The art of knowing when to stop holding on Written in my final three weeks at Motel Strahan, when my body began whispering that it was time to go. This morning, I woke with one thought pulsing: three weeks to go. Three weeks until I finish at Motel Strahan. I’ve offered to clean on my last day,… Continue reading When ‘enough’ means letting go
Category: Writing My Bones
From the Marrow: It’s so sad
Some silences hold more truth than words ever could. It’s So Sad Is it? I am no expert on loss. Having dealt with my share of grief — like most people — I think my opinion is worth expressing. I heard somoene recount an episode about a stranger dying. When she finished with, “It’s so… Continue reading From the Marrow: It’s so sad
Bin Chickens (a.k.a. the Naughty Birds)
Van life / Road life reality So, yesterday I took a photo of what I thought was a sacred ibis. But it was white. I’m familiar with this birdlife from the peninsula in Victoria where I’m based, but I’d never seen a white one before. I watched it, photographed it, cropped the pic, and sent… Continue reading Bin Chickens (a.k.a. the Naughty Birds)
The Pistol Packing Pastor
Tales of the sacred and slightly ricidulous The retired pastor from the local church wandered into reception at the Strahan Motel one afternoon. I was a little askance—he lives in town, after all. Why did he need a room for the night? Yes, he’s stepped down from the pulpit, but no, he hasn’t retired from… Continue reading The Pistol Packing Pastor
Christine C. Elliott 