That’s what I’ve kept telling myself for around 4 months and now I believe it.

I watched my mum lose her mum in August and then my dad lose his dad in October and felt like I lost them both there for a little while.

And now I feel they are returning and I’m getting them back piece by piece, albeit there are a few pieces inevitably that will always be gone. And there were babies, so many babies born and that’s the circle of life I get it, but fuck me.

It’s been comparable to a really shit afternoon movie, now people who know me know how fond I am of a terrible movie but even this one I didn’t want to share for fear of people thinking I’d made it up and exaggerated the tragedy of it. But I’m happy to share that it does have a happy ending and not just in the bedroom.

I’ve sorted myself out and Dusty has been incredible, and not just in the bedroom.

Mum and dad are healing day by day and I’m happy.

We’ll be right.

x

It’s been a while, just back from a whirlwind trip to the UK for my dear Grandmothers funeral and then cuddles with a bundle of joy; merely 48 hours old. Life can be a bag of dicks and then a bag of happiness all at the same time.

So here goes.

Would you give Donald Trump a blowjob?

Nope, nope just nope. But our Saturday morning conversations go something like this.

Busting some moves to Dolly Parton, feeling like a model but in reality my smoky eyes were courtesy of yesterday’s make up and my death breath is usually obscene. I was attempting to make an elaborate Brunch which of course I’d make bursting with love, it would probably be inedible, although pretty. The birds would enjoy their brunch no less. Note to self; try and cook with purpose not with love to avoid disappointment.

We can just about turn most things into a revolting sentence and at the same time appear to be the sweetest people in the room. Bingo. We’re each others sunshine.

I’ve never been one for sharing my feelings brilliantly or being great at saying I need a little help or didn’t understand something. Fiercely independent and only up until recently finding my equal. Not a better half as I’m already whole and so is he but my partner, my person that I want to annoy for the rest of our time and always give the corner piece of the cake to. We made a promise to each other to always be open and honest and communicate no matter what our feelings. We talk about everything, plan together, challenge and complement each other, I try and fail at each attempt to mimic his accent and he (and the boys!) successfully replicate mine without fail. We laugh, play music together, he’s always hiding around a corner to scare me and the boys are quickly learning to do this too, I’m not sure what our neighbours think when they hear my gurgling scream, hopefully that Dusty and I are just rooting every night.

It’s very much a family trait on my dad’s side to not show too much emotion. A measure of success being how strong you are, who has the best job, has a womb and has the most money in an account for when you die because that’s when it’s important right? I’m happy to say that my parents and my brother are seemingly dissipating this fallacy. So am I, I have no womb, and with that said we weren’t great at being open and honest until a pivotal moment in my life when I was told I was unwell. There was a notable change in how we communicated with each other. I remember my dad telling me that he loved me since then we both say it nearly every conversation. It was the first real time as adults that we were faced with the potential of loss, how fragile we all really are, so for that I’m thankful. It was shit but I’m glad and lucky.

Be open and honest always, tell me if I have a hair on my chin, if what I said or did annoyed you, that in this very moment you feel happy or sad or wished you had just bought that bird scarf. Just bloody do it.
I’m now in a state of catharsis, like each letter typed was a sip of wine.
On that note, Shiraz it is.

 

 

I fondly remember my weekends as a child with my grandparents – mums parents. Idyllic, comforting and adventures always ready to be had. Liquorice Allsorts a coffee table staple, milky drinks, competitions to make the best face with a stick in a cowpat and trying to not be the last person on the human chain to get the electric shock from the fence. Then there’s baby baths full of Christmas cake mixtures, the old toys laying around, feeling like you were the only person in the world that mattered, always. The craft cupboard of dreams and homemade chips you’d sell your kidney for.

It was either Countdown or the Snooker on television and a variety of pearlescent pink nail varnishes to choose from, the white noise of an emery board on her beautiful nails and surrounded by the most perfectly clean and manicured home.

Now I’m sat here reminiscing my unexpected and too short trip back to the UK to visit Granny in hospital. A surprise visit to brighten her spirits, batch cook for Grandad, stare lovingly at her beautiful face, pluck those long chin hairs and wishing I’d spent more time with her.

She loves a chat, to quickly call out why someone shouldn’t be wearing that same outfit again and to make sure I always know what so and so’s sister’s husband said. I never follow it properly but will always re-affirm that I do. What I wouldn’t do right now to be sitting right next to her, painting her nails, countdown on, listening to her stories and her being nothing but interested in my family and being proud as punch.

I hate hearing about her gently slipping away, Cancer of the stomach is slowly taking her away from us. In her dreams she is driving a tractor and then the engine falls out, in reality she refers to herself as that tractor and her stomach is the engine. Fuck you cancer.

But cancer can never take my memories or what part of my DNA is hers, I’ll always think about the times I spent with her and just wished there had been more. I selfishly want her here forever, for me, my dear Grandad, and my beautiful Mum. But for some fucked up reason she’s not been able to eat fish, chips and mushy peas for ages, her absolute favourite and for that I’ll always be truly resentful towards those bunch of cells that chose my beautiful Granny.

I feel lucky that I’ve gotten to 34 before being faced with the passing of a grandparent. I’m able to appreciate their true value, the huge part they have played and do play in my life.

Granny Pearl is a bonus mum, How good is that?

She never says ‘Bye’ and when I do she gets annoyed instead,

Au Revoir

x

 

I’m a mid thirties female, born and grew up in England and just under 3 years ago moved to Australia. My incredible and beautiful parents just celebrated their 36th wedding anniversary and my younger brother very much in love with his girlfriend.

I met my partner not too long after moving to Australia, we met online eHarmony and fell deeply in love. He’s a good egg.

I cant have kids as I had a pesky tumor (“It’s not a Tumor” obviously said in the voice of Arnold Schwarznegger) and the delight’s of severe endometriosis meant that I had a total hysterectomy around 4 years ago. All fully recovered now I have the blessing of stepchildren, a supportive and caring partner and a life I couldn’t be happier with.

I remember thinking about my future when I was around 14 years of age. I’d have a house, a Mercedes benz , be a vet, have children, go travelling, and I’d have pets. Not realising that you don’t have a great deal of control. We like to think we have but decision’s lead to another choice, a journey leads somewhere else, not being intelligent enough to be a vet, have boyfriends that end up getting ill and dying and boyfriends that prefer to go drinking every day and some that are just twats.

But now. 20 years later, I’m not a vet – instead I work for a charity which I love and a coffee house that I swear if I owned one – it would be this one. A partner that I feel I’ve known all my life, we treat each other with respect and value and appreciate one another every day. We rent in a town we love and house that means each morning we wake and hear the birds and see kangaroos on our front lawn, I have children but just in a way that’s unique to me and us, we travel and will travel some more. I also have around 50 pets that visit each day to get fed.

So actually, I’ve done things just right. It’s not luck as Dusty would say, it is our decisions that have put us here and it’s our decisions that will move us forward.

I reckon that’s pretty bloody good.

I’ve spoken, thought, doodled in many a notebook I have hoarded and procrastinated enough about it. I’m not ashamed to think I can do this – I’ll be proud to say that I’ve given it a go. Sat here and written about me, about why I’m sat here staring at yet another handmade item my mum has lovingly stitched and sent over to my new home – Australia, about why I’m procrastinating from cleaning the toilet, how I so easily get distracted by yet another magpie, making that cup of tea, squeezing that spot and getting that fucking annoying hair that seems to grow each night on my chin. Fucker.

I’ve no idea how it’ll go, not 100% sure what I’ll write, I will promise you it will not be the best thing you’ve ever read, it will be honest. Probably unintentionally annoy people and maybe create a smirk or a cry.

Life is too short, it’s too short not to at least try and do things that will make you smile, make you feel better, burn that bloody candle that’s shaped as a rose or get involved with silly disagreements, be around people who only seem to care when it suits them or to compliment that lady who walked passed with a nice scarf on. It’s ok to be nice, in fact, its nice to be nice.

So I did. I did a couple minutes of research on how to create a ‘blog’ didn’t really understand it so just went ahead and bought what I think is a domain.

Dusty Summers.

I’m Summers, my partner in crime is Dusty.