They sit in the kitchen – Mr and Mrs L – overlooking a backyard of woodpiles, wheelbarrows and tussocks of native grass. It’s early autumn. The pungent scent of the last of a rambling Chinese jasmine wafts across the yard and mingles with the smell of last night’s rain. The weekend menagerie headcount is underway over fruit toast and espresso.
Being Saturday, it’ll be hours before Little L, now 19 years old, emerges to join the human race. Inheriting Mrs L's good looks, he’s prone to late nights and a string of girlfriends.
At the rear of the yard the chickenhouse sits under giant... Read More
DR GRIMNBERIT. ASSISTANT TO DR. FREUD AND DR. JUNG riginal.
Okay! Let's get straight down to tin-tacks. No Carbon Tax. No ego-tripping. No hogwash. No repetitious 'shrink' lolly-gagging claptrap about my mental fitness to exfoliate on my hairy 'experimental' theories on the human brain, mind, soul,and those bereft of same. It is the year 19I0. My name is Dr Grimnberit. Shrink to the 'Stars': animal, vegetable, mineral, small dogs, etc., and I only charge by the thought. Thought that would suck your thinking caps in.
I have just finished my doctorate expose on why learned... Read More
Happy Historian Melanie Jean Juneau Introduces The Passions and Talents of Barbara MacDonaldA Survivor Helps Other Survivors
After reading Barbara's warm, from the heart articles on BrooWaha, it is difficult to believe that this woman endured a hard childhood in the foster care system after a rape at age 7. Then, I realized that it is precisely because she is a survivor of sexual abuse that her passion in life is to help others, especially rape victims. Wounded people sense this healing gift and are drawn to her. Why strangers have even come up to her and started talking about their... Read More
A courageous rooster crows in the sleepy village below. I’m on the southern island of Kadavu. Spirals of smoke rise from cooking fires to a lazy sky of Fiji blue. I clamber up concrete stairs by the dining room and along a spur straddling huts of palm frond thatch and sheets of rusted iron. Monster mango trees throw a shroud of welcome shade – cool and dark – over ragamuffin fence posts and loose strands of random wire. Motley chickens scratch along the path.
On the highest knoll I sit by a wind-bent palm, sun on my back, gazing across the Pacific at Nabukulevu; an extinct cloud-topped... Read More
Cars and trucks wait in orderly lines, the Sørvågen-Værøy ferry still an hour away. I'm on the Lofoten Islands inside the Arctic Circle, and the northern autumn brings rain as I leave my car. The church I pass is small, the wet bluestone black. Behind, a mound rises to leaden skies, its sides shrouded in bush and drizzle. Not far now. My wet face and hands are cold.
I’m told she tread this very path – a young woman from Tennes, near Reine – religious hymns on her lips, tall and straight; wedding-white dress, dark hair falling on strong shoulders. I imagine the Arctic air heavy as now,... Read More
‘Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.’ - JM Barrie
There’s a large page-4 headline and a small picture. His face is olive-brown, tilted slightly towards me, the hand of a close friend across the back of his bare neck. In his early 20s, his eyes are coals with a certain spark; windows to the soul they say. His teeth are ivory white, his mouth wide open. I hear a cheer, a joyous yell. The foreground is blurred; the merriment of happy goings on, a bit of action. Good friends hamming it up. There’s a shock of dark windswept hair above a high... Read More
Outside there's a neon finger-sign soaring skyward, the oversized letters reading `ASTOR'. The building’s not much to look at; the high facade brick, of cream and red. The veranda is low and squarish, the fascia lined with a string of bare light globes. From a street clogged with trams, trucks and cars, we step up and push through the bank of glass doors.
The door swings shut behind us; the clatter of traffic replaced by ambient music and dimmed lighting. We’ve gone from a mad Metropolis into an art deco opera house. The grand foyer is ship-like in warm beeswax tones; a colonial ocean-going... Read More
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