Read me a story ...
sing me a lullaby ....how do we sleep ?
Not having children, I can count the times I’ve read to any out loud. It was such a treat having a story read to you as a kid but I’m not sure it happened that often in our busy house. I LOVE doing it now for my partner who climbs into bed nearly excited to hear the next instalment about a lost porcelain rabbit called Edward. We’re bracing ourselves for the remaining 2 chapters in the beautifully crafted story, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate De Camillo. I have to stop and lift the book in front of his face so he can take in the gorgeous colour plates and sepia illustrations of Bagram Ibatoulline who so loved working with this story he felt sad for it to end. So many fairy tales we read as kids were full of evil characters and bad endings, thanks the brothers Grimm for many of the more popular. Its odd how even now I can’t really recall how Little Red Riding Hood ends, maybe I’ve had to block out that terrific shock-horror, no wonder I suffered nightmares. Who would think penning about a sly wolf eating a sweet ol’ grandma followed by an innocent little girl in one gulp would be popular? Instead our Mum was more the kind to recite her christian prayers which were pretty dark in themselves. i will admit to never feeling very comfortable with this one;
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my Soul to keep[;]
If I should die before I 'wake,
I pray the Lord my Soul to take.
I still find solace in the kid’s section of bookstores. I think my renaissance began when I migrated to London in the mid 90s and kids stories and poetry seemed to fill the space from my homesick blues. It’s pure art to get the prose and pictures to marry well to make a book magic. I hoard a selected few like prized treasures on my bookshelf as a go to when I’m needing to remember that door to the side of ones life that’s so easily over grown or hard to reach. Wolf Erlbruch’s Duck, Death and the Tulip is one of the most unique and heartbreaking reads tackling such a huge subject with such wit and warmth, I wished that had been in my reach as a child. Trying to describe death even to us adults isn’t without its difficulty but Wolf’s take on it is so tender, almost matter of fact which is a breath of fresh air i think how kids would see it too.
A newer release I’m loving is,The Skull by award winning picture-book creator Jon Klassen. A sweet and scary story of a little girl who runs away from home and befriends a skull who lives in the woods who has a secret that is soon revealed to her. The art is brilliant and the story really slowed me down, pulling me into the zone of where my dreams go – everything and anything is possible and how day to day, we as big people can so easily lose sight of the magic especially with our addictions to devices highjacking our imagination and blinkering our ability to see what’s good in our world.
When i have trouble falling to sleep and a story book hasn’t done the job or the CBD or the melatonin i will try to write my own. If i still remember it in the morning then it will keep traveling with me till the next restless night where i’ii add a few more chapters of adventures. Then if that doesn’t fix it i do my abbreviated yoga nidra that i learnt as a child going to weekly yoga sessions with mum. I start by focusing on my big toe then slowly all the toes are pictured in my minds eye, relaxing them one by one and breathing deeply then my foot, the top of my foot, the sole, then the ankle relaxed and feeling the weight falling into the mattress beneath me, the lower leg the knee then my left thigh is feeling so heavy and deeply relaxed and my right….until i usually conk out by the time i reach my bum and i’m away. But if i do reach the top of my head and i’m still wired i’m fucked, then i reach for the top shelf arsenal. i have a mantra i adopted some years ago and its helped me with clearing space and even healing relationships. i repeat these lines until they turn into sheep.
I’m sorry, please forgive me, thank you, i love you. I’m sorry, please forgive me, thank you, i love you, i’m sorry. please forgive me, thank you, i love you, i’m sorry, please forgive me,
Hoʻoponopono is a traditional Hawaiian practice of reconciliation and forgiveness.Thanks to therapist in Hawaii, Dr. Len for his encouragement to take full responsibility for every decision https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoʻoponopono.
The other great elixir is walking barefoot in the bush or beach or anywhere, so long as your feet are free to feel the surfaces. Our feet having some 33 joints and 26 bones love to bend and flex over the myriad of different textures and the feet automatically correct their balance adjusting to all sorts of demands we make on them. Whilst i’m walking barefoot i become super aware of exposed roots or avoiding broken glass or stepping over dog shit ect all of which makes you way more sensitive to the surrounds and thus more careful finding it very awkward returning to shoes in winter or trips to the city usually requiring them, so i find myself squeezing into something soft, as my feet feel like they’ve got wider. A lot of times i picture the world barefoot and imagine how wildly different our home would be if we all walked the earth like this instead separated between rubber, plastic, heels and steel caps
Walking around some of the bushland here in Australia where cattle have roamed with their hooves and then the mud turns to craters and it’s so harsh on even feet in shoes whereas the national parks has only the soft padded feet of roos and echidnas making it way easier on our tootsies. Every day i walk barefoot i’m always reminded of our friend and drummer, Simon Barker who introduced us to barefoot running although we prefer to walk. He runs mostly on bitumen surfaces in Sydney to and fro to work and revels in the sheer joys of pleasure of this daily ritual.
I do it because it feels so amazingly good, each step a sensory experience akin to taste or smell. Every running surface brings different sensations, some better than others of course, but the good ones, such as smooth asphalt or clay, feel so good to run on that you find yourself continuing for the sheer sensory pleasure of each new step. (Simon Barker)
https://www.simonbarker.com.au/1-column-text/11684-2/
When i was a child i had a favourite rug called my chrissy blanket. My mother had edged a soft yellow waffle square of fabric ( as she was a gifted seamstress) with a satin gold ribbon. I carried this thing everywhere a lot like Linus from Charlie Brown fame. i would wind the shinny edge around my left index finger and whilst sucking my thumb gently rub the underneath of my nose until i’d drop off to sleep. But one day i came home from kindy and couldn’t find it. i looked everywhere and couldn’t wait for mum to come home from work to ask her if she knew where it was hiding. She’d casually said she’d given it over for the dog to sleep on as it was too tattered for my use anymore. i went to investigate and found it under the house already absconded by my fat beagle Monty. Yeah i cried in my room alone with no blankey to console me and gave up sucking my thumb only to take up chewing my nails.
How do you sleep?
Let me know if you have any tips to add to mine.
nyte nyte
G xxx
Next week will mark 5 years since the passing of my mother Jean. She had died from bone cancer and over the last few years she was often in hospital as the bones in her beautiful body fractured and crumpled. On one visit to see her at the hospital I read aloud to her from a novel. She was 84 years old and after reading the first chapter she told me it was the first time anyone had ever read to her. Life is a series of extraordinary moments, we just have to see them.
Hi G, I have sooo much to contribute/share about this, but I fear I should not as it would be a novel. I can relate relate relate. I’m a terrible insomniac also and find myself wandering often at 2am, sometimes 4am - on this 4am mornings I wonder if I should just stay up as often the first birds are coming out of their slumber - but I always feel awful when I do miss a whole nights sleep. Recently I’ve taken to doing something interesting but quiet at 2am - like disassembling a vintage camera lens, or polishing some copper. Lastly though, I have a favourite childhood book (aside from the Golden Books & Enid Blyton) - the book is called “Tail-up” by Sylvia Evans, written in 1942 (Mum’s book before mine) and narrated by the star of the book “Manna” who may or may not have been part kelpie. (You can find the book on Trove or nla.gov.au). Another loved childhood book is “Tinka and his Friends” by Brownie Downing & John Mansfield, which may or may not be culturally acceptable now. I still have both books. Thanks G for evoking some great memories. I will re-read both books tonight xx