“Grandma, can I excuse the table?” I asked.
Grandma chuckled. “You mean, be excused from the table, dear.”
I nodded and then pushed my chair from the old wooden table.
“Yes, you may, but don’t go too far,” Grandma said. “Go only to the end of the road and then you must turn back.”
Later, I decided the boxes of bazooka ammunition should go too. As the hatch flew open, I tossed them. They landed with a decisive thud, then a series of cracks and bangs like fireworks as they hit the flinty stone. Not such a clever idea.Read more "Not So Relieved…"
THE STORY THE CENSUS DOESN’T TELL… An Artist’s Perspective Census time again! As I filled the forms out on line (two days after the due date—another story covered in the media), I had a Eureka moment. I faced a dilemma regarding the work/employment section with questions: “What’s […]Read more "ART? OR WORK?"
My “Convict” History I admire a former convict, an ancestor of mine. Okay, you may think, yeah, of course, she’s an Australian—these days they wear their convict heritage like a badge of honour. No, actually, my great-great grandfather lived in Silesia which is now part of East Germany or Poland today. Rubber borders, […]Read more "ADMIRE"
NOW YOU KNOW…
Year Ten at high school, and you could say I went to school each day with a big virtual sign on my back that read, “Kick Me”.
Isn’t it true that if we were honest with ourselves, who we are and the person we portray as ourselves to others, are two very different people?Read more "THE TRUTH REVEALED"