the click of the knee

My mother used to say that the noise of our house was peace to her.

And, when we’d all moved out of home, and it was just her and my dad at home, they used to busy themselves with a noise. Or they’d wallow in this weird silence that felt just like the ten seconds after a houseparty, when the last person’s left, the music’s turned off and you need to wash the dishes.

I think I understand her now.

You see, I live in this crazy noisy house, where there’s always someone talking, someone in the kitchen clattering around (usually me), something playing on the telly and someone, someone is *always* creating something, somewhere.

Whether it’s a drawing or a sandwich. Or someone’s staring at a screen to accomplish a challenge or finish up a detail.

It’s funny. We used to know, despite the noise, when my mum was walking down the passageway, because her knee had a distinctive click that was borne from years of ballet dancing. I’ve had problems with my knees for years, but thanks to a course of collagen supplements, I’ve not had issues for a while. I try and remember to keep at it with the collagen supplements when I need to but, sometimes I forget. Whenever my knee aches though, I think of my mum and wonder if maybe we’re all just genetically destined to have bad knees, because I sure as hell didn’t dance for years. I’ve always been grateful though, that my knees don’t click, they just ache when I’ve strained them.

My siblings and I used to have this regular noise competition – where we’d all play “our” music in our rooms, so as my parents walked down the passage, past our rooms and towards the kitchen, they’d be greeted by this cacophony of noise. And my mother would laugh and then yell at us to turn our respective music choices down a little.

Just before my mum moved out of our family home, a few years after my dad died, she walked down the passageway and heard her knee click. She told me, the evening I went to see her just before she moved, that the noise being gone from the house is why she wants to go. She said all she can hear is her knee when she walks down the passageway.


I’m alone in my house today. There’s nobody making a noise, there’s no little hum of voices, or the clattering of keys. There’s nobody asking a question, or flicking through channels.

No machines are running (except, obviously, this one that I’m typing on), so the sound of my typing fills my ears.

I got up to pop downstairs and get some apple juice just now.

And as I

Walked down the stairs.

My knee clicks.



the edges give perspective.

The thing about edges is that…well, they give you the clearest perspective.

When you’re in the midst of something, anything, a process, a change, a journey…you can’t see the beginning or the end. All you see is the middle mess where things are flowing, working along, working towards whatever the ultimate accomplishment is.

Here’s a fact I hadn’t considered until this morning.

For a long time, I was in the midst. I’d dominated the career thing. I’d worked incredibly hard to make life work in the way I thought it was supposed to. The truth is, though, whilst travelling through the mist of midst, I started to change. You were in there, in that midst, with me. And I realise now that it was my own evolution process that changed everything. You knew what you wanted, and you ran right past anything that deterred you from that. Still, you couldn’t ignore those things. You knew you needed them, craved them, but, they got in the way. Whilst I was determinedly dancing through that mist, I knew there was something much, much bigger than all that I had considered, readying itself for me.

By the time I had the courage to tell you that we had seperate ambitions, and either I’d have to buy into yours, or you’d have to buy into mine, in order for us to continue, my ambitions bore very little resemblance to yours.

And then, because I was ready, the world opened up and gave me the piece of the puzzle that I was searching for, even before I knew I was searching.

I can mark on my map of life where I started to respond to things differently. Where I started to believe in the bigger picture for myself. Where I started to paint that picture myself. It was never an act of rebellion against you, it was essential survival for me.

And now. Now I don’t just survive. I thrive. I look at the trio of happy hearts that is the fuel of my life and I am home.

All I ever wanted was to be home.

I’m home.

I’m so thankful I’m home.

i write because it’s the one thing i feel i really know how to do.

So, this is it. The precipice of change. I have a ramble again tonight. These, literally, are the thoughts…from underneath the couch.


1. Something I have truly believed in. A love that I knew, and was like home to me, has ended. Well, not the love as such, but the relationship attached to it. It makes my heart ache for the people involved. It’s life and it happens but they both do not deserve any pain. They deserve no pain whatsoever. My little heart lurches for them.


2. I had a sad day. The type of day where I want noone to come near me but, feel absolutely swallowed at the same time. I guess, in some respects, it’s okay to have sad days. Today was just a day, and it’s behind me now. I’m hoping for smiles tomorrow. I choose to see it as it is, and nothing more. This sad will pass.


3. Home. The pictures are off the walls, the packing begins in earnest. The administrative side of things rolls into motion. I feel strangely bereft. This was the home where we stood on our own, this was the home that was truly ours alone. We made it as we wanted to. For the first time, truly, I felt this was our true home. The one we created and where we started to really become the family we were always working towards. Our bubble expanded and this is where we stood, confidently. This was our home. And now, we move on. Yes, we move on to different and new things. Things for comfort, possibilities to create again. We move on, we grow up, we are propelled forward. But, I’m still heartsore. A little scared by the precipice of change before us.


4. And in that fear, I guess, there lies discovery. The possibility of new beginnings. it’s so funny, really. People look at me askew a little. Why the big deal about where you lay your head at night? The truth is, home is one of the most important things in the world to me. It wasn’t always that way. Before, I was happy to be vaguely nomadic, solaced by new experiences or whatever came my way. But, somewhere along the line, probably when I became a mom, possibly beforehand, I felt a keening need to make a home for my heart, and not just my head. Home to me is not just a place to lay that head. Home to me is akin to skin, and I think I get that from my parents. Their home was never stagnant, always busy, filled with love and piles and piles of paper. Heh. My siblings will laugh at that line. Now that I can’t ever go home again, can’t see my parents again, that need to be home, to make a home, to live within a true home, is evermore present and yearning. Maybe I’m just growing up, even  though my eternally giggling Peter Pan complex laughs at me and wonders what on earth I am up to. Maybe I just have to grow up. After the bereft feeling, I feel a sense of new beginnings.

gestating (no, not me)…

5. I feel compelled to write about how other people are feeling now. Right now, they’re feeling the same way. That same strange mixture of wonder and worry. But that’s all I’m saying right now about other people’s feelings. I just know that I’m not alone in this space. I think it’s light green and kind of like bubble wrap. This week is like suspended animation. Like it’s gestating a new beginning. I guess it is. This paragraph has more codespeak in it than only very select friends of mine will understand.

i am still i…

6. It’s not all sad or weird though. I’m still here, still strong in my fluffy slippers and hard as nails brutal attack face.

stuck in my head…

7. I have Jesse – Joshua Kadison stuck in my head.


8. That sleeping thing? The sleeping fairies seem to have gone visiting to a foreign land again. I think this will settle soon enough. It better or I’m taking the fairies’ passports away the next time I see them.

i rate it more highly than smoking…

9. Sometimes I just need to write things down to stop the internal swirling and then I get to rest again. I write, because it’s the one thing I really feel I know how to do.

now there’s an old line

10. My internet connection is sucking ridiculously right now. It’s more up and down than panties on prom night.

leaving behind…

11. Oh, I almost forgot. There is one thing I get to leave behind now. In the transition from the-home-where-we-started-and-began-again-and-started-and-began-again-and-started-and-began-again, when we moved here, I came into this home with a broken heart. I get to leave every piece of that pain behind.


12. This home is where my heart healed. This home is where I found real love. The love that sits with me on sad days, and dances with me in the sunshine. This home is where my heart healed. This home is where my heart came home.

The One Where I Wrap Up

It’s my last day in the office today. Today is that day, every year where I reflect. I’m doing it simply this year…Simply, for a lot of reasons…

1. It has been a year of love.

2. It has been a year of home. Real, true home, in every sense of the word. I have not travelled much at all this year, aside from a quick trip to Cape Town, and another one next week.

3. It has been a year of growing up.

4. It has been a year of loss.

5. It has been a year of being proud of the people I love.

6. It has been a year of hard work.

7. It has been a year of coming full circle, via a 360-kickflip of life.

8. It has been a year of learning how to sleep.

9. It has been a year of ranting but, for a change, I mostly ranted to someone. I love that man of mine.

10. It has been a year of gratitude.

11. It has been a year of Androidness.

12. It has been a year of being able to trust.

Thank you for this year.

flux and flotsam but, pulling on through.

1/Work. There is a lot of it and my time is pressured and short.

2/Home. We have to find a new one.

3/Loss. I feel like I’ve lost more than I can handle this year. I realise that the time where my heart would realise, fully, that I don’t have my mom or my dad anymore would come. It’s come.

4/Writing. It’s weird. I just can’t write right now. Because my brain is just flummoxed with work right now, and I need time away from my computer to just.breathe.

5/The constants. The constants in my life. My beautiful Cameron. My wonderful Shmooshy. My amazing friends. These are the things that keep me going right now. If you’re reading this, you’re probably one of them.

6/I feel like I’m in the waiting room of life right now. Working very hard whilst they call my number. And, I am. For now, I realise, the Universe is telling me so many things. All of them point towards making me, more me again. Towards the one thing that I love the most – home. Loss hits you in weird ways. It never tells you how. But, when it does, it does.

7/Looking back. Looking back over the last year of my life, I see the most joy and the most tears. The joy comes from my constants. The tears from the loss I now feel.

8/There’s nothing wrong with feeling it. The hardest part is admitting to it.

9/I admit it.

10/4 am. Cam woke me up at 4am to play dolls. I could’ve told her I just wanted to sleep. But, no, playing with Cam is far more important than sleep. It’s more important than writing this. It’s more important than anything. When I was very little, my mom would wake up early and play with me. It was our special time, the time when the world was still sleeping and there was just us. The time I had with Cameron this morning reminded me of that. It’s so precious and I will do anything in my power to have more of that time, that wonderful quiet time for her and I.

11/The cave. Sheena and I talk about the cave alot. We know each other’s well. She knows I’m in mine. And it’s so weirdly lovely…this time, though, I’m not alone in my cave. I have my constants and they are with me. Always. I feel such comfort and love here. I don’t feel alone. Not feeling alone is the most liberating feeling I’ve ever experienced.

12/I love you my friends. I love you my Shmoo. I love you my Cam. I’m the luckiest girl and mama in the world. My life is so rich with people. My life is golden with you in it. You are the golden light at the end of the tunnel, and I never knew how bright it could shine. Til there was all of you. I heart my army of me. x

Lucky, lucky me. I may be quieter than usual with the blog updates right now. I apologise. I’m still here. I promise.


I’ve not seen Camster properly this month. With all the to-ing and fro-ing and flying around, tonight’s the first night we are home together, properly.

She’s walking around in her mermaid costume, telling me how much she loves me.

Tonight, she said…

“mommy, i didn’t miss you while you were away. you were in my heart all the time”

In everything that’s going on right now, in the world at large and the flurry of deadlines, meetings and general trying-to-stay-afloat, my daughter leaves me breathless.

Thank you, Cameron, for choosing me to be your mama.

my favourite word is mama

there you were.

at the end of a hard day, i was back in the proverbial saddle at work, fighting fires and trying not to grimace but, to truly smile.

you jumped off the swings at school, ran towards me, the word “mama!” leaping from your lips.

your eyes sparkled as though i was the easter bunny, christmas father /that’s your name for him/, the tooth fairy and the birthday fairy, all rolled into one.

you kissed my face and i knew.

i knew i was home.

so, we went home, into my room where presents waited for you.

my favourite word to hear is mama.

my favourite person is you.

Cam and earrings


today is the last day i will sit out here on my balcony.

after today, packing and moving to the new place begins slowly.

and next week, i move offices, and then homes.

(yes, i know, im crazy. heh)

this sitting on the balcony is my last time im gonna do it

nearly six years in total, i have been here.
these have been the happiest and saddest times of my life

this home, when shared and when not.

this home, when open and when shut.

this home, where i started to become the person  i wanted to be.

this home, where i became a mom.

this home, where i became me.

this home, where my friends come home and feel okay.

this home, where my heart is safe, even when the world spits it out.

this home, where my daughter awakes and says “mom. look, the sun says hello through our window”

a new beginning beckons.