Helen Brown is well known to many New Zealanders. As a magazine columnist she's clever with words, witty, bitchy at times, extremely sensitive at others.
Here she details her move to Melbourne, where her husband takes up a posting. In New Zealand, Brown had a small claim to fame,recognisable enough to be tapped on the shoulder on a bad hair day. In Melbourne, she is reduced to being an anonymous, middle-aged housewife/mother.
But Brown's a glass-is-half-full type of person - any pessimistic tendencies are quickly shooed away. She embraces the challenges and opportunities her new circumstances throw at her, recording highs and lows for her readers. The wannabes of South Yarra are savaged. Too-honest sex lessons given to her 6-year-old are dismissed with the irreverence they deserve.
There are traumatic times. Brown bares her soul on her mother's death but, before growing too serious, finds humour in the morose.
People who have confronted morality appreciate life, she writes. Her son Rob, recovering from major surgery, reflects, "Guess you've got to experience bad to recognise good."
While Brown appreciates such wisdom, she questions why her son had to find out that fact of life so young.
And who won't feel a stab of pain sharing knowledge of Brown's ongoing sorrow for the death of her 9-year-old son? When Brown's mother, facing her own death, asks to talk about Sam, it's more than Brown can bear.
No wonder Brown finds such comfort in her battered but trusty old pillow. It seems security blankets come in all forms, and are needed by all sorts.
