ten months we married and were married for thirty-one years until her to cancer.
If it wasn’t enough to lose the love of my life; after a couple of years I was fortunate enough to find another person who came into my life. We have been together for seven years and love each day.
I wonder what my mother would say. Obviously ‘what will be - will be, the future’s not ours to see, Que sera sera, what will be – will be?’
Word count: 312
If Ever I Saw Your
Face
A couple of years ago I went on a bus tour for a Christmas break. Instead of celebrating Christmas at home I decided to join people my age to celebrate it on tour.
A policy of the bus driver was, daily, instead of being seated next to the same person; you moved a seat to the rear of the bus and acquaint yourself with another passenger.
Whilst this new arrangement was suitable for some of the passengers; others didn’t enjoy the time spent with a stranger for the length of the day’s journey.
I, for one, didn’t enjoy my time with a female passenger who couldn’t help but inform me of her many trips around the world (at the last count she’d circumnavigated the globe fifty times).
To abstain from becoming frustrated with her stories of adventure and different cities she’d visited, she asked me ‘what did I do and where I lived’. This was my opportunity to explain my life in a nutshell.
At home we have ‘miniature horses’, I explained. She didn’t understand the expression, ‘miniature horses’. I went on to explain these unique horses grow to thirty-four inches in height; are a horse but smaller in size; similar shape and eats grass the same as a larger horse.
By her expression, I don’t think she believed my story and asked where we kept these horses. This was my opportunity to exploit her wise exploits of her global trips. Do one better, I thought.
‘We keep them in the house.’ I explained. ‘Each has their own small lounge chairs to sit in when they watch television. A sack is tied around their tales to catch any deposits which they may leave.’ I kept a straight face while explaining to her about her query.
Little did I realise other passengers in the bus were ears-dropping and looked around to where we were seated. This lady’s mouth opened and I continued to tell her they sat at the kitchen table when we have our meals.
By this stage many more of the passengers began to cock their ears to hear more information about these miniature horses. It was time to stop for a break.
‘If you don’t believe me, ask the driver. He’s been to my place and seen them.’ I informed her.
When we stopped I casually pulled the driver aside before this lady had time to speak with him and told him the story of the miniature horses.
By the time we returned to our seat, the lady leaned over to say, ‘I believe you. The driver backed up your story and told me you knit socks to put on their feet.’ I smiled and kept quite for the remainder of the journey.
If I ever see her face again it wouldn’t be too soon.
Word count: 476
A Square Peg
At the time we are born, we are given a life similar to a deck of cards. We’re not quite certain which card will benefit us or when. Let me share a story of my life to illustrate my analogy with a deck of cards.
I was born into a family in the late 1940’s. Three years after World War 11 ended. I’m a baby boomer. Life from day one was mixed with love and devotion shared among many relatives and my parents.
In those times, shortly after the war, life was tough for many families. My family first lived with my grandparents and eventually moved out to a housing commission estate in Zillmere. Unfortunately I can’t remember much of these times because of my young age.
When I was five years old my parents left the city to settle in a country town. There we remained for six years whilst I attended primary school.
Authority was strict in these times, not only delivered by parents, relatives, also by authoritative figures.
My deck of cards began to crumble at an early age. When I reflect on this time; I remember not being capable of speaking with either of my parents or close relatives without receiving their comments of me being ‘stupid’ or an ‘idiot’. From this moment I felt my life was a square peg trying to squeeze into a round hole.
Not knowing any difference between acting normal as a child, I continued to receive this verbal abuse from my parents and relatives. Actually, with this burden on my shoulders, I thought in all honesty I was an ‘idiot’ and in fact ‘stupid’ and knew no other way.
It was a time of my life when I lived in fear of doing the wrong thing and getting into trouble. Many a time I thought about ‘why’ I was this way and felt I must have been born with a defect for so many close relatives to think this of me.
It wasn’t until I turned forty years of age, I reflected upon my life thus far to discover I accomplished more than either of my parents and those close relatives who’d claimed I was an ‘idiot’ and ‘stupid’.
It was time to lash out and protect myself. I remember the moment as if it had recently occurred. My uncle, a close relative, commented how I’d achieved so much in life and wondered how because I was always ‘stupid’ and an ‘idiot’. I blasted back at him with such force he was lost for words.
From that moment onward I dispelled the cards I was dealt with as a child and now find I am a square peg in a square hole and enjoy the feeling of self-assurance and self-confidence it draws.
Word count: 468.
One Fine Day
The year 1960, a popular song blasted the airways - ‘One Fine Day’ sung by the Chiffons.
Christmas that year, our family visited relatives in Cunnamulla, a western town in south-west Queensland near the border of New South Wales. We stayed with my uncle and aunt. Cunnamulla around Christmas is over one hundred and twenty degrees the waterbag. It is so hot the bitumen melts on the road.
Flies a menace; this is why the ‘Australian Wave’ was invented by sweeping your hand across your face a thousand times a day to keep the little black monsters clear of your eyes.
I remember walking from my uncle’s home to the town centre, one fine day, being attached by these small flying creatures. My arms sore after trying to keep them at bay, however hard I tried, they kept buzzing around my head and face.
Playing in my mind was the song, ‘One Fine Day’. The melody kept playing over and over in my mind, until the words echoed from my mouth. I couldn’t open my mouth too wide because of the fly population. They hoped I’d open wider, enough to enter it. There is nothing worse than spitting dead flies from your mouth or even swallowing some which didn’t escape. I tried to ignore them as much as I could, listen to the melody in my head.
My cousin, John, whose parents owned a hotel, meet me in front of his parent’s hotel. We left the flies to their next target and escaped into the confines of an upstairs bedroom.
They were richer than my parents and had the latest record player, turn-table, which played vinyl records. John, that morning purchased the record ‘One Fine Day’ from the local record store.
Over and over we played the record turning the volume higher each time. The song indelible in our minds, it kept repeating over and over until each single word we knew by heart.
I’ll never forget the moment John’s mother entered the room to see us standing in front of the mirror, holding her hair brush in our hand singing along to the record. Instantly we stopped and replaced her hair brush and switched off the record.
The look in her eyes, together with the raised voice indicated we immediately leave the room and go outside and play with the flies.
Although it has been more than five decades ago since John and I played ‘One Fine Day’; this record and memories have stayed with me. It’s one of those life’s moments to treasure.
Word count: 431
A Sea Story
Death is the final stage to our lives. I want to share a story about a wonderful woman, a d
ear friend, whose sudden death left a huge hole in our hearts.
Over the years our dear friend told us, ‘when I die, I don’t want a funeral. I’ve paid for a wake for my friends to enjoy and celebrate. I want my ashes shattered in the sea’.
Basically each time our dear friend repeated her wishes, we didn’t take any notice and thought it would never happen for years. Earlier this year she fell at home and broke her ankle.
Two days after her operation we visited our friend at the hospital and the operation was a success. We laughed and joined in celebrations.
Two days later she never left the hospital. Complications arose from the operation and our friend passed away. To say it was a shock – would’ve been an understatement.
Without our friend, we felt sorrow and loss. She was with us – no more. Because she didn’t want a funeral, we found it difficult to say our final farewell and closure.
Six weeks after her death, we attended our friend’s wake. At ten o’clock in the morning we joined relatives, friends and acquaintances to board a ferry and rejoice her life.
Twenty-six mourners gathered on the vessel. Morning tea served and the skipper headed from the wharf. Slowly the vessel putted heading for open sea.
Fortunately it was a fine day with a cool breeze and the sun shining. You would almost think our friend had arranged the weather because of her request and wake.
Arriving at the desired spot, the skipper dropped anchor. No wind blew – it was calm and surreal. Words of grief spoken by a cousin