Goodbye my friend for Rachel her young daughter & her friends on WP


as the soft winds blow across the shamrocks
as the salt spray vanishes ‘cross the Irish seas
~ a breath last drawn, somewhere in our world
the insidious hands of a cruel disease
grasping at your loveliness your beauty and your strength
and if I had a four leaf clover, I’d wish for your return

you prayed for its release, we prayed alongside with you
and if hands weren’t clasped, you were in our thoughts
to the Universe; for though I’d never met you
a door was opened to my heart, you let the soft Irish wind
touch my soul, with your words and smiles

a life sorely missed, by your family and by us all
one moment you were with us ~ the other you were gone
we miss the friendship that you gave, the happiness you shared
your ‘lists’ and ‘nods’ and humour ~ life will never be the same

our darling Katie ~ the Irish lass who we all loved
our hearts will remember you, as you watch from up above
I thank you for being you, the gentleness of a friend
I met through writing on W P and my tears keep falling
like the Irish mist ~ I will miss you constantly

R.I.P Katie – October 2013

This was ‘our’ Katie, the Irish lass with a smile in her words, who brought me and many others so much joy.
‘Katiekins’ ~ I miss you, I love you.  You are at peace now darling and I am sure you are watching over everyone *nods nods*.

Katie was one of our fellow writers on WordPress .  If you knew her and you would like to write something to her daughter Rachel please post on



A mother cries goodbye


My fingers wrap around your wrinkly hands

vision blurred, as my eyes well with tears

my lips touch velvet; your soft brown hair

and I do this ov’ and over again

in the short time that we have

rocking gave us comfort cradling you in my arms

with tears that touched your lips

that now would never speak

another chance I beseech, to gaze into your eyes

that are the colour of the sea; embrace your warmth

against my skin, but this will never be

a mother should not outlive her child

I begged take mine, in place of yours

I laid my hand across your heart

a heart that beat no more

why was life so fleeting, the time we had too brief

you were ripped away from me, I’m left behind to grieve

there are no answers

life we know at times so cruel

how do I go on living – living without you

try to remember me, you were called away too young

there is no rhyme or reason, for why this has been done

time they say the healer; one last hold, one kiss, I beg

so as I hold you to my breast, this torment that I bear

know that I so loved you and this last wish I share

wrapped in cotton white, take your pastel coloured wings

my angel child and fly

and with each breath I’ll think

of you, till my time comes, to die 

©JMTacken Sept 2013


Also for Open Night # 106


J.Tacken 2013

A Review of my memoir The Empty Nest – A Mother’s Hidden Grief

I have just met Michael on WP and he very kindly bought my Memoir and may I say read it within a day or two. He has been absolutely gracious by submitting a review on Amazon which I post below.

Those who know me, also know that I do not push my book onto you, this is not why I started this site, for I feel uneasy about self promoting. I post this because I am humbled knowing that people have read my work, read the words that I had written, this is an absolute joy for me, whether they like what I have written or not, I have pride that I can call myself a writer, something I have dreamed about for so long.

My penned words about what I experienced when my girls left home, have now been read by 72 people – this may seem small – to me it is huge. Large profits – I make not – knowing that people can resonate with what I have written – that is worth so much more.

To Michael I thank you, from the bottom of my heart for this review.



The Empty Nest

A Mother’s Hidden Grief

J M Kadane

Jenny Kadane’s book chronicling her life bringing up two daughters is an excellent account of her life exploring the journey she makes with them from birth to the present time. She takes us through the good and the bad moments of parenting with great honesty and clarity.

Her writing is straightforward, accessible and at times you find your self laughing at the funny things she recalls but there are other times where you find yourself expressing your own emotional response to the stories many of which, as a parent, you relate to.

There are features within this text that give it a universal appeal.

As parents we all have to deal with the day our children decide it is time for them to leave home.

We often agonise over them leaving, fearful of what they will have to deal with in the big wide world and always we want to be protective of them.

No parent ever wants to see their child suffering and we go to great lengths to provide support and back ups for the times when they do break free and leave the nest.

All of these issues are dealt with in great detail and the reader is able to easily empathise with the writing and sentiments being expressed.

There are times in this text where Ms Kadane comes across as a highly emotional woman. (In fact she does make the point at various times in her work that she was aware of her emotional outpourings.)

Rather than being a text, which could have descended into a study of emotional angst, she is clever in reflecting constantly on her own emotions, and on the significance of the events that occur in her life.

Ms Kadane’s daughters, like most children grow and become their own persons.  As a parent we know our children do not grow up to necessarily reflect our attitudes nor do they always do what you would wish for them to do.

The factor for me, which made me connect so readily with her words, was the attitude that she was always there for her girls. It is easy to say these things but as a parent when your children transgress from what you consider the norms of society and test your patience and fortitude ‘hanging in there with them’ can take great courage.

‘The Empty Nest” is a record of the love of a mother, the fierce determination to be the best mother she can be along with her own reflections and understandings of how each development in her daughters lives impacted on her.

As a male reader I was immediately taken by the depth of her writing. I could relate so well to the emotions she was experiencing.

Fathers also feel a sense of grief when their children leave. We like to have our children ‘within’ arms length’ so to speak. Like Ms Kadane we also crave a regular contact with our children.

You finish the text thinking what a brave woman she is to have sat and reflected as she has done on her life. She owns all the mistakes she admits she’s made, there is no glossing over the truth and for this reason the book has great value to other mothers and I might add fathers as well.

No reader will regret the time spent on this excellent book. A great read.

Michael Grogan



July 2013.


Back in April, Meditating Mummy also read and wrote a review, to her I am immensely grateful. I am ‘chuffed’ that people have taken the time to read and to write their thoughts. You may see her review on the below link.

Reblogged from Meditating Mummy’s Blog:

I thank you.

Friday 28 – 29th June 2013 – R.I.P

the book is signed, piece of folded paper
handed, with words of prayers and hymns
a photograph of the loved one passed
holds firm between shaking fingers
family in procession, relatives
friends of some, others unknown
the music plays

warm smiles and hugs of “I’m sorry”
whispered as if in the room of knowledge
people take their seats, others stand
faces forlorn – just before the music stops
to stand for the first hymn, a message is received
followed by another, of urgency of haste
apologies from us – us?
“I’m sorry – we have to leave”

doctors scurry, we are shuffled to
a smaller space, a quiet room
with couches of blue vinyl
doctors opening doors with hesitated voices
words we do not wish to hear
within minutes, though what is time?
numbers flash and sounds beep in time to breath
that’s heaved out from the soul

holding hands cold & blue amid white
starched sheets and plastic pink curtains
listening to others cry or talk in sleep
not of their own, whilst we sit at bedside
listening to the whooshing of the breath
that’s forced through tubes
and penetrates the skin, surreal

I feel disjointed to the outside world
not knowing shall it end or how
life – like a splinter under our skin
painful to remove, we sit and wait
return to darkened rooms where we pace
and hug and shed our tears
till we are told nothing more…
nothing can be done

I hold to thoughts of after life
while we wait for a person
of the cloth, us who don’t attend the church
the need for simple words
I kiss her forehead and tell her ‘spirit side’
she does not hear, she does not feel
and the fog lies heavy in the outside world
as it does within our hearts
metal, numbers, graphs and sounds
that hold her and echo in our heads

we say a prayer hold hands and cry
and wait till her last is drawn
watching numbers reverse
life retreat
numbed, the final grasp of life, I stare
at the clock upon the wall, the grief takes hold
strangulating like a python
the what if’s and the could haves as we
kiss and say goodbye
the drive home,  no heads on pillows for 2 days
the emptiness inside, I gaze into car windows
as we drive the highway cold and grey and ask myself
did someone you love die today?

We attended a funeral Friday afternoon 28th June, 2013, the mother of my girlfriend and we were called away.
Mr. S’s ( my darling partner in life) mother was taken to the hospital Friday afternoon passed 9.30am Saturday morning 29th June, 2013.

Apologies if this upsets anyone, I ‘had’ to get this out, these words were written into my phone over the past day… a day… and it seems as if it was a life time ago.

R.I.P ‘Rosy’

So you want to know who the REAL Rambly is? My 251st Blog.

Fortitude required to read further.

My 251st Blog – really? I hear you quietly murmuring. I know, I have written many posts since commencing and I have amazed myself at the quantity (my sympathies go out to all of you for putting up with them).

I am not doing prose/poetry for my 250th. I am getting back to grass-roots as it were – returning to ramblings. So perhaps get comfy in that chair and tilt it back a little. I am just going to write at will here (do my spell check of course, then hit the publish button – so anything is likely to occur).

I was born 19.07.55 (yes you do the maths) or for my American followers 7.19.55 (with apologies but I still can’t get my head around doing a date that way) 🙂

I was one of 3 siblings, my middle brother passing away some 6 years ago, dying alone in a Hotel room in India. I now have one elder brother and my parents (thank any high power you believe in) are still with me today.

I don’t remember much of my younger years, which is unfortunate as I am sure I would have many a story to tell, but for reasons (and not through age) I struggle to remember. I have snippets, small visuals that I recall now and then, but for the most part it’s a blank page. I do remember a doll I got for Christmas when I was probably 5 or 6 and I called her Irene after my mum. I remember when I was about 10 sitting in the car with Pop munching on a hunk of salami and a loaf of rye bread and a jar of pickles (Viking style). I do remember when I was 13, living at home, going across the road to an empty paddock with a fallen gum tree, standing proudly on top of it singing and playing air-guitar with the girl from next door.

I went to an exclusive all girls College for a year, only a year mind you, as at that time my eldest brother was also attending a Private School and in those days it was deemed more important for a ‘male’ to have an education and my parents were struggling to keep up the fees for both of us. So I was out. I didn’t mind, I continued going to Public School (High School) till Year 10 (sorry but I don’t know what that is in other countries).

I hated maths – I sucked at it, so I took an extra English class – perhaps that is where my love for writing began.

I was a rebel at School, yes I was the one (we are talking the early 70’s here people) that hitched their school dress way too high and thought I was cool. I also started wearing make-up to School and didn’t realise the cheapest powder I could get hold of had a lovely orange tinge to it. I suffered through the pimply stage and would hibernate at home on the weekends. I had girlfriends but mainly ‘boy’ friends – I was more comfortable in the company of ‘guys’ than ‘chicks’.

I wasn’t a Rhode Scholar in fact I barely made it to the end of Year 10, however I landed office jobs without too much trouble when I joined the work force and have continued my entire working life – in offices. That’s 41 years I have been working.

My parents Pop – Czech and Mum – English are the most delightful, encouraging, supportive, loving parents I could have hoped to have. They landed in Australia when mum was 21 and Pop 23. He started his own business and was quite successful for many years. My brothers and I never wanted for anything, we weren’t overly spoiled,  but we well taken care of.

As I mentioned I was a bit a rebel in my teens (aren’t we all) and yes I did receive the strap once in a while when I was young to pull me into line. Today unheard of, of course, then however part and parcel of raising your child. I think I have turned out ok for it and think nothing of it now, it’s how it was.

I lied, I sneaked out, I did what most teenagers do or try to get away with. I would say I was staying at a girlfriends house (which I did) but I didn’t quite stay there.. when her parents were asleep we would haul asses out the window and meet up with boys.. you know the man of your dreams, the pillow you would kiss pretending they are with you. (Please tell me I’m not the only one!)

Escaping escapades did get myself and my girlfriend into serious trouble one night, as her parents checked in on us..ooops we weren’t in bed. The police were called. Back then it went to the ‘big boys’ who tracked us down, quietly sitting in a shed at the back of a bowling club smoking weed and listening to Jimmy Hendrix…ahh the things we do ..right?

Or the time my family would go and stay with our friends at their holiday house in the hills (long before I actually moved to them). This G/F and I thought we would hitch-hike to Melbourne (possibly just over an hour away by car). We thumbed down the highway to be picked up by 2 ‘nice young lads’ in a Ute …we were fine..not a care in the world, till they drove off the road into a deserted spot surrounded by trees. LUCKILY somehow and my memory is not serving me well at this point, we managed to escape and hide. Our age – 14 or 15. Naive young girls who thought they could handle any situation that came their way.

I am a doting mother – probably too much so, I found it difficult to let my girls stand on their own two feet or learn lessons in life. I was always there, I will continue to be that way hopefully not to their detriment.

I have had more than my share of relationships, some good some horrid some in-between. I was married at 26, had my first daughter at 28 and my second at 32. I was married for 19 years when I decided to pull the pin, only because our communication had broken down and we weren’t on the same wave length any longer. It happens, it’s life. My ex has remarried and I get along famously with her and my ex and my relationship is still amicable and healthy. For special birthdays for the girls we all get together, go out for dinner etc and I like it that way.

I then had other relationships before I met my last ex (sounds bad doesn’t it) we were together 6 years, engaged. He was 16 years my junior. It didn’t cease because of the age difference, we just weren’t meant to be. After a couple of small relationship fiascos I ventured onto the internet dating scene where I met Mr. S (yes I have written posts about that, so I won’t bore you further) by the way are you still awake?

All I will say about Mr. S and I is that we haven’t had a fight or a cross word since we met, 5 years ago this May, we are of the same ilk, he now being a blog widower is happy that I have found my calling and he is quite content to watch TV upstairs (we are talking 4 steps here) or read his Kindle books.

It has taken me many years to finally find someone who I am truly and 100% happy to be with and I love him to pieces. He let’s me be me, I let him be him. We share common goals and interests and laugh most days..but wait …I said I wasn’t go on about him,  so I shall stop now.

Me – hmm well I use to oil paint – I sold one ONCE, I sketch now and then but writing (insert no shit sherlock) is where I belong.

I LOVE dogs all breeds all shapes all sizes. I cry at Lassie Movies. In fact I feel more saddened by the death of a dog than what I do a human in the Movies. When we had to have our fur-baby Tarsha put to sleep (aged 16) in memory of her I got a tattoo on my lower left hip with her name and a paw print. I was so scared, this was my first (and last) tattoo, but I had always tinkered with the thought of getting one..(but it had to have a special meaning) I decided the time was right. I remember the pain, I remember lying there and the girl Tattooist saying “Breathe” to which I replied “I’m trying” but I am happy that I had it and it’s a constant reminder of my girl.

I love horse riding and though I haven’t been since last year I am itching to get back in the saddle.

I live within my means, I don’t own a credit card. If you can’t afford to pay for it – you don’t buy – that’s my motto. When I was a young mum I bought some clothes for myself in Target only to get to the cash register and say “Sorry I can’t take them”…because I felt guilty about spending on me and not my family.

I did love to read but blogging has err taken over that.

I smoke (yes I know don’t shake your heads in disgust) us ‘lepers’ already have to deal with the tsk tsk’s and the ..what you smoke eyebrow lifts. I drink – no not an alcoholic (though one doesn’t truly admit that do they?) ok I enjoy a drink ..that sounds better.

I wrote a book – what you haven’t heard of it????  depressionexists  wrote a post and dedicated it to me and my Memoir which I love her for and I must say her review tickled me pink or was that orange. Anywhoo, I only mention this ..because I know for the writers out there who struggle to get published, it is such a difficult road. If you lucky enough to get an Agent to represent you, you may have a chance. I tried unsuccessfully to do that, I sent my Memoir off to every Publisher in Australia, the UK and USA. “You write with humour and warmth and honesty…but not what we are looking for at this point in time” was the reply.. so I EPublished, and woot woot I have sold I think 27-28? books. No I won’t retire a millionaire, but I have the knowledge that someone out there has read the words that I wrote over 3-4 years, that in itself is my reward, my dollars as it were.

I cry at anything. I am an emotional little poppet – I am Cancerian we are built that way..full moons make me go ‘troppy’ (nuts) I get hyper, babbling more than usual..(wait is it one tonight?)

I enjoy cooking if I’m having a dinner party (but freak out if there are more than 4 guests). Otherwise during the week I rarely cook. Mr. S does a mean poached eggs on toast and I’m cool with that..let’s just say we graze and don’t often sit down for a ‘cooked meal’, as daughter # 2 is out most nights and can fend for herself at any rate.

I adore both my girls – chalk and cheese as they say. Unique perhaps? Trials – tribulations… I have had the lot and will continue to do so..just being a parent.

I can’t wait to be a ‘nanna’… busting actually.

I wear a 7 1/2 to 8 shoe and I’m a size 10 and I have hazel eyes oh pfft I have a photo on one of my blogs – don’t need to tell you (though now my hair is pixie cut short – Vidal Sassoon style).

I am um 5’ 5 and A HALF ( the half being terribly important) or (166 cm roughly) you wouldn’t have been able to sleep without knowing that, or perhaps that’s what has tipped you over?

I’m a dedicated employee but won’t put up with bullying or BS and strong enough (and old enough) to speak up if I feel something isn’t right.

I love music most kinds (apart from Jazz) that annoys me.

I love to dance (ok pretend that I’m young again dancing around my hand bag on the dance floor).

I believe I am a good friend (I hope that I am) and I am there whenever I am needed.

I had laser on my face today and look like I’ve done a few round with Ali.

I think constantly at the moment of my parents and their life and how things have changed. I see them struggle and it saddens my heart. I help as much as I can, be there as much as I can. I am thankful we are only a 7 minute drive away from where they live. I can’t imagine them not being in my life..I don’t want to imagine.

So there you have it – me in not quite a nutshell – Rambly foibles and all.
Maybe you have learnt more about this person that you follow…or maybe your nose is now wedged between the letter T and N key on your keyboard.

Thank you if you have had the courage to read this all and not skip lines, thank you for your continued supported which I am most grateful for.

I bid you goodnight it is 1am Saturday morning…. have a wonderful weekend everyone.

Very Inspiring Blogger Award from Tatu

Very inspiring Blogger Award

Tatu who writes from  is a down to earth mother living in Greece with 2 adorable children. She writes of her battles, her joys of raising a young family. She is very similar to me in her thoughts and I enjoy her posts immensely, she is also inspired from

‘T’ as we call her has very kindly nominated me for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award. I am extremely grateful for the Awards that people bestow upon me, however I am not one to have a side bar full of them and in return for their kindness, I believe in reposting the people that she had nominated. In that way people who watch “ramblings” may want to visit them. I am grateful that T has nominated me amongst these other recipients and I hope that by me doing this, that is an indication of my gratitude for the Award.  Thank you T.

Please visit these people if you have the chance.



Motherhood – telling it like it is..the good..the bad…the ugly

How brave am I with that Title!

Dislocating my shoulder from patting myself on the back…that’s how much.

No honestly I have read a few blogs (such a blagh word) posts..posts sounds much more dignified, of late and wanted to write the below.

This is Mumsy talking ..honest..straight from the heart …the gut…the soul…

Mums,Moms, matter what word you use (now take a deep deep breath in) we are special, we are loving, we are caring, we are nurturing, we are protective, we are consoling, we are advises, we are taxi drivers, we are nurses, we are accountants, we are healers, we are protectors, we are hard task masters, we are insane, we are counsellors, we are time keepers, we are the carers, we are …well just mums.

No one prepares you for mother hood no matter how many books you may read, or what advice is imparted by family, relatives or friends. When I was having my 2nd, I pulled into the driveway to drop off daughter # 1 to be greeted by my mum who said “Hope it’s a boy”… Hmmph well I don’t really care at this point I just want IT OUT!!

You can take in all the advice (especially with your 1st) you absorb and then it’s up to  you..plain and simple you are the one having said child.. you are the one that is going to go through unexplainable agony to deliver said child and you are the one to raise said child to the best of your ability.

Prior to having your lovely little one….

Do they tell you that you that in the throes of labour you will hate your other half for getting you into this mess in the first place? No

Do they tell you, even though you may decide on a drug free birth that the pain is so great you may simply relinquish all thoughts of not wanting to possibly inflict any drugs into your baby’s system for taking some? No

Do they tell you that you  have to have an enema (why couldn’t I just have had prunes?) and a mini shave? (like OMG what is THAT all about) No

Do they tell you that you have to leave any embarrassment aside that you may feel about having your legs spread wide or in stirrups with bright neon lights shining onto your private bits? No

Do they tell you that you will squat, be on all fours, lay down, toss, turn, sit, pant, breathe heavy,cry? No

Do they tell you, you will feel like you are passing a watermelon and not a small baby? No

Do they tell you when your milk comes in day 3 or 4 that you turn into the devil incarnate? No

Do they tell you that relieving your sore and swollen “boobies” can only be helped by (a) standing under a hot shower (b) putting cabbage leaves across them (such elegance) or expressing? No

Do they tell you if you have had to have an episiotomy that the only cure is a salt bath and a whoopee cushion? No

Do they tell you that yes you may not be able to burp your baby and their lips may turn purple? No

Do they tell you it’s natural for you to run down to the nursery if baby isn’t in the same room with you to check on them every 2 minutes? No

Do they tell you that if your baby doesn’t sleep and you are rocking them, laying them along your arm, feeding them, burping them, laying them on your tummy and you will be so sleep deprived that you feel you want to throw them out the window? No

Do they tell you that they will test your patience, make you cry, make you scream, make you say  “Why are you even here?? No

Do they tell you that their first bowel movements may make you gag? No

Do they tell you when you bath them that it is ok and you that you won’t accidentally drown them? No

Do they tell you when you want to cook the dinner that that is the time they will play up and cry and want attention? No


That you will go through the worst pain you have ever experienced in your entire life  and be grateful that you did and you won’t remember it.

That you will look upon your newborn child with awe and amazement of how you created this tiny being?

That you will snuggle against your newborns skin and take in their baby smell and realise that is all you have ever wanted or needed in your life.

That you watch them feed and gaze at their sleepy eyes as they close sated with milk.

That you will listen to their first words and think they are the most brilliant child to be born.

That you will watch them take their first steps and be warm,fuzzy and proud inside.

That you will heal their wounds and band aid their cuts when they fall.

That you will treasure the moment they bring home their first piece of art work from kinder and school.

That you will be so excited for them when they have met a friend.

That you will be the shoulder they need to cry on when they have been hurt by someone.

That you will be there to help and guide and protect and nurture them for as long as you live.

That yes there will be testing times and angry times and frustrating times but it’s all part of being a mum.

That you think being a mum for all it’s trials and tribulations is what you have wanted more than anything else in this world.

That the love you feel for them is insurmountable.

That you would lay your life down for them.

Yes that is what is being a mother is all about…here for the long haul through thick and through thin, to encourage, to help, to guide, to mentor, to love.. and truly…I am so happy to be a mum..happy to have these (now adult girls) who will always be ‘my babies’. Proud of their accomplishments and yes can acknowledge their failures or have doubts about how they live their lives. BUT still… seeing a part of me in them for better or worse and being individuals and simply just them being them makes me proud.

Yes they may take a wrong turn, make decisions you aren’t happy with but it’s all part of growing up and they are learning as you  continually do.

Embrace your role …I have…I will continue to do so…sometimes it’s difficult, sometimes you want to pull your hair out, sometimes you scream and rant and rave at things they have done…but they are your creation. They are part of you and for me, my 2 daughters are … well…. two human beings that I couldn’t and wouldn’t ever want not be in my life.

I am in awe of and always.

Shop till you drop

Today was hunt for shoes day (last weekend it was hunt for furniture day) & I ended up having a shoes & pants day.

Take your mind back to a previous post (if you read it that is) where the search for the plain linen pants consumed me. I did manage to find a nice pair of ‘more dressier’ black linen for $150.00aud….yes eeek.Last weekend whilst Mr S and I looked for furniture we popped into a shopping centre where I purchased a pair of open toe black leather wedges to go with said pants..(see pic but in black)                  (PIC Courtesy of Google)

This size heel

Today (well & everyday) because I’m a little fussy with pants and shoes and what combination goes best with what I was on the hunt for flat shoes to go with the bargain pair of linen pants I purchased whilst furniture shopping (as we do) are you keeping up still?

Anywho in this centre I spied a rack out the front saying $35.00, my heart skipped a few beats, there before my very eyes were 2 pairs of beige ( they have to be good right?) ‘more casual’ linen pants…1 pair size 14..damn it I muttered. Mr S kept a close vigil waiting to see if I would spontaneously combust or not. I feverishly grabbed the other pair size 10..Oh lordy a smile beamed across this womans dial. I looked at the price tag $294.00!! What noooo, can’t be right… I looked again, I wasn’t seeing things, then I looked at the rack marked $35.00. Hopefully someone didn’t put them back onto the wrong rack. PLEAZE let them fit I secretly prayed.

Smiling at Mr S I dashed to the change room, kicking off my shoes & shimmying out of my jeans faster than lighting to pull on the linen. YES YES, turned each way in the mirror they will fit. Up they went, zip done, button up (without having to draw a deep breath in or lie down on floor with a coat hanger) right place at the right very happy bunny.

So with wide leg linen pants for a more casual look flat shoes were the go, but alas tracking through 4 stores I couldn’t find a pair. Slightly higher shoes for the dressy pair & flat shoes for the casual pair…yes I know I may seem weird but that’s how I roll.

Today we went to another centre ‘mumsy’ was on a mission! I did find a pair of flat shoes that I could wear with said beige linen, which I bought (because well a girl has to do what a girl has to do & they were reduced) but my hunt continues. All was not lost however  as I found an ankle length drop waist full skirt (reduced from $90 to $30), then a black pretty T to go with it. Ahhhh bliss another outfit. I said to Mr S on the way home I think the amount of clothes in my wardrobe now is the most I have EVER had in my life.

Which is true as mums we provide for our kids, we then have mortgages, furniture,cars,utility bills,food …the list is a endless as we know, now finally at fifty….(something) I have started to buy for MOI..hallelujah I hear you cry (you aren’t ..hmm just me then)

Which brings me to these…

(Pic Courtesy of Google)

how does one walk in them? Call me a fuddy duddy…but these are shoes for wearing out when you’re not planning to walk any distance at all.

They are ‘Don’t my legs look great in these’ but don’t ask me about the pain in my feet or the blisters that are weeping & running down the back of my heels!

Whilst shopping I saw a woman in her late 40’s trying on pair, in fact I think they had a higher heel and I wondered whhyyyyyyyyyy????  I’ve seen the youngens wearing them & almost falling A over T because they cant balance.  Sarah Jessica Parker you have a lot to be accountable for.

Her mother was standing with her saying politely “Don’t you think they’re a little high”?  “No mum I don’t” was the curt reply. Sorry but I personally don’t wish to have feet like this…

Is there a moral to this post…um just that I wear for comfort and can still remain fashionable and don’t let fashion dictate what I should be wearing…..maybe it’s an age thing….

Pic courtesy of google and some poor woman


Prologue to The Empty Nest A Mother’s Hidden Grief- Through Lulu & Amazon.

The Empty Nest – a Mother’s Hidden Grief


I began writing this story some five years ago when I was 49 years old. At the time I was working in a nine-to-five job for a small book distribution company. Now I work in a nine-to-five job in an administrative role for a lighting manufacturer. I was born and raised in Australia, and I am respectably average in most ways—height, looks, disposition, income, taste in furnishings, personal achievements and emotional baggage. I am an “everywoman”, if one exists. Or rather, an “everymother”, for what really defines me and obsesses me is the story I have to tell about my children.

When I started writing, I was facing the daunting prospect of turning 50 and the more upsetting event of both my daughters leaving home. With these two facts looming before me, I discovered within me a voice that was clamoring to be heard. Would I be like the mother in the movies with a drawstring apron, waving to my children at the picket fence with tears rolling down my cheeks? What happens to that mother? The movie never tells you because the story follows the children—their adventures, their romances, their heartaches—and only once in while do they come back to visit mum. She reminds them to eat their veggies and then the children are gone again. In the final shot she peers through the curtained window, a grey shape behind glass. The curtain shuts. End of mother.

What happens to her, I wanted to know. I needed to know. I am that mother.

This is a story of an ordinary Australian mum who is coming to terms with the fact that her life is changing forever. The characters that I share my feelings about are real people and each of them plays a very important role in my life; as a woman, a partner, a mother and a friend. This is my voyage, that which has emerged from my very heart and soul, beginning many years ago when I first became a mother to the time when my children decided to leave home—or as some people call it, ‘abandon the nest’.

Mother of The Bride – Me

The Mother of The Bride

My eldest daughters wedding 2 years ago. Thought I would pop in a pic or 2 along the way & quite frankly this is probably one of the best pics I have (the professional make-up and having my hair done makes the world of difference!). Apologies if this seems a little vain – but I thought connecting the writer with the face may be helpful and as I said this is the only photo I’m truly happy about : -)