Stopped and Dropped

It’s strange how sometimes you can drop your bundle with something, and not really know why. For me, it’s been my “blogging bundle”.

Ok, so the month or two following my last post was filled to the brim with excitement, activity and hard work – so finding time to blog eluded me. Chris and I had an amazing trip to the Appreciative Inquiry conference in Kathmandu, Nepal in November.

(If you’re interested in seeing more about that and some image slideshows, you can visit our website.)

Prior to that I was flat out with my volunteer role on the online conference planning team for the conference. And after the trip, there were a gazillion things to be done in the lead up to the Christmas break.

But what about the month that has elapsed since then?

It’s as if the longer the gap, the harder it was to think of something to say. A strange sensation .. perhaps a case of the ‘inertia blues’?

But then, earlier this week, I gave myself a stern talking-to and was absolutely determined to return to my blog.

Before I could get into the more creative task of writing, however, there were several administrative jobs to do – not only with my blog, but our website, Chris’s blogs and the PCC site for which I’m webmaster. Those now done … whew! … so here I am at last.

Still with nothing earth-shattering to say, but never mind. :)  I said to a friend who had dropped a different bundle recently, “Just get started. Why not do something, however small, to get going again?” And for once I’m listening to my own good advice. :)

The experience reminded me of a wonderful Melbourne-based poet, Kristin Henry, whom I met way back in the 80s. In her book, Slices of Wry, she has the following poem. Apologies for the length … but I love it and thought I’d share it here.

At least I didn’t land on the floor at Myers. :)

SHOP DROPPING IN MYERS

She had sometimes thought
what if she stopped. It all.
And then one day she did.
She loosened until she just fell over;
well, more like dropped, really.
Just hit the floor.
Right in the middle of Myer’s perfume and makeup
department, right between Revlon and Max Factor,
right beside the special offer of lipstick,
matching nail polish and a night time moisturiser
free with every purchase of more than thirty dollars
she just dropped.
Hit the floor.
Stopped doing what it takes to stand up,
just let go, just loosened and dropped.
On Saturday morning at Myer’s.
Was she sick or crazy or brave
to like there on the floor between the counters?
People knelt beside her;
those that didn’t stepped away
to let her get on with it, whatever it was,
but looked from behind the pierced earring displays,
pretending to be buying necessary, urgent pairs
of pierced earrings, and why should they wait
just because some woman took a fit
or something, in perfume and make up.
The kneelers asked if she was sick.
Was this an epileptic seizure, or a heart attack,
was there a doctor in the house?
And she looked into the faces.
Looked and blinked and never said a word
because she dropped talking too.
Right there, and maybe not forever, but just then
she just stopped, and dropped
and let her mouth go slack.
The jaw just dropped and her eyes blinked,
so they knew, them kneeling on the floor,
that she was still alive and conscious
only something must be awfully wrong.
The stretcher men got no help.
They had to lift, they tried to roll,
they nearly doubled over but she didnt’ help,
she didn’t move, she never said a word.
She let them pull and tug and roll her and
she just hung limp and heavy, and she
never said a word or even thought a word,
although she heard the buzz and hum around her
and she saw a lot of legs.
But she never said a word, and they must push
and pull for she would not move, for she had
stopped, just let go, stopped and flopped
and dropped between Revlon and Max Factor.
She was tired and she just stopped.