December Light

It’s been six months since I've posted on the blog. How to begin again after such a long and unplanned break? Begin again. One breath after another. One word after another. One thought after another, stretching out stiff limbs, like…

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Braking Habits

I have a vivid memory of sitting in a café with a trusted friend, many moons ago, lamenting my then relationship. I had quite the shopping list. Why couldn’t my 'other half' be different? Why couldn’t all my love and…

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Every Person’s Life

In 1987 renowned Gestalt psychotherapist, Erving Polster, wrote a book called “Every Person’s Life is Worth a Novel”.  In this book he writes: Stories must not only be told, but also heard. What is said gains value from the listeners…

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If Only Shmonly…

I started wearing glasses when I was two. Horn-rimmed frames with magnifying lenses that made my eyes look like marbles. Top that with a frizzy bonnet of mad hair and I resembled a miniature version of Garth from Wayne's World.…

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A Desert Garden

There is a garden that I pass in my neighbourhood when I walk with Lilly in the mornings. It is a desert garden, punctuated with muted greens, spiky leaves, bursts of yellow and purple, and an array of thorny cacti.…

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A Small Window

When I first started writing 'Playing Along' I did so as an antidote to the heaviness of my 'other' work. I had recently completed my masters degree in psychotherapy and I was working with individual clients - adults and children…

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A Wish for My Daughter

My daughter turned twelve this week. I remember twelve.  Something about twelve made me want to linger. Maybe it was because I knew it was my last year before lurching into teenagedom. Somehow at twelve stickers and stuffed animals still…

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Something New

I learned something new last week. Stand-up paddleboarding. It's one of those beguiling activities I've admired from afar and thought to myself that it looked simple enough. Not much to it. Stand. Paddle. Glide across the surface of the water…

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Play Me, I’m Yours

I was in London last month visiting my 'other' home. I arrived feeling dislocated.  It's an odd sideways movement returning to a place where you have left roots. A place where  you have made memories... sweet and bitter, clear and…

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Welcome to Wavering

There's a distinct difference between writer's block and writer's blah. Writer's block is dense. Brick. Concrete. Slab. Writer's blah is foggy. Murky. Swampy. Slump. Writer's block is hard to miss. It's the desolation of a blank page. A flashing cursor…

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