Hero in a faded blue singlet.

When he was about three years old, my littlest brother Tain somehow got through our five-foot fence and started weaving across the New England Highway, pushing his little wooden cart between the steady stream of B-doubles and semi-trailers that came roaring down the bitumen at 110 kilometres an hour.

The first we knew of it was in the screech of swerving vehicles and the long, loud air horns of the big trucks. We raced from all the corners of our house, out of the gate and onto the highway, my mother, my sisters, my brother, and me. But Tain was away up the road and innocently unaware of the sickening danger. We knew we couldn’t get to him in time. My mother was already crying. And when she saw the next semi barrelling down the highway towards him, she couldn’t look. She turned away, covering her face with her hands.

Then a crazy thing happened. Someone ahead of the semi – a man travelling in a white ute – leapt out of the driver’s seat with the engine still running. His passenger had to lean across to take the wheel and steer the ute to the verge. Meanwhile this man, a tattooed stranger in a faded navy singlet, darted across the highway and through the traffic to my little brother. He snatched Tain up in his arms and held him there in the middle of the road while the whole cavalcade of death machines swerved and sped past. When he delivered Tain – smiling, chirping, oblivious Tain – to my near-hysterical mother, he told us he’d seen the small figure crossing the highway from way back. “I started screaming at the trucks to stop,” he said breathlessly, “only they couldn’t hear me. I knew the kid was gonna take a hit, and I thought: I can take a bigger hit than the kid. I just had to get to him.”

That was more than ten years ago, and I still haven’t found the words to accurately respond to that. In the form of a burly ute-driver with tattoos, Tain bumped up against amazing grace that day.

This Flashback Friday post is a snippet stolen from an essay I handed in for school today.

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Conversations:

Amanda -- birthdays are never as amazing as I want them to be for the excellent people in my life, but I hope Mum had fun :D

Brenda Wilkerson -- it's very cool to have a mum who is also my great friend. I'm aware that it's a rare blessing!

Daphne -- hear, hear!

Andrea -- :D

Mothercare -- <3

Samantha R -- yay! Great mums are just the best.

Rebecca Simon -- don't you wish it was easier to say those potentially sappy things?

Andrea again -- I UPDATE NAOW OKZ??

Holy rollers:

I don't even know why (it was the early nineties, okay?), but for some reason my youth group was meeting at the roller rink that Friday night. I was maybe fourteen -- old enough to suspect I was bad at rollerskating, young enough not to care that much.

I've never been good at wheels, or at sports in general. Gracious, I've never been good at having feet. Nevertheless, I strapped on the skates and juddered out on the massive rink and into the hordes of teenagers.

It was all happy-awkward-lack-of-coordination-amongst-the-masses at first. I can't even remember seeing anyone I know. Then the disco lights flared up and the music started pumping, and suddenly everyone was skating wildly around the circumference of the rink. I was swept up into the whirlpool and dragged along far faster than my capabilities should have allowed. Then came the most terrifying part -- when the horn blared and the lights flashed, we were all supposed to change direction and start skating the opposite way.

Well hardly. Once I was zooming along like that, there was no stopping me and absolutely no changing direction. But of course, the tide turned anyway, and soon it was just a wave of teenagers rolling towards me. I put out my hands in a desperate, useless attempt to grab hold of something... and instead collided head-on with a random guy -- a random guy. You will remember I was about fourteen years old.

Well then I was falling, falling to the ground and about to be trampled by roller demons, but I somehow found myself on my knees, clutching at his shirt like my life depended on it (apparenly it did), just hanging on. And he was staring down, his eyes huge, looking at me as though I was E.T. or something. Meanwhile, everyone else just kept rolling on by.

If my life was a movie, he would've laughed and I would've been all clumsily goofy and adorable, and we'd probably have three kids by now. But it was real life -- my devastating real life -- and we did not fall in love. In fact, I hardly remember anything about him except his shirt (my lifeline), his terrified look -- and of course I remember that my teen spirit died a little bit that day.

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Conversations:

Brenda -- you're so right that the best books move with us as we grow and change. As CS Lewis said, 'a children's story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children's story in the slightest.

Bethany -- she's definitely proud of her little grin -- she's started posing for photos!

Un -- I think about the upcoming visit every day!

Rebecca Simon -- squishable babies are the most fun! Ooh, keep us posted about dates and locations when you come up here. Would be so nice to catch up -- and meet your wee one!

Lauren -- thanks for sharing her with us :). (and you are definitely like Beth)

Cara -- congratulations on your wee nephew's toothy! It gives them such an extra swoosh of cuteness :).

Bloss -- ooh, so lovely to get a comment from you! <3 You are like Beth -- plus you have the grace of Meg, too. And yes, Professor Bhaer definitely makes oranges into something truly romantic. " Our lives, the works of His hands..." So true. I'm glad He's there. Growing up would be awfully tricky without him.

Flashback Friday :: the blessing

It's been a long time since I've written one of these...

Though it was only four years ago, I felt unmistakably like a very small child in the presence of a very big grown up. It wasn't because she was patronising. In fact, she was far from it -- more like the embodiment of Emma Thompson's character in Stranger than Fiction, with all the best authorial characteristics but with more femininity, less neuroticism, and no chain smoking. Her voice -- clipped and clear with a gentle British accent -- only added to the impression. Here was a real author with real experience. Compared to her, I was most certainly a child.

Although it was ostensibly an author's panel wherein we -- the small knot of students -- would ask questions and she -- the teacher -- would share from her experience, she didn't get to say much. One of the other women kept bringing the discussion back to her "mermaid novel", leaving the author little space to talk. During a break, the author leaned over and whispered to me conspiratorially, "It would have been fun if it was just us two."

When the evening was coming to a close and coffee was being served, I found myself in the coffee queue near the author and we got chatting. She asked about my life and I told her about our crazy gypsy ways and the time spent in some of Australia's most unique places. When we got to talking about words, I confessed that my lack of writerly education and my own naivete sometimes held my back.

"Don't let it," she said seriously. "I believe that the craft of writing can be taught. You can learn to write. But you cannot learn to be a writer; some people are and some simply are not. To be a writer requires something else entirely, something that makes you different from others. You need a unique backstory." She looked at me closely, and I had the undeniable feeling that I was standing at a turning point in my own coming-of-age story. "I can see that you have it," she said. "In your experience, you have everything you need."

Perhaps, here in the retelling, what the author said sounds merely motivational, something to cheer along a hopeful girl. But in that moment, nothing felt further from the truth. Her words were a blessing. Her words were a benediction. And when I remember them, they give me courage.

* * * * *

Conversations:

Jessica -- but I'm jealous of how golden your peanut butter bars turned out! Mine look too pale :(

Meaghan -- I KNOW RIGHT?

Rebecca Simon -- absolutely!! They are totally an excellent alternative for Reese's Pieces.

Unanonymous -- do you basically just have a stash of these in your fridge at all times? Yum!

Asea -- this pathetically teeny image is a slice tray. :)

Carla and Alastair -- the peanut butter bar love continues around Australia! Hee :)

Brooke -- totally working on the technology to do just that. ;)

Samantha R -- I've been wondering if Milk Coffee biscuits are similar to graham crackers? You'll have to come to Australia to find out...

Amanda -- you DEFINITELY need to make these :D

Flashback Friday :: little-girl grandmother

The little girl in this picture -- the one fourth from the left, sitting down with her long bare legs dangling from the bench and her sun-hat sitting back on her head -- is my grandmother, Shirley Jean. To her left is her grandmother, Nana Kearns, and on the other side of Nana Kearns is my grandmother's sister, June (also with sun-hat). On the back, in possibly-eight-year-old's handwriting, is a list of the people in the picture.

I love how this image gives me a glimpse into Ma's Australian childhood. And I love that she decided to send the picture to me, for safekeeping.

Flashback Friday :: olden day pictures

I was beyond thrilled the year that we finally got to have an "olden day picture" taken at the now out-of-operation Old Sydney Town. Friends had similar pictures hanging on their walls and I thought it was the best thing ever. You can tell by my gawky grin and my Foxtel-dish eyes that I'm pretty excited. My brother Nick, in the front with the fake gun, was just playing it cool. c. 1991.

Flashback Friday :: best of oh-eight

[bargain of the week: adorable shoes; today; five bucks; yay!]

Bethany tagged me (hey! And I'm responding in something less than a month or two!) to share the bests of 2008.

[A good book I read] The Path of Loneliness by Elisabeth Elliot. Super.

[A great film I saw] Persuasion. Anne is the Austen girl I can perhaps most sympathise with. And Rupert Penry-Jones makes a most excellent Captain Wentworth.

[A new place I visited] Ben Lomond in Tasmania. I have one word for you: SNOW.

[An inspiring quote I read] Are you truly pleased with yourself as to the simple and lonely fact that God decided to create you in a certain way? (Harold Best, quoted in Scribbling in the Sand) I am frequently not pleased in that simple and lonely fact; I want to learn to be.

[A discovery I made] Cane toads really are as ugly as they are legendarily believed to be. Also, they stink when run over.

[A lesson I learned] Jesus as Lord means more than just Jesus as Lord of salvation; His lordship means sovereignty over here and now and every moment great or small.

[A new skill acquired] The ability to turn skirts into dresses.

[A moment I will always remember] Sitting in the playground of McDonald's at Coffs Harbour, thumbing through a cheap Christian paperback I'd bought at the op shop next door, waiting waiting waiting for the phone to ring and tell me my new little nephew had arrived. Only at that stage, I didn't know whether he'd be a niece or a nephew. Then the phone rang, and I heard the news, and I wanted so much to blurt it to the stranger sitting next to me, but I had to content myself with simply sending wild text messages to my brother.

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conversations:

Bethany -- there will always be more great books in the world than we can possibly read. I don't know whether this is exciting or depressing!

Beth -- it is always good to have some "wild erratic fancies" (as the poet Banjo Paterson puts it) on the list. Good luck with your marriage to Don. Next time I'm hanging out with him I'll put in a good word for you, okay?

Amanda -- I am never quite certain about the witty or mind-blowing bit, but there will be blog posts! :D Let's be nasty to sugar together in 2009!

Flashback Friday :: little boy lost

It was just this time of year, and the shopping mall in the country town where I grew up, though small, was buzzing with pre-Christmas hype. With a lot to do and never enough time to do it all in, my mother and sisters and I split up to do our shopping with a plan to meet back in the middle of the mall at a certain time. This was before the days of mobile phones all round and free Virgin to Virgin text messaging.

At the agreed time, we met up once more -- rather too near Santa's throne for my liking. (Shopping mall santas were forever thinking I was younger than I actually was, and offering me candy that I didn't want -- mostly because it made me feel about six years old to accept it.) So we met up -- with me keeping a wary eye on Mr. Ho Ho himself -- and it was then that we discovered a problem: my little brother, then about three years old, was missing.

"I thought he went with you," Mum said.
"No, he stayed with you in the dress shop. He was right next to you."
"But I didn't even see him!"

After this and more similarly incoherent dialogue, we went our separate ways and retraced our steps, going through all the stores we'd visited to look for the little guy. You should know that he has down syndrome, and back then he spoke some strange hybrid of Swahili (or something) much better than he could manage English. There was no real way for him to communicate with strangers.

When we met up again, no one had found him. My mother's eyes were wild, and I could see a horror movie playing across her imagination, one in which some devious perverted soul had done a little Christmas shopping of his own and was perhaps even now taking home his little package.

We broke apart and began our search again. Others began to take notice.

"Oh, the little darling!" said the bag-checker at Big W, "I know him! I'll keep an eye out."
"Him? We're old pals!" said the lady at our favourite dress shop, "He was in here with your Mum but he followed her out again. I'll tell the girls at the chemist to watch out for him."
The newsagent lady broke away from her stall and came to join the search. And Santa, coming off his shift, came to talk to us, tucking his red hat into his bag.

"I saw the little fella," he said, presenting a concerned and perspiring red face. "I'll head out and look for him, too."

By this time, he had been missing for twenty minutes. To mum, it was an eternity. There was not time to process what was going on, really, but everyone's thoughts were jumping ahead to unspeakable horrors and tragic remembered news items.

Then, quite suddenly, he was found. An acquaintance had been browsing in Big W and found my little brother, quite on his own, standing and waiting in a corner of the massive store. She had not even known he was missing; she simply stumbled across him and realised he should've been somewhere else.

There was a delirious reunion in the middle of the shopping mall, right near Santa's throne, and in my memory I can still see everyone gathered about, smiling congratulations on a job well done

That's what it's like in a small town.

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conversations:

Staish -- I don't think it's greedy at all! If things offer delight in this earth, how can they be less special in the next? Ah, I haven't been to the gallery for aaaages. That's a photo I took a while back.

Chantel -- you're a treasure :). I hope your wishes come true, too!

Bethany -- it would be lovely if they all came true in this life. There's still time...

Elizabeth -- :D

Damian -- I did really wish all those things in the one day! Not that I realised at first -- you know how thoughts can flit over your mind and you have to pin them down before you really pay any attention to them? -- but those were definitely all longings I felt that day. Oh, and the silver ball pool: yes, totally just as exciting as the exhibits!

Anonymous -- hmm. Reminds me of a song...

Flashback Friday :: the great bubblegum sting

Hello again, Flashback Friday! Did you think I had forgotten you?

When I was seven years old, I had two best friends. Jenny was five months younger than me and in my grade. Sam was five years older than me and in grade six. Practically a grown-up.

Sam was like the big brother I conjured up in imaginings but never actually had. He let me join in on his big-guy conversations with his pals, and he sought me out to say hi and talk with me about stuff. On my seventh birthday (a clown party), I rode home on the school bus and Sam followed all the way, pedalling madly on his bike. That's how cool he was.

One day, though, my friendship with Sam got me into trouble.

At lunchtime, Sam unzipped his parka -- one of those magical puffy affairs with dozens of secret pockets inside -- and opened it out to show me what was inside. It was exactly like you see the watch smugglers do on cartoons. Only Sam's secret pockets weren't lined with watches but a different kind of contraband instead: bubblegum. It was expressly forbidden at school.

I felt partly like a devious co-conspirator, and partly plain-old sneak. Sam told me not to say anything and I could have some gum after school.

We didn't make it that far. In the middle of afternoon lessons, when we were all sitting cross-legged on the floor -- it was a one-room, one-teacher school and all the grades studied together -- the principal came out.

"It's come to my attention," he said, "that someone has brought bubblegum into our school. We know who is responsible. Sam L, please come and stand here by me."

Stumped, Sam went and stood by the principal while most of the other students gasped.

"Anyone else involved in this, please come and stand here also."

I watched as the grown-up boys slowly got to their feet. Daniel went and stood by Sam. Andrew joined them. Then, awkwardly, I made my way out the front, too, and stood in that line of tall boys.

I don't remember what the principal said after that. I don't remember what our punishment was. I don't remember if we found out who spilled the beans. I don't even remember if I got a piece of the promised bubblegum.

All I remember is the ignominy of standing there, like the condemned smuggler I was, and the mingled look, half fear, half awe, beaming out at me from the faces of the other little girls as they saw me standing there -- a small girl among the big boys. I was one of them.

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conversations:

Beth -- who's afraid of the big bad Cecil?

Caitlin -- isn't mail great? (I have such a giant stash of letters saved from you -- your should see it sometime!)

Staish -- Manly! Pizzeria! Let's go sometime!

Flashback Friday :: the waiting

[a flashback in words, not pictures, this time]

I was six and a half, and our house was old and cold and the toilet was outside. An old-fashioned affair with a pull-chain flush and an atmosphere attractive to spiders. It was go-to-the-toilet-before-you're-in-bed-or-forever-hold-in-peace. Because no one wanted to get up and make the trek down the long hallway, out the back door, through the darkness, and into the freezing little room once they'd been held by the sweet security of the blankets. I had it down to a fine art and got so that I didn't wake in the night at all.

But I woke in the morning with a bounce, that's for sure, because Mum was having a baby soon and I was convinced that babies come in the nighttime. Every morning after I climbed down from the top bunk, even before making my way outside to the toilet, I looked in on Mum's room.

Morning after morning she was there, curled up under the blankets with the baby-shaped stomach prominent, still most certainly in one piece. That baby was never gonna come.

My grandmother came to stay, to be "available", and to iron and clean and hang washing just as she has always done for everyone. One night -- and my memory pushes all these events into the one night; whether they were so or not, I can't tell -- I was woken in the middle of my dreams by a loud knocking on the front door. I lay, huddled in my rugs, waiting for Dad to get up. He didn't.

The knocking came again, louder, so in a sort of fog I climbed down from my bunk and went to open the door. Too late, with the heavy wooden door swinging wide, I realised what I could be doing. I stopped it halfway and whispered into the darkness, "Are you a stranger danger?"

I can almost feel the terror now.

"No," came a familiar voice, hissing back through the flyscreen, "it's Ma."

She hadn't had experience enough to know not to head out to the bathroom at midnight, and she'd locked herself out of the house.

The next morning, when I climbed down from my bunk bed, I didn't bother to look in on Mum's room. I'd done it so many times and it never worked -- and besides, I could hear the lawnmower going in the back yard. Dad wouldn't be mowing the lawn if Mum had had a baby in the night, surely?

But he would, and she did, and I have always regretted not looking in on Mum's room that morning and seeing the empty space in her bed that would have told me right away that a new baby had come and was waiting in the hospital for me to meet him.

Flashback Friday

Since birthdays abound this week (my grandfather on Thursday, Ruth on Saturday, my uncle on Saturday, me on Monday, Lachlan and Vance on Wednesday, my awesome cousin Annie next Monday, and another uncle on Tuesday), what else could I post for this week's flashback but a birthday picture from a bygone era? Okay, maybe not that bygone. Twenty-one years ago, there was me, blowing out candles, with one of my sisters helping and another watching with fat little chubby cheeks. I remember the cake. It was a hickory dickory dock one.

In other news, I have a new little camera! It is cheap and small and not very powerful but it makes me happy because I have been without one for so long. I have never got used to not having my camera, though; I felt like an amputee. Now I can look at the world again on a 2" LCD screen and live vicariously through the images captured there. Hooray! And because I'm so excited, I took a photo of my photo, instead of scanning it in the usual fashion. What can I say? I am a dork.

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conversations:

Amanda -- thanks for the birthday wishes!

SimplyThis -- how did you scrape through without getting "detected"? The innocent face is all an act, I tell you! (and I hope the hand balm works for you!)

Flashback Friday

1980 Just Mum and me. I am kind of harder to see.

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conversations:

Bethany -- that was indeed my parents in the second photo! I have no idea how Mum convinced Dad to get into that outfit.

Frank and Sue -- thanks so much for dropping by here at the blog! The wilderness was something we didn't get to see heaps of, as we were without a car for much of our trip. However, if anything, the holiday has only whetted out appetite for more Tasmanian goodness.

Caitlin -- very astute question! I am definitely still struggling to get out of holiday mode :).

Katie -- So glad you enjoyed it. There's so many good things I could say about that little state hanging off the bottom of the map.

Holly -- It doesn't feel like Winter now we're back up north. :(

Amanda -- Ooh, you are going to Tas next year? You'll love it! Feel free to email when you are planning your trip and we can give you some specifics on just the very few things we did in our time there. I'm sure you'll discover lots of other great stuff, especially if you are taking or hiring a car.

Home again + Flashback Friday

I am home after a delicious two weeks, and my own bed is more comfy than ever. There will be pictures and memories when I get them all sorted, but for now, a new tradition: flashback Friday. I saw it somewhere else (and I can't for the life of me find where now) so this idea is, most blatantly, stolen.

1983:

I have always been something of a fashion icon. I can't help myself. It's a burdensome gift, but it's one my parents taught me to gladly bear. Their example is always before me.

*chuckles*

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conversations:

Tegan -- thankyou for your lovely comment! You make me smile :). And wow, how true that it is hard to love without sticking ourselves into the picture somewhere.

Staish -- I attained my dreams and didn't even know it. Wow. That is some day, alright!

Celeste -- hurrah! So lovely to be back in touch. And you are tripping over to Australia? Yay!

Southeastcountrywife -- maybe, just maybe I'll get to do that someday.

Caitlin -- pictures coming soon! I did manage to steal Lauren's camera occasionally (with permission, of course!).