Monika Schott

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A life of 'oh wells' are greater than a life of 'what ifs'. I write to express life in all its glory, to spark thinking … I love to swim outside, practise hot yoga and hit the boxing studio. I'm currently undertaking a PhD research to capture the social history of the community that lived on Melbourne's first sewerage farm. I've had several short stories published, my latest being 'The Teacher' in 'These winter months'. I was short-listed in the Ada Cambridge Prize, won the inaugural Wyndham Rotary Arts Small Business Award and have a Masters of Communication where I looked at boys and reading and what it is they like to read.

Braless and sipping champagne

 

 

Whip off that bra … so free and fabulous! Kick off the heels and shed the stockings …

Slip into the softest, stretch-with-your-every-move pyjamas for complete comfort after a long day. Pop the cork of the best, cooled champagne and pour it into the glamour of a 1950’s coupe that fills the stem before bubbling as an eruption into the bowl. And sip. They say the champagne coupe was modelled on the breast of Helen of Troy or Marie Antoinette, some even say Madame de Pompadour.

It could be a scene from Absolutely Fabulous where Edina and Patsy drink champagne at the kitchen bench. For a moment, you can appreciate the end of the day or the week that’s been, or even a completed job, before the next hours of dinner and washing, the next day of work and whatever else life throws at you.

Escaping any shackles imbues a sense of energy and freedom, a true liberation. Joan of Arc as the fearless warrior and the 1960s feminist movement where going braless was a revolutionary act, of being comfortable above meeting social expectations, instils a similar release.

Try it. Toss the bag onto the chair and unknot the tie, replace the shoes and socks for thongs or flip flops or no shoes at all. Free those toes onto the warmth of wooden floors or into the grass outside as you inspect the garden, the tomatoes turning green-yellow, the chillies of flaming red. Grab the shovel and hoe into the dirt, the sun warming your back and the Daphne against the paling fence that exudes its sweetness.

Slide off the tweed trousers and draw up the board shorts or boxers after a 40-degree day, free style if that’s your thing.

Pull on those boots to snowboard down a thick powdery layer of virgin snow, to sprays of cool over bare cheeks and you as the only movement among the white. Appreciate the isolation and serenity.

Lounge to a movie or birds chortling their business with a book in hand, laughter in another room. Go for a run or swim, slump into the bean bag or arm chair with The Supremes, Sting or Strauss or any music that transports you to a time of fancy-free and invincible, with your kind of champagne by your side.

And breathe.

Free of all constraints, freedom to be where you are and feel what you feel, in the conviction of you are where you are meant to be, even without clarity of what that is, a sovereignty to a knowing when the lift door opens to the next floor.

They’re moments of pure immersion, when sipping the effervescence that lights the head in a contrast of weightlessness, energy and vitality to fuel a revolution within, bubbles up the stem.

Madame de Pompadour once said, “Champagne is the only drink that leaves a woman still beautiful after drinking it.”

‘Do you want something, Eddy, to go with your champagne?’

‘No, darling, nothing for me but your friendship, Patsy. And to have this damn bra off.’

 

 

Recent Comments
Katherine Gregor
You've just inspired me to administer myself some regular TLC. Thank you!
Sunday, 03 April 2016 20:49
Monika Schott
Enjoy every second of it. We deserve a little TLC. ... Read More
Sunday, 03 April 2016 21:08
Rosy Cole
Unashamedly sybaritic! ... Read More
Monday, 04 April 2016 11:05
1558 Hits
4 Comments

Pick-up sticks

Toss those sticks way up in the air and stand back. Watch them propel and collide, splinter and fuse with neighbouring and crossing sticks, often with those tossed by others. They crack to glimmers of aquamarine tinged in teal and highlights of ochres in oranges, twisting and twirling into unknowns and gleaming silver beams of life into the Universe.

The higher they rise, the slower they climb, until their speed is curtailed and they linger within a hover. We watch in bated breath within our own pause.

Then their descent begins and time kick starts. Speed gathers in quick momentum in flashes of blurred bronze and blizzard blue and our sticks crash in scattered confusion onto any slippery, stable or stodgy surface. Wherever they land serves a purpose and our job is to pick them up to discover their intent.

That seems to be life for many at the moment. Whether because of the politics of the world, the passing of someone prominent in one’s life or from those birthdays that end in zeroes, those big, life changing ones. The fact is, life is about change. Life is filled with contrasts of busyness and stagnation, always changing depending on where our sticks land and the manner in which we pick them up or slide them out.

Life just is. The birds and bees are on constant rotation. Children grow and blossom into their own person. We grow. Life flows between enriched satiation and boring bland, of the sapless in an endless burnt umber or in the tranquil azure of turquoise.

Living without expectation is key. What’s underneath the purple stick as it slides out from the red could lead to enchanting discoveries of personal, professional and otherwise, of the most powerful, life affecting surprises. It’s vital to enact plans that are fuelled by passions but just as important to not hold preconceived ideas or expectations. Holding those can hide the most amazing finds and block growth, unmet expectations can lead to disappointment and emotional torment.

Picking up our sticks once they’ve landed is a matter of rolling up the sleeves and getting on with it, to uncover paths from beneath the intrigue of maroon or mined from the riches of gold. Some paths may be straightforward and clear, others may be covered in debris and full of winding roads and hills to climb.

My sticks were tossed some months ago and are slowing in upward propulsion in many more formations and shades than usual, glimmering in pinks and greens and with an abundance of red too. New sticks already shimmy in new trajectories.

Their decent is inevitable, and soon. And when they do come tumbling down, they’ll continue to spin and intermingle, some may disintegrate and even explode before they land.

I’ll be here, waiting and ready for any landing. The subliminal excitement in the not knowing and in the knowing that changes are afoot smoulders in sepia tones of magenta beneath the innocence of baby blue - such contrasts to look forward to!

 

 

Recent Comments
Barbara Froman
Lovely, Moni. Thanks!
Tuesday, 22 March 2016 20:58
Monika Schott
Thanks, Barbara. ... Read More
Wednesday, 23 March 2016 09:47
Rosy Cole
Hope is a powerful tool for turning unfortunate landings on their head. Circumstances may not change in the short term, but what w... Read More
Saturday, 26 March 2016 17:37
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4 Comments

Kisses

There’s something in the sharing of feeling beyond understanding of language, where supple lips meet and tongues swirl to be lost in dizzy delight, or where cheeks brush in a softness of silk and kisses linger in the air of personal space.

Mine begin early from pooches, my blue-eyed girl first after thumping down the hallway in good morning squeals, her nails nicking the wooden boards as she bounds over her petite brown-eyed sister gliding for a hello too. Licks come fast and frenzied and a scratch on their head settles them to snuggle beside me, one by my chaise lounge of greying blue and the other resting her chin on my feet under my desk.

Then come the boys, usually one by one and in quick succession during a work and school week, or as a stroll that can be hours apart every other day. Their sleepy good morning kisses can be warm and soft, even over chiselled jaws, or come in a fleeting hurry to get out the door. They can be the lightest of pecks on cheeks that sometimes glide by with no skin contact at all and go beyond the ‘hob-nobbery’ of air kisses. Other times, one simple kiss lands with such powerful intent, loaded in boundless love that overwhelms and leaves me sopping in nourishing love. As little lads, we sometimes played games of butterfly and fish kisses that led to such laughter, of tigers and Eskimos too.

Lucky for me, I still have hello and good bye kisses from Mum and my brother who has spent all of his nine lives and is looking exceptionally well these days. And Mum’s partner, my partner and aunts and uncles, cousins, sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews … from families galore. They're hello and good bye kisses on cheeks and lips, automatic and customary, ones of habit steeped in deep memory and others brimming in open love. And from friends too, kisses and squeeze me tight hugs come with a depth of appreciation, care and love, and understanding of no matter what.

Kisses can be the obligatory greeting hello between acquaintances and colleagues, more heartfelt than the handshake. They can grow in warmth with hugs of thank you and good bye and air kisses of serious connection, even though lips may not touch and it’s the caress of skin that locks the energy. That can feed lingering thoughts over lunch and in meetings, of good byes in passionate, locked lips where hands cupping and caressing become part of the kiss and all is lost to tantalising tingles and hearts in jitters.

Then there are those ‘others’, the ones where a kiss landing lip to lip takes you by surprise and you wonder whether if mouths were slightly open, you’d go all the way, and the secret within of wanting to go all the way. Or the online flirt that could be a kiss if that person stood in front of you and you imagine what that kiss might be.

Of course kisses are never all Daphne and tulips and there are those soaked in sadness and laced in loss and blue, the ones weighted in tiredness and burden that require a sit and unravelling of the day. These kisses can be an exchange that lessen the load and strengthen a connection.

Regardless of the intent and expression of any kiss, all carry their own reservoir of precious, pooling droplets ready to fall into a garden of ripe and rich. I'd wilt without them.

woman blowing a kiss 

Recent Comments
Katherine Gregor
"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous." (Ingrid Bergman) Kisses are very inti... Read More
Sunday, 07 February 2016 08:38
Monika Schott
That's a lovely quote from Ingrid Bergman and perfectly true. A kiss says so much. Thanks as always.
Sunday, 07 February 2016 19:00
Sue Martin Glasco
Kisses bring us good health--emotional and physical. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and experiences with kisses. I enjoyed th... Read More
Tuesday, 09 February 2016 04:40
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4 Comments

A storming ride

Speckling ideas, partial and fragmented, brewing in twinkle yet without spark. They’re more a hazy glint of thoughts that fade in and out faraway, sometimes flashing as a glimmer of something and then disappearing with the flutter of an eye lid.

Time ticks. There’s nothing more.

Until that hazy glint grows and feeds the head with a heavy might. It whips at limbs that become tired and limp.

Tingling tangles of thinking, eyes darting in flurry as people look and stare. And then comes the squeeze within a vice of lead and excruciating dread and a body rippling and tensing in terse.

Clashing confusion and rumbling ruin, ranting and raving. He is, she was. You’re it, you’re not …

Words overflow in an electrical storm of despair and are hammered by floods of entwining and interconnected molesting vines. They meld as a mash of mess spiked in diamonds tainted in venomous credibility. They shred through everything but understanding.

No sense of semblance, just mad irrationality shared with rationality, spewing fire and ice in bursts of hate and desperation, gasps in bated breath … roaring and ripping into everything and everyone in its cyclonic wake … It’s too much. End it now!

And with that comes a release, an excretion of toxic waste that erodes at the soul of essence. 

The crescendo tumbles, spiralling down, down to flat as grey.

The electric storm of fire and ice dissipates and the free-fall-to-nowhere ride funnels into a black hole. All that remains is a gentle reverberation.

Quiet after the storming ride. For now.

 

Recent Comments
Katherine Gregor
What a wonderful, powerful verbal expression of the colours and frenetic movement in Van Gogh's painting.
Sunday, 24 January 2016 13:23
Monika Schott
Thanks, Katherine. ... Read More
Monday, 25 January 2016 20:52
Rosy Cole
Moni, this is living the art! A roller-coaster of a ride!
Sunday, 24 January 2016 17:20
1427 Hits
4 Comments

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