Beth was born at a time when girls were expected to marry and become mothers. From a young age, she rejected her dolls and favoured a construction set.

At first, her father frowned at her love of “boy’s” things until he saw the joy on her face. He guided her curiosity and, in time, accepted her as an apprentice carpenter. When Beth became licensed, he gave her a gift of specially made nails.

“Pink nails?” she cried.

Beth now heads the company. As each new home begins, she takes one of her treasures and hammers the first nail. Perhaps there’s one in your home.

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Eyes followed the unknown visitor accompanied by one well known. The visitors stood before those gathered. The angle was very acute as they tilted their heads to study the unknown. Was he a giant?

The school’s Principal spoke, “Mr. Mannell will be your teacher until Mrs. Maxwell returns later this year.”

This was my introduction to the class of five year old children seated on the floor before me. In coming weeks, parents visiting the school were often amused to see a 185cm tall man skipping and dancing around the playground with ones so young.

I had achieved the start of a career I loved.

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The time came to be observed, to review the happenings of the days. I was promised a fair and impartial assessment. Hopes were high as was the apprehension of the unknown.

We’ve heard said our lives pass before our eyes at times of threat. This was the experience. All was open to review and assessment. So much was covered yet the process was complete in what seemed an instant. I’d hoped for a Grade 1, 2 or possibly 3. An inadequate Grade 4 was unthinkable.

The time arrived. When the judgement came it was a 2. I’d made a difference.

I was summoned into heaven.

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There are pixies.

When whiling away the afternoon in my garden I sensed movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning quickly, I saw one on a yellow daisy.

Discovered, she froze. I assured her I meant no harm.

She introduced herself, “My name is Primrose. I’m a Yixie, a yellow pixie. We care for all things yellow.”

“The other colours?”

“Bixies for blue and Rixies for red,” she explained.

“…but there are many colours.”

Primrose smiled, “We work together. We mix our colours. More or less, we make them all.”

“Yellow is my favourite.”

Primrose smiled, “Mine too.”

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Their teacher was fond of facts and encouraging his class to share experiences.

“There are ten Australian bee species without stings.”

“…but there’s always a sting in the tail of the bee,” one student protested.

Their teacher showed photos of small, black, stingless bees.

After a slight pause, “Has anyone been stung by a bee?”

Stories were shared… then there was Jamie.

Jamie told of his experience with a magic bee. A sting caused him to shrink. He’d lived with bees for two days until returning to normal.

Teacher smiled, “There’s always a sting in your tale.”

Jamie, innocently, “No, sir, the sting was on my arm.”

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