more reminding please, and a little bit of Bluesfest

Last winter, I blogged about reminders that I am here, I am real, it's all happening.

This week I'm feeling melancholy. It doesn't happen that often, but at least it does sometimes, you know, just so I can remember how life feels sometimes for those melancholics with their hands in mine. Perhaps it's easier to be gentle with little ones when I remember that life doesn't always present itself easily at their feet, or mine.

Today I'm needing reminding that the world is ok; all is as it should be; there's love and warmth, inside and out. Offer assistance if you like. My heart is open. Let's see how we go...

:: ambulance sirens: I honour the one that is being rushed to
:: Kate Miller-Heidke: this songstress always gives me a chuckle
:: a burning fire. Burn baby, burn
:: a good bum dance at a musical festival
:: blowing my whistle
:: a circle of open-eyed women with baskets of goodness
:: picking apples in crisp, Autumn sunshine
:: a fresh little girl called Juniper
:: ordering whole grains and nuts in bulk (it's the simple things!)
:: reading Alexander McCall Smith
:: little boys when they are soft and tender and open and loving
:: Bluesfest. Ahhhh, yes... Bluesfest indeed. We had such fun there recently. It's been 13 years since the Zimbo and I donned our party boots at a music festival. 13 years! Where have we been? Well, some little people have delicate spirits and weren't quite ready for the throbbing ear-drums, but that only accounts for 7.5 years. Anyway...

Under blue skies, not far from the infamous Byron Bay, we clicked our heels and tapped our toes in the dust (and mud) whilst delighting in sounds of old and new. Our favourite artists were Imogen Heap (freaky fraulein), Kate M-H (see above), Indigo Girls, Blind Boys from Alabama, and Osibisa. And in between songs there was Chai tea to be drunk, Govinda's vegetarian delights to be eaten, so many rainbow flags to be walked under, market stalls to wander through. Noah, I think, is glad to have gone, but did find it quite loud. He likes to be an observer from the side. That little Choochie though, he's got African rhythm in his limbs, that boy. When the right drum beat talks to his ears, his arms and legs start lifting and flying, just like a Zulu.




Ahh, Af-ree-kah. But that's a whole 'nother rambling direction for another day.