2025
Hi, it’s that time of year again, and I don’t mean Christmas. It’s … ‘bout-time-I-blogged-again-time’, just in case my death’s exaggerated. So, lots happened this year. Took a little while (a year!) to adjust to single life again – probably the most profound ‘happening’ of all. The biggest take-away is we talk like old friends, and work things through, just like we always did. I…
MOLD and LIMBO
Hi. How are you? Over Chrissie now we’re blanketed in a red sea of tinsel and piped carols? (got the earplugs out for Bing’s White Christmas and squeaky supermarket trollies?) Yes, I’m getting grumpier about Christmas amongst other things. Don’t worry, it’s called mold – a dolorous state of fermentation between Middle and Old age. It happens. (and gives us immense pleasure) Haven’t said much…
twenty twenty four.
Hi. Was gonna say it. Then wasn’t, then was, then… Oh, f’gawd’s sake, the sun burns me out’a the swag nowadays anyhow, hours after new year’s already ho-hum. Oh well. Kate and Court saw it in. For them it was stretchers and a campfire down at the dam, and swarms of Scotch Greys hungry to revel. 700 ml of Fireball helped, (the girls) and maybe…
Pragmatism with a dash of ash
Anne Hawe’s middle name was practical. And she liked simple. When she needed a new skirt, she disappeared into the sewing room. When us boys needed a smack, she whipped off her left scuff. When dad learned to drive a car, she stuck to her push-bike until skull-caps were mandated, then never rode again. In the knife and fork drawer, she kept a ten-ml spanner…
Flight of the Owl
Her breath comes harder now, each a small mountain to be climbed, thankfully not an Everest, not yet. Eyes clenched tight against a gathering storm, I hear gentle eddies upon the seashore – in… out – foam filled as they retreat in silence – or fits and starts of wintry breezes in the grand old fig through the window; just the sigh now, at the…
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Steve Hawe 