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So it begins. Adam is in his earth
Tempted, and fallen, and his doom made sure
Oh, in the very instant of his birth:
Whose deathly nature must all things endure.
The hungers of his flesh, and mind, and heart.
That governed him when he was in the womb,
These ravenings multiply in every part:
And shall release him only to the tomb.
Meantime he works the earth, and builds up nations,
And trades, and wars, and learns, and worships chance.
And looks to God, and weaves the generations
Which shall his many hungerings advance
When he is sunken dead among his sins.
Adam is in this earth. So it begins.

by James Agee (in 100 Poems by 100 poets : an anthology)

Yesterday was a Molly Day, meaning that I spent the day with Brother Mark, Sister Keryn, and my darling niece - Molly. She is now walking, starting to talk, and testing boundaries. (Just how close to the water can I get my drink bottle, even though Daddy told me not to.) Mostly she just plays and laughs. Not a bad life! It’s lovely hanging out with her - singing nursery rhymes, looking at picture books, sharing cuddles, and just watching her run around. Being so hot, we stayed inside for most of the day. Mark introduced me to Wii and 100 pin bowling. So much fun! Wii tennis and baseball - not so much. My hand-eye coordination was woeful and I kept missing the ball. We all had a go at the Wii fit exercises, which was worth it just to see Mark hula-hooping, and watching Molly run up to bounce off his jiggling bum. Hooray for Molly Days!

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

Jane Kenyon

Existential Question of the Day. Who did Shallow Hal see when he looked at himself in the mirror?

Spent most of the day with my Mum. We went to Roseville to see Nowhere Boy, and then returned home for toast and tea and stories of her youth. Mum grew up in what was then rough-and-tumble Maroubra. The local boys would attempt to paddle makeshift boats of corrugated iron, road tar and wood to Wedding Cake Island (and end up having to swim for their lives), fights with neighborhood gangs were common, and the local kids would bully the son of Mr B - their much hated headmaster - who lived across the road from Mum’s family. The stories were the source of this gem: “I joined Guides and Mrs B was one of the leaders. I always knew if was because of her that I was never promoted to 2nd-in-command of the Bluebird brigade.” Mum’s all-too-serious deadpan delivery of this line made me laugh out loud. Love my Mum.

In this weekend’s SMH there was a lovely piece about “the peculiar audience interactions that seem to happen only at matinees.” I’ve attended many matinee performances over the years -  not that I’m anywhere near the matinee demographic - and while I’ve never seen or experienced the types of audience interactions this article speaks of, I can appreciate what it says about the matinee set. And it has this great quote: “One of them [an actor] who had done 11 o’clock matinees for Queensland Theatre Company said to them: ‘I’m telling you now, they’re the best audience you’ll ever get. They’re people who’ve gone to the theatre all their lives and they are so responsive and so warm towards you, you’ll love it. And you want to know something else? Of course they’re old. And some of them are really old. And for somebody out there, this could be the very last play they ever see. So let’s give them a good one.’ (From The funny stage of life, SMH website, 16 Jan 2010.)

Not sure if I’ve written about this before but when I’m at work, I often have this nagging feeling that I’m not up to scratch. Not capable enough. Not skilled, experienced or knowledgeable enough. Feeling like someone is going to tap me on the shoulder one day and say, “The gig is up!” Turns out this isn’t uncommon, and it has a name. Imposter Syndrome, or neurotic imposture. Yay! I’m not alone!

I’m fairly sure this started in 5th grade when I began scoring near perfect exam marks in most subjects. Yes, I was also “quiet and consciencious”, as most school reports will attest, a perfectionist and obviously intelligent. Coupled with being shy and not very confident, being in the spotlight felt strange. Suddenly I was one of the smart kids. So the following year I self-sabotaged, didn’t “apply myself” and turned in some dud exam results. Problem solved!

I have never felt entirely comfortable celebrating or otherwise acknowledging my hard work and achievements. Even now when I do well, I either play it down, figure it was due to dumb luck, or fob off compliments. I see myself doing it and want to kick myself! Why can’t I just smile and say “Thank you?” Or do a little Happy Dance?

To say that work last year was a journey is an under statement. It was challenging, stressful, and scary. But you know what? I faced it, climbed a very steep learning curve, and survived! And I did some really great stuff, most of which no one will ever really know about. This year I’m going to celebrate my achievements, however small they may be. It’s OK to do OK.