At ANZAC reunions and marches I’ve heard my late father referred to as a hero. I’m not much for the Aussie hero moniker, neither was Dad.
Central to the Medina, the old city, is a big square where buses load and unload around the edge – The Place Djemaa El Fna. In the souks, gateways lead off into the mysteries of streets which even a $1 street map can do nothing to unravel.
He cocked his head as he concentrated, his brow furrowed deep in thought. He resolved, from that day on, we would only listen to music from my collection.
The elements were reaching for oneness. I felt the quality of a marine night.
You ask me to drive you to Bendigo, one last time.
Eventually everyone goes their own way of course.
The chords echo through the old church, and the buzzing of the wooden beams makes my brain reverberate in tandem.
I made pumpkin pasta for dinner. I burnt the hell out of it but the person I was falling for said it tasted better that way.
We launched our first two pocketbooks, ‘Lili Marlene’ by Lucia Nardo and ‘Before Too Long’ by Smokie Dawson on Sunday 1 March to a full house at Kindred Bandroom.
Chiara’s love for Taylor, and my love for Chiara, won out. Taylor was begrudgingly allowed into our home and my life.