The Lady in the Back Row

Living with a loved one who is unwell is a roller coaster — constant ups and downs.

There are small glimmers of hope, then sudden crashes again.

It’s hard for everyone around them.

The journey teaches you to be grateful for each day and to hold onto perspective so you can keep getting up and moving forward.

Three days off felt like a small pause in a fast-moving life.

Today it’s back to work and into a short week again.

Life seems to rush by so quickly, but today I’m also thinking of those who are quietly battling their own hard days.

My thoughts are with the people who keep going, even when it’s not easy. 💛

Three days off was a good break and a chance to reset before the week ahead.

Spent some time cleaning and getting things organised.

Did something a little different to finish it off — a late night movie with my grandson.

It was special spending that time together… although the late session might have been a bit ambitious for me.

I kept falling asleep. 💤

Fed the possum, coffee.

Scrolling through the morning while it’s just getting light.

The car needs cleaning, a bit of taxi duty required, lazy day.

Living with the shadow of illness gives life perspective, recovery is a journey.

Grateful for the now and the few days off in a row to catch up and breathe.

Well today started with a lesson… remember to chain the dog up.

I forgot.

The first couple of hours were spent walking around the yard filling in the holes that suddenly appeared everywhere.

After that I planted a rosemary bush I’d brought home from my daughter’s place.

It’s nice giving plants another home, and rosemary always feels like a good one to have in the garden.

Later I tried the little takeaway shop up the road.

The people were so lovely, I had the nicest vegetarian souvlaki I’ve had in a long time. I’ll definitely be going back there again.

This afternoon has been quieter. Watching my granddaughter paint and bejewel a little box she chose, and listening to her playing online with her friends.

Nice background noise while I potter away.

Today I went along to the Teddy Bear Picnic at the school.

It was such a lovely way to spend part of the day, sitting under a beautiful big tree with the children, little picnic rugs spread out and teddy bears everywhere.

There’s something very special about slowing down for a moment and seeing the kids enjoying the simple things, a picnic, their favourite teddy, and time together outside.

The shade of the big tree made it the perfect spot, so peaceful just sitting there watching all the laughter and excitement.

Days like this are a good reminder that the small moments are often the best ones.

Today I stepped away from the desk and into the city to attend a RAP planning workshop at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. What a place to gather. The Melbourne Cricket Ground holds such deep history, and walking through these beautiful old grounds reminds you how many moments, stories and generations have passed through here.

It feels good to be out of the office for the day, surrounded by people who care about the same work and ideas. There’s something refreshing about being in a room with like-minded people, sharing perspectives and planning ways forward together.

Sometimes a change of setting is exactly what you need — a reminder that the work we do connects to something bigger than our desks.

Last night the sky shifted.

A blood moon.

A full lunar eclipse.

The kind of night where you step outside and everything feels a little quieter.

The moon wasn’t glowing silver like usual, it was deep red, almost copper.

Soft but powerful. Not dramatic… just different.

It made me stop.

An eclipse is just alignment.

The earth moves between the sun and the moon, and for a while the light changes.

The moon isn’t gone. It’s not broken. It’s simply in shadow.

And then the light returns.

There’s something in that.

Life does that too.

Moments of full brightness.

Moments where things feel dimmer, heavier, uncertain.

But the light is never actually gone. It’s just shifting.

Last night reminded me that even in shadow, there’s beauty.

Even in darker seasons, there’s movement happening.

Alignment happening. Things working quietly behind the scenes.

And eventually, the glow comes back.

Steady forward.

This morning felt quieter.

Not the kind of quiet that’s empty the kind that feels settled.

The air had that softer edge to it, like the season is slowly turning its shoulder. You can feel it now. Summer loosening its grip. The light shifting just slightly earlier.

I stood in the yard with my coffee, monument fence standing strong behind me, the plants breathing in whatever the day will bring. There’s something comforting about familiar things, fences, trees, the rhythm of your own backyard. They don’t rush.

They don’t panic.

They just stand.

Life, though, doesn’t always stand still.

Some weeks move too fast. Some feel heavy.

Some feel beautifully ordinary, and those might be the best of all.

Work, family, the constant juggle, the dog underfoot, the cat pretending not to care but watching everything.

It’s a full life. Sometimes overwhelming. Always real.

I’m learning that not every day needs fireworks.

Some days are about steady forward.

Small tasks. Quiet wins.

Watching the sky change colour at the end of the day.

If this season is shifting, maybe we can too, gently.

No dramatic reinvention. Just small adjustments. A little more patience. A little more grace with ourselves.

Wherever today finds you, I hope you move through it steady.

Forward is forward, even if it’s slow.

Today’s Monday.

The day began with rain — soft, steady, cleansing.

There’s something about rain at the start of a week. It feels like a reset. A quiet washing away of whatever was, making space for what’s next.

The weekend was lovely — and as always, it went too fast.

Barbecues. Fires crackling. Swimming. Kids laughing. The kind of simple moments that fill your cup before you even realise you needed it.

And now, here we are again. A new week. Fresh air. Damp earth. A clean page.

Let’s get on with it.