Milestone

       So I am about to reach a milestone. What does it mean? Have I reached some pinnacle and now everything changes? I've reached milestones before, many of them I don't even remember. Many of them  I do remember came and went without any fanfare or major changes in me or my life. But there have been milestones that changed everything in my life.
     Those milestones I don't remember are my first tooth, my first step, my first word. Even my first day at school I don't remember although I at least have a photograph of that day. The first milestone I vaguely remember is my thirteenth birthday or do I remember it because we spoke often of it in later years? Elvis Presley was the flavour of the day and we were all jiving to rock and roll music when my Dad asked me to dance. He embarrassed me by fox trotting to Jailhouse Rock! A few months later he was killed in a motor vehicle accident. Now that was a milestone I shall never forget.
     At eighteen I was a nursing student and had met Howard. We were married when I turned twenty one. Then at thirty I was a young mother with two small boys and at forty I emigrated to Australia. At fifty I was part time hobby farmer and part time nurse enjoying the wonderful new lifestyle in Australia. At sixty I was a grandmother with all the joys and concerns that comes with the territory of grand motherhood. Now nearly seventy, retired and downsizing to move into a retirement village life is as exciting as all the other milestones I have experienced.
     I've come to the conclusion that milestones are not merely the passing of the years but the events that take place in those years. I'm reminded of the fact that we are all living in 'The Dash'. Yes 'The Dash'. It's the dash between our birth date and our death date. We see it all the time...so and so 1944 - 2020 and all of our milestones take place in 'The Dash'.
So as I approach this milestone I am not frightened. I have found some perspective in writing this blog. It's all just a part of my dash and I plan to live it abundantly and courageously.
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Lost Lady

         She packs the books she bought in her tote bag and leaves before the end of the final lecture. It has been a long day but the Writer's Conference was interesting and informative. But now it is time to go home. Looking through the window she sees that it is already dark outside and still raining. She reaches for her umbrella and hoists the tote bag firmly on her shoulder. She steps out into the cool, wet night
      The station is only a few blocks away and if she hurries she'll catch the 5.30pm train. She walks quickly but carefully aware that she could easily slip and fall. Two blocks later and nothing looks familiar. It had been daylight when she arrived that morning. Where is she? How did she get here? She should be able to see Roma street station by now. Maybe she should ask someone? But who...there are hardly any people about. A young couple comes towards her. Should she ask them? No, they are engrossed in one another and she does not want to interrupt them. A group of rowdy young men come towards her. She would never ask them, they might take advantage of her situation. She tries her best to look confident, and agile. On the inside she feels old and dithery, confused and totally vulnerable.
         She stops at the intersection and still nothing looks familiar. A man stops next to her waiting for the light to change. She asks him. "Excuse me, do you know where the station is?"
"Just keep going straight lady," he says.
A hurried thanks and she steps quickly across the road. She hears him say something but the wind takes his words and she has no time to stop and turn back to hear what he has to say. Two blocks further and she sees orange lights...King George Bus Station it says. Oh no! She wants the train station not the bus station. But at least she knows this part of town. She has been here often before but where is Central train station in relation to the bus station? Her mind just won't allow her to make any rational decisions. She asks an older couple dressed for the theatre. "Straight on," they say.
    At last she reaches Central station and hardly notices the steps in her haste. She congratulates herself for putting her train ticket in her pocket instead of having to stop and scratch in her bag. To her surprise she sees on the monitor that she has made the 5.30pm train with five minutes to spare. Slowly she walks to platform six once again congratulating herself, this time on wearing her waterproof shoes and walking all the way from Roma street station to Central station and beating the train.
    She sighs with relief as she reaches for her phone. "Hi Darling. Yes I'm on the train. See you soon. Love you too."

Lost Boy

         "Is she my Mother, or my Step-Mother?"
 He stopped digging up the potatoes and turned to his youngest Son.
"She's your Mother and I don't want to ever hear another word about it. Do you understand?"
He said yes but he actually understood nothing. Why had his friend said  she was not his Mother? If she was not his Mother, then where was his real Mother? Maybe he needed to find her...


        "We are going to visit Aunty Mary in hospital. You boys behave yourselves and look after Joe."
"Sure Dad," but they had no intention of looking after Joe. He cramped their style. They fetched their bicycles from the shed and tried to sneak out the front gate without him seeing them.
"Hey, where you going? Wait for me."
"Forget it. You're too small to go with us. Go play with your train set."
He ran to fetch his bike determined to catch up to them, but by the time he got to the gate he could not see them and did not know in what direction they had gone. Kicking his bike he walked back to the shed.
         He looked around for something to do...maybe he'll find his ball his Dad had confiscated when he broke the window last week. He looked under the wooden workbench. It was the ideal place for hiding things. Maybe his dad had put it in a box? The first box he opened had old rusty tools and jars of nuts and bolts. The second box he opened was full of shoe boxes and the shoe boxes were full of old photographs.


        He sat on the cold cement floor looking at the photos of holidays they had been on. They used to go on camping holidays until his dad bought a caravan. He loved these holidays and loved looking at photos of himself and his brothers on the beach. The next box was different...the photos were older and his brothers were much younger, but what was this one?


         A lady was holding a small boy with two older boys at her feet. He began to cry. He carefully replaced all the photographs exactly as he found them and pushed the box back under the work bench. He took his precious photo to his room and hid it in his room. It would be his secret in a house that was full of secrets.