All posts by Kellie

About Kellie

(Blog Editor) lives way on the other side of the planet in her native Australia and gives thanks for the internet regularly. She loves books, her boys, panna cotta, collecting words, being a redhead and not putting things in order of importance when listing items. She credits writing at selwynssanity.blogspot.com as a major contributing factor to surviving her life with sanity mostly intact, though her (in)sanity level is subject to change without warning.

See What I’m Saying?

 

Listen, understandA couple of weeks ago I applied for a job, and instead of writing my usual formal letter I sent this:

Dear Recruit Recruitment,

A phrase I heard throughout my childhood was “Let me see what you are saying”. My Mum would say it while driving, in the kitchen, a thousand different places, because if she couldn’t see my mouth she couldn’t read my lips. My Mum is talented, stubborn, funny, a soft-hearted and loud Rugby loving woman, who is practically deaf. So when I saw the advertisement for centre staff to empower people who are deaf, I was excited!

I surprised myself in writing that way, let alone deciding to send it in as my application. I was amazed to have even found the advert – every other day for weeks I’d been typing in “forklift”, “warehousing” and “admin”, but had typed in “deaf” that time, tickled by a flutter in the back corridors of my mind, and this was the only search result. I knew I was perfect for the position, and I had dancing-in-my-seat excitement just typing the letter. Nothing like the feeling I’d had looking through job searches based on the word “forklift”. Continue reading

Peculiar Treasures: Looking Closely, and Slant

Can you guess what this is?

I’ll admit it – I’ll be amazed if you get through this week’s Peculiar Treasures and don’t think “Wow!” or “Well, I’ve never seen that before!”

Sure, you’ve seen snowflakes, but how about magnified 50, 000 times (like the one above)? Or what about the stars and galaxies photographed recently by NASA? Or an iceberg flipped upside down?

Then there’s the luminosity of brides and wedding guests, sharing care one pizza slice at a time, and Bratz dolls getting a make-under and playing as real little girls. Maybe we can all slow down a little, to get some love and life advice from our elders, and watch rain in slo-mo.

Have a look at waiting over five years for the right diagnosis, finding a possible cause of addiction, and some economic reasons for girls to aspire.

This week’s First Draft Poetry is penned by Sandra, inspired by the pizza pay-it-forward piece:

reaction

it’s harder
to act
like you don’t
see
feel
hungry
too

it’s easier
to pay forward
good
deeds
when someone else
goes
first

Any thoughts or first draft poems on today’s links?

Peculiar Treasures: Goals, Grit, and Achievements Unlocked!

Ready for another week? Check this out first, to see your life told in jelly beans. Or see the daily routines of some famous creative minds in an easy infograph. Want to see what people from the 1700s put in a time capsule? How would you answer these questions?

If you’ve made goals, maybe some of these will strengthen your intentions: like, how reading a book versus an e-reader could help your memory, how their childhood doesn’t need your stressing, how to fall in love, how to fall asleep fast, how to make balancing an interesting skill outdoors or on your table.

Find out more the woman who wrote the words for “In Humility, Our Saviour” (and many more – I love the library card snippet). Then there’s this modest piece of thoughtfulness, super antibiotics in dirt, and Nobel Laureates drawing with crayons.

If you think that’s impressive, see the chaos a single ping pong ball can do, and how love dances.

Finally, our First Draft Poetry, this week by Melissa Y. Inspired by her watching Interstellar recently, it also ties beautifully into our last link.

“confirmation bias”

Love is the only thing we can perceive that transcends the dimensions of time and space.

–from the movie Interstellar

while it’s probably true

that anything that can be said about love

can also be said about hate,

or fear,

sadness,

jealousy,

 

I would like to believe

in the singularity of love–

that it outlasts

other emotions

or is somehow

more powerful

 

maybe that’s why

those words constricted

the time and space

of a dark movie theater

into a tangled ball of memories

and a few tears

Short, Sweet and Salty: This Week’s Peculiar Treasures

(Photo source here)

Is your Christmas tree still up? So is this guy’s – forty years on.

A town in Canada once was free of poverty, and then forgot about it.

How long can you hold your breath? If you’re like me in this recap of amazing physical feats in 2014, you’ll hold your breath or gasp plenty in three minutes!

A shipwreck hidden underwater and shared in Inuit oral history has been proven true 168 years later.

Please join Anne Lamott and I in not starting a diet on January 1st, and in celebrating forgiving pants.

This week’s First Draft Poetry is a haiku, inspired by the montage of daredevils.

Forget skydiving

My muscles arched and wobbled

From painting my toes

Dear Christmas

Photography by Folkert Gorter, Superfamous Studios

I’m not feeling merry. Festive has fled, and while there is tinsel winding its hairy way around the lounge room furniture, I’m counting down to the new calendar and year that sparkles and glitters just a few days away.

This year has been a beautiful mess. Difficulties have kept me company and awake more nights than I’d like to consider, and answers to prayers have left me furious. I’ve made some friends this year (a miracle in itself) and I’ve been blindsided by generosity and danced myself giddy at opportunities. It’s been a beautiful mess of a year, no doubt about it.

And if someone else wishes me a merry Christmas I may not be able to stop myself shoving their Santa hat down their shirt.

I don’t want a merry Christmas. I would like a merciful Christmas. I want one for dear ones, first off. For two friends in particular, one who is weathering the first Christmas after the passing of her firstborn son, and one who is gathering the silken, sharp hours of her mother’s last Christmas. I want a merciful Christmas for them both, softly delivered like countless hugs and tears melting in the neck creases of loved ones. I want the mercy of a solid nap for them, of belly laughs and clasped hands, of whispered words lifting the weight of their bones, lightening strikes of joy, peace or even generous forgetfulness, all of it shoved determinedly into an odd little parcel then slipped in their pocket. Continue reading