How to soak up the last vestiges of Summer …

I dread winter – the ease with which I can hibernate, curl up into myself, isolate. Summer offers a brightness that cajoles openness, connection; warmth-created contentment and ease … remnants to capture and store; memorise in order to recall.

HOW TO: Soak up the last vestiges of Summer

Wander slowly to a space that offers sunshine and a park bench.

Turn the mind inward, invite each of the five senses on a stroll through the outside.


Today I am lucky; today I walked slowly up from the coffee shop towards sunshine end-of-street; today there was no-one straddling, sitting, or otherwise commandeering a spot whose back rest sits at a 45 degree angle from upright and whose legs rest offers a chaise longue-like comfort.

Rest back. Face skyward.

Feel … radiant, bone-level warmth not yet dulled by autumn; the hard, cool, wooden seat bench, timber planks marking back and legs; insistent breeze.

Hear  … birds settling in; telephone conversations – fragmented; off-key tram bell; whizz of unbraking bicycle.

Taste … the history of coffee.

Smell … city perfume – melange of garbage, tree-green and people; sticky sugar from a half-empty can.

See … Tree trunk – red painted; bitumen footpath, grotty, butted; bicycle – gravity-pulled down the hill; advertising-wallpapered building facade; bicycle – leg-pushed up the hill; clear blue …

Eyes follow a Father Christmas; flirted with by the breeze.

Lean back – sun-bathed face, sun-kissed arms.


Captured warmth of Summer.

Memory stored.



The “Sad Days – Emergency Kit”

I want richness – juiciness – yumminess; a squelchy, gooey, textured life.

That resonates for 2018 – I want texture and richness and friendship and love.

My 2017 … it was change. Breaking old patterns – trying to break old patterns.

It was the year of a bag. The “Sad Days – Emergency Kit” filled by my sister. For days that felt heavier than I wanted them to. For days when I felt alone. For days when I felt unloved. For days when my eyes saw my body as something to be hated. For days when I questioned what my purpose in life actually was … is.

Parcels, individually wrapped. The first one a Haighs-soft teddy-bear that has stayed with me over a move, new job and fragmentation of life. The second, a French film-filled USB, with a small card “Random act of kindness TIME” … still owed.

Today – another USB, unknown content. Another “Random act of kindness TIME” – donate clothes to those who need them more than me … to do this week.

I don’t like the term ‘suffering’ from depression. I know that, technically, it’s the correct verb … but … it is heavy with defeat.

I have a relationship with depression. At times, the relationship takes my breath away, floors me, knocks me sideways.

At times, mutual suspicion means a healthy distance.

Today is not one of those days. Today, I broke open the third parcel.

But I want more joy in my life. I need it. I want to work through the heaviness that I currently feel. I want juiciness.

Three weeks ago, I bought a book entitled “Can You Be Happy for 100 Days in a Row?“. I needed a regime, something easy to follow even when my Nietzsche-loving brain is telling me that everything is pointless … if I’m going to cede to something, it’s going to be something that offers potential.