My daughter Christine, thinks I have a grudge against her.
She sees herself as number three in my affections. I have five children, and I don’t play favorites. Never have. It just happens that in some phases of life, there may be more of a closeness to one than the others.
I tell her that I don’t have a grudge against her personally, just against an opinion she has about my roll in the break-up of my marraige to her father, and how it affected my whole life.
She says I must put it all behind me and move on. That’s a sound principle in theory, and an easy thing to say, but not easy in practice. You see I believe that by accepting the emotional scars that were inflicted upon me, I would have to forgive the perpetrators.
As I sit at my computer, my beautiful ferret ‘Pippin’ is asleep on my lap. It’s hard trying to type one-handed but I don’t want to disturb her. She has been unwell with a cold that she caught from me, and which I caught from my husband. It has made her a bit sookie.
She has been so patient with me shoving antibiotics in her mouth, squirting saline nose spray in her nose and rubbing Vicks vapor rub under her nose to help her breathe.
Pippin has a mind of her own, she has the run of the house except at night,when she sleeps in her own house. As soon as she is let out in the morning, she checks to see if there is meat in her bowl, which is in the sitting room. On occasions, when it hasn’t been filled, she will go to the pet fridge, open the door with her paws, and help herself to the meat bowl on the bottom shelf.
I have seven pet ferrets in all. Pip became a house pet when her mother Minny, abandoned her at birth. Minny had eleven babies, which is a lot for a ferret jill. I don’t know why she didn’t like Pip but we took her and bottle fed her ourselves with a tiny little bottle and teat, doll size.
Contrary to the bad rap some people give ferrets, they are the most beautiful animals. Clean, affectionate and playful. The only time I have ever been badly bitten was by one who was in pain, and who subsequently had to be put to sleep. That was my gorgeous ‘Bella’.
The more blogs I read, the more certain I become that I will never be a world shattering writer. There are so many brilliant minds transferring brilliant thoughts from busily tapping fingers to screens of willing readers, like myself. I am a casual poet. It’s not in my makeup to try and force lines on to blank pages, and forcing it would be. My poetry comes out of nowhere at no particular time or place. This can be inconvenient at times, especially when there isn’t a pen in sight, or in the early hours of the morning when sleep evades me. By the time morning comes, the thread is broken, the brilliance faded.
My reading is also spasmodic. Sometimes I read a lot, other times hardly at all. I like to dabble in a few crafts and switch from one to another often on a daily basis. I’m a big fan of Dickens, and Tim Winton, but really it’s whatever takes my fancy at the time. I would love to read ‘Songs of Fire and Ice’ but that’s a future project because we are looking to move house in the next few months and there’s too much to think about between now and then.
Does anybody read my posts? I would like to think they do and that they enjoy my words.
The placed no value on the human life
growing within me,
To them, it was a gross inconvenience,
‘Your stepfather will pay for a Macquarie Street Specialist’,
As if, somehow, it becomes more acceptable
To have a Licenced Kill.
The boy gets his driver’s licence the second time around,
He remembers not to tell the testing officer to ‘get fucked’ this time,
He’s been saying those words since he was two and a half years old.,
It just isn’t cute anymore…….
In the days when black was white, he called me ‘Puddin’ ’cause I was skinny.
Those were the times I rode pillion on his Triumph for miles and miles without mother knowing,
We had sex when I was thirteen,
I thought it was love.,
He loved a lot of girls…….
Yesterday Peter and I were in town doing our fortnightly shop. It was a beautiful spring day, one of the few this spring so far, as we are surrounded by floodwaters. What was to be a bumper crop of canola this year has been inundated by water in much of the cropping farmland hereabouts.
A happy circumstance was chatting with a lady who was visiting Australia from Chicago. We were in our local shoe shop and she asked me if I knew what a size 37 shoe size would be here and I said I thought it would be a 6 but the shopkeeper would know for sure. I was correct as it turned out, but it was a bit of a guess. I asked her how she felt about the Presidential election back home, and since, politically, Australians are interested in the outcome, how she felt about Donald Trump. She said she would vote for him because she thought he would ‘shake things up a bit’, and really, it’s Congress that have the final say on things. She said they would be moving on to Surfers Paradise to visit with family, so I said she would probably like it there. I told her that my son had been in the US recently and that my grand-daughter and her partner were married in Las Vegas. She asked me if it was an ‘Elvis’ wedding, and I laughed and said no!
I had been looking at these fantastic leather boots from Portugal. They come in four colours and are $200 a pair, which is way out of my price range. I have searched the internet looking for a cheaper brand that looks something like them, but so far, no luck.
We were a bit rushed this time with the shopping , as we had to drive 40kms back home, feed our other animals, and take my pet ferret back to the vet. She has a nasty cold that she caught from me, and I caught it from Peter. On our second trip, we stopped to look at a box trailer for the car that was advertised in a local trading magazine. It was what we were looking for, and I arranged to pick it up on Friday morning next.
It has been too cold these past weeks for me to do a lot of writing. Our lounge room is the only place warm enough to sit and we have two ferrets on the sick list in cages and our 10- year- old staffy sharing the space. I do my best writing in my head lying awake in bed during the night, but it’s too cold to get out and write it down, and by the morning I have lost the thread.,
I’m off to make myself a nice ham, cheese, and tomato toasted sandwich now, so long, happy writing.
Damn, she whispers in muffled voice as her torch drops to the floor with a louder than necessary bang. She doesn’t want to wake the man snoring noisily on the other side of the bed. The last fight only ended two hours and twenty minutes ago. Her heart is still thumping crazily against her chest wall. This is domestic violence. You see it all the time on the television and then suddenly the realisation hits! It’s here!
Reaching down to where the torch is lying, she grasps the handle tightly in her shaking hand. In her mind’s eye, she imagines how easy it would be to bring it down heavily on his unsuspecting temple. He wouldn’t know what hit him. She would say it was self -defence, God knows there were bruises enough to convince a jury.
What then if he should awake to catch her in the act? Once realisation set in the tables would be turned and he would retaliate. Could she really carry out this crime against the man she once swore undying love for?.Why she couldn’t even remember how the fight had started in the first place.
She knows she has to leave before such thoughts become actions.
Placing the torch back onto the nightstand, she softly slides out from beneath the covers. In the spare bedroom of their apartment, there is a suitcase as yet unpacked from her last business trip interstate. Quietly changing into clothes suitable for a trip, she closes the lid and zips the case shut. The case is heavy but she dares not drag it along the floor fearing it will make a scraping noise, so she must carry it down a flight of stairs to the car park.
It’s 4am by the clock on the Mercedes dashboard when she opens the driver’s side door. Returning to the rear of the vehicle, she opens the boot and lifts the heavy case in, shoving it all the way to the back. With trembling heart she leans back exhausted against the body of the car.
As she turns to climb into the driver’s seat, she hears a faint sound, a’click’. Just one ‘click’. At first, she feels nothing, then a dull burning under her right shoulder blade. She draws a sudden breath then drops heavily onto the cement floor. Her last sensory awareness is the smell of his after shave. As he leans over her body, he is crying.
There was a time when I told myself I was a pretty good writer. My first poem was printed in a school paper when I was in 6th grade, but it was a long time after that, when I started writing lyrics for songs. I was living in a commune at that time with a lot of very talented people, many of whom wrote poetry. There’s nothing like a bit of inspirational competition to put a person in the mood to create. Anyway, it worked for me.
Things change, life moves on, and over time I have written a few short stories, quite a few poems, some I self-published on ebook, and some 16 songs. The songs I recorded myself on tape and sent to a music producer to no avail. They didn’t even bother to tell me if they thought my stuff was crap, at least that would have saved me waiting around for an answer.
Then came my introduction to the internet and there, to my surprise, are a multitude of ads telling me that I can make money writing. Why would I be taken in by these claims you may well ask, since, as far as I know, not one single copy of my ebook has been sold. Well, no doubt many of you will have also read those ads, and have found a lot of them are scams, others want you to work for peanuts, and you need a much better knowledge of the internet than I have, to succeed.
My next awakening was to discover WordPress.com. and there I find hundreds, no, thousands of people contributing material far better than I could ever dream of. This was a huge blow to my self-confidence and showed me how naive I was in a worldwide environment filled with artists who have already honed their craft.
OK. So now, at the wrong end of a long life, I must admit that I have done nothing worth reporting except a lot of bad choices, I’m stuck in another bad marriage, and I’m broke. However, I will still add my penny’s worth of words to my blog while I still have breath and a functioning brain, it may not be anything world shattering, but it will be real.
Mother said, ‘Don’t mess with that boy
or you’ll spend your life in tears,
He ate me up, and spat me out,
The sum of all her fears.