That's three decades of chatting with spirits, while most of us were just trying to remember if we turned of…

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Habits have a lot to answer for…

The amount of habit hacks across the internet has more sprinkles than a dozen donut shops.

And, most of them are a good foundation. Unless you're a parent.

Most of them …

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At twenty-three, Rajesh stood at the ticket counter with a decision before him.

Train or plane?

One month of grueling…

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Burying your pain is like trying to hold a beach ball underwater. The harder you push down, the more violently it pops back up.

We're masters of avoidance, digitally distracted,…

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Their laughter leaves scars deeper than any shouted words. The kind that forms when someone turns your vulnerability into their entertainment.

You finally gather the courage to sp…

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Dawn breaks, and with it, the weight of everyone's needs returns.

In these quiet morning moments, the imbalance becomes most visible. Who's up first? Who let’s the whining…

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I sobbed my 40-year-old brains out after rewatching The Greatest Showman last week.

My eyes leaked because the world doesn't need more success stories about overnight sensations or lucky…

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"BE QUIET. YOUR FATHERS ON THE PHONE!!!" Mum would shout across the house.

At 8 years old, the irony was wasted on me.

And all t…

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Humans are dumbfounded by distractions.

And I'm hooked like a fish. Guilty as charged.

I'd love to say there is a galactic story-exploding moment that I can share with you.

I’d love to say I’ve overcom…

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Five years ago, with only half the kids I have now, I watched a bird’s nest go from twigs to chicks preparing for life outside their eggs, and it left a lasting impression.

The three pastel blue eggs …

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Today, I come to you in between sandy toes and pleasant breezes that tickle you between your eyebrow hairs.

We’re enjoying a sunny, cloudless, blue sky at the beach. The boys had a half-day at school, and the 2-year-old managed an early nap.

I finished up the last of my Mastermind minutes by slopping on some sunscreen and making sure we all had hats, towels, water, and all the other stuff that this mum miraculously seemed to remember.

It’s one of the sunniest days we’ve had in months. A whiff of summer, extended daylight, and relaxed barefoot meanderings.

It’s been far too long since we went to the beach.

The toddler is just that bit older, a bit more curious, and a bit more everything as he screams from the backseat.

Once we set foot upon the sand, I plonked myself down, intent on doing a bit of writing. I should ideally not become fully vertical again until there are at least some words on the page.

Yet, instead of head down and focusing on the page, I stopped.

I feel like a super secret spy, catching glimpses of an undercover world that not many are exposed to.

Boys covered in sand, splashing and kicking the water.

Floating, running, chasing, simply happy.

Greyhound ‘Doggo’ is doing her own exploration, trying to make friends while looking socially awkward with lanky oversized legs.

And suddenly.

Hunger strikes. I can’t quite remember if I consumed any lunch, meaning its intensity diverts me. Sigh.

I take a barefoot waddle with the dog pulling me along the shore.

Stopping and chatting to randoms, bumping into old friends from, gasp, over 20 years ago!

It makes me realise the luxuries of beach days as a writer.

It makes me realise the dreamlike type of day that I wouldn’t get in a daily 9-5 j.o.b.

A day that I will continue to aspire to recreate because becoming complacent and expecting such luxuries would be downright smug.

On the way home, we even enjoyed some car dancing, blasting King Herod's Song from Jesus Christ Superstar while bopping our bums in our seats!

Observing the memories sprawled before me, I suddenly remember how much Dad loves the beach.

The Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack was also right up there as one of my dad’s loves, yet it couldn’t quite compete with the real deal beachside waves.

Dad grew up in Burnie, on the Northwest coast of Tasmania, in a place known as Cooee.

For those abroad of Tassie and perhaps not accustomed to the Aussie impact of a word like Cooee, it is used as a call you often hear shouted throughout the Aussie bush. It reverberates through the air, a cry out to find you if you’re lost or, in my case, if the kids have ran too far ahead or dragging their feet behind.

It holds a certain innocence as I remember screaming those two Aussie vowels into the bush and waiting for the echo on the other side.

My dad’s childhood home was built by my dad’s dad’s neighbour. Keepin it real and locally grown.

In true 50s fashion, there was a gate in the bottom fence where you could shortcut through to the highway and land upon beachy sandy shores.

My childhood memories include pretending we had a kitchen on the rocks with carved-out shelves and sinks, watching the bubbly waves crash in and out while keeping our toes gripped as firmly as we could to the sandy floor.

Cooee was only a tiny aspect of our beach days. I also fondly remember a seductive place called Streaky Bay in South Australia.

It was an enchanting, captivating, and sentimental memory via a stop on one of our travelling adventures.

I vividly recall elongated sandworms that burrowed deep like the hundreds of deep thoughts in my childlike imagination.

With the tide out, the sun setting, and feeling the freedom after being confined to the seatbelt and four walls of the car for most of the day, I’m not surprised that memory has stuck around.

I’m also not surprised that I’m lapping up the freedom outside a 9-5 right now, either.

I invite you to flick out your beach towel, dip your toe in the icy Tassie water, and come meet my dad in all his witty Bonney glory.

You’ll see and hear his voice below as I sat down to interview him (possibly one of the hardest interviews I’ve done to date!)

Dad and I continue to be similar-minded and close over the years. I regularly hear the words ‘Ohhh, you’re just like your father!’ We nicknamed him Daddy Long Legs as kids because, from a young age, we literally thought he was so tall he could paint the roof without a ladder.

We both love to cook, dislike the dishes with a passion, and Dad comes supplied with his own whiffs of nostalgia when it comes to Sunday roast memories. These include delectable beef, Yorkshire puddings, loads of butter and salt and rosemary baked veggies, especially in the form of the good ol’ spud.

Dad's extended family and their own cooking adventures remain firmly in my mind too. While Launceston doesn’t look that far away on the map, perspective is important when we remember that Dad’s parents never owned a car and never had a license. So, they trekked onto a bumpy bus, through little country towns, to visit dotting aunts and uncles and enjoy a roast together.

As kids, my sister and I would call Launceston ‘Lolly-ceston’ because it was a common ritual to fill our hands, pockets, and whatever else with glistening boiled sweets before the two-hour drive home.

Fair and the Dinkum!

Even just remembering the powerful smack of sugar that seeped into our noses makes me want to climb a wall or three.

Our trips to the lolly houses included their own roasts, mushy peas and all the trimmings.

We remember Dad’s Auntie Vi standing at the sink popping out hilarious little staccato farts as she bounced from side to side. She would say with a cheeky, sly upward lip, 'Ohhh, I’m having one of those days. I’ve got the windy spasms.'

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to know Auntie Vi’s five-foot sister, Dad’s mum. My pint-sized paternal grandmother passed away shortly after I was born. I quizzed my dad about Hazel and his fondest memories. He recalls her as small in size but not in nature:

'She wanted to be fiercely independent, but in her era, there were constraints, expectations, and pressures to behave in a certain way and have a certain lifestyle. She would’ve loved to have worked. She had a real talent for arranging flowers and things like that.'

Despite these restrictions, there were still multiple opportunities to have a good laugh and hoot around. Dad remembers some hilarious photos of his own dad after a few beverages, topped with…

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There are many differing flavours of love.

And many of them are not the flavour we see on the screens with fancy choc tops to boot.

Love is often portrayed as a huge, ov…

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Look around. Have you noticed the lack of blue jeans?

I mean, I’m no fashionista however, it seems like they’re a dime a dozen these days, and it’s making me quest…

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