D is for Dawn Chorus

Judy Bintz always loved a lie in. To a fault. She was constantly late for work due to it. Just 5 more minutes she’d tell herself. But the reality was, those 5 minutes never made her less sleepy, just more late.

Early one morning, before her first (of five) alarms had gone off, she awoke with a start to a huge crashing sound. She leapt out of bed (a first) and wished she had someone beside her (also a first) to run forth and find out what that noise was and then report back to her where she was safe in the bedroom. Ever better – safe in her bed, under the covers.

But no such person was nearby – so it was up to Judy to investigate the sound herself.

Actually do I have to?

CRASH!

Yeah ok – off I go.

Judy walked down the hallway cautiously. She turned on lights as she passed them and made loud coughing noises. She wasn’t prepared to actually say

“I know you’re in here so let’s fight” or something.

She figured a few coughs and lights turning on would be amble announcement to the fiend(s) and they could skedaddle so their didn’t have to be a “thing”. Not that Judy would know what to do if she actually caught someone. She just knew she really didn’t want to catch someone.

She got to the other end of the house, now all lit and as looking as it was when she went to bed the night before. Had she dreamed the loud bangs? Judy turned on the spot, scrutinising her living room for any hint of the noisemaker and saw she had left the curtains open to her patio… and that there were several figures out on her lawn.

She froze and was absolutely terrified. There was so many of them – and they all seemed to be so still. And short.

“What do you want!?”

Nothing.

“I’m…I’m going to call the cops!!!”

Nothing….

Judy had a moment of inspiration – she would turn on the porch light. So far turning on lights had been a good move she reckoned. With jelly legs, she walked towards her ranch slider and flicked the switch beside the door.

The lights she had installed to showcase her beautiful garden flooded the landscape. Tears instantly streamed down her face. Her love and joy, the only thing she felt she could do right, her amazing garden, was trashed.

Some mindless, horrible, mean…. Fuckheads!!… had come and stomped all over everything and left what seemed like 100 ugly stone gargoyles all over her land.

Judy flung the door open hoping that the jerks were still nearby. Someone was going to pay for this vandalism.

As soon as Judy stepped out, she stopped. Her rage and grief evaporated into the forest just over the road from her house.

For the first time in her sleep-in loving life, Judy was up early enough to hear the birds of the forest waking and calling out to each other. Birdsong filled the air and she heard the peeps intertwine with the chirps and the more impressive vocal range of the whistles and warbles.

Judy closed her eyes and allowed the chorus to envelope her. Her heart lifted from its sudden melancholy and she felt like she was floating with supreme lightness and joy. She opened her eyes again and saw many birds perched on top of the gargoyles. The birds of all sizes and colours were singing at Judy and as she looked out at them, they all leaned forward and spread their wings out in what looked like a curtsey. Judy noticed then that all of the gargoyles were also bwoing.

How strange!

Judy blushed and looked down at her feet. She saw lots of smashed rock all around her, including what looked like the face of a gargoyle. She picked up the face and felt a touch of heartbreak. It looked scared! This must have been what made all of the noise.

Judy grabbed her yard broom that had been leaning up against the house next to the door and carefully swept up the pieces of smashed gargoyle. It didn’t seem right to throw the pieces in the bin, so Judy took them down to her destroyed garden and buried them where her basil used to be.

The birds all suddenly took flight. They circled Judy then peeled off into the sky towards their daily errands and adventures.  

Judy made a sincere promise to them and herself, she would hear their song again tomorrow morning.

X is for eXorcism

Nadia lifted her soda water to the centre of the group with the other glasses and they all said,

“CHEERS!”

The company Christmas party was officially off with a happy clink of glasses. Some of Nadia’s colleagues were slightly flushed and had already been sampling the free bar a few hours before everyone else arrived. Nadia had no doubt that others would catch up soon enough. And she could blend in with the messy cloud easily enough.

Nadia had a wedge of lime in her tall glass and he co-workers believed she was on the gin and tonics. Then it was just a matter of always having a full glass in front of her so she could easily avoid anyone buying her a drink,

Another favourite move was to stay on the dance floor. Never needing dutch courage to move her groove thing, Nadia found that drinks and dancefloor very rarely worked well together. Especially the way she danced – full body, full dance floor used, zero shame, maximum joy.

All this subterfuge was much easier than telling the truth. As soon as Nadia would tell anyone that she didn’t drink, there were so many questions and assumptions:

Are you pregnant?

Are you religious?

Are you a recovery alcoholic?

Are you sure you don’t want one?

Just one, come on, one won’t hurt you…

Nobody could ever understand that someone would choose to just, not drink.

…

The reality was, Nadia did have a reason for not drinking. One that she never shared with anyone.

Ever.

The truth was, when she drank, her brain let down its defences and trouble was let in. Not in the usual way of kissing the wrong person and waking up with a lampshade on her head. Nadia definitely had enough of those memories that popped up on her Facebook feed from time to time.

No. The trouble was the damn voices. The mean, insistent, relentless voices that took so much energy to lock back away. As long as Nadia didn’t drink – life was what she could make it. But – as of 4 years ago – if she had a glass of wine or a cheeky puff on a spliff – in crash the two women.

One old – Ms Ellis.

One teenager – Penny.

Both held heavy judgement of Nadia’s life and generally battled it out with microphones to get their points across:

“You know that people are laughing behind you back. I thought it better that you knew instead of continuing with…the strange things you do… and making more of a fool of yourself”

“God you’ve gotten fat”

“Really – you do know that everyone see through the façade dear? You know that right?”

“I hate you”

Then the hangovers had gotten so bad that Nadia would be throwing up for a day while Ms Ellis and Penny allowed each other to have the floor.

Ms Ellis had originally seemed so kind, but really, she was a miserable old cunt that undermined Nadia’s confidence.

Penny was loud and blunt and just stuck with name calling.

Although they held different methods, the women eventually would agree on one thing:

“Just pick up the knife Nadia. It’ll be better for everyone to be selfless and say goodnight one last time”

Approximately three days after having the drink or whatever, Ms Ellis and Penny would fade away and Nadia would be left with her own thoughts and great life again. It did not take Nadia long to make the connection between alcohol and the bitches and just figured that they were an interesting way that her brain reacted to certain chemicals.

Nadia was nearly four years without any alcohol or other forms of “chemical entertainment” and her two unwanted head guests had barely stirred. A little murmur here and there but very easy to ignore.

So it was a shock that only moments having sharing a toast with her co-workers, that the older woman’s voice rumbled into her right ear:

“I think it’s very sweet that they put up with you. They are all so different from you – it’s obvious that you’ll never be part of their family so to speak.”

Nadia nearly dropped her glass. It had been so long since she had heard Ms Ellis so clearly. She peered at her soda water. It definitely tasted like soda water. And she had only had a sip. Usually Ms Ellis required a good couple of swigs before she gate-crashed the party.

“Dumb bitch” scorned a squeaky voice into her left ear

“Penny!” Nadia whispered – then blushed.

Shit – had anybody heard her?? No… they were all loudly teasing their boss.

“Well this party is lame – music is dumb too. I suppose you’ll be dancing to this basic playlist later”

“Oh no she wouldn’t be so silly. Nadia knows she has bad judgment and when it comes to dancing, she’s very enthusiastic but leaves herself open to mockery.”

Nadia looked down at her feet bewildered and panicking How could this have happened?! Tears pricked her eyes – what will she do?

“Crying you stupid bitch? Are you kidding me? At least the party won’t be lame – it’ll be awkward”

“Really Nadia, tears. So emotional. You’ll ruin your make up – and potentially the whole night for everyone.”

“Nadia!” a new cheerful voice rang out. It was one of her colleagues walking towards her with a polaroid camera.

“Say Cheese!”

Nadia flashed a big smile and internally prayed her eyes only looked shiny and not bloodshot.

“Good luck with that dear. Everyone can see you’ve been crying”

“And you look fat. How many chins do you have now?”

Nadia took the developing photo from her colleague who left to work the room. Concentrating on the photo, Nadia’s head became her own again. Then she truly did make a scene when she dropped her soda water and her glass smashed on the floor.

There in the photo was Nadia (with shiny eyes) with the unmistakable figures of Ms Ellis behind her right shoulder, and Penny leaning in on her left.

G is for Goodnight J-Punk

We have gotten into a nice night time rhythm with each other. We read stories on the chair where I once feed you – back then you were a tiny little dot on the 1st percentile with a big mass of red curls. Now you’re pretty much the same but on the 50^th percentile.

After 3 or 4 books, I insist it is bedtime and you insist it isn’t. Generally, all it takes is me turning off the light and putting on Portishead or Simon and Garfunkel or Leonard Cohen and you lie down and chill out to the music.

Sometimes though, you put up a better fight and your beautiful stubbornness champions your cause. Your disarmingly blue eyes freeze over and sometimes, I swear you pierce my heart with a touch of ice for a moment.

The Night King has nothing on you sister!

But eventually, you lie down and I rock in the old feeding chair – willing you to sleep as though I had you curled up on my chest – and not beside me in your own bed surrounded by a dozen of your best friends. Tonight Pig, Bear, Monkey and Rabbit have pride of place.

I enjoy a moment of quiet, either knitting or writing about this and that. You softly sing Baby Shark or Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as your little eyes close and you slip into a restful sleep.

Have a calm and pleasant night’s sleep my precious little girl – and for the love of your mother’s tenuous sanity – stay in your own bed tonight!

S is for Sober Stoner

10 years ago I was a massive burnout. Weed was my jam and I partook with scary regularity. I don’t want to boast but I am a total light weight and my tolerance for anything is incredibly low. If Keith Richards is at one end of the spectrum, I am at the other end – throwing up on my shoes while a friend holds my hair back. For everything great, fun moment I had, there would’ve been a dozen self-destructive moments that are still having a ripple effect all these years on.  

Giving up weed was one of the best decisions of my life – but there are definite things I miss. Especially how listening music could be a full body sensation. The sound waves would physically crash over me and I would be 100% lost in the song.

Tonight, I came home from my run and started hanging up the laundry. My husband was playing with the kids and listening to bands playing covers of other bands. A Pink Floyd cover came on – it was very cool. The guitar solo started up and it was like I was stoned again. It could’ve been because I listened to a lot of Floyd in my 20s, but Have a Cigar was never one of my favourites. That solo came out of nowhere and pierced my soul.

I stood, eyes closed, damp laundry in my hand, swaying to the beat next to my half-filled drying rack. I cannot tell you enough – how fucking great it was – to have an escape into art when staring down the barrel of an evening of laundry.