An Itty Bitty Christmas Ditty

We rock, we roll.
We turn upside down.
Our lives are like,
A merry go round.

We love, we cry.
We laugh, we die.
Is anyone different,
To you or I?

Friends we make,
And over time,
They come, they go,
They help or deny.

With Christmas near;
Our souls renew.
We help, we deny,
To ourselves be true.

Our worlds are apart, 
And also as one.
The best we can do, 
Is to have some fun!

The Ocean

I wandered the streets,
Cold, grey and lonely.
A city of pavements,
Crowds stepped them daily,
Past tall soulless buildings
Entombed in a plight.
No light in this city,
Only shadows in flight.

I thought as I wandered,
Of sun, sand, rock pools.
The laughter of children.
Sandcastles, seaweed jewels.
How a bed full of seashells,
Blooming love, smelling pure,
Tickles our senses,
As we walk the sea shore.

I walked up a hill.
I looked down far below.

Over the bar, a high tide.
Waves clear, bluey green.
I heard a child giggle.
I ran towards the sound.
My hair in the sea breeze
Til my toes touched the sand.

I looked over my shoulder
To the place I had been.
It was cold, grey and lonely,
Shadows still seen.
A shudder went through me.
I turned back around.
I took a step forward.
I smiled at a sound.

Waves crash the rocks.
I strolled into the sea.
Remembrance of salt water
And times I was free.
Happiness returned
As I studied the swell.
No more cold, no more grey.

My loneliness quelled.

Restricted

We both are restricted.
It’s not by our want.
Afar from each other

We travel, we jaunt.

Once it was rosy,
Time was so free.
The essence of you,
Was the essence of me.

Your breath on my neck,
Breathless to me.
I wanted you dearly;
I could touch you or flee.

We loved with abandon,
Skin naked, smooth, and rough.

The limit was endless,
Though never enough.

Over time I grew weary,
Of all we endured.
You smelled my forgiveness,
As before I adored,

The love and the tenderness.
Now never, no more.

You come back from the shadows,

To claim me at night;

I melt in your arms,

And hold you so tight.

So where are we now?

We are back to the fore.
I love you more dearly,
Than ever before.

Memoir Madness Post 1

Memoir Madness Post 1

30 November 2013

And so it begins..... It’s time. I’m not sure why, but it is. I am happy, relaxed, reflective, have time on my hands and more hormonal than I would care to admit. All of the above have influenced this craziness. If you've read the ‘About Me’ on this blog, you will know I've made the decision to write memoirs concerning certain events from my past. The memoirs will be the story of a girl who looks at the world through rose colored glasses. 

The only difference now being, they are prescription rose colored glasses and this has given me the edge I so badly needed.

So where do I start?  I've formulated a plan and it’s not unlike how I eat a lolly. Unwrap the lolly, take a good look, plop it in my mouth, swirl it around, suck up the flavor and finally chew it rapidly hence it disappears so quickly I’m left wondering if I ever had one in the first place. This results in having to put another one in my mouth, and so on and so on.

That’s not my actual plan. It was just good fantasizing about eating a lolly. To start with though, I will unwrap my past. I developed a highly honed skill when I was a young girl, which enabled me to forget (or block, if you want to be fancy) events from my past. So in order to begin I will.....

• Create a timeline. It’s the only way I can gather my thoughts.
• Research old legal records and newspaper archives.
• Fill in the gaps with a close family member who has been my main memory keeper for years.
• Think about how these stories will be told.
• Write a draft beginning, middle and end.
• Not pressure myself too much.
• Decide on how many lollies I should stock up on.
• Research which wine to drink with the numerous prawn and mango salads I am going to gift myself.
• Remember to breathe.

Yes, this is the easy part. It’s going to become harder as I delve into my past.

I will gratefully accept support and I will suck it up like a lolly. Thanks for reading and I’ll keep you posted irregularly. No joke!

Sing Me a Song of a Pirate Named Red

A sailor she is, her name is Red Nelly.

From the wharf at Tortuga as a babe she was saved,

By the Captain alone, high was the tide.

The mother had vanquished, her life one of dread,

As brought by the French to occupy men.

A pirate’s life is the scandal of Red.

A long auburn plait falls down by her head.

It reaches her hip, a trademark well known,

For the red of her hair is the red of her heart.

A cutlass she wields, to bleed men apart.

In trousers untanned, belt, hat and boots.

Red has strength of a dragon to fight and to loot.

The sloop from Bermuda is thought of in awe.

It carries fourteen guns, room for no more.

The English and French are at odds to agree

Taking Sea’s Star would bring treasure and glee.

One dark misty night on the warm Caribbean,

Not a sound could be heard, cards all played out.

Red kept her watch to the ebb and the roll,

Licking her lips, tasting salt of her birth

And wonders when next they will fight for the gold.

A ship full of Spaniards, hidden by dark,

Greed in their minds, cold is their hearts.

A cannon sounds boom, the sailors awake

With rum in their guts and grease on their face,

A shudder from all, knowing this is their fate.

The captain feels grieved, when the ship pulls up close.

The Spanish swing over, knives sticking the chests

Of his crew, a brave lot, they fight back as a force.

Stabbing and cutting, knives holding forth.

The depths of the ocean may be their last port.

A fair buccaneer for whom sailors have toiled,

An old dog is the captain; his time may be near.

He remembers a child, Red laughing and free,

Til her softness was stolen, no more to be seen.

The Spaniard attacks, his eyes wide, no fear.

A figure emerges and lets out a roar.

It is Red and her cutlass with rage in her heart

She slices the throat of the Spaniard with ease.

Blood sprays on her chest, her scourge is unleashed.

One by one she does kill to even the score.

A tale told by few on land and afar.

Outdone by Red Nelly, a shame, an untruth.

A safeguard is Red, for the captain, her pa.

Alone

The cold spread down through each layer of Violet’s skin. It was too cold, happening too quickly. Shit, shit and double shit! Violet knew she had passed out. Her body was shivering and the sun had moved down. Tears of pain and frustration fell from Violet’s eyes and warmed her cheeks. Sobbing was pointless. Lying on her back, Violet managed to twist and turn to look at the abnormality in her thigh. Bugger! It’s broken.

The tears flowed again as she thought of her late husband.  Bob had tried to talk to Violet time and again, before he passed away, insisting she move to Sydney closer to their son. He couldn't bear to think of her on the property alone. Deep down, they both knew she would never leave Charlotte Pass. It’s too late now.

Looking up at the sun, Violet determined she had passed out for at least an hour.  It was approximately three in the afternoon. I have to get to the barn and call for help.  Bob and Violet had installed a phone line in the barn years earlier. The barn was where Bob had spent most of his down time, fiddling around with machinery and chatting with his mates.
  

Violet pulled her arms back and tried to move forward, digging her hands through the shallow snow into the cold dirt.  Searing pain shot up from Violet’s leg and she screamed. It hurts too much, I can’t do this!  Sobbing now, she gave it another go.  This time the pain was overwhelming and Violet passed out again.

On coming to, Violet looked up into the sky and saw a wedge tailed eagle soaring high above.  It was alone.  She remembered when her son Tom was five years old and flew around the yard with his arms spread wide, mimicking the eagles. They had watched them over and over again, while lying on their backs in the grass. Tom was going to be an eagle when he grew up. Violet smiled weakly through her tears.

The shivering was becoming stronger. Violet had to get a move on before the hypothermia took over.  Whilst trying to move forward again, a noise rang out in the distance.  The phone in the barn was ringing.  Oh damn!  Only 100 feet away and it feels like a bloody 100 kilometers.   It was Friday and whoever was ringing wouldn't ring back. Violet was habitually in town at the library on a Friday afternoon, helping with a reading group.  No one would miss her if she didn't answer.

Pulling her way forward a couple of feet at a time was not enough, and Violet knew it. There was dirt under her fingernails and two of them had snapped down low.  The smell of blood permeated the air.  It doesn't matter, thought Violet.  I’m not going anywhere. Feeling dizzy, Violet put her head down on folded arms as memories swished and swayed through her mind.

Confusion was setting in as Violet again looked into the sky.  The wedge tailed eagle was still there, soaring so high it was almost invisible.  Oh, what a lonely life, but such freedom. Time passed. Violet couldn't focus on how late it was in the afternoon.  The sun was low. Gripping the ground again, she pulled herself another foot forward.  I can’t do this. Too tired!

Violet looked at her hands. They were old. I am getting so sleepy.  I've worked hard all my life. I am proud of my life.  My father, my husband, my son.  What wonderful men.  

Oh Bob, I need you. Oh Tom. Dad?  

A snow flurry washed over Violet’s body.  Her breathing was shallow. The barn was a blur in the distance. Snowflakes landed on Violet’s hair and sparkled in the failing light. The eagle glided, looking down on the white land.  Violet’s final thoughts were of an old tune sung by Johnny Cash, Snow in His Hair.  

A Day in the Life of Madness

It was a shock to Susan.  The comfort of familiarity was lost. In the blink of an eye what had once been Susan’s homeland was now foreign.  Susan looked around at the sights and sounds, not knowing what to do, studying her new surroundings.  She was in a warehouse of sorts with a high ceiling.  The warehouse was overcrowded and noisy.  Hanging from the ceiling by chains, were cages, some large and others small.  The small cages were full of carrots, still with their green tops. Susan was transfixed and stood on the spot, unable to move. In the large cages were animals, although Susan had never seen this kind of animal. They were all different, most covered in patchy fur, with some human like features. They did have one feature in common; their teeth were bared. This frightened Susan out of her wits and she started running and looking for an exit to escape this freak show. What the hell? A nervous sweat was trickling down the sides of Susan’s face and her hands were clammy. The stench from the caged human animals was overpowering and nausea hit Susan. Ugh!

No one took any notice of Susan as she raced through the warehouse; except for one person. The girl had been observing Susan. A scream escaped from Susan as the girl grabbed her on the arm. The girl said, “Come with me now, quickly.” Susan struggled and tried to run away. The girl firmly held on to Susan’s arm and spoke again. “You must come with me now, I’ll help you!” Susan looked at the girl who was wearing a black hat with the rim pulled down over her eyes, rags covering her body and an orange tinge to he skin. “Who are you?” asked Susan. “My name’s Maggie, I know what you are going through and I can help you.  You must come with me now!” said Maggie.  May as well, shit!  Maggie led Susan to a door and they left the warehouse.

Susan’s whole body shook out of control.  “Take some deep breaths and follow me,” said Maggie.  Susan nodded in confusion. They were in a city with tall concrete buildings, under a grey sky.  Susan noticed there was no greenery; not a tree, shrub or even a leaf in sight. The streets were empty. Occasionally a person scurried out of one doorway and into another. “I’m taking you to my house,” said Maggie.  “The sun will be gone soon, so we have to hurry”.  After walking for 30 minutes, Maggie started to run.  Susan kept up the pace.  They circled around an enclosure, with an 8 foot high wire fence. Behind the fence was a concrete building with one door. Outside the building was a large concrete hole in the ground with steep sides. Water was being pumped out of a pipe above the hole, and the effect was that of water spiraling down a plug hole in a sink.

“Here we go,” said Maggie.  The two girls had reached a harbour and Maggie helped Susan down into a dinghy.  Susan did as she was told and Maggie rowed out into the harbour.  The water was black and murky.  Surely nothing lives in this water.  As Maggie rowed, tears fell from Susan’s eyes.  This was all too much.  “Let it out Susan and I’ll fill you in, said Maggie. I’m not from here either."  

I was at the local supermarket buying milk, and in an instant, boom, I was here in this wasted city.  It took me weeks to adjust and a stranger helped me out, the same as I’m doing for you.  Something is wrong with this place and no one will talk about it.  The only thing to eat is carrots or meat, and they’re sold at the market after being dropped there once a month through the night. The meat comes from the animals you saw in the cages. I don’t eat them. They're mutated humans,” Maggie started to explain.  Susan’s crying turned to gags. “I’m taking you to a small island in the middle of the harbour.  I live there with Tilda and Grandma Chicken.  You’ll be safe” said Maggie.  “Well how the hell did I get here, where am I, how can I go home?” asked Susan.  “I’m so sorry” said Maggie.  “You can’t go home.  I wouldn't be here if I knew how to do that.”  Maggie reached over and hugged Susan.  Susan was beside herself and the tears were running down her face. “You’ll be O.K. You’ll adjust,” said Maggie.

The two girls arrived at a small inlet and pulled up to a wooden jetty. Maggie padlocked the dinghy to the jetty with a heavy chain. The island wasn't really an island, but a rocky protrusion with a building in the middle, surrounded on 3 sides by a high fence. Maggie looked up into the sky and frowned.  The ashen sun was almost down.  “Let’s get inside, hurry, come on!” said Maggie.  After knocking on the door, it was opened by an old woman, and the girls hurried inside.

“Hey Tilda, look who I found at the markets,” said Maggie.  “Tilda, Susan, Susan, Tilda.  Yay, we have someone else to stay with us,” said Maggie.  Maggie twirled off around the room.  Tilda smiled at Susan and gave her a hug.  “Welcome Susan,” said the old woman. “Welcome to our home”.  Susan’s gratitude came out in tears.  “I’ll make us a cup of iced water,” said Tilda.  “Take a seat Susan, and please feel at home. We’ll fill you in, you poor lost sole”. Once all three were settled, Maggie began.

“The thing is,” said Maggie. “If you are out at night, you will disappear.  The people from behind the Great Fence will capture you.  You remember the high fence we ran around on the mainland?  I've watched them at night. They drug the prisoners and take them behind the Great Fence”.

 

This must be a dream.  It just keeps getting weirder and weirder. Susan sat, listened and stared off into space.  Tilda patted Susan on the arm and smiled.  “The prisoners are told to walk down the concrete spiral hole thingy, and then the water is turned on!  They are washed away by a whirlpool, never to be seen again.  Deep, down into the ground.  They obviously drown,” said Maggie.

 

“Now, now, Maggie,” said Tilda.  “I think Susan has heard enough!   Come on love, we’ll show you round and find you a bed.”

The inside of the house looked as normal as any middle class home, with ornaments on a sideboard and photos in frames of people long gone.  Tilda, with tears in her eyes, spoke the names of each of the lost family members and friends.  Susan felt Tilda’s sadness and awkwardly put an arm around Tilda’s shoulders.

 

At the end of the kitchen were double glass doors.  They were shut.  Susan couldn't see through the glass.  It was yellow, and reminded Susan of the retro decor of the 50’s. “Come along Susan, and I’ll introduce you to Grandma Chicken.  You’ll find this hard to deal with, but Grandma Chicken is very excited to meet you.  She’s been listening to us talk.”  Susan silently followed Tilda towards the glass doors. “You’ll be fine with this Susan,” Maggie said, and gave her a wink.  Doubt it!  Susan could hear a scratching sound as the three women approached the doors. “Just don’t get too close, she bites.”  

Tilda opened the doors and Susan saw the most hideous creature.  It looked like a chicken the size of a short person, with a head covered in not feathers, but human hair, wound up into a bun on top of its head.  The creature looked like the ones Susan had seen in the warehouse and was baring its teeth. The sight frightened Susan.

The big chicken lady person was scratching the floor and making soft clucking noises. “Grandma Chicken was rescued by Tilda from the meat markets,” said Maggie.  Her feathers were falling out and she looked scraggly.  No one bought her and she was left to rot at the back of the warehouse.   It was disgusting!  We've only been able to save this one.  She can end her days here in comfort.”   Susan noticed a chicken pen of sorts in the corner of the room, where shredded paper was scattered for Grandma Chicken to toilet.  

This was just too much for Susan and out came the tears.  What was this horrid place?  Tilda went over to Grandma Chicken and fixed a stray piece of hair coming out of the bun.  “Grandma Chicken only lets Tilda get close to her,” said Maggie. “Oh dear, your tears will settle down eventually, sweetie.”

“I need to show you something,” said Tilda.  Maggie was standing in another corner of the room, in front of what looked like a large painting turned backwards. We've heard stories at the markets, frightening stories of homes being broken into and people being whisked away during the night, never to be seen again.  The only defense we have is this mirror.  Oh, please!  A mirror, a weapon?  “We were lucky to....well, find this,” said Maggie.

“Um, call me stupid but how is a mirror going to help you?” Susan asked.  “That’s the good bit,” said Maggie.  If anyone looks in the mirror, the mirror turns a ghastly black and the person is sucked in, and we never see them again.  How awesome is that?”  Maggie twirled off around the room again.  Oh dear, get me out of here.  “It’s what happens Susan, no matter how hard it is to believe,” said Tilda.  The important thing is that you know what it can do and how it can be used. Never, ever, turn the mirror around unless you are facing an enemy, and don’t look in to the mirror, or poof, you’ll be gone.  “Um, O.K,” said Susan. Help!

“Come on and we’ll find you a bed,” said Tilda.  Susan was led in to a small bedroom with a mattress on the floor.  “Thank you,” said Susan.  “Try to get some sleep and we’ll call you later for supper,” said Tilda.  Susan lay down and cried until she fell asleep.  Dreams of hideous creatures danced around inside Susan’s head.

A noise woke Susan.  Susan sat up quickly and took a gulp of air.  Holding her breath, she listened. Susan’s body was stiff and motionless.  Someone raced into the bedroom.  “Quick Susan,” said Maggie. They’re here. It’s them, from behind the Great Fence.  We've got to go, now!”  Maggie tugged at Susan until she got up, and then pulled her towards the door.

 

“Tilda went out to stall them, so we could get away.  Come on!  There’s an escape hatch in Grandma Chicken’s room behind the wardrobe.”  Susan started to shake and followed Maggie.  What sounded like a gunshot stopped Susan and Maggie in their tracks.  Susan heard a loud sob escape from Maggie.  On entering Grandma Chicken’s room, Maggie led Susan towards a wardrobe on the back wall.  The double doors suddenly opened and men with torches scanned the room.  Maggie desperately tried to drag the wardrobe aside.  “The mirror,” said Susan. We’re too late, get the fucking mirror!”

 

At that moment a figure flew through the room and landed on the man inside the doorway.  Grandma Chicken was attacking him with such ferociousness it made the other men step back. Maggie and Susan both grabbed for the mirror when another gunshot was heard. Maggie let out another loud sob as they watched Grandma Chicken fall to the floor. Dizziness washed over Susan and she grabbed at Maggie. Both girls lost their balance. Maggie’s grip on the mirror loosened.  A torch light fell on the glass of the mirror as it turned and faced the girls.

It happened so fast, and both girls looked in to the black mirror. Susan and Maggie were sucked away and disappeared from Grandma Chicken’s room.

Susan blinked.  Maggie groaned.  Bright sunlight was glaring in to their eyes. What the hell?  On opening their eyes wider the girls saw a shopping mall.  Home?  Maggie threw her arms around Susan then twirled off through the parking lot.  Susan, overwhelmed, shaken and crying, twirled off after Maggie, with a grin.               

Liebster Blog Award

The Liebster Blog Award is a way for bloggers to highlight Blog's and Bloggers that have small followings but deserve acknowledgement for their hard work, excellence and contribution to the world of Blogging. I was honoured to be nominated by Squid McFinnigan who is a fantastic blogger.

Here are the nomination rules:

1. List eleven random facts about me.
2. Nominate eleven bloggers for the Liebster Blog Award.
3. Notify the bloggers.
4. Ask eleven questions the bloggers must answer upon receiving the award.
5. Answer the eleven questions you were asked when you were nominated.
6. Link back to the person who nominated you.

 11 Facts about me you might not know.

1.     In the past I played an African drum at the local markets.
2.     I have long hair and I am 5 foot 7 inches.
3.     I love horror movies. Not gore, horror!
4.     When younger I worked at a restaurant as the sweets & coffee girl.
5.     I can be reclusive.
6.     I own two violins which I pretend to play. No joke!
7.     My brother is my hero. 
8.     I have a healthy respect for sharks.
9.     I bite my fingernails (only four, go figure) 
10.     I live in a fantasy world most of the time.
11.     My memory is shit. I'm starting to write a memoir (minor hiccup).

The 11 Bloggers that I would like to nominate for this award are as follows in no particular order.

Amanda Staley http://staleybooks.wordpress.com/

Jane Turley http://janeyaboutme.blogspot.com.au/

Jack Henry Kraven http://jackkraven.blogspot.com.au/

Teagan Kearney http://myfirstnovelnoworkingtitleyet.blogspot.co.uk/

Christian Cassidy http://cassidystorytelling.wordpress.com/
Kyle Wilde http://www.thebookbrothers.com/

Rea de Miranda http://reademiranda.blogspot.com.au/

M A Barr http://mabarrjournal.blogspot.com.au/

Ben Roach http://thewritingwanderer.blogspot.com.au/

Yoande Isabel Regueira Marin http://lovepainandothercatastrophes.blogspot.com.au/

Lisa Agosti http://lisafobia.blogspot.com.au/

11 Questions for the people I have nominated.

1. Do your family members read the stories and/or poems you write?
2. Where would you like to holiday next?
3. Who is your hero? (real or fictional)
4. What’s the first thing you do in the morning (besides peeing)?
5. What is your nickname (if you have one)?
6. Do you wash your own car?
7. What was the last movie you watched that made you laugh til you cried?
8. Where do you get your inspiration from for writing?
9. Do you watch the Olympic Games?
10. Does the title of a story or poem come to you straight away?
11. Do you smile and/or say hi to strangers you pass on the street?

 Here are my Answers to Squid McFinnigan’s questions.

1. Where were you when you had your first kiss?

        The frog?  At a school dance.

2. Your house is on fire what 3 things would you save? (Kids and people excluded)

        The fluff out of my clothes dryer (yes, I’m attached), a pillow 

        (hey,sleep comes easy) and lippy (in the event of a media interview). Kidding! 

        I would grab my phone (to call 000), the cat (Precious) and run, (and the pillow).

3. What is your favorite blog post of your own blog?

        Cali and the River. 

4. If you could switch with one person for 24 hours who would you pick?

        Stephen King 

5. What 4 famous people would you invite round to your house for dinner (alive or dead?)

        Hilary Clinton, Hunter S Thompson, Nelson Mandela and Hugh Jackman.

        (did I mention Hugh Jackman?)

6. Your guilty pleasure.

        It would have to be spending time by myself.

7. Nicest thing another person has ever done for you.

        Let me live with him for 12 months. My brother, my hero.

8. Nicest thing you have done for a stranger.

        Stopped at a car accident (first on scene) to offer assistance.

9. What is your partners (Present or past) most annoying trait?

        Alcohol abuse. Not pretty.

10. Greatest Fear.

        Heights. I've had 2 major melt downs, one being when I was fishing off the side 

        of a cliff into the ocean (I know), and the other was walking up a huge dam 

        to look over the dam wall (again, I know).

11. Your new year’s resolutions from last year.

        To have fun. La la la la!

I look forward to hearing back from the nominees. Thank you Squid and everyone I nominated, for sharing a little more about your lives.  

The Beach

This is the result of a 150 word challenge which had to begin with "This is how.....".

This is how I came to swear I would never, ever, go back to that beach! It was late in the day and the summer sun was still giving off heat. I went down to a local beach; one which I didn’t frequent on a regular basis.

I shook out my towel and lay back in the sand, with a cliff looming high at my back.  A sandy lump needed spreading out under my back. Oh bother! I moved my towel to smooth out the sand.  The lump wouldn't go. A piece of seaweed was stuck in the sand. I pulled at the seaweed and jumped, as a small crab scuttled away. Laughing at myself, I pulled at the seaweed again.  My finger touched something slimy. Bloody jellyfish! Maybe I should move to a new spot. When the seaweed gave way, I screamed! A human eye was looking at me. 

The Track

I walk along the twisted track.
The falling leaves touch my face with fingers of coolness.
I whistle a happy song.

I saw an object up ahead.
The brown camera I had left on my bed.
My sister was the only one to see. 

I picked it up; when I looked it was only a picture of me,
As I walked along the twisted track,
The falling leaves touching my face, the slight breeze lifting my hair.

I called her name “Alex?”
Was she here or round the bend?
My sister was doing just as I was.
The falling leaves would touch her face.
With fingers of coolness,
the slight breeze lifting her hair.

I looked left and right to wait her arrival.
I noticed a ribbon on a flowery bush.
On leaning over to pick it up, the ground gave way and I fell.

Down into the mine shaft. The breeze left at the top.
I landed with a heavy heart, to the bottom and heard a cry.
The falling leaves kept falling.
They were landing on my sister as they were landing on me.

She broke my fall as she called my name.
I turned and held her tight.
“Oh sister, oh sister I hurt so much” my special sister cried.
I whistled a song we sang as children. I watched her slowly die.

I walk along the twisted track.
The falling leaves touch my face, with fingers of coolness.
The slight breeze lifts my hair.
I whistle a sad, sad song.

The Three Stooges

The tall one they called Harry.

The old one’s name was Al.

The middle one was Maurie,

You could see they were all pals.

The grey one had a simple mind

That only thought one thing.

Come sit on my knee little girl,

I’ll show you who is king.

Harry was a quiet man

Whose words always rang true.

He had kind and thoughtful eyes

That helped when you felt blue.

Maurie like to play with whips.

He would try to have a crack.

When the girls would turn him down,

He’d go inside his shack.

All in all they were nice men

With tales from far and wide,

But listening to them all night long

nearly made me cry!

The Rose Society

I would like to give you a little insight into our local rose society and the characters who attend. The meetings are held on the second Friday night of each month.  Of course, this is at odds with the medication most of the members take. The second Friday night of the month just doesn't fit in with their schedules.  Keeping up with which tablet is taken daily, with food, without food, in the morning or at night, pink, blue, white or yellow, is a demanding schedule to track. Therefore, remembering when the meeting is on is difficult. Those who are lucky enough to still have their spouses have an advantage over the single members. Enough said.

The meetings are held in an historic town in a church hall; a church none of the members attend by the way.  This seems to be the norm for many rose societies’ gatherings. I struggle to understand. What is the link between roses and the almighty?  Is there something I am missing? I would rather not state my thoughts on this, but I will. As with bowling clubs, these meetings are another of heavens’ waiting rooms. I know, sad but true. Is this the link?

The majority of the members are older men and women with so much knowledge and wisety (made up word, thanks very much) among them. They know everything about the world and each other, just ask them. That is a false statement. No need to ask. Their insight is forced upon you like a strong wind, and let’s not gets started on those discussions.

As for the members themselves I will give you a brief outline. First off the rank is Fred and his lovely wife of 45 years, Jane. Fred is a large ruddy faced man who fancies he is a gift to all ladies, married or single. When arriving at a meeting, Fred will cross the room to welcome each woman with an almost too long bear hug. Jane has limited toleration for Fred’s behavior and copes with this by blaming the women and sending daggers from her eyes directly to  each huggee (another made up word, thanks).

Mavis is another larger than life member of the society with purple hair and bright red lipstick, which is painted outside the lines of her lips to falsely emphasise the lips that are shrinking away . Mavis holds the gavel; therefore no one has ever had the audacity to confront Mavis with the fact that purple hair and red lips together are an atrocity.

Violet sits in the corner by herself with her knitting. Violet speaks so quietly and when she does the other members, out of the common courtesy of which they abound, all stop speaking and lean forward to listen. Once Violet has stopped speaking, the members recommence talking at a volume you can hear over in the neighboring town.

Three sisters attend the meetings. In keeping with statistical norms, majority rules and if the other members of the society do not have their wits about them (and most don’t), these sisters will take over each meeting with members such as Violet fading into the background. Thank goodness for Mavis and her gavel.

Then there is Florence and Harry. Harry panders after Florence like a love sick puppy. Enough said.

The members have the option of bringing in a rose for judging to each meeting, with points allocated and an overall winner announced at the end of the year. The competition is fierce. This brings me to Daisy. Daisy sits next to a different member each meeting and will let her companion know in no uncertain terms, the winner of each night is a bitch if female or a bastard if male. Daisy’s thoughts are common knowledge and needless to say, members run to be seated either side by other members prior to Daisy taking a seat.

After the formalities and name calling is over, supper is served. This is an event no one would want to miss. Even though all have had dinner prior to attending the meeting, a gluttonous amount of food is laid out on the supper table.  There is enough food to feed the masses. This consists of homemade slices, sausage rolls and little sandwiches. The competition flows over from the roses to who made the best slice. In Daisy’s eyes, those who bring the most delectable offerings are also bitches.

This is an overall look inside a rose society meeting. I have only attended these meetings on a number of occasions. Even though I have a love of roses, I am not ready to be in the waiting room.

This short story is dedicated to Jane McGrath. A story well known in Australia, Jane and Glenn McGrath’s much-publicised experience with breast cancer led to the formation of what has become one of Australia’s most respected and recognised charities, the McGrath Foundation. Jane, a loved mother and wife, lost her life to breast cancer. 1966 - 2008

Cali and the River

It was after lunchtime when Cali arrived at her destination. The trip had taken two hours and the road was good. Great, thought Cali.  No holes in the gravel road.  The trees lining either side of the road, cast motley shadows making the holes hard to see.  Pooh to that, thought Cali, much better this time!  This trip was smoother, though no less dusty. When Cali opened the boot of her car the interior and all the contents were covered in brown dust. Oh well, not to worry. Cali was happy whilst unpacking her car and soaked up the quiet, with only the bird calls and the soft sound of the river to be heard.  Cali was in awe of the beauty and the peace of the old sawmill village, even though she had been coming here for years.

With the power and water to the cabin turned on, and the car unpacked, Cali was able to sit with a coffee and absorb the smell of the native frangipani growing behind the cabin.  A kookaburra flew down and perched on the chair where Cali’s feet were resting.  His beak was scratched and dented from years of whacking his prey against the tree branches. Aww, you want some sausage, Cali asked the kookaburra, as she hand fed the old bird.

Cali’s friends would be arriving throughout the afternoon. Until then, the village was empty.  Before that though, Cali fancied a trip down to the riverbed. It was the first week of spring and the air temperature was as warm as a summer’s day.  A cool swim is just what I need, thought Cali.  A strange yearning to go to the river by herself flitted through Cali’s mind. Whistling, Cali walked to the end of the road running through the village, and stopped at the bridge which crossed the river.  There were stinging nettles and Cali carefully stepped around them to make her way down the steep slope to the riverbed, positioning each foot into a crevice.  It’s so dry, thought Cali. No moss to side step this time.  Jeez, we need rain.

The river was the lowest Cali had seen in a long time. The rocks and pebbles were exposed and the pools of water were clear. It was so quiet. A slight breeze was rustling through the trees up high. Cali sat and put her feet in the cool water. The minute she did this, Cali heard a whisper, or was it the wind?
  
The whisper was a woman’s voice and she said “Tell me your name?” Cali wondered if she had gone mad; well madder.  There was not a person in sight and the voice sounded odd. Choosing to ignore the voice, Cali stripped off her clothes and gingerly eased herself into the water. A little way up, the rocks were formed into a rounded seat, and the water gushed over as a miniature waterfall. Cali swam over and sat with her back to the water. Sitting there naked was a sensual feeling Cali liked. The whisper came again, “Tell me your name?” it asked.

“Whoever you are, my friends are just up near the bridge,” Cali spoke quietly. Well, that’s just brilliant, Cali thought.  Now I am speaking out loud to the wind.  Suddenly a figure emerged out of the water in front of Cali. It was a woman’s figure made of small and medium sized river rocks. The rocks were smooth and round and highlighted the curves of the woman’s body.

Cali made to run and the woman of the river spoke.  “I know why you are here. The river runs through your body as it does mine. Sit down and we will speak. Don’t be afraid.”

Thinking she must have climbed onto the warm rocks, fallen asleep and was dreaming, Cali stayed where she was. When things couldn't get any weirder, a man made of tree emerged from between two she-oaks. He was tall with hard, strong looking limbs.  He sat down in front of Cali and said “We are here to befriend you, not frighten you.  We have only a few who can see us and speak to us, and it’s been a long time between friends.”

Cali allowed the serenity of the river to wash over her, and listened to the stories told by her new friends.  This is a whacked out dream, she thought.  As they spoke,  the new friends moved closer to each other. Cali leant back closing her eyes, and felt the water running between her thighs and over her nipples. The woman of the river sat behind Cali and gently held her, and the man of the trees moved himself towards Cali. The three molded together. Cali experienced a rush of warmth through her body that was at odds with the cool river water. When she opened her eyes, Cali was alone. 

Whoa, hold on a damn minute, what was that? Cali quickly rock hopped back to the bank of the river, and made her way up the slope to the bridge.  Squinting at the bright sun, Cali heard another whisper in the wind, “We are always here, come back one day. You are most welcome”. Cali heard a car coming up the dusty road and quickly dried herself off with the towel.