I’m a fan of the moments inbetween. The breath in before the bride walks down the aisle, the darkness where someone giggles just before the birthday person hears ‘Suprise!’, the last five minutes of a work day before you see your beloved again, the granny, picking her nose looking at the painting hanging beside the Mona Lisa. Those feel like the moments where magic sometimes happens. Inbetween the ones we plan and photograph. Backstage of Life, the musical. And backstage, as any theatre person will tell you, is where all the good stuff happens.
Yesterday, whilst turning my tiny house upsidedown looking for a photo of the Rosebank Bag lady for a post (more on her as soon as it surfaces) , I found the journal that I kept in Thailand over the Christmas holidays. Diary writing (sort of like the Fight Club of scrapbooking) has always been a little secret of mine. Its hard to look well travelled and edgy whilst collecting every ticket stub and sweet paper just because its in a foreign language. But paging through it again I realised how much I like travelling. Exotic destinations are first prize, but I’ll take Midmar Dam if it means packing a bag, hopping onto a mode of transport and having a different screensaver a few days later.
Paragraph 1 is about to link to paragraph 2, I promise. The act of travelling, going somewhere else from where you are right now, taking in the getting there, is kind of like tap dancing in the inbetween. Whilst taking polaroids and eating freshly baked cupcakes. Magic! It’s glancing to your right and seeing that granny, finger up her nose, smiling at the way more impressive painting next to Mona and wanting to hear the tour guide tell her life story instead.
Come and tap dance with me in the inbetween. I don’t know the steps very well, but the shoes make a fantastic clicking sound and it sure is fun trying.
ameezing 
Nice writing cousin. I like this.
Lovely, lovely, lovely… like you, like your association of thoughts! Keep up the good work.