods from home, like fish and chips. We posed with wax loookalikes at Madame Tussaud’s, and got scared witless in the London Dungeon. We played cards, watched crap English TV, and bonded with relatives by telling silly Australian stories (I think they were just enjoying listening to our accents more than anything). Now he’s 15. Tall, growing his hair, hyper-aware of his daily outfits, and often attached to his smartphone (yup, just a regular teenager). Everything is different. He sets the agenda: I want to go to Chinatown. I want to go to Camden. I want to go second hand clothes shopping. I don’t want to go on a bus tour, I don’t want to do the wiping …

Prose: phosphate of calcium- John Berger

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I used to share an old wooden school house with two friends. My bedroom was the attic, and because we were all under 30 and single, there were countless noisy dinners, impromptu dance parties, and deep meaningful conversations from bath tub to kitchen (there was no door on either room). Because we were all under 30 and single, there was also a lot of lovin’ and romance. And because the house was very old, with thick wooden floorboards and rickety walls, chocked up on stumps to keep it out of flood waters, if any of us made love, the house would literally sway. Just a little, but enough to know. On a wall near my mattress on the floor, under the green cotton mosquito net, I had a handwritten copy of something I’d found while researching ideas for a dance piece. I’d stuck it up and taken it down as I’d moved from house to house, so it was stained and somewhat torn. But it hummed with possibility for me; I read it quietly sometimes …

Dear Society, incl Kim Kardashian

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I turned 49 last month. I feel like 25 on the inside, but I don’t look it. I have silver hair, crow’s feet and forehead wrinkles, a double chin, the beginning of a saggy neck, cellulite, varicose veins, and a wide variety of moles/skin tags/blemishes. Yet I have strong legs from running and walking on the beach listening to the Arctic Monkeys, from swing dancing every week, and doing 5Rhythms too. I have a great arse for the same reasons (plus Pilates). I have clear blue eyes, great smile, delicate ears, fine fingers, nice toes. My hair has an interesting curl when it’s wet. I am kind, generous, cheeky as hell, playful, honest, and creative. I can also be grumpy (especially when tired), a bit of a stress head about details like punctuation and punctuality, and stubbornly like my own way most of the time. I’m also a bitch when I’m hungry, or conversely, when I’ve eaten too much sugar. The point of this post is that we ALL have it ALL: the good body …