The humble shed

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The humble shed

Our humble shed in the back yard has the same energy as all the bungalows I have known. Bungalows don’t need the size and grandeur of the main house. They escape the responsibilities the main dwelling has been designed for. And, therefore, they can always be something a little more fun. Bungalows are subtly attached to garages or tucked away behind trees in the back yard. They aren’t trying to stand out. To make a statement. Their presence is a whisper. A welcoming space. Inviting you inside.

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Tears and self loathing

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Tears and self loathing

I don’t know about you, but some days, I wake up out of balance. With a heaviness in my heart that spreads to my bones. Or with an unnamable anxiety buzzing in my muscles. The cause, a mystery. Or perhaps I wake up with both. It doesn’t have to be a lot. Just a pinch. And I am off-kilter. And my job for the rest of the day, alongside the general task of living, is to reclaim the balance. To not fall off the tightrope.

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Iron lady

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Iron lady

In two weeks it will be one year since my husband and I started eating only plant-based food. It was meant to be just two weeks of vegetarian cooking to balance a high meat diet (and accomodate the fact that no one wanted to go to the market to shop that week). The vegetarian meals turned into plant-based meals. Two weeks turned into a year. It’s been an interesting journey dramatically changing our diet, and not without its challenges. But I am really glad we did it.


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Our knitted souls

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Our knitted souls

Thinking about what it is to be alive. I started wondering. Perhaps, our souls are passed down from past lives to keep us warm. Gifted to us like pre-loved, hand-knitted jumpers. For us to wear. Care for. Fold. And unfold. As we need. A beautifully patterned jumper with a design unique to us. For us to add to, with the stitches of this life. And with holes for us to darn. Our job. To love this hand-knitted piece and to pass it on in the best shape possible, into the next life.

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What a ride!

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What a ride!

This is a tribute to all the bikes in my life. The wheeled creatures, which accompanied me on many an adventure around the back yard, on the gravel road circling the neighbourhood houses and along the bitumen leading down to the rickety bridge crossing the river. Those tyres ripped up the dusty, and sometimes very muddy, motorbike tracks running alongside the flow of the water. And my favourite feeling was flying down the big dipper. Fear in my throat. My feet forgetting the pedals.

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The still blue light of morning

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The still blue light of morning

There is something magical about early mornings. I love watching the contrast of daybreak soften into a technicolour scene out the window. To be a solo witness to the trees and humble shed in our back yard taking shape, painted into being alongside a peppering of clouds, with the rain’s passing. To hear the sounds shift as the call of the magpie announces the day.

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Tears of a mermaid

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Tears of a mermaid

We all carry within us, our own folklore. It has been with us from our first breath. And our personal story takes shape in the footprints of our lives. Once I realised this, I went searching for my own myth. I joyously discovered many beautiful Lithuanian tales and ancient stories, which spoke to me. One in particular, led me to realise I carry the tears of a mermaid in my soul. I have the curious spirit of a hummingbird. The instincts and visionary nature of a gentle fox. And the wild nurturing of a big cat. This is my personal symbology. And this is the key to unlocking me.

But first, let me tell you a story.

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The hummingbird. The fox and the big cat.

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The hummingbird. The fox and the big cat.

Trapped in the tears of a heartbroken mermaid is the spirt of a hummingbird, a fox and a big cat. Each held in a piece of amber. Washed up onto the shores of Lithuania, from the depths of the Baltic Sea. Collected by villagers. Sold to jewellers. Bought by a godmother. Handed to an orphaned soul.

Writing my own myth. A tiny story about spirit animals.

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This amber ring

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This amber ring

Tata Ona, my beautiful godmother, was very dear to me when she graced this earth. And she remains very dear to me, her spirit is always in my heart. She was my real life version of a fairy godmother. Her wings tucked neatly behind her smiling eyes. She saw me. She loved me. Without judgement. Without condition. After we gave Tata Ona, her last kisses, I have worn this amber ring every day since, a gift from her many moons ago. A beautiful ring made of butterscotch amber. I have always loved this amber ring. There is just something about it, I cannot describe what exactly, it just makes me feel alive and connected to something mysterious and larger than all of us.

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Money and me

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Money and me

One of my favourite ABBA songs when I was growing up, was Money Money Money. I loved it because it was one of the few songs where my favourite member of ABBA, Frida, was the lead singer. I would belt out those lyrics with her, every time, singing as loud as my little five-year-old lungs could manage. When prompted recently to think about my relationship with money, and where my attitudes and feelings toward money have come from, I realised this song had a lot to do with it.

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Meditation, my teacher

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Meditation, my teacher

Meditation is my little octopus. My teacher. Alongside showing me the power of the pause and the importance of being there for whoever shows up, meditation has taught me to be brave. To take a leap of faith. To trust. To listen to my calling. And this has led me, and those around me, into a beautiful underwater forest of possibilities. For that, I will be forever grateful.

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An uncomfortable truth

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An uncomfortable truth

You know someone has spoken the truth when your cheeks go hot. Perhaps you blush because it is a compliment and you haven’t yet learnt to take one of those gracefully. Or maybe, you feel a bit of heat in your cheeks because what is said rings true. So true, it has reached down deep inside you. Grabbed your soul. Given it a squeeze. And perhaps shaken it a little.

This happened to me recently.

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Blogtober is back

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Blogtober is back

Blogtober is back! It’s back! It’s back! She shouts out into the emptiness. The silence is deafening and then…her daughter lets out an expletive and says, ‘Are you serious mum? Again? It was horrible last time!’

I don’t remember my first Blogtober being horrible But it might get a little messy around the place for a while and there could be even a little bit of deliriousness going around. Because Blogtober is back!

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