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World Wednesday/Re-blog Thursday: ‘The Goddess’

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Thank you to all the women (& supportive men, and inbetween folk) who did The Women’s March for us; we are indeed all Goddesses, as we march, and as we age- this reblog post is so perfectly macro and micro #TIMESUP #thefutureisfemale

momshieb's avatarNot for sissies

goddess-1875722_960_720

I grew up as a good Catholic girl. In my world, God was man. He was a tall white man with a light brown beard and a white robe.

God was male.

But I’m not a little girl anymore.

Now I am a mother. I saw my own body grow and stretch and bend itself to give life to my three children. That made me wonder if perhaps the true deity was a woman.

I have been lucky enough to watch my daughter become a mother.  I watched her body grow and stretch and bend itself to give life to my grandchildren.  That made me suspect that I was right is seeing the true deity as a woman.

Today I helped my 87 year old mother as she took a shower, washed her hair, got dressed and settled herself into her favorite chair to rest after those efforts.

It wasn’t…

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Teenage Tuesday: Sharing the bathroom cabinet

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A selection of organic face creams and cleansers we use #selfcare #wellbeing #over50 #organicfacecream #australia #facials @boneAndsilver @sanctumskincare #byronbay

Locally-made and sourced organic skincare products I treat myself to #selfcare #wellbeing #over50 #organicfacecream #australia #facials @boneAndsilver #byronbay

Him: Mum, I really need to cleanse and do a facial; my skin feels dirty from all the pollution… [after one week in Sydney]

LATER [having worked his way systematically through a variety of my locally-made, organic skin-care products]

Him: Feel my face now, how soft is it hey? I don’t like the smell of all your creams though; they actually smell of nothing, but in a health food store kinda way

 

Me Monday: The big reveal, for our one year anniversary

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Over 50 new romance blossoming after online dating in Australia

I love this hand drawn image of me after our first date #handdrawn #over50 #comics #backyardcomics #australia #queerlove @boneAndsilver

So, regular folk round here know I’ve been dating ‘H’ for a while, with both of us shuttling back and forth between Melbourne and home (near Byron Bay, Australia) once a month.

We chanced across each other online, then spent three months emailing or texting, plus exchanging stories and hand drawn comics; we never spoke on the phone.

Finally, we met at noon outside Flinders St train station, an iconic Melbourne landmark.

And the rest, as they say, ladies and gentlemen, is Herstory. If you’re really keen, you could revisit or explore these past posts:

Episode 2: ‘Yes Lets’

Episode 4: Multiple choice

Episode 8: Best thirty bucks I ever spent

We’ve just had our one year anniversary, where we recreated our first date exactly, meeting at the train station, going for Japanese lunch, wandering the streets of downtown Melbourne, then returning to the dusty second hand bookshop where we had our first shy kiss.

So cute.

And we agreed it was time for the big reveal, so here we are, standing at Flinders twelve months later, totally in love.

Losing love over 50 is not easy, but I will survive

Privacy and respect are very important #love #lettinggo

Over the course of a year, we’ve managed to see each other 12 times, for about a week each time (thankfully, I travel for work as a performing street theatre and stilts artist, so some of that travel expense has been paid for), or I’ve been able to treat H to a complimentary festival ticket so that we can hang out together when I’m not covered in make up, sweat, and an outrageous costume.

We also text daily, and now talk too, sometimes with dress up Skype dates, or Facetime.

I can honestly say I’ve never met anyone with whom I can be more ‘myself’, and that’s partly simply because of who ‘H’ is, as a sweet, complex, fluid creature whom I have no interest in putting a binary gender to.

We match on a wide variety of levels, and that includes creatively, which got us into this situation in the first place. I love H’s drawings/comics, and H loves my stories; it was an old-fashioned courtship but using the web.

Losing love over 50 is not easy, but I will survive

Privacy and respect are very important #love #lettinggo

We’ve misunderstood each other, sulked, fought, apologised, made up, laughed, longed for, and sat silently together on the end of a phone line, while washing dishes or sunset walking. We’ve had some lovely real life adventures, met each other’s friends, and are now getting close to meeting family members (Xmas didn’t seem like a good time, Grinch that I am).

H made me the most wonderful book for my 51st birthday, remember that HERE, while I flew down for H’s 51st, where we dressed up and went out to dinner with friends.

So we wanted to share this first anniversary with you, as some of you have watched this romance unfold from the beginning, and me getting more serious about this blog was part of the creative inspiration I got from H.

THANK YOU All.

In gratitude for Love, G xO

EPILOGUE: If you’re coming across this post after March 2018, sadly it’s all changed, and you can read this to get updated: The 2nd heavy rock in my heart: no more long distance relationship

 

Fiction Friday: Part Two of short story “Roadside”

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My niece captured me perfectly #portrait #black&white #snapshot

bone&silver’s G, happy in France in 2017 #over 50 #blogger #writer #authentic @boneAndsilver

 

Hello All, time for Part Two, yay. It’s Fiction, so feel free to skip this post if that’s not yer thing! This piece won tiny accolades in several small writing competitions here in Australia, although it’s a few years old now. PART ONE is here, so please read it first.

Then let me know what you think, G xO 

 

“Roadside”- Part Two

‘Don’t touch him! And don’t touch me! I hate you!’

Blowing the lid off her temper, Lucy pushes past Eris. She shoves open the kitchen screen door, and slams out into the garden. Her exit seems trailed by black vapour that sucks energy out of her husband.

‘I can’t fucking believe you’re hassling me about this. Isn’t it hard enough already?’ she yells from the lawn.

He can hear the tears catching round her words, and hurries with arthritic knees toward the door.

‘Stay away from me, Eris, I mean it. Leave me alone.’ Her command whips between strands of hair as she runs out the garden gate. ‘I’m a nightmare.’

In the kitchen, the timer’s bell rings.

‘You’re being a nightmare today, that’s for sure,’ he mutters, following her outside. ‘Don’t be silly Lucy,‘ he calls. ‘Come back inside. It’s getting cold, and you’re barefoot. Let’s not scream at each other in front of the neighb…’

‘Stop telling me what to do. Sod the neighbours. Leave me alone!’

At the base of the tree, the wildflowers thrive, leaning into the wood, casting fine lace shadows. At odds with the thin dry soil and scrubby weeds everywhere else.

She didn’t notice the bus driving down the hill. All she could think about was running away from her husband. Tyres screeched, muffled cries from passengers, the stench of a skid across tarmac. Then a sickening quiet, as if everything in the area was holding its breath. But still it came: the soft punch of metal meeting flesh.

She twisted and fell.

‘Oh my God. Lucy!’ He runs toward her, feeling like his legs are moving through mud. Damn knees.

In the kitchen, the smell of burning begins.

As eucalyptus leaves drop from the branches, they flicker past the homemade roadside marker. Neat, white, firmly nailed into the trunk.

Thirty minutes later, the bus and its ruffled cargo have travelled on, feathers smoothed. Lucy and Eris sit on their rough garden bench under a weeping tree. Tears are being dried. Hers and his.

‘I do understand you need a proper headstone to mourn at, Eris.’ She touches his knee. ‘I’m sorry. I just resist making it so official. And you know I hate cemeteries.’

Her weak smile gifts the words to her husband. He strokes the silver hair, remembering how much he has loved it since the days it was gold. He cleans with his handkerchief the blood that sits in small cuts on her forehead and elbow. Bruises are already darkening the skin around her eye, cheekbone, and exposed shoulder through the torn jumper.

She was lucky. Argument and burnt cake are forgiven.

‘You’re hard work all right, there’s no doubt about that,’ he jokes. ‘You’d better turn out to be worth it.’

She gazes at him, seeing him afresh for a moment. Almost forty years together, but still he can surprise her.

‘I can’t believe we have to find a way to live through this.’ She pulls at leaves that want to tickle her shoulder. ‘And I am a nightmare.’ A twig is snapped. ’You don’t deserve this.’

A cluster of leaves is wrenched and dropped, with fresh tears.

 

… To Be Continued…

 

Random/Re-blog Thursday: ‘Top Ten Tuesday! Ten Great Tweets! — The Phil Factor’

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Hi bone&silver Folk- I just snorted out loud at this post, drinking peppermint tea in bed as the birds squawk in my Australian palm trees, so here it is, for my Random Reblog Thursday, and I hope you get a laugh too, G xO

I like to say things in 500-700 words. I’m not all that great at Twitter, but there are others who have mastered the short form humor. Despite the recent change to 280 characters, there are still people who are brilliantly funny with very little said. Here are some of my recent favorite, laugh out loud […]

via Top Ten Tuesday! Ten Great Tweets! — The Phil Factor

World Wednesday: Martin Luther King Jr Day, and losing a Cranberrie

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Best Martin Luther King quote, compared with Trump's 'shit hole' quote @realDonaldTrump @boneAndsilver #MLKDay #impeachtrump #blacklivesmatter #civilrights

Best Martin Luther King quote, compared with Trump’s ‘shit hole’ quote @realDonaldTrump @boneAndsilver #MLKDay #impeachtrump #blacklivesmatter #civilrights

I like Tuesdays, because A) you all go crazy for my ‘Teenage Tuesday’ posts, & B) I never know what the world is going to throw at me to react to and write about for ‘World Wednesdays’.

So how could I go past Martin Luther King Jr Day? I’m adding a link to Buzzfeed’s 23 images of him, as they’re incredible, and his quiet, determined gaze speaks a thousand words I can’t possibly scribe.

I think I was about 7 when a new classmate arrived at my junior school in London, with dark shiny skin and afro hair. A few days later, I saw him in the local park near our house, when I was playing on the swings with my younger brother. He had his younger sister with him, and we pretty much ignored each other, until a group of kids from a couple of years above us at school turned up, and began to pick on him because of his colour.

I can still recall the rush of rage and injustice which burned through me; I didn’t even know his name, but this was wrong!

Small and skinny though I was, I marched over to the bigger kids and began to tell them off. My brother tagged behind, and his sister huddled close, so it became Us against Them very quickly.

I guess I seemed fierce, for they mumbled a few more insults and slinked away. We 4 smiled shyly at each other, and went our separate ways; there was no lasting friendship, and I don’t remember what he was called, but Martin Luther King’s ideals of equality and racial harmony had seared into me, across the oceans, years, and social divide.

‘The time is always right to do what is right.’ Martin Luther King Jr

Trump’s asinine comments about ‘shithole countries’ (which he’s now flatly denying) sadly reminds us that standing up to bullies and racists is still essential.

But from the joy of the unified celebration of an extraordinary man, to the sadness of losing an incredible singer today: Dolores O’Riordan from The Cranberries. Such a voice! Such a small, feisty, powerful artist, gone too young at only 46- five years younger than me.

Tragic.

There were so few women in rock and roll, and she sang with such passion, in that gorgeous sexy accent… how many tears did I shed listening to this song when I broke up with various lovers over my angsty twenties/thirties (when I needed a good cry, before I put on Gloria Gaynor’s “I will Survive” and danced triumphant round the room)?

Life just keeps ticking along doesn’t it? Our teenage heroes get sick and die, as we ourselves age inexorably…

*sigh

Thank you Dr. King for the profound wisdom, inspiration, and social change; thank you Dolores for doing the same for my teenage self ❤

In gratitude always for powerful words and music, G xO

Teenage Tuesday: Feedback on new, ‘dumb’ mobile phone

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A technology shift against smartphones, as teenagers reclaim their pre-internet lives

His actual new phone: a simple but significant step against social media overuse #selfcare #wellbeing #teenager #proudmum #australia @boneAndsilver

Me: So how’s it going with your new, internet-free phone Honey? My blog readers loved it! They’re very proud of you; we have “Teenage Tuesday” now, so they’re all up to date on you.

Him: [*smirks and rolls eyes, but obviously kinda pleased]

PAUSE

Him: [*staring at me in a way that I know means he’s up to something…]

You know Mum, if ever you ‘monetize’ your blog, I want 50%. Oh, and that’s backdated, OK.

Fiction Friday/Me Monday combined: Part One of short story “Roadside”

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My niece captured me perfectly #portrait #black&white #snapshot

Hello Everyone, I hope you had a lovely relaxing weekend? I’m offering you some Fiction here, so feel free to skip this post if that’s not yer thing! This piece won tiny accolades in several small writing competitions here in Australia, although it’s a few years old now. It’s too long for a single post though, so I’m going to split it into parts, then link them together each week.

Let me know what you think, G xO 

 

“Roadside”- Part One

Lucy’s silver waterfall hair tilts when she moves. The tiny peace badge on her jumper glints. She leans like a rusty hinge to stroke the cat, book forgotten. Elegant fingers smooth the purring animal. She always wears gloves when gardening, and marinates in moisturiser every night. Like Cleopatra, she wishes she could bathe in milk. She knows she looks good for her age, but still bristles against seeming ‘invisible’ to anyone under thirty. She can remember wearing miniskirts, and going braless to parties, brave and ready for the freedoms the new birth control pill could bring. To be seen as an ‘old woman’, slow to cross the road sometimes, makes her blood yell with rebellion. But despite strong legs from cycling now that she’ll never drive a car again, her spine aches.

She joked once that the ache mirrored her soul.

In the kitchen, husband Eris has a cake in the oven. Spicy ginger and orange, her favourite. She loves a piece after yoga, or while listening to political debate on the radio, arguing opinions between mouthfuls. She nearly choked on a walnut in the carrot cake one day, but insisted it was the Prime Minister’s stupid policy remark that really caused her problem.

Eris is battling the weekend cryptic crossword. It’s guaranteed to keep any chance of Alzheimer’s at bay he claims. Certainly worked for his Mum, still beating him at gin rummy, aged eighty-nine. But he’s stuck on twenty-five across. And Lucy’s sulking through the baking scent, bricking out his tendrils of conversation.

The cake timer ticks.

He lowers his pen. ‘I’m sorry to upset you Lu. I know we’re both in this together. And that it’s rotten. But I’ve got my needs too y’know.’

Silence.

‘God you’re a stubborn woman. Can’t we talk about it, please?’

Nothing.

The smell of the cooking cake meanders. Lucy’s cat purrs, slinking across the floor, while another two sleep on a windowsill in the late sunshine. The timer ticks on.

‘I know you’ve got the tree. And it comforts you.’ He moves into the living room. ‘But I’ve got nothing. I just want somewhere to go. Can you leave the damn cat alone and look at me?’

A tree stands tall along a straight road, sentinel on the only corner for five kilometres. A ring of wildflowers in pink and white hugs its base.

 He slides the animal gently away with his foot as it twines around his legs. He doesn’t really like cats, although they live with four.

‘Don’t touch him! And don’t touch me! I hate you!’ Blowing the lid off her temper, Lucy pushes past Eris. She shoves open the kitchen screen door, and slams out into the garden.

 

…To be continued…

Random/reblog Thursdays: Sweet and Lowe’s

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Brian at Bonnywood Manor is hilarious, and never fails to make me laugh. I hope you enjoy him xO

Brian Lageose's avatarBonnywood Manor

I’m working on my blog, minding my own business, on a Sunday afternoon. The phone rings.

It’s Terry.

He’s calling from Odessa, where he and the brother and sister that are still on speaking terms are taking care of family business. There is no telling what this might be about, as those three think dangerously alike and any negative aftermath of their actions is tripled.

I answer.

He responds. “Hi Sweetie! I love you!” Immediately, with those 5 words, I’m on red alert. I know him. There is going to be an attempt to involve me in something unsavory.

I take a deep breath. “So, what are you guys up to?”

“Well, we’re here at Lowe’s and Nina and I were looking around at stuff and we were out in the lawn and garden section and Nina found these patio chairs that she really likes but there’s only one and…

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World Wednesday: Oprah is trending because we need her to

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Tired but ready for a new path for the world! #TIMES UP #Oprah2020 #Australia #over50blogger @boneAndsilver @Oprah

Tired but ready for a new path for the world! #TIMES UP #Oprah2020 #Australia #over50blogger @boneAndsilver @Oprah

So you must have seen her Golden Globes speech? If not, go Google it now, and we’ll wait for ya…

‘H’ and I watched it with tears in our eyes- both usually a bit cynical about all that ‘celebrity stuff’, yet absolutely moved by her sincerity, power, and integrity.

Now I’m totally on the #Oprah2020 and #oprahforpresident movement!

The world needs a drastic change of direction: environmentally, economically, even emotionally. I’ve spent years watching Oprah consistently expanding and exploring both heart and mind; she taught me so much about marginalised communities, and most importantly, about all the positive, grassroots campaigns quietly going on in neighbourhoods to counteract huge problems.

Sure, sometimes she waffled on about the Top Ten fashion mistakes, but then she’d meet with the Dalai Lama and meditate for world peace, so she’s still got my loyalty.

In my opinion (and of course this is my blog, so you’re getting it), Donald Trump represents the last, atrocious, dying breath of the ‘Old Way’- the exploitative, corporate, consumerist-based, Patriarchally-focussed, ego-driven, narcissistic, sexist, racist, homophobic and ageist, blatantly cruel, unsustainable path. [Can you tell I don’t like him?]

We can’t do it any more. The planet can’t take it, and neither can all of us.

#TIMESUP indeed- on so many levels.

For multiple decades, women (and intelligent, sensitive, honest, supportive men) have been fighting for equal rights; hell, the battle goes back centuries of course! But we’re here Now, together, struggling on a very thin wedge, and Trump represents the last dragon we need to slay.

“If over the next five years we do not fundamentally change” and significantly reduce greenhouse gas emissions across all sectors, the world is “in danger of reaching a tipping point in the atmosphere that will have a direct negative and profound impact on health around the planet for many, many decades — an impact that many scientists believe could not be recovered…We have five years to make an extraordinary difference.” Christiana Figueres, head of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, June 2016

When Trump got voted in, I COULD NOT believe it- and I’m sure all my American readers couldn’t either. We’ve watched in dread and disgust as his ‘leadership’ has unfolded, making terrible decision after terrible decision, discriminating against everyone except his financial buddies, withdrawing America from the Paris climate change agreement, and leading the US to the brink of nuclear war with North Korea (via Twitter for god’s sake).

Artist Taran Singh Brar positioned this giant inflatable rooster behind the Whitehouse #TrumpChicken #art @boneAndsilver @realDonaldTrump

Artist Taran Singh Brar positioned this giant inflatable rooster behind the Whitehouse #TrumpChicken #art @boneAndsilver @realDonaldTrump

I admit it: in response, I got cynical. Real cynical.

I lost hope for any positive changes. Felt kinda doomed to be honest.

I began to apologise to ’17’ for the shitty world he was going to inherit…

Then suddenly #BlackLivesMatter and #MeToo kicked off. It was everywhere. Sportsmen began to kneel. All over America, good people took to the streets to protest against Trump and what he represents; THANK YOU.

The artists and the ordinary folk began to push back. And now a group of [admittedly mostly white] women launched #TIMESUP in a week, and transformed the Golden Globes to a sea of supportive black dresses, with activists instead of actors on the red carpet. Brilliant idea!

Oprah’s Cecil B DeMille Award for Lifetime Achievement reflects her unbelievable perseverance in the constant face of prejudice, as both a black person, and a woman; her speech honours all who have come before her, and the young ones who will follow; she embodies the transformative, positive power of Love.

I don’t care if that’s a soggy cliché: the whole planet needs more goddamn love.

Together, with a good, heartfelt leader, we can do anything. And most importantly, we need to.

In gratitude for a sense of common purpose, G xO