Blog: Moments of Meaning
I discovered it recently whilst trawling through hundreds of my Papa’s slides that my Uncle lovingly had digitised. This particular photo leapt out to me and smiling, I’ve sat with it a long time since.
It’s a world changing phone call, that one. When all of a sudden, on a regular Monday morning - somewhere between coffee & Cocomelon - a phone call tectonically shifts your entire state of being and knowing.
A beacon of wholesome warmth, Yolande was unflinching in her holding of me - from the early months of our pregnancy right through to the reluctant induction at 42+1 and the roaring battle that followed…
My prayer is an altar. Strewn with colour & cold, Thoughts new & old, Copper & flowers & eggs & grief, It can hold it all. Pints heavy with beer, That time I broke your trust last year…
A stalwart presence of strength & laughter in our family constellation and a guiding voice of support & encouragement throughout my life.
When she was pregnant with my mother, I existed in them both, a fleck of genetics & stardust, born through storms & blood like rust.
My dad is a watchmaker.
Passionate about the art of horology, the study of time and the phenomenal stories that lie behind the creation of intricate time pieces, old and new.
Sat outside in the rolling gardens in the hot evening dusk - I spot a tiny fluffy fluttering in the dirt beneath the huge shrub close by. I move closer. A tiny chick has fallen from a nest burrowed deep within the huge inner branches of the towering shrub.
In those 10 years I’ve lived in 8 homes. Travelled through 15 countries. Retrained, got ordained and found my love tribe. I wrote songs and made albums and sung through tears with the choir. I married beloveds. I buried beloveds. I walked alongside many in their despair.