I don’t usually remember my dreams. Only twice in my life have I had recurring dreams; the one I had in the 60s in which I was trying to deny that I was Jewish, having watched a documentary about the Holocaust. The interrogating officer said, “of course you’re Jewish, look at your father!”
(Irony of ironies to latterly discover from my DNA that my unknown Grandfather was indeed Jewish!)

And I had a recurring dream about frantically diving into the depths of the sea in search of Stace. Surely he was there somewhere, on the other side, standing in the light……

With that backdrop of exceptional cases of recurring dreams emanating from deep distress, it is interesting that I do remember two singular dreams that ultimately were inextricably linked.

The first, I’d had a baby and buried it in the back yard. I was quite matter of fact about it and called a friend and calmly told her what I’d done. She came round straight away and I pointed to the ground and the loose soil under which I’d buried my baby. “There, the baby’s under there,” I told her.
She took me to the police station and again I calmly told the Constable on duty what I’d done.
Then the dream skips to the court.
The thing is it was Stacey’s baby. Absolutely it was his and I had buried his baby in the back yard.

The defence lawyer claimed that I was somehow mentally deranged. But I said, “no, the baby was Stace’s, I’m completely in my right mind and this is what I have done.”

I had this dream before Stace died and at the time I assumed that I was burying the possibility of having a baby. Even though my bio-clock was ticking I honestly had no desire to have a child and Stace had his gorgeous girls already, so there was no way it was going to happen.
So I thought the dream was saying, “well that’s that then!”

Skip to the part where Stace had “shuffled off this mortal coil,” and the depths of my grief. (At some point I will enlarge upon all that….)

I had some beautiful counselling from several different people one of whom was a psychiatrist who specialised in dreams.
That wasn’t the reason I went to him. It was just that he was recommended by the counsellor assigned me by the Traffic Accident Commission once I’d used up my quota with her.

Peter O’Connor didn’t delve into the dream thing straight away and his question “do you remember your dreams?” was almost an aside really.
The searching for Stace dream was all I could come up with immediately, but then I said, “there is this weird one I had about burying Stace’s baby in the back yard.”
And so I told him about that dream and my assumption about what it might mean, if dreams HAVE to mean something. I was a bit cynical about it all if I’m honest.
Anyway, Peter told me that when women have dreams about babies, they’re actually dreaming about their creativity. He asserted that my belief that the baby was Stace’s was no word of a lie; that there was something I could do that was absolutely born from being with Stace, but that it wasn’t able to grow at that time and that I had indeed, quite consciously popped it away somewhere.
He also said that I would likely have an antidotal dream at some point.

Jump a couple of years to my early days in Toronto and the purchase of a book of Blake’s verse; my delight in rediscovering that extraordinary, visionary, artist, poet, mystic, philosopher and social commentator. And the thrill to also discover that I happen to share his birthday. (28th November, which was also the date of our Sossie Final Chorus as it happens…)
At about this time in 1999 I had the antidotal dream…..

I was at home in Somerset, riding a motorcycle towards Glastonbury. (For those who don’t know, Stace was killed while riding his motorcycle).
It was twilight when I passed a school playing field where there was a sort of farmer’s fair happening and I saw a little cub cowering in fear being trampled by a clod-hopping herd of cows. I dismounted and ran into the field and rescued the poor little thing and took it to a woman who seemed to be some kind of official. She was very busy and brusquely told me not to bother her.
Somehow I did divest myself of the cub and continued on my way. Once in Glastonbury I met up with my lovely Mac.Rob Chamber Voices and began warming them up for a performance. The woman from the fair had followed me, caught up with me and angrily shaking the cub by the scruff of its neck thrust it at me. I grabbed it, now realising it was a little tiger cub and I held it, warm and wriggling, under my jacket until it was soothed and snuggly and I knew I could never let it go again.

A while later, returning the way I’d come I dropped in on some very dear friends and told them what had happened. To my astonishment there were now several tiger cubs and I set them down in my friends’ garden. They advised that I should stick with the one I’d rescued and let the rest go into the wild. I can remember thinking, “well those others are probably still out there somewhere…..”

I had composed LAWA by this time. What followed was reams and reams of poetry and cascading KateSongs as I travelled further into my post Stacey life, taking with me my Muse that I named Blake. Tyger, tyger burning bright and all that!

I haven’t thought about this for years.
It is no small thing then, that the very first thing I did on this epic trip was to go to the New Getty with my new found cousin Kevin where we enjoyed a wonderful exhibition about William Blake….

And, whilst I have huge emotional swings about leaving ChoirKate and my beloved Sossies behind, I have never wavered that the time was right to turn the page and obey this pull towards my next chapter. Trust me there’s disbelief, fear and self-doubt a-plenty about it. I mean it seems to me an act of sheer audacity that I dare to suspect it possible that I may just, perhaps be, a writer?

​On the way to the Getty I told Kevin that my favourite William Blake quote goes like this - “I must create a system or be enslaved by another man’s. I will not reason or compare; my business is to create.”
Who would’ve thought we’d find it emblazoned on the wall. In red!!

Some will have noticed I have been noticeably unnoticeable for a few weeks now!🥴
Been fully occupied on this trip of trips. Four countries, four currencies, three time zones and ultimately 12 different beds in four and a half weeks!

​More of that I guess.....



Meantime, my trusty little red friend of countless air miles over ten years, has spat the dummy with three of its four wheels succumbing to the ravages of time over New Year.
With it I went backwards and forwards pretty much twice a year for a decade; crossing the globe to be with my little old lovelies as they struggled into their 90s, Dad caring for our ailing Mum for about five of those and then struggling with the reality of needing care for her and ultimately himself. That’s what did him in in the end. He literally worried himself to death!
Baby boomers will of course recognise the story of the pointy end.

And so, my little red friend, which was a cheapie BTW, has served me more than well. Someone with a mathematical brain might be able to come up with a number from all those above.
Where’s Phil DeLosa when I need him? 🤣
I hope the grand total correlates to the love in my heart. I suspect it will be found wanting.
Meanwhile, my smart new grey one sporting a red trim (score!!) I hope will see me through to my remaining globe trotting days.
Amazing adventures have heralded this new and unprecedented chapter. Gratitude and humility in spades to be seeing the possibilities of what may come.
Love to all for 2024 and whatever comes your way. Kxx