22 January 2012

The magic that I see

There are days when it would be easier to pull out a few forgotten and forlorn toys from the bottom of the toy box in the hope their reinvention will provide a few minutes of extra distraction, or simply send the boys outside to play on the trampoline with strict instructions not to return for at least ten minutes in the hope of getting a few peaceful minutes to myself whilst curled up on the couch with a good book.


Yeah, so that's not really my natural style. I know it. You know it.


I'd rather go in search of magic every time.

The weather has been patchy here to say the least, yesterday being no exception. Windy enough to contemplate NOT leaving the house at all. Cloudy enough to wonder if there really was rain threatening on the far hills.

But the pull of the outdoors was stronger still.


I felt an old favourite calling. The scene of the Enchanted Wood experiences last May. We hadn't been back since, and I'd thought about it at times, wondering if perhaps I was almost too afraid to return, whether by returning we might break that magical spell, and it would be just another bush walk on just another day.


I needn't have worried.


A different season, granted. But magic was to be found in new and different places.


In brothers learning the meaning of sharing, in the successful negotiation of whose turn it is to dip crackers in the cheese spread.


There was magic in the light glistening through silken spiderwebs caught high above us



And in the soothing sound of stones gentle plopping from the bridge. And the concentrated determination with which they were released.



There was magic watching the absolute adoration of an apricot. The full bodied inhale and expectation of what was to come.


And when the magic of the Enchanted Wood faded, replaced by the simple comfort of home, I sought desperately to find it again.


Dragging pillows onto the trampoline for quiet time with my big boy in the warm glow of the early afternoon sun while the lil one slept close by.


Apparently the words 'trampoline' and 'quiet-time' don't co-exist together in the same sentence, so I found out.


Somewhere along the way, between a morning in the bush valley sheltered from the worst of the wind, and the clock striking one, more magic had been spun, and the windswept, mediocre day had been replaced by cerulean skies and a gentler sea breeze.

A jaunty ride down to town on the cable car providing almost as much fascination as the 60c soft serve at the Big M that followed.


With a vantage point just high enough to perfectly exclaim over the never-ending buses breezing past on the Quay.


Maybe it was all part of the magic of the day, but somehow I fell in love all over again with the words 'milk moustache'.


Today I almost felt I might have been the one creating the magic as I got to wave my wand over two bedrooms, and a cot was transformed into a single bed. 'It's a Buzz bed' exclaimed the excited new occupant.


Whilst in the other room a single bed magically became a king single, and its occupant seemed to shrink again in his voluminous new surroundings as if he'd joined Alice on a weird and wonderful trip through Wonderland.

OK, I say 'waved a magic wand' figuratively since the bed moving, cot dismantling, bed making, room tidying took the better part of the day. Especially with a trip to Briscoes in the middle of it all to complete the right-sized bedding for each bed meant having to remake both beds all over again in the heat of the afternoon to install the new valances, and duvets. Boy did I wish I could have waved a real 'abra cadbra' at that point.


Just when I felt the magic beginning to wane amongst a growing 'to-do' list of weekend chores, the sunny afternoon called, pulling us outdoors away from a house in desperate need of a vacuum, and lordy you don't even want to imagine the toilets right now!

All I know is these afternoons are few and far between in our little world. So when these moments come, we can't and don't ignore them.


Because the vacuuming will still be there tomorrow (sadly).  But the magic of this moment won't. It was a one-time only offer.


Blink and you miss it.


If the magic here looks unshakable, unbeatable, unstoppable, it's only because I'm showing you the magic I choose to see in these moments.


Because what you can't see is that the wind was fair whipping up the dry sand on shore, stinging our eyes and faces, plastering our hair and ears and mouths with grit, and making it almost impossible to see much magic anywhere.


But when I looked harder and deeper, I found it in his bravery. Where two years ago, the water was a formidable threshold not to be crossed under any circumstances, now it is a playmate, one to be teased and enjoyed.


And I found it in the directness of his salty, sandy gaze.



You see, magic will happen anywhere, anytime. Because of our surroundings, or in spite of them.


It's having the eyes to see it.


It's easier to think the grass is always greener instead of searching for the magic that's right in front of us.
So I'm making a deliberate choice to Love Where I Live this year.
How about you? Will you join me?
I'd love to hear your Love for where You Live, so come and join me by linking up here throughout the year.








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