Embroidered Swirls

Cuddles on the couch this morning. Noah is still half-asleep and content to lie there staring into space while I cuddle him and stroke his hair, his little hands opening and closing, words from his internal dialogue occasionally breaking the surface.


We’re going to a friend’s birthday bush dance tomorrow, and I have the perfect shirt. Maroon with embroidered swirls on the chest. My brother gave it to me years ago and it has sat in the cupboard ever since – how often do you need an embroidered cowboy shirt? But now is the time. The only problem is I can’t find it. It’s got to the stage where I have looked through my shirts three times, each time thinking I’ll look a little more carefully and find it. In the back of my head is a little voice, gently telling me that my perfect shirt probably didn’t survive the cull when we moved over from Fremantle. Damn that voice.

So, with the missing shirt’s status reaching greater heights with each passing hour we drove into town this morning to go op-shopping. Wisdom told me that I wouldn’t find a suitable replacement yet I still clung to the idea that somewhere I would unearth a hidden treasure, just the thing to restore my rapidly diminishing status as the Beau of the ball. I don’t even need to tell you how it ended, five op-shops later. The mother of pearl buttons are nice though.


Later in the afternoon Noah and I went to our local hall to help decorate it for tomorrow’s dance, along with the rest of our friends and their kids. Noah’s playgroup. On the way, with Noah sleeping in the back, I was treated to a bird of prey struggling to gain altitude alongside the car with either a large rat or a bandicoot in its claws. There has been quite a bit of wildlife on the road lately. Literally. Squashed bandicoots, a red bellied black snake, a wallaby.


I didn’t end up doing much decorating but Noah had a ball as he usually does at the hall, running amuck with the other kids. I took my guitar and banjo and played for the kids while they had a dance. For some reason I never really seem to be able to jam very well with other musicians. I’ve experienced it so many times now that I don’t expect much when I do, and I don’t get disappointed if things don’t really come together. But late in the afternoon, just before the sun went down to leave us suddenly cold I had a fun time with Bev’s son Alex swapping guitar and banjo between the two of us, learning something new, playing Johnny Cash. And time keeps rolling on.

“I’m grateful that I danced with Nina for a little while.”
(Confused? Look)