Shoes, Books & Cynicism
Kate Stone Matheson
The Wax That Melts Our Wings

I’d say it’s what separates us, not from the beasts, but the bestial. Creating the future, renewing a learned past - these are reasons to strive. Writing for and with love, taking and framing an image, stretching new melodic skins onto old skeletons of song… it’s how we manage to fly. It’s how we stay you and me, not us and them.

The Wax That Melts Our Wings
Shoes, Books & Cynicism
Kate Stone Matheson
The Lady Jellypants Guide to Grace and Poise

Unlike Osk, who seemed to establish his own tactical task force wherever we lived, scooping up neighbourhood feline troublemakers as sidekicks (including the memorable ginger behemoth Watson, with whom he used to scope the street from the safety of the shed roof), Jelly has the intelligence gathering skills of a sponge cake.

The Lady Jellypants Guide to Grace and Poise
Shoes, Books & Cynicism
Kate Stone Matheson
Love Me Tender

Anyway, somewhere in between my 'and then you should've done this' and 'why didn't you say x and y, rather than z', and 'for the love of monkeys and the general public's eyesight, you didn't honestly wear that heinous shirt did you', something he was saying about the dating extravaganza we were picking to pieces finally penetrated my cloud of self-congratulatory cumulo-waffle. 

"Most people don't talk about how dates are progressing as a tender process, do they?" he asked. 

"What?"

"She said I was 'part way through the tender process' and that she was judging me on my submission. I'd like to think there was irony involved, and I think at the time I may have given an admittedly weak "haha, yesssss, quite". Looking back, I'd have to conclude, computer says no on the presence of Fabulon or other aids to achieving crisply pressed linen."

Love Me Tender

Pink Test

A Spark Of Hellish Fire

Yesterday was such a strange contrast. I happily sat at the SCG, watching people dig deep for breast cancer research - seeing big, boofy blokes wear their very pink bandannas, without hesitation, was nothing short of a refreshing bath in human kindness. The 'Pink Test' is a wonderful thing for sport because it makes everyday blokes focus on a disease which has often been seen as women-only and which is sadly not the case.

Yet at the same time, to know that a place where only the day before I had also been happy was in a state of bewildering and sudden destruction - it was hard to make sense of it all.

Hobart was on fire. My brother, my beloved Panda - both were out trying to save their homes. The photos that the Panda sent through, and which I am, totally without telling him, putting on this post, were horrifying. My parents were on their way last night to help my brother and his family try to either save their house or get to safety. The Panda rang me late last night to say that the police had told him to evacuate and that is the last I have heard.

A strange contrast in hope for a cause - and a cure - and inexplicable hopeless destruction.

This is particularly painful when it is highly possible that at least some of the bushfires in Tasmania are the result of arson. Deliberate, sheer, wanton malice.

So despite heartbreak at the insanity of possible loss of life, and definite loss of property and in some cases livelihoods, I have to somehow reach down deep and find some gratitude for what has gone before in the last 24 hours.

I am grateful for the generosity shown by the Australian cricket community to a cause in which I have a very personal stake. I am grateful you are willing to give.

I am, more than ever, grateful for buccaneers who despite working like scurvy dogs on their swashbuckling adventures, make the time to ensure that I am OK and are concerned about not only my health and happiness, but that of those whom I love.

And of course I am enduringly grateful that both my brother and his wife and the Hughbot, and my Panda and his cubs are safe.

Walls can easily be rebuilt.

People, however, cannot easily be replaced.

Remember that today.