It’s spring in Adelaide, and a gorgeous time of year. Blossoms everywhere. There’s still a chill in the air, but the days teeter on warm, and we know winter is almost behind us. My chickens are fat and fluffy and laying again. My garden has a new lease on life,
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Right at the beginning of one of my most favourite movies ever — The Curious Case of Benjamin Button — there is an anecdote about a clock made by Mr Gateau, a clockmaker who was blind from birth and lost his only son in World War I. He had been
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This post is not legal advice — I’m writing this as someone who has done a semester of Family Law as part of my law degree, and as an alienated grandparent who has gone through this process(ish). This essay is for informational purposes only and discusses my personal circumstances (and
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When I tell people that my daughter hasn’t spoken to me since a few weeks after her wedding in March 2021, they invariably ask: What did you do? Invariably, my response is: Why does it have to be something I’ve done? I’m sick of the What Did You Do question
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I wrote this essay a couple of years ago, not knowing when or where I would publish it. It’s original title was The Pattern Solves the Puzzle. I thought I might submit it to a literary journal, but none seemed right. The one that did seem right said it was
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I have been thinking a lot about apologies lately. Particularly how powerful they are to aid healing and restore relationships, and how an apology that is half-baked or underdone or passive-agressive is worse than no apology. I mean, an apology that doesn’t include the words “I’m so sorry for [insert
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Buying a new frock is not an activity I relish. I wish it were. I want to be one of those women who catches a glimpse of a something shiny on a rack on the far side of the store, tries it on, loves it and whips out her credit
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Being a mother was something I always wanted, despite (or because of?) my own childhood. Let’s just say my own mother was less than nurturing and had a violent, nasty streak that meant my psyche was hammered out on an anvil of fear, forged in survival. I knew I could
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My first book in more than four years has been published on Amazon. If you’re curious about what it’s like to start a new life in a developing Asian country as a single expat woman of a “certain age”, this book will tell all, including: – what it’s really like
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A while back, I posted an essay to a Facebook group of women writers that I’m in. In a nutshell, this essay is about me — while I was living in Hanoi — dating a much younger Vietnamese man for 10 months, who turned out to be a covert narcissist. He almost killed me.
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I started a PhD in 2008. A year later I quit, but that’s not what this post is about. This post is about women, work, and career advancement. It’s about what I see happening again and again in workplaces. Where women overwork in the hope they will have career success.
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How do you meet people or broaden your social circle when you’re new in town? It’s the age old question for expats and foreigners who arrive in a city not knowing a soul. In Hanoi, where I was new in town, I turned to InterNations, which, I must admit, I had never heard of
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