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Darling Day 10. The Big Surprise

It’s days like today that I’m so glad this little blog of mine is an everything blog.

Because I have a story to tell. An every-day kind of story.

A story about a darling little boy, and a darling surprise.

A darling surprise…for me!

Mummy.

So. Here goes it.

Kinder pick up time arrived and off I went—toddler on hip— to collect the darling boy I call Son from his beloved: Kinder.

It’s always the most beautiful part of my day; wandering in to see his little legs twisted around themselves as he waits patiently on the mat. For me. Mum. The one that deals out the snuggles and the smooches.

The one who calls him darling.

But the real darling of this story is this.

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Flowers for Mothers day on Sunday…

Which I had totally forgotten about.

Darling moment.

Darling surprise.

 

The darling blog of May

 

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Darling Day 9. Sorrento Sky

A sweet, Sorrento night sky;

An orange sun sinking into the black of things.

There are six of us.

Arm in arm, dreamily strolling along a dirt path.

Cackling from the wine.

High off the fumes of new friendship and ready to sleep off the beauty of the day.

But then…

Fire-flies.

Hundreds of them, maybe thousands.

Dancing and prancing and spinning at the foot of a twisted, Italian tree.

And us Aussie kids…

Gah!

How we marvel.

How we inhale every bit of that darling wonder.

Enough, at least, to fill this darling page.

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Darling Day 8. Darling Darling Music

If words are the darling of my mind, then music is the darling of my soul.

Today I remembered it.

Just today. When I sat at the piano and sang my soul into the moment all around me.

What darling bliss it was.

I used to write songs, you know? My first experience of the muse and its silent, roaring power.

That power.

Can you imagine? A life as a song?

My life.

Memories, and loves, and the deepest of heartaches.

Today, I remembered them all: the gifts that music gave to me.

Darling, darling music.

Same time tomorrow?

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The darling blog of May

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Darling Day 8. Darling Little Sugar Pot

Meet my darling little sugar pot.

I met this little darling in an op-shop, not too long ago, actually.

Our eyes met, and that was it: love.

Love so great, in fact, that I bought her despite the fact that I don’t take sugar in my tea. Or my coffee, for that matter.

There was just something about her sweet little-cottage charm that told me she belonged at our house.

She was perfect in her own right, but also, perfect for me. Perfect for all the guests she’d delight with her dainty, sugary goodness.

So I cupped her in my hand and I walked her up to the counter, where a kind old lady met me with a smile.

And just like that: she was mine, this darling little sugar pot.

The most darling little sugar pot I ever did see.

Sugar pot

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Darling Day 6. To My Dearest, Beatrix

Dearest Beatrix,

I’ve thought a lot about it over the last few years, and now I’m ready to sing it to the world.

Beatrix Potter: you and I would have been the very best of friends!

There’s really no denying it.

Two dreamers fluttering about in a world full of meanies and grumps and trolls.

Think of it, Beatrix.

Together, we would have shone like the sun.

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If only I had been born in your time, in your place.

 I can almost see it now.

You, with your magical stories of rabbits and grumpy-old-men—your fabulous words like…

Parsley.

And lippity-lippity! (That’s not really a word, is it, Beatrix? It’s perfect!)

Other grown-ups might call the wonders of your world nonsense, my darling, B.

But your wonder is how I know we are truly sisters of the soul.

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Think of it, Beatrix. Just think of how it would have been!

Both of us finding the darling in everything, both of us believing in the good of the world.

How darling the land of Brooke and Beatrix Potter would have been, for us, my dear and lovely friend.

Beatrix—Helen—whatever you’d like me to call you…I hope you agree.

You and me. The besties that never were, but always will be.

So much love, always.

xx Brooke

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Darling Day 5. When I grow up

‘Mum?’

‘Yeah?’

‘When I grow up, I wanna be…’

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‘…a digger.’

‘A digger?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You mean, like…the machine?’

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‘Umm…no.’

‘Oh. Like…a man that digs?’

‘Umm…’

‘Like, you know, holes and stuff?’

‘Umm…yeah.’

Silence.

Silence.

Giggle.

Sigh.

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‘Darling. You can be whatever you want to be.

Whatever makes you happy.’

Silence.

Silence.

Smile. 

‘Okay.’

‘Goodnight, sweetheart.’

Yawn.

Silence.

‘Goodnight, Mum.’

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The darling blog of May

 

 

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Darling Day 4. The Darling Moon

What if

The darling moon

Fell in love

With the Sun?

Would two lights shine from the black?

Or

Would day-time drift

the lovers into the open

blue

Where they would shine

A single ray

on a hill by the sea.

Never too bright, never

a smudge of char on the

cracked stone.

And

What if

The darling Sun

Fell in love

With

The

Moon?

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Darling Day 3. What’s in a word?

Let’s talk about words.

I adore words. I wrote about them here and I will, no doubt, write about them again on this blog because… I’m a little bit nerdy, like that.

I love writing words.

I love reading them, hearing them, thinking them. But most of all: I love feeling them.

Writing is one of those feeling things, for me. Reading also. And even though books have been a huge presence in my life for quite some time, it wasn’t until studying creative writing at university that I really started to think about words, and how they function in our lives.

Truly. I was stunned. How was it that something as simple as word choice could completely change the meaning of a sentence? And did you know that removing a word could enhance a sentence, rather than detract from it? I mean. What magic is that!

And so. I thought— why not dissect a word during the darling blog of May? Pick a word; play with it. Search for the magic hidden in its guts and sprinkle that magic around so all of you can share some too. Wouldn’t that be darling?

Yes! Let’s do it! And, in honour of the darling blog of May, the lucky word that will be chopped in half and gutted will be…

Darling. (Ha! I bet you didn’t see that one coming.)

Dar-ling.

The start of the word is a little bit ugly, isn’t it? (My Australian accent thinks so, anyway). To me, DAR drops off the tongue like a rock that’s just been lobbed into the ocean. It’s clunky. And not at all graceful.

But.

If we look at the end of the word—the LING sound—can you hear how it flings itself off the tongue? Isn’t-that-cool? It sounds like a lovely little handbell on a hotel countertop, one you could ring and ring all day just to hear the tinkling goodness of its song.

To me, it’s the LING part of darling that makes the word chime. It’s the LING that makes the word sing.

Darling.

Darling.

See? Pretty, isn’t it?

Then there’s the deeper stuff of words, the emotions that naturally rise from a word because of how we’ve heard it used before. Take darling, for example. We’ve all heard it said a thousand times, and usually, it’s said with a deep puff of love. It makes sense that when we hear the word darling, we will feel nice.

Of course, the word darling doesn’t always bring in all the good feels. Mums? Dads? I’ll bet you’ll agree. The word darling can be something of a double-edged sword when it comes to using it on our precious little cherubs. At least, it is in my house.

Example 1. ‘Darling. Please. Get down off the TOP rung of the ladder. For the HUNDRETH time.’

Example 2. ‘Darling. You are so many different kinds of lovely. Never change.’

How epic is that. ONE word. So many meanings.

So! We come to the end of my little nerd fest. I hope you forgive me for putting you through all that, especially if you’re not a big reader or writer. Then again, it is all a part of this little darling month of mine—pushing the boundaries of darling, seeing just how much this little word has to give.

I think it gives an awful lot. I so hope you agree. xx

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Darling Day 2. Paper Rain

I’ve got my little boy to thank for it; this paper rain that taps on the roof, every time the wind blows.

To the adult eye—the eye that’s been battered and bruised by the duller shades of life—this paper rain…it’s just a bunch of leaves.

Leaves that leap and tumble and spin from the tallest trees.

Leaves that really are beautiful, dressed in their autumn best.

Still. They’re just leaves.

But my little boy, oh.

His eyes know what they see. And they do not see leaves.

They see paper rain.

To him, and all the other tiny humans that walk this rounded earth of ours, ordinary is…

Extraordinary.

Ordinary is full of sparkle and shine.

Ordinary does not exist to them.

To the tiny folk of the world, autumn is full of trees that sprinkle copper flakes of paper all about the lawn.

Darling, isn’t it?

Yes.

I thought you’d think so.

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Darling Day 1. Mister Darling Brown Eyes

Mister darling brown eyes is not the darling of this post.

He is not my husband. He is not my Son. He is not even someone I love or have ever loved.

But.

He is where all this started—this Darling Blog of May, and so must his story be told.

Now. Where was I? Ah, yes. Mister darling brown eyes.

And that fateful night, so many years ago…

***

It was the end of a very fruitful twelve weeks of acting class and a bunch of us—serious actors in the making— spilled out of the classroom for the final time. We were huddled against the Melbourne cold, stomping along the grey of it all, searching for a place to warm our fingers, a place to hold us while goodbye sank into our aching bones.

So. To the pub it was, then.

We were a mixed bunch. Some of us bright-eyed and fresh-faced (me, nineteen then), others weathered and creased—courtesy, no doubt, of years of face pulling under hot, stage lighting.

Then there was him. Mister darling brown eyes. And mister darling brown eyes…well. He was all the lollypops and rainbows. He was leather jacket and jeans. He was hair like ribbons of dark chocolate fudge.

And he-was-eyes.

Eyes so deep they saw right into the guts of whoever they chose. And right now, thanks to the two of us being shoulder to shoulder, those brown eyes chose me.

YES.

Anyway.

Mister darling brown eyes. The cosy little corner. The euphoric moment mister darling brown eyes took my quivering hands and declared his undying love for me.

(Cough. No. That’s not what happened.)

In actual fact, mister darling brown eyes gushed about his girlfriend— who was adorable, apparently—and I nodded, smiled and talked about my family, the weather, ice-cream, fluffy ducks. It was, of course, only a matter of time before the topic of conversation turned to something…serious.

How serious?

Shakespeare serious.

Are you fan?’ he said.

‘Not so much,’ I said.

And all the crickets sang. And all the angels wept.

‘Never mind,’ said mister darling brown eyes. ‘I can fix that. I’ll recite you a sonnet.’

He went on to explain that Shakespeare is best heard, not read. Shakespeare is rhythm; Shakespeare is dreamy, lilting, song. Mister darling brown eyes lowered his face and smiled, dared me not to be moved by this sonnet of his, dared me not to be changed.

I nodded. (Okay. I may have tilted my head and sighed a little, I can’t be certain.)

‘Go on,I whispered. And I leaned back in my seat and proceeded to fall in love with love.

Not with mister darling brown eyes, no.

With love.

With Shakespeare, sonnet number 18, to be exact.

So, no. Mister darling brown eyes never did become my husband (which is lucky because I needed that title to give to my gorgeous hubby, Dave.)

 Still.

Mister darling brown eyes was a gift to me because, without him, I may never have heard about those rough winds that shook Shakespeare’s darling buds of May.

And this, my Darling Blog of May, would be nothing but thirty-one days of blank pages.

Now, where would the darling be in that?

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The darling blog of May