It was a day for an appointment with the surgeon. That meant Coffs Harbour. We shopped for a while first up and had early lunch in the food court. Then I saw Dr Scott who wants to do more surgery in January. Check the ulcer and maybe put bands  on the varices. We shopped some more and then came back to Bellingen . The little one began to cough and that turned to vomit.  When we had cleaned her up and picked up the Redhead, we met other parents and kids at the Gelato Bar where I purchased a banana split which was far too big for me and came home. I am now on Facetime. Poppy has the iPhone I sent her and is excited -. I am kind of hiding out because I may well be dealing with active alcoholism here which I did not expect. I was however uneasy from the start. Bugger – because I kind of like it here. I won’t do anything for now.  I have been very busy this week and mostly OK. Trouble breathing on exertion but mostly OK.

This surgeon brought me a more secure feeling. I felt like he knew what he was talking about. Even down to asking how the coma was affecting me now and I was able to say – DEVASTATINGLY.

AND THEN – I heard that Leonard Cohen had died. How interesting it is to be growing old. New territory indeed.



The birds they sang at the break of day
“Start again”, I heard them say
Don’t dwell on what has passed away
Or what is yet to be

Ah, the wars they will be fought again
The holy dove, she will be caught again
Bought and sold and bought again
The dove is never free

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in

We asked for signs, the signs were sent
The birth betrayed, the marriage spent
Yeah, the widowhood of every government
Signs for all to see

I can’t run no more with that lawless crowd
While the killers in high places say their prayers out loud
But they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up a thundercloud
And they’re going to hear from me


You can add up the parts, but you won’t have the sum
You can strike up the march, there is no drum
Every heart, every heart to love will come
But like a refugee



That’s how the light gets in
That’s how the light gets in


The wild woman in Irish myth – The Art of Enchantment

This is some of what I wrote about Mis in If Women Rose Rooted:Sometimes, madness seems like the only possible response to the insanity of the civilised world; sometimes, holding ourselves together is not an option, and the only way forwards is to allow ourselves to fall apart. As the story of Mis shows, that madness can represent an extreme form of initiation, a trigger for profound transformation.

Source: The wild woman in Irish myth – The Art of Enchantment