Words by By Bridget Judd, taken from ABC Australia, 24 July 2021, 10.55 am

There are hidden dramas taking place everywhere.


Changing to a minimalist life taught me more than one lesson.

A close up shot of two small black side tables with household items such as saucepans, a coffee maker, a juicer, and iron, some baking ware. All this is on a front porch, ready to give away.
A close up shot of two small black side tables with household items such as saucepans, a coffee maker, a juicer, and iron, some baking ware. All this is on a front porch, ready to give away.
Photo by the author: Lindy Ralph

Ruthlessly, my partner and I flung old stools and moth-eaten floor rugs into the large skip plonked in our driveway.

When I say ‘my partner and I’, I mean me. I was the ruthless one. He was the reluctant participant dragged along in my wake.

It was June 2020, in the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic when we decided to move to the city (read about that here). My son had already left home and we were bored, needed jobs and were keen to start our third act.

Let’s give it all away!

We combined households a couple of years before and having moved…


Learning where my strengths and weaknesses lay is empowering.

Photo by Adrian Balasoiu on Unsplash

I didn’t know I even had ADHD until a year ago after I had been studying creative writing for eighteen months. I noticed that I found essay writing more challenging than other students. Now that I am diagnosed and understand the traits of an ADHD brain, I feel less of a dummy. Medication helps with motivation and focus.

A common misconception is that we have a complete lack of attention and focus. In my experience that is not true, I can’t sustain focus on things that bore me (and I get bored very easily). …


A memoir.

black and white close up of an elderly hand, ring on the wedding finger. There is the lower half of a very small child with their hand on top of the elder.
black and white close up of an elderly hand, ring on the wedding finger. There is the lower half of a very small child with their hand on top of the elder.
Photo by Rod Long on Unsplash

We stood around the bed as Gramps was dying. Children, parents, cousins, aunties and uncles, three generations of us frozen in time. Holding our Breath. Sucking the air out of the room.

I stroked his hand, blue veins showing through transparent skin. His pulse was strong. He was minutes from the end.

In New Guinea, those hands gripped the rifle as Gramps held back the enemy. Young and terrified in the chaos of the jungle. Heat and filth and dirt. He thought his unit was behind him.

They weren’t.

Once strong, his hands steered the bicycle thousands of miles from…

Lindy Ralph

Middle aged Australian writer from Melbourne. Mother of a kind young man, partner, friend and foodie. she/her

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