The sky is melt-your-heart-blue, and it has been snowing white flowers all over the back corner of the garden. When you go for a closer look you discover three small toadstools. There must be fairies at the bottom of the garden for all this enchantment. The breeze is warm, and the air smells like change.

Sometimes you feel down. And tired. And frustrated. And you have to remember that it’s okay to feel this way. And you have to remember to allow yourself some down time. It is okay to sit and watch television and not be productive a thousand percent of the time. And you watch Adam Hills who is a very funny and lovely man because he is so human and  genuine. And the episode is about hobbies. And you recall that your hobby is collecting moments of lovely. And Nick Vujicic warms your heart because he is all heart. And Jennifer Byrne inspires you to smile because she genuinely smiles and talks about optimism. And you remember that happiness and bliss and joy need to be consciously cultivated. And you feel better because you have had a cup of chamomile tea with honey. And you have laughed. And you have let yourself be. And that is a moment of lovely in itself. And that lifts you a little bit so you feel ready to go out into the world again. The end. 

Imagine that as a child you watched Mary Poppins on repeat and there are countless million times you have watched Mary float down from the sky and dish out coloured spoonfuls of goodness and hold the beak of her umbrella and say that will be quite enough of that thank you! And as that little child you wished and prayed that Mary would one day actually fly into your world. And then imagine one day you are living in a place you have never lived before and one morning you go out for a jog. And you are in the park and next to the playground you spy a statue of Mary Poppins. And there she is with her feet in perfect first position and her umbrella held above her head and the familiarity of her makes you gasp. And even more surprising is the discovery that P.L. Travers (who wrote the original books upon which the movie was based) once lived just a short jog from your house. And the person who unveiled the statue six years ago is your aunty. And it is surprising. And it is lovely. And your inner six year old says that is too cool. Mary Poppins lives at my park. 

And one day you find yourself in a theatre surrounded by a bunch of avid theatre nerds and you are all there because in time and space you have sat listening to the original cast recordings over and over and some of you have performed in amateur productions of his shows and the music is what gets you. And although it is not a large venue, it is entirely  intimate and you can hear his breath and the plosive p’s and b’s and t’s and feel the pressure of his pinky hitting the top notes of the piano. And he exudes so much energy so much passion so much life as he plays and sings the songs you know so well but suddenly tonight they are new because the brain that wrote them is performing them in front of you and you wonder how he can possibly still be sitting with all that energy surely he must be floating surely the way he taps his foot so insistently that the whole auditorium can hear it feel its pulse surely he must need to stand but his back is straight and there he is sitting playing the piano and singing. And he is utterly marvelous. The way the music is driving and full of vigor but the lyrics are melancholy and funny all at once and the whole room is transported to intimate worlds far away in the land of America but still so familiar it could have been your own living room. You have had that conversation. You have had that heart break. You have felt that loneliness. You have shared that laugh. The magic of watching the craft come to life. Feeling like you are there as he writes the notes the chords the lyrics  the song is created in front of you before your eyes inside your very ears. And all there is a piano a microphone and a man in a spotlight. And it is lovely. It is breath-taking. It is music. The end. 

Homer Simpson once said, "You don't win friends with salad." Well, actually you do. Because this week, salads, and variations thereof, have become some of my best friends. Rainbow chard and basil, grated carrot, beetroot, and ginger, roughly chopped tomatoes, goat's curd with olive rind, fresh corn on the cob, cold roasted potatoes, all drizzled with balsamic and olive oil, a sprinkle of black pepper and a pinch of salt.  Oh my. The flavour explosions of joy.  Filling refreshing, and so damn tasty. It's hard to believe I was once rather adverse to the idea of being a vegetarian. But fresh salads made from locally grown organic ingredients, and purchased from the markets where I have a community of friends who like me love the idea of fresh greens, I believe dear Homer, that I have won.