Souvenirs.

A taste of the US for me with MJ's return after three sensational weeks. Nine nights at Sheraton Manhattan Times Square, exhiliration at A Chorus Line, Chicago, luscious dining at Blue Fin, buying another suitcase to carry the shopping.
Five nights at Swing Out New Hampshire Dance Camp up at Hebron, New Hampshire.
Four nights at Brandreth Lake, Adirondack Mountains including the generous hospitality at Sweptaway Farm ... my skin was becoming a pale shade of green.

The wonderful surprise above, tickets to shows not possible hence the magazines, 2008 I'll get tickets to the shows or bust!

Is it play time or what???

Expectation ... so cute!

#76 Sunday Scribblings - WRITING.

Mmmm, what comes up when I think writing? Feelings of frustration at the time I’ve wasted, cheesed off at myself for not having used the talent I’ve been told I have and as I ponder the opportunities I’ve let pass by I could raise a high pitched scream at the amount of research, creative writing classes and writing groups to which I’ve belonged benefits of which I’ve not fully utilized. The genuine desire to further hone my writing skill remains, as yet, unfulfilled. Around me oodles of writing as therapy await editing for publication where insights that no doubt will enthral a reader amount’s to reams of paper filed as, works in progress. Frustrated isn’t a sufficient analysis … nah, angry is what I should be.

But without giving myself a really hard time, that’s me, the perpetual procrastinator. I dabble. My ever-growing folder of published works somehow grows. I contribute to a monthly column, deadline a quarterly submission plus keep my blog alive but the dreaded memoir, nothing! Gutsy writing required … not happening!

Initially rehashing the past was too distressing. Most of it I’d forgotten. Locked in a place in the deep dark regions of my mind, safe where no-one, especially me, could be harmed or tempted anymore. Being an avid scribe whether in diaries or brightly coloured spiral bound books with practically nothing barred, re-reading became too confronting, too hard, too destructive. These cathartic tomes saved my sanity. Re-reading, re-living, much of which made me predominantly sad, did my head in, who was that person?

I’m undisciplined. No way do I have time to live the writer’s life, to set aside a certain time to compose. My chosen serene, satisfied, reclusive, less ordered life gets in the way. The lack of a set routine inhibits any writing commitment. Well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Excuses of enjoying life, exploring other creative pursuits, being undisciplined, sound familiar … Ah Ha … now, as I write the questions arise … could it simply be I’m still not ready to face that glorious, herendous, outrageous, tumultuous past?

APEC or OPEC DOES BUSH REALLY KNOW?

The APEC circus so far ...

The city of Sydney is like a ghost town ... it's been raining so bleak, cold, wet streets are sombre and deserted.

Millions of people have left Sydney for the three day "holiday" the government gave the people
but was that simply a bribe to get the people out of town?

Kids are off school, post offices are closed, no Saturday newspapers will be produced, the city circle rail system is shut down.

City cafes, restaurants, cab drivers, retailers and a zillion other businesses both large and small are experiencing severe financial losses - one can only hope that a class action will begin by a disgruntled business owner.

George Bush has made yet another infamous blunder calling it "OPEC" instead of "APEC" one can only wonder if he knows where he his.

The brilliant guys from the ABC program "The Chaser's War on Everything" set themselves up in look like security vehicles, ID cards, flags, dressed as US security men and managed to get through two check points ending up within a stones through of Bush's hotel. The game was only up when one emerged dressed as Osama ? Demonstrated how efficient the security is.

A man jaywalked in the city near a motorcade and was severly manhandled and arrested by half a dozen zealous police officers.

Bent Street in the city is set up as a bomb searching area where all motor vehicles are searched by army personnel.

Protesters driving from Victoria and have been stopped at Tarcutta, 400 ks out of Sydney where the people and vehicles have been meticulously searched.

Protesters showed Bush a bit of cheek when they did "21 Bum Salute" . They'd hoped 4000 would attend in a break a world monning record - but no such luck!

... and the circus continues ...

Caitlyn's Story.

A darling little girl, Caitlyn, the daughter of some lovely people I know has been born with a rare disease, Severe Bilateral Micropthalmia or very small eyes. Her Dad has started a web site Caitlyn's Story .

Rohan is seeking any and all information and would love to hear from people who know someone or have any experience with the disease. It is rare and they need all the information they can gather so Caitlyn will have a normal, happy life.

This beautiful family would love so much to hear from people so please don't hesitate to contact them when you read Caitlyn's Story.

The George Bush Travelling Circus ... who's paying?

In five hours the George Bush travelling circus lands in Sydney for the APEC show.

I wonder do the US people know that the clown is travelling with 650 people - yep that's right an entourage of 650 hangers on! So who's paying for the three day jaunt?

Obviously the millions of US citizens who are living below the poverty line, obviously the people who are awaiting medical attention and a multitude of other services available in third world countries. Yes the people who believe they live in the greatest country on earth, where, according to Michael Moore the US health system rates as 37th in the world are footing the bill so their "leader" is able to pop downunder for an obscene get-to-gether with the population of a small town in tow!

Shameful isn't it?

#75 Sunday Scribblings 'THE END'

I’ve been dilly-dallying over what to write about “The End”. I loath thoughts of ‘the end’ when it concerns my own mortality. I ponder … is it fear? I’m unsure if that’s the right word, a dread maybe, of my own demise, the end of my wonderful life. I don’t want my life to end, there’s still way too much to be accomplished. I know I’d be a real loser if I wasted this precious life dreading the prospect of the end. Realistically that’s pointless. Commonsense prevails. Get on with life the end will come no matter what!

Deep down I dislike the end of so many things. The end of a conversation with a loved one, the end of a luscious meal, the end of a block of dark chocolate, the end of a story, a book, a movie, or a tune (at least with those it can be repeated), the end of a holiday, the end of a loved one’s life, the end of a wonderful day … the end of a plethora of things.

Ha … but if I remember graduating at the end of three years of study, the satisfaction at the end of a creative project, feeling well at the end of a painful illness, the personal well being at the end of giving up smoking, booze, benzo’s, wheat, dairy, caffeine, plus a zillion other marvellous, life changing 'the end' moments and recall how fabulous they made me feel, then I’m contradicting myself aren’t I?

So … I’m back to where I started with this prompt ...flummoxed ... as to whether the end is really the end or a new beginning?

OPTUS - mailing out to dead people ...

This morning my heart skipped a beat when I opened my letter box and found a letter addressed to my Mum, who died in Nopvember 2003.

To add to the insult it was addressed to her personally, using her christian name, as if the sender knew her!

I've had the phone to my ear for 40 minutes, searched and found nowhere on their web site to make a complaint to but have finally tracked down the section of Optus, an Australian telecommunications provider, responsible for sending this crap and just mailed the following.

Optus Customer Relations Group.
PO Box 306
Salisbury South. SA. 5106.

Attention:Michael Smith.
Consumer Group Marketing Director.

Michael,
I am writing to express my utter disgust and dismay at receiving the included brochure, signed by you, personally addressed to my Mother, Irene, who died in November 2003.

My Mother dealt with Telstra all her life, never had any dealings with Optus so wherever you are receiving this information – the source needs to be severely overhauled. Imagine the distress receiving this sort of mail out causes to others whose loved ones have recently died.

How you would feel if this happened to you?

To add to the frustration your branch of Optus is invisible. A phone call to the number in the brochure took me to the Philippines, another call took me to tech support where thankfully someone understood the sour taste this type of mail out causes and found the postal address for your department.

I trust you will deal with the removal of dead people from your mailing lists post haste!

Thankfully I am not and never will be Optus customer.

Next stop the Telecommunications Ombudsman.

Redheads will be extinct in 100 years ...

The future doesn't look bright for people with red or ginger hair.

According to genetic scientists redheads are becoming rarer and could be extinct in 100 years.
The current National Geographic magazine reports that less than 2 per cent of the world's population has natural red hair - created by a mutation in northern Europe thousand of years ago. Global intermingling, which broadens the availability of possible partners, has reduced the chances of redheads meeting and so producing little redheads of their own. Although it takes only one red-haired parent to produce ginger babies, two redheads obviously creates a much stronger possibility.

Some experts warn redheads could be gone as early 2060, but others say the gene can be dormant in the reproductive system for generations before returning.
National Geographic says the gene at first had the beneficial effect of increasing the body's ability to make vitamin D from sunlight. However, today's carriers are more prone to skin cancer and have a higher sensitivity to heat and cold-related pain.

I always knew we were the chosen people but this is frightening so c'mon people, you've not lived till you've had a red head experience so get out there now and start populating.

If all else fails then there always Clairol Nice n Easy 109.

Mum & Dad married 65 years ago today ...

Mum and Dad were married at St Stephen's Church, Bellevue Hill on August 25, 1942. Here they are in 1951, with Dad's Mum!

What a dashing looking couple they were!

#74 Sunday Scribblings "I get that sinking feeling ..."

I get that sinking feeling every time I think about the about the latest rort concerning the APEC conference being held in Sydney in September. The majority of the city will be in lockdown as world leaders congregate for this conference. But ... the final straw, that sinking feeling came when it was announced, the Prime Minister's wife will host partners of the twenty leaders to a lunch at the beautifully situated Bondi Icebergs Dining Room & Bar on Sunday September 9.

Crikey isn't it enough that she resides in Admiralty House, (take a sneak peak). Idyllically situated on the shores of Sydney Harbour, where magnificent dining facilities, a five star chef with impeccable staff are employed to provide them with more than any being could wish for. Yet the PM's little woman, wants to snub her nose to all that pretentiousness, add more chaos and expense by big noting at Bondi with nary a care for the people her husband, not she was elected to represent. What on earth would be wrong with throwing a shrimp on the very expensive barbie and putting her tootsie's up at home! Not good enough Janette?

Bugger The Bondi Icebergs the four hundred odd winter swimmers, who rock up to the Bondi Baths every winter Sunday morning to pluge into the briny, a catch up with their mates and probably a sink a couple of cold beers after a few laps. Bugger the the ten thousand people who venture to Bondi every year to enjoy the annual Festival of the Winds . Bugger the local residents as roads are either turned into clearways or closed. Bugger the people who work in Bondi. Bugger the people who flock to the Bondi Markets every Sunday. Bugger the extra expense for security extravaganza looking out for these hanger's on. Bugger the cost!

Let's not even contemplate the cost ... gadzooks ... Sunday rates ... is it any wonder I get that sinking feeling? Could it be 'cos I'm a born and bred Bondi girl? Maybe it's not only the expense and all the BS but the thought of this human polution ... look out here comes that sinking feeling again!

#73 Sunday Scribblings "Dear Diary" ...

Dear Diary,
How fitting this prompt is at this time. There’s no ‘dear diary’ round here – it’s more ‘darn diaries’! There’s thirty years of my diaries along with another drawer full of diaries kept by my Mother. What to do with the drawers of forests?

Most of the one’s kept by me haven’t been read for a number of years. Why? Because when I last skimmed through them I detested what I read. Who was that person? What a sad and sorry piece of work the writer was at that time. I pondered my reaction. Was it sadness, shame or a combination? Probably the time of that reading wasn’t the right time, I wonder is it now?

Mum’s diaries are easy to read, desperately sad too! Most of her writing was about what she ate. At the top of most pages there’s a red tick denoting whether she went to the toilet that day and worse still as her health declined how many times. Isn’t that sad? Why do old people become obsessed with their bowels?

One question for me is what to do with these historical ramblings now? What about that person I used to be, what was happening family wise, about where I socialised and with whom, the jobs I had, the dates I moved house, the amount of cool refreshing glasses of happiness that were consumed, the hearts I broke, how many times I thought my heart was broken, that life wasn’t worth living? Can I part with all that history?

Nah … they’re staying where they are.

Yay, I’ve answered my own question!

The pages are cathartic, invaluable, outrageous! The pages contain the stuff memoirs are made of. These diaries contain inspiration. Showing how not to make the same mistakes. Descriptions of flight versus fight. Reminders of survival. Demonstrations of how floundering motivation will lead you to rise above adversity. There's the wildness, the partying, the sadness, the depression, the laughter, all climaxing in how I turned my life around, how I saved my soul, how I did it alone, and more importantly how the metamorphosis eventuated … all the meat for the bones of another chapter in the book!

Rest easy Dear Diaries. I feel another journey another entry in another diary, coming up!

Letting the cat out of the bag ....

Awwwwwwww ... fits like a glove !

A knowing look or a secret conversation ...

Been here before ... sure looks like it!

An amazing moment with a 14 day old angel!

FIELD OF WOMEN Live - Proud Aussie Women ...

On Saturday 11 August 2007, at Telstra Stadium before the Sydney Swans Game against St Kilda an amazing event took place.

The Sydney Swans, the AFL and Telstra Stadium in partnership with Breast Cancer Network Australia (BCNA) staged the first ever Sydney, Field of Women Live prior to the game.

Over 13,000 women and approximately 100 men - representing the number of Australians diagnosed with breast cancer in 2007 - stood together to create the first ever Sydney Field of Women LIVE.











What a fabulous sight - makes me proud to be an Aussie!

For more information & photo's - even information about hosting your own Field ...
http://www.fieldofwomen.org.au/

Sunday Scribblings #72 Goosebumps.

Mmmmm here's some things that give me Goosebumps ?

Old photo's.
MJ.
Inspiration.
Satisfaction.
Babies.
Dee.
Old songs.
Fingernails on a chalkboard.
Tales of personal achievement.
Collecting.
Beating the odds.
Blossom.
Stories people tell of loved ones.
Surprises.
Oversingers
When I feel someone watching.
Survivors.
Sensing someone or something nearby.
Winning.
A slight breeze.
The unexpected.
Feeling I've been there before.
Vibrant colour.
Metal on metal.
Good news.
The screech of brakes.
A surprise.
When Australia wins - anything.
Happiness.
A parade.
Memories.
... I've got goosebumps right now!

Tess - wasn't she lovely?

1921










1933












1942

Tess ~~~ August 8, 1921 - 2003.

What a beauty!

A Gorgeous Gift - Vintage Sewing ...

Someone watches over me - I've always known!
Good things happen to me and today was no exception. Look at the gorgeous gift of very old sewing notions that Pet brought to me! Every piece a keeper. I am tickled pink!

Lustrous silk threads on wooden reels with labels from Paris, San Fancisco and England. Beautiful buttons, three from the Queen Victoria era, maybe off the uniform of a young Englishman. Mother of pearl buttons, so cold to touch you could almost feel the sea. Five gorgeous green ones with tortoiseshell centres that will be sewn onto a favourite black jacket, tiny marcasite with diamante centres, blue glass and stunning oval striped glass as well!

Tortoiseshell stays - probably broken from firmly holding in a young ladies corseted waist. Boot buttons, still with the dirt from where they were salvaged. Silk embroidery thread with the wrapper paper label displaying "made in England" and a huge wooden spool of linen thread from Knox's in Scotland. What a huge surprise to find a small ebony cotton reel - what a gorgeous addition to a necklace that will become. A beaded tassell will cascade from the centre - only to be worn on special occasions ...

Oh My ... I am so blessed!!

Sunday Scribbling #71 DECISION.

Decision, love the word, easy for me, difficult for some.
Making the decision has always been easy. Should I shouldn’t I, will I won’t I, can I can’t I, these questions have flavoured my life, caused many to reel, to gasp with shock/horror as they asked “she’s not going to is she”? Some decisions were extremely bad, some ridiculous, some embarrassing, many on a whim, many on an impulse, most without a thought of the consequences or the effect on the people involved. Each time I prepared myself to either suffer or relish the consequences well I thought I did, invariably I left debris, yet lessons were learnt.

The decisions made for me, supposedly in my best interest, caused great personal sadness – too much to mention here! Learned behaviour was my advisor – yeah, make that decision a little voice would say – go on I dare you. Making a decision became a form of approval seeking. That was until I woke up, found the formula, came out of the fog and made the best decision; to grow up – now that was a decision!

For me the ability to make a decision is admirable. However making the decision without careful consideration can often be dangerous. Hearts broken, lives in turmoil, the outcome frequently not what was initially expected. So when I consider the decision makers who blunder along in their positions of power oft making a decision frequently with a hidden agenda I realise my decision making episodes weren’t that bad after all.

Decision making now, I'm Over it!

Sunday Scribblings #70 Phenomenon

The word for the week brought to mind one of my favourite movies Phenomenon the story of an ordinary man who sees a light descend from the sky and discovers he has super-intelligence and telekinesis. As much as I adore the movie and soundtrack I figured it was time to create my own phenomenon by not writing, for the third week in a row, on something to do with entertainment.

Perplexed, I considered some of my personal phenomenons. Survival, inner peace, total happiness, growing up when I got to 50, turning my life around, but ... that's the basis of the book! Nup, I wanted a modern day phenomenon, an observable event.

Then in the wee small hours a phenomenon occured. An Aussie guy, Cadel Evans became the first Australian cyclist, in the one hundred and fours years of Le Tour de France, to place. At 2 am I watched from my living room, Cadel finish second, with a twenty three second margin between he and the first place winner. I witnessed a real phenomenon ... Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi!!!

Tortie Love around the world ...

Blossom recovering after discovering 'tortie love' online - Yay - a whole community ...

What it'll cost in Sydney ...

$55 to busk at Circular Quay.
$1,230 to close down a block of George Street

$160,000 to appear on the Anzac Bridge billboard

$1,200 to be married in St Mary's Cathedral inlcudes bells

$6,000 to watch the New Years Eve fireworks from your balcony at the Park Hyatt

$125 to run for Lord Mayor of Sydney

$11,000 to reserve a plot at Waverley Cemetery

$7,700 to dedicate a bench in the Royal Botanic Gardens wwwbgsyd.nsw.gov.au

No matter what the cost - it's one of the most beautiful cities on the planet!

Sunday Scribbling #69 Wicked.

What else could wicked be about except Wicked the New Broadway Musical! Where we'll be wickedly whisked to where so many wicked things happened before Miss Dorothy arrived!!

Wicked is wicked, looks like it’ll be wicked, with wicked story lines, about the wicked witches of Oz! How wicked can that be and how many wicked times can wicked be used in one paragraph?

This epitomises Wicked for me! How wicked it is that the wicked Sunday Scribbling gals gave us such wicked word at this wicked time … Wicked!

Bewdiful Blossom ... can i has cheezburger ...

Thank goodness the camera work has stopped!

Hope she's not sending a pic of me to can i has cheezburger ... how embarrassment - what some cats have to put up with!!!

Happy Birthday J.S.K. 1930 - 1983.

Looking good and so in love at the Oceanic Hotel, Coogee, 1965 where the drinks were Johnnie Walker 'Red' and water and Advokaat, Cherry Brandy, and Lemonade ... marvellous memories!

Introducing Blossom ...

On Sunday I emailed the Vet telling them that 'One Down' had found a new home! The reply said they had a female, 'lap cat', 2-3 year old, desexed, tortie in need of a good home! Mention the word tortie and my heart skips a beat!

As soon as I read the reply I phoned to MJ (a tortie lover too) and within 45 minutes we were at the Vet's for an introduction! It was love at first sight! She was 'rescued' but they can't tell me from where or how and honestly I don't want to know! I took one look at her and she was mine! We spent time with her and I arranged to pick her up today! Yesterday she had surgery to remove a badly placed chip and to insert a new one. The Vet staff has named her 'Spot', not a glamorous name for a beautiful girl, so on Monday I re-named her Blossom - don't you love it??

I've been like an expectant mother. I've visited her each day, for the last three days for bonding.

Here's my little Blossom ... who has settled in marvellously, we're meant for each other!

Better photo's to follow!

Sunday Scribblings #68 HAiR.

As soon as I saw the topic HAIR the dilemma was do I write about how my mother had my long hair cut short as punishment for wagging school, when I was thirteen years old? Nah!
Do I write of my first hair dyeing experience when I came home and my hubby said I looked like I'd been hit over the head with a bottle of tomato sauce? Nah!
Or ...
"Gimme a head with HAiR, long bewdiful hair, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen ... remember that song ????

In June 1969 HAiR: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical premiered at the Metro Theatre in cosmopolitan Kings Cross, Sydney, Australia, after a huge success on Broadway.

WOW how controversial! Sex, drugs, anti Vietnam propaganda and nudity on stage, live, in my home town. We booked tickets and a babysitter - how riscay. I'll never forget the cast walking down the aisles of the theatre, starkers, in the bol, nude naked with nothing on - yeah Baby!!

The Sydney Daily Telegraph critique was funny by today's standards.
The wowsers were up in arms, people protested outside the theatre. There was a bomb scare reacted to with little alarm in comparison to the seriousness of threats today! The songs were silly and catchy. In 2003 it was staged again in Australia, but flopped! How times have changed!

This HAIR topic's been way more fun, can ya hear me? ... I'm still singing ...
Flow it, show it, long as god can grow it my HAiR, hair, hair, hair, hair ...

A home found for 'One Down' ...

He was sitting on the step waiting! Wondering why the neighbourhood was out, glaring at me taking yet more photo's and looking questioningly, as to why no food was being served!

It was love at first sight, as if he knew it was meant to be.

As he was lifted up for a cuddle he rested his head in the crook of her arm. He took to her with no qualms, he knew!!! When it came time to go he walked into the cat box with only a little coaxing, no cattiness, no catatonic arguing or fighting!

I made it clear that if everyone wasn't happy he was to come back as there's other people who want to adopt him. As they left his new Mum said she'd ring the vet to change his home address, it sounds like the deal is done!

They were a really sweet couple, she has photo's on her phone of their three legged tortie, who'd died recently. The wait is over for the big, beautiful boy. He'll have some certainty in his life again he'll have a warm, loving and cosy home.

She'll be calling him by his real name 'One Down' ... I cried as he left!

MiMi - Irene Alice James nee Reardon

She was a grande dame of Bondi. For forty years she lived right on the beachfront in Campbell Parade, when Bondi was an ordinary working class suburb. Rene as everyone knew her, was my Grandmother, who insisted my brother and I called her "MiMi', today would have been her birthday!

She was outrageous! Before her time! In 1919 she'd auditioned to join the Tivoli, her Irish Dad, a burly butcher, said "No". Defiantly she found a job as barmaid at the Paragon Hotel that still trades today in Alfred Street, Circular Quay, Sydney where in 1920 she met Roy. After a short courtship they wed in September 1920 and in August 1921 my Mum, their only child was born. Mimi was a larger than life character in Bondi.

Widowed in 1935 she saw the bombs come over Bondi and by the time I remember her she drank 'Est' out of tea cups and had a 'boarder' we called Poppy! She was normal really!

Born 13th July 1895, she died in November 1963 after a long, painful battle with cancer.

Here's MiMi and Moi in 1945, at the fete at the War Memorial Hospital, Waverley, (where I was born) - both looking the epitome of fashion of the day ... gorgeous!

No photo's please I'm still waiting ...

A month has gone by and the beautiful boy is still waiting. Every day I wonder is he waiting for his Dad to come home, for someone to adopt him or for me to feed him. He's wangled his way into my heart. Follows me everytime I go outside, but I'm being strong! Someone out there is going to give him a good home where he can reign supreme of that I am sure!