Archive for February, 2015

Through the eyes of a child.

My daughter called, saying she had just picked up her four-year-old from kindergarten, and this was the conversation in the car as they waited at the next pickup place on the school run.

‘Did you know, Mummy…’ Tia paused thoughtfully. ‘If we all work together and help each other, the world would be a better place.’

‘That’s right,’ Mum agreed.

‘Like… Granddad is good at fixing things, and Grandma can cook.’ Tia leaned forward from the back seat and tapped her mother on the shoulder. ‘And you’re good at making muffins. And Daddy is good at killing kangaroos!’

dump truckAfter we had a good laugh on the phone, I thought about it. Tia’s daddy is the only one willing to drive the grader at a ridiculous angle on the edge of a cliff. He drives huge mining dump trucks that have wheels taller than my house. He’s been asked to mentor men almost twice his age. Tia has no idea what he really can do. To her, he’s a hero for what she does know.

It made me think back to my dad. My earliest memory of him is walking (me almost jogging) through the city streets of Perth, holding onto his little finger. As long as I held on, I was not going to get lost or left behind. The fondest memory I have is waiting at the top of the hill and watching for his motorbike to come around the corner way down at the bottom of the hill. Sometimes he would stop and let one of us hop on the back for a ride home (3 houses away) while the rest of us – and the neighbours – would race them home. To me, back then, he was good at fixing things, and chopping wood. Yet now I know he was good at so much more…

Would any of you like to share what your dad was good at?


(c) DJ Stutley 2015


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Never give up

It’s Tuesday…! Yes, I know it’s not one of my usual post days, but I just couldn’t resist posting this.

Never give up



At first I thought it was funny, but then it hit home. Do I have that sort of courage and persistence? If I did, what could I accomplish this year? I wonder… 

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My glass of water lesson.

cold waterJPGI was hot, tired and frustrated the other day, so I picked the largest glass I could find and fixed a cool glass of cordial. I had just taken a refreshing sip, when my granddaughter turned up, looking with envy at the condensed water droplets running down the side of the glass.

‘Is that cold?’ she asked.

‘Yes, it’s VERY cold.’

‘What is it?’

I hesitated, knowing she wasn’t allowed cordial or juice unless it was a special occasion. ‘It’s cordial.’

‘Is it good for you?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I said bluntly, hoping to discourage further conversation.

‘Then why do you drink it?’

I looked down into her brown eyes. She waited patiently for an answer and I was momentarily lost for words. ‘Because,’ I said sadly, ‘sometimes I don’t do what I know is good for me.’ I smiled. ‘I’ll have water next time.’

She smiled, nodded, and skipped away, leaving me looking at my refreshing glass of sweet, chemical laced liquid. It sure didn’t have the attraction it did only moments before!


(c) DJ Stutley 2015

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The letter that won’t be read.

IMG_0870I put the phone down and was immediately enveloped in a cloud of sadness and regret. My heart was breaking for my son-in-law, who had just been told that the woman he thought of as his mother had died.

The tears my daughter was struggling to hold back were evident over the phone. I knew they were in for a heartbreaking time. Hours later we were at the airport to pick up our son-in-law. He’d stepped from the heavy machinery he’d been driving at the mine site, onto a plane with only his phone and wallet. Once we had him at our home, we found clean clothes and toiletries so that he could shower and go to bed. The next morning he jumped in his car and headed south to where the family was gathering.

My feelings of regret came from the fact that this elderly woman had been ill for a long, long time and my daughter and I had often discussed what the outcome would be when she passed on. As it became obvious that she was probably not going to  leave hospital again, I thought about writing to her and complementing her on the way she had raised her grandson to be an exceptional young man, and the father of my grandchildren. I thought she would like to know that my husband and I were proud of him and loved him as if he was one of our own children.

I never wrote that letter. I wish I had. Maybe I will….


(c) DJ Stutley

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