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Toby.

Another dog story but in a very different vein from my Bonnie story. I hope it brings a smile.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Toby, and I am the four footed aristocrat who owns the two humans living opposite Meg in her cul de sac.

Anne and Bill (that is their names), have decided to go off to Europe for some unknown reason. They, the aforesaid Anne and Bill, seem to think Meg can’t manage without them, so I have been commissioned to do the honours while they are away gallivanting.

Each day I have to attach Meg to my lead and walk her across the road from my house to hers. She can’t be trusted even for this small journey, and I have to continually tug her back from chatting to the neighbours or pulling a weed.

I have several complaints about the way I have to spend the days while my humans are away.I hasten to add that I insist on returning to my own bed at night. Aristocrats like me are quite unable to adapt to strange beds.

But I digress. On complaint that I have is that at my own home, I have a proper canine entrance as is befitting for the rightful owner of my palatial corner block dwelling. (There is a sort of stained glass contraption that allows the human entrance at the front.)

Meg. however, has no such provision, and I am forced to stand patiently waiting at her back door, with the occasional and very polite”Woof”, whenever Nature calls me into her backyard. Meg frequently ignores my polite request until I need to raise the volume slightly, and her impatience astonishes me.

Another complaint is that when I do venture forth, the two yappy and rather undisciplined little creatures (of a very inferior breed I might add) who live next door, go quite hysterical with joy at my appearance.

I attempt to suppress their enthusiasm with my deep baritone reprimands, but usually to no avail.

My humans keep sending Meg photos galore on her tablet, of churches, museums, stately homes, their ceilings (I ask you!), and paintings and not a Shih Tzu in sight. What possible interest is it to me when I could just as easily look at one of their coffee table books.

Meg needs exercise so I make sure I distribute my royal bundles at different locations in her back yard each day. She finds the bending. scooping and disposing far more beneficial than Pilates classes I am sure. and a lot cheaper.

In the evening when I take Meg back, again attached to my lead, she rather offends me, when I baulk at consuming the little white pill she attempts to hide under the rather boring meal she provides each night. I inform her that one day, when she reaches my age, she too may be forced to rely on a little medication for the occasional aches and pain, and then who’ll be laughing!

Five more weeks for me to be carrying out these responsibilities . I have a good mind to tell my humans when they eventually do return, that I am quite over my Meg sitting days for life!

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Bonnie.

My son, Mark has a property in the forest area of Walpole, where huge stands of Karri and Jarrah trees fill the landscape.

This is the story he told me, of his dog, Bonnie.

She was getting old. Her eyes were dim now. She couldn’t hear very well, and when her legs began to let her down, all she could do, was lie in the grass and dream of her puppy days.

Since arriving as a little black puppy all those years ago, she’d had the freedom to run in the wonderful ninety acres through the tall karri trees , lapping water from the dams, playing nursemaid to the baby humans, a little girl first, then twins, a boy and a girl.

Her master was kind and she was devoted.  He named her Bonnie.

Her back legs had begun to drag, so she mostly lay on her mat now, being hand fed, and helped up and down from time to time. Her master’s wife would stroke her head and tears would drip onto her head.

“I think it’s time,” he said. “She’s suffering too much. We have to let her go.”

Arrangements  were made. A friend with a gun. A time was agreed.

The three children, young adults now, were sent away, the wife too. Too hard to face.

He chose the spot in amongst his favourite maple  trees, and dug the grave in readiness.

It was a beautiful day, blue skies and sunshine beating down. The grass was green.

He laid the rug on the lawn, and carried Bonnie, unconscious now, to lie beside her, for these last few moments.

He fondled her head, softy whispering words of comfort.

In the distance he heard the sound of the ute turning towards the property.

Just then, Bonnie opened her eyes, gazed up at him, licked his face, and closed her eyes in death.

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Noah’s Ark

Bible Story reimagined.

The second of the series I am writing for my greatgrandchildren.

Noah’s Ark

It began to rain on Tuesday. It rained and rained on Wednesday too, and Thursday and Friday. It didn’t stop on Saturday or Sunday or even Monday. It just rained and rained and rained.

Last week Mrs Next Door had come in for a cuppa with Mrs Noah and said, “Why is Mr Noah out there chopping and sawing and drilling and building a ginormous boat, when there’s not a drop of water round here to float it?

Mrs Noah had a sort of secret smile, and said, “Don’t you worry Mrs Next Door. My husband knows what’s what.

All the neighbours were agog, when they peeped through their curtains and saw Master Shem and Master Ham and Master Japheth herding all kinds of animals two by two, up the gang plank and into the boat, which was called an Ark.

There were camels and elephants and kangaroos and snails, giraffes and hippos and gorillas and ants, puppies and goldfish, panda bears and bees,  butterflies and canaries and absolutely every animal you can think of. Even

Rhinoceroses!

When all the animals were aboard, Mr and Mrs Noah told their family, “Hurry, hurry. Grab the kids and get on board, shut the doors. Here comes the rain!”

It didn’t stop raining until there wasn’t even one bit of land showing, even the tippy top of a mountain, just water, water everywhere.

After the rain stopped they all stretched and yawned, opened the door and began their new life, all fresh and clean again.

God put a rainbow in the sky to show how much he loved them.

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Picture This

She’s all of 2’6, shaped like a TellyTubby, straight back, protruding tummy, little tree trunk legs planted firmly on tiny fat feet, pearly toenails and a delicate gold chain around one fat, little ankle.

Her hair has been pulled up on top of her head, and silvery golden tendrils fall in curls round her perfect little face. Eyes of clearest blue, she is beautiful, but totally unaware of her power.

Five huge adults provide her adoring audience, spellbound and slaves to her every whim.

A moment ago she was playing with her three life like baby dolls, carefully laying them side by side and attempting to cover them with a blanket twice her size, lifting it above her head and then tumbling over tangled up in it, and deciding to lie down with her babies instead as a much better option.

But something one of the giant adults said must have annoyed Her Tiny Majesty!

She stood up, her offended back to the giants, stock still, eyes downcast, head averted……silent.

The royal courtiers fell silent too, eyeing each other nervously, and wondering who the guilty party was.

The little pocket dynamo continued her statuesque pose, and the room held its breath.

A sigh of relief, as the decision to forgive travelled through her little body, and she once again became the universal little Mother.

All the girl power since creation seemed to be embodied in this tiny figure.

Little heroine. Hope of the future.

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The Perm.

An anecdote from my Memoirs.

The Perm.

When I was 15, my mother and I decided it was time to improve my looks, by giving me my first perm, a home perm.

Because we were away on holidays in the Blue Mountains, we decided to do the deed in the first week, so it would have time to “die down” before we went back home to Sydney. Little did we know!

Obviously neither of us had any idea about the mysteries of the permanent wave.  We bought the home perm kit at the chemist and read the directions carefully when we got back to the holiday unit. We laid out the towels, the cotton wool, the glass jar, the lotions, curlers, combs, rollers and little tissue papers, and made a start.

As soon as the first fumes of the chemicals wafted into the air, my father and sister took off for a long walk.

My mother being totally inexperienced, was all fingers and thumbs and the process of separating the hair into sections, soaking it with the lotion and then attempting to wind it onto a tiny narrow curlers, took her forever. Trying to keep one wound up section in place while she tried to force another section onto another roller, was like a episode of “I Love Lucy.” When it was finally finished my head looked like a untidy pink hedgehog. We put the timer on. We’d better leave it for the maximum time, after all it had cost a lot of money, and we did want it to work! But of course we hadn’t taken into account the length of time my mother had taken in the winding.

Later on at the required moment my mother poured warm water over my head, with the rollers still in, and applied the next chemical, meant to fix the curl. After 5 minutes I was to take the curlers out and rinse under warm water until the water ran clear. At this point my mother decided to go out and post a letter, leaving the last part to me.

I knelt over the bath, pulled out the rollers and ran the soothing warm water over my head. But horror of horrors, as my fingers ran through my hair, it seemed to come alive. It grew and grew and grew and grew! My hair was turning into an afro that would have been the envy of Tina Turner.

Appalled I turned off the taps, and madly towelled my hair. Worse. It grew inches more! It was a huge halo around my head and I didn’t recognize myself as I looked, startled and aghast, in the bathroom mirror. My face seemed to have shrunk in size, surrounded  now with the world’s biggest hair.

Wide angled combs hadn’t been invented in those days, and there was no way an ordinary comb or brush could attack such an amazing outcrop.

As I stood near to total despair, my family walked in, took one look and began to laugh, rolling around the floor until they cried. They just couldn’t stop.

When they saw my real tears, however, they tried very hard to be sympathetic, but the gurgles escaped each time they sneaked another look.

The package said don’t shampoo for several days, so in the hope that the thing would go away if we disobeyed these instructions, we rinsed and rinsed day after day, but nothing worked .In fact the afro seemed to grow at each washing.

In 2 weeks I had to go back to my friends and my new boyfriend. I’d rather die. My life was ruined. I would never get over it.  Never!

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Destiny

You could have been born

In the slums of Djakarta

Or Windsor Castle

Or the child of a Cult

Or blind

Become a rock star

Or an astronaut

Or Mother Teresa

You could have been

A suburban housewife

Or an inventor

Or an athlete.

You could have discovered gold

Or been a surrogate mother

Or a member of ABBA

Or scavenged for food

On the rubbish heaps in India

You could have been a boy. Or a twin,

Or disabled or a concert pianist

You might have

Become a drug addict

Or climbed Mt Everest

Or saved the gorillas

Or joined the Hitler Youth

You may have been born in Israel or Bethlehem

Before Jesus’ time

Before the dinosaurs

You might have been Eve.

But you are

You.

“I’m Sorry Grandad Died”

Short story

I wrote this story for my grandson, Menzies (Ming), about twenty years ago, when he was five or six. Every word is true.

Menzies loved to think.

His teacher thought it was wonderful.

His mother didn’t.

It made him ask too many questions.

……………..

Menzies lived on a farm with his mum and his dad, Anthony.

He called his dad Anthony, because that’s what his mum called him.

Doc and Inky lived there too.

They were sausage dogs.

Inky had white eyebrows.

She was old.

But Doc was black all over, even his eyebrows.

Inky was Doc’s mum.

That was funny because they were exactly the same,

Except for the eyebrows.

……………

Menzies wondered about everything.

Sometimes his mum said, “Oh Menzies! For goodness sake!”

And sometimes his dad said, “Go and ask your mum.”

Menzies did his best thinking on the loo. Naked.

He could think better if he was naked…..on the loo.

“Mum, come here. I want to ask you something.”

She’d have to sit on the floor outside the loo

While he wondered about things.

“Why do I have hands?” he’d say.

“Does poo come down from my head or up from my toes?”

“Are Pokemons real?”

“I want them to be real.”

“That’s my boy!” said Anthony.

………………

Sometimes he wondered while Mum was driving him to school

in the little red bullet.

Anthony said it was like a bullet ‘cause she drove it so fast.

One day on the way home from school

the car drove through a thick white mist.

He wondered if Digimon was true.

…………….

His teacher, Miss Lindy, said they were having a Grandparents’ Day soon.

They had to write invitations.

She gave them green paper with spaces for the words.

She told them, “On the top, you write, “Dear Nanna or Pop or Grandpa

or whatever you call your grandparents.

Menzies thought and thought.

He knew Grandma lived in a house with red bricks,

but what about Grandad?

Grandad’s picture was on Grandma’s bedroom wall.

His face was big and smiling.

Grandma said he died.

Menzies wondered where he was.

Mum said he was her dad.

She said he used to do a funny walk like Charlie Chaplin, that made her laugh.

She said he talked on the radio with a posh voice.

She said he used to be a teacher, then he stopped so he could fix people’s backs.

He had to go to Canada for a long time, to learn how.

She said he was big and tall, but not as big as Uncle Mark.

He’s HUGE!

…………………

Menzies wondered why his grandad died.

Did he live in heaven?

He’d be too big to sit on a cloud, ‘cause he’d fall through.

If he got too close to the sun he might melt.

Did he fix people’s backs in heaven?

Uncle Brin fixes people’s backs now.

………………

Mum works at the university.

She teaches big people.

She doesn’t fix people’s backs.

Sometimes she takes Menzies when there’s no school.

School’s OK but university’s better.

Menzies could do stuff in Mum’s office, and discuss things with her friends.

Some of them wondered about things too.

He liked to pull a chair over so he could climb up and watch the big people having school.

There was a little glass window high up in the door,

and if he stool on tiptoe, he could see inside the whole room.

Once there was a really pretty teacher with big hair and big boobs.

He liked watching her.

Anthony said, “That’s my boy!”

………………….

Some nights Mum took Menzies outside to look at the stars.

Once, the moon was broken.

It was just like a tiny fingernail.

The next time she took him out at night, the moon was huge!

He thought Anthony had fixed it.

“That’s my boy!” said Anthony.

………….

Menzies liked his friends to come over.

One day his mum asked nine at once.

She said it was to get it over in one go.

After a while Menzies wished they would all go home.

“I wish they’d be dead,” he whispered to his mum.

……………….

It was good living on a farm.

One of the cows was called Reject.

It was big and old and when Menzies was little, Dad would lift him up

so Reject could suck his fingers right up to his elbows!

“That’s my boy,” said Anthony.

………………

Menzies could nearly touch the sky on his trampoline.

Higher and higher he’d fly with his Pokemon friends whooping beside him.

They’d laugh and shout and poke him in the ribs.

In the summer, Menzies turned into a fish and swam laps under water in the round pool.

He didn’t know how to do it on top yet.

Sometimes his fingers got all wrinkly if he stayed in too long.

Anthony said, “That’s my boy!”

………………..

Menzies didn’t believe in eating.

Anthony said it must be against his religion.

Even after he was born in the hospital, he wouldn’t suck.

The fierce nurses pushed and pulled till his little mouth was shaped like a bee sting,

but nothing worked.

He just didn’t like it.

When they tried bottles he just chucked them over the side.

Everyone told his mum what to do.

“Try this. Try that.” But nothing worked.

He just didn’t believe in food.

The doctor said he’d be OK when he was bigger.

One day when he was four, he ate twelve Wheatbix!

“That’s my boy” said Anthony.

………………

Mum decided Menzies needed to play lots of sport.

She took him to soccer and sometimes he kicked the ball very far.

Once he forgot which way, and kicked a goal for the other side!

She took him to Tai Kwan Do, but when Greg quit he didn’t want to go any more.

Next it was basket ball.

There was a hoop on the pepper tree near the wash house.

Bang! Bang! Bang! He practised,

Anthony said, “That’s my boy.”

…………………

Sometimes when Grandma came over for Sunday roast, they all played Uno.

Menzies had to stand beside Anthony to show him what to do.

Grandma loved to play Old Maid, but she always screamed when she got the Old Maid card.

Menzies giggled.

She also liked to play Croquet in the back yard with all the cousins.

…………………………

Menzies sat at his desk in school, pushed his tongue between his teeth,

held his pencil just so, and wrote on his green paper,

“Dir Gaandad, I’m soree yew diyed”

The End.

Tomboy Fairy.

I wrote this little story many years ago for my grand daughters who are now young adults. I now have a crop of great grandchildren, so I am inserting their names as the good and naughty fairies, and adding appropriate and colourful clip art pictures throughout, I tried it out last weekend on my three year old great grandie, Huntah.

Tomboy Fairy by Grandma.

The Fairy Kingdom was agog with excitement.

Twin baby girls had been born to Queen Leticia and King Ob.

The Royal Radio broadcast the news, and the Prime Minister declared a public holiday.

King Ob wasn’t sure if he was pleased with two babies at once.

But Queen Leticia smiled and smiled.

The Royal Spiders spun shawls of gossamer silk.

The Royal Dressmaker sewed two little jumpsuits, with slits for the wings.

The Royal Bootmaker stitched two miniature pairs of satin bootlets.

The Royal Bees brought thimbles, full of sweet honey.

The elves and pixies painted the baby toenails purple.

The Royal Goanna rocked them to sleep on his broad back.

The Royal Kookaburras read them bedtime stories

And the Royal Crickets chirped them to sleep.

At their baptism, Archbishop Patrick Koala named them Princess Huntah and Princess Airlie.

Everyone came from far and near.

Everyone wanted to see the Royal Twins.

The church was packed and the organ played rock’roll.

The palace was bulging with presents.

The Royal Wombat made the christening cakes and wrote their names with his claw.

Princess Airlie slept in her gumnut cradle, and smiled in her sleep.

But Princess Huntah clenched her little fists and glared and glared. GRRRRRRRRR!

The King and Queen began to worry.

When the time came for their first flying lessons, there was trouble in the air.

Princess Airlie flew like a butterfly and danced through the sky.

Princess Huntah dive bombed the duck pond and frightened the geese . SPLASH!

Never before, had there been such a child.

While Princess Airlie polished her wings, and brushed her golden curls, Princess Huntah played leapfrog with the  joeys, and shouted rudely at the magpies.

While Princess Airlie said her prayers, Princess Huntah squirted cream all over the prayer book. SPLAT!

She absolutely refused to wear a dress.

She absolutely refused to brush her curls.

She absolutely refused to play with her dolls.

She absolutely refused to cuddle the cat.

When the King came to take them to Granny’s, Princess Huntah wanted to go to Macdonald’s.

When the Queen asked her to help the Royal Gardener, she chased him with his spade.

The Royal Cook refused to serve her lunch.

The Royal Chauffeur locked her out of the Royal Limousine

Governess after governess left in a huff.

The Queen was in despair.

Every morning the Royal Maid laid out their clothes for the day.

For Princess Airlie, there were silk stockings, teeny red ballet shoes,

 lacy satin dresses with ribbons, bows, bracelets and beads.

But all Princess Huntah would wear, were her grubby blue jeans, with frayed cuffs and her knees

poking out. WHOOPPEE!

Princess Airlie ate with a silver spoon and her little finger sticking up.

Princess Huntah perched on the curtain rail and ate with her fingers.

She burped and made other rude noises.

Princess Airlie never did.

When they were five, the twins went to school.

Princess Airlie skipped into the Fairy Schoolroom, laughing and smiling at the teacher.

Princess Huntah slouched in with a scowl, and kicked the chair over. BANG!

Princess Airlie learned to read and loved the library .

Princess Huntah did finger painting all over the walls and read her books upside down.

Mr. Bilby gave Princess Airlie gold stars on her forehead.

He gave Princess Huntah angry looks.

The Royal Principal, Mrs. Echidna, decided to try something different.

She wrote secret letters to all the other parents.

Next week, there would be a surprise!

For the rest of the week, the school was in chaos.

When Mr. Bilby read to the class, Princess Huntah did dive bombs from the ceiling.

When Mr. Bilby wrote sums on the board, Princess Huntah, made rude faces behind his back.

When Mr. Bilby took them out for games, Princess Huntah kicked the soccer ball through the window.

When Mr. Bilby lined them up on the veranda, Princess Huntah

 flew backwards down the line and knocked off all their hats. BLP!BLP!BLP!

She even did a pop off!

Just wait till next week, thought Mrs. Echidna.

When Monday came, what a surprise!

Every fairy child came dressed exactly like Princess Huntah!

Their jeans were dirty, their hair was all tangled and their faces were smudged.

Which one was Princess Huntah?

When they lined up for Assembly, Mrs. Echidna called out, “Would Princess Huntah please step forward.”

They all stepped forward.

“Princess Huntah, please write your name on the whiteboard.”

They all wrote their name on the whiteboard.

“Will Princess Huntah please recite the alphabet.”

They all recited the alphabet.

“Will Princess Huntah please go to the Principal’s  Office.”

They all went to the Principal’s Office.

The next day Princess Huntah came to school in her school uniform.  (She still had her jeans underneath though). Her wings were shiny and her curls were brushed.

She wrote neatly and changed her library books.  

She sang in tune and played netball with the girls.

But at the weekends, it was another story! SHHHHHHHHHH!

THE END.

The Fairy Kingdom was agog with excitement.

Twin baby girls had been born to Queen Leticia and King Ob.

Twin babie

King Ob wasn’t sure if he was pleased with two babies at once.

But Queen Leticia smiled and smiled.

The Royal Spiders spun shawls of gossamer silk.

The Royal Dressmaker sewed two little jumpsuits, with slits for the wings.

The Royal Bootmaker  stitched two miniature pairs of satin bootlets.

The Royal Bees brought thimbles, full of sweet honey.

The elves and pixies painted the baby toenails purple.

The Royal Goanna rocked them to sleep on his broad back.

The Royal Kookaburras read them bedtime stories.

And the Royal Crickets chirped them to sleep.

At their baptism, Archbishop Patrick Koala named them Princess Ash and Princess Sage.

Everyone came from far and near.

Everyone wanted to see the Royal Twins.

The church was packed and the organ played rock’n roll.

The palace was bulging with presents.

The Royal Wombat made the christening cakes and wrote their names with his claw.

Princess Ash slept in her gumnut cradle, and smiled in her sleep.

But Princess Sage clenched her little fists and glared and glared. GRRRRRRRRR!

The King and Queen began to worry.

When the time came for their first flying lessons, there was trouble in the air.

Princess Ash flew like a butterfly and danced through the sky.

Princess Sage dive bombed the duck pond and frightened the geese . SPLASH!

Never before, had there been such a child.

While Princess Ash polished her wings, and brushed her golden curls, Princess Sage played

leapfrog with the  joeys, and shouted rudely at the magpies.

While Princess Ash said her prayers, Princess Sage squirted cream all over the prayer book. SPLAT!

She absolutely refused to wear a dress.

She absolutely refused to brush her curls.

She absolutely refused to play with her dolls.

She absolutely refused to cuddle the cat.

When the King came to take them to Granny’s, Princess Sage wanted to go to Macdonald’s.

When the Queen asked her to help the Royal Gardener, she chased him with his spade.

The Royal Cook refused to serve her lunch.

The Royal Chauffeur locked her out of the Royal Limousine.

Governess after governess left in a huff.

The Queen was in despair.

Every morning the Royal Maid laid out their clothes for the day.

For Princess Ash, there were silk stockings, teeny red ballet shoes, lacy satin dresses with ribbons,

bows, bracelets and beads.

But all Princess Sage would wear, were her grubby blue jeans, with frayed cuffs and her knees

poking out. WHOOPPEE!

Princess Ash ate with a silver spoon and her little finger sticking up.

Princess Sage perched on the curtain rail and ate with her fingers.

She burped and made other rude noises.

Princess Ash never did.

When they were five, the twins went to school.

Princess Ash skipped into the Fairy Schoolroom, laughing and smiling at the teacher.

Princess Sage slouched in with a scowl, and kicked the chair over. BANG!

Princess Ash learned to read and loved the library.

Princess Sage did finger painting all over the walls and read her books upside down.

Mr. Bilby gave Princess Ash gold stars on her forehead.

He gave Princess Sage angry looks.

The Royal Principal, Mrs. Echidna, decided to try something different.

She wrote secret letters to all the other parents.

Next week, there would be a surprise!

For the rest of the week, the school was in chaos.

When Mr. Bilby read to the class, Princess Sage did dive bombs from the ceiling.

When Mr. Bilby wrote sums on the board, Princess Sage, made rude faces behind his back.

When Mr. Bilby took them out for games, Princess Sage kicked the soccer ball through the window. Smash!

When Mr. Bilby lined them up on the veranda, Princess Sage flew backwards down the line and

knocked off all their hats.BLP!BLP!BLP!

She even did a pop off!

Just wait till next week, thought Mrs. Echidna.

When Monday came, what a surprise!

Every fairy child came dressed exactly like Princess Sage!

Their jeans were dirty, their hair was all tangled and their faces were smudged.

Which one was Princess Sage?

When they lined up for Assembly, Mrs. Echidna called out, “Would Princess Sage please step forward.”

They all stepped forward.

“Princess Sage, please write your name on the whiteboard.”

They all wrote their name on the whiteboard.

“Will Princess Sage please recite the alphabet.”

They all recited the alphabet.

“Will Princess Sage please go to the Principal’s  Office.”

They all went to the Principal’s Office.

The next day Princess Sage came to school in her school uniform.  (She still had her jeans underneath

though). Her wings were shiny and her curls were brushed.

She wrote neatly and changed her library books.  

She sang in tune and played netball with the girls.

But at the weekends, it was another story! SHHHHHHHHHH!

The End.

Blind Date.

It’s a long, long time since my last blind date, but I just unearthed this anecdote from my memoirs, so thought I’d share my smiles. (with apologies to the nice little unknown man) Names changed to protect……….

BLIND DATE.

Over a cup of tea, she said, “Henry’s  a really nice chap. He’s been on his own for a while and would love some good company. Nothing serious, just someone to take out for a meal, or walk, just some company”.

What harm could there be. I’m a widow. My daughter- in -law has recommended him, and I too would like some company.

So we decided a game of golf would be a good place to start.

We were to meet at the golf club, so when I arrived, I unpacked my golf clubs and waited for him on the verandah, wondering what he’d look like.

My girlfriend was just about to leave, but her curiosity was too strong, so she waited with me. Suddenly, a dreadful rusty little Mini Minor came pelting up the driveway, and a funny little man sort of scuttled over to the Pro Shop, but  then hurried back and got into his car.

 I breathed a sigh of relief, and we were still giggling about the awful possibility, when to my horror, and my friend’s delighted disbelief, he emerged again and made his way towards us. Oh no, it WAS him!

He had no golf balls so I found half a dozen old ones, which he dropped into the deep recesses of his tiny little golf bag, slung it over his shoulder and followed me to the first tee. He sort of scuttled along, and for the rest of the 9 holes, seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time rummaging in his golf bag.

 I sensed his absence at one stage, and looked back to see him miles behind me, in the middle of a fairway, looking bewildered, with  the contents of his upturned golf bag strewn all over the grass.

 On the greens he would watch me putt my ball into the hole, and then either pick his ball up and put it in his pocket, or else take putt after putt, back and forth, over, alongside, beyond, behind, anywhere but in the hole.

There was no conversation, and he seemed too timid to even squeak. As we neared the Clubhouse, relief that it was nearly over turned into a new anxiety. Courtesy demanded that I take him in for a drink and to introduce him to other members. I couldn’t do it. No one could ask me to do it. Much too difficult.

Thinking desperately for a way out of this, as we neared the parking lot, I got an idea.

A startled male club member, quietly packing his car, backed away in shock as I threw myself at him, pretending to apologize for being so late.

The fact that this poor chap had never seen me before in his life, rendered him speechless, so we stood together for a moment while I waved goodbye to my “date”, who quickly disappeared down the driveway, in the little Mini Minor like a puff of smoke.

It was impossible to try to explain to my bewildered car park “saviour”. So I didn’t try.

Sons.

A few notes of explanation .

Blogging is new to me, and it is taking a while to get it right. e.g.my daughter’s comment last week, which was read as if that poem, Gratitude, was written by my mother and not by me!

Inviting you to follow took a lot of courage.

I am posting a variety of things I have written over the years, taken from my memoirs, travel journals, attempts at fiction, poetry, written usually in response to musings about life and faith, and collections that I have assembled to hand on. But it occurred to me recently that, like artists and photographers, writers need an audience, so you are mine.

Here is today’s item, a poem I wrote about my two beautiful sons a good while ago.

SONS.  by Meg

What is this thing

Between a woman

And her sons?

“When I grow up

I want to marry you,”

They say.

How easy when they’re small

Fat little arms

Cuddles in bed.

The biggest problem

Gone,

As soon as Mummy comes.

Those little hands that creep into her own

As danger

Or a teacher, or a wave draws near.

The meeting of the eyes

Across a crowded room

To reassure

And comfort

When stage-struck, he nearly dies.

Emerging

Big boys now

A shift in focus.

“Where’s my shirt?”

“I need a lift.”

“Can Geoff come over?”

“Do I have to?”

“Why?”

The testing of the waters.

Old bull, young bull.

The father

Teaching how to love their mother

By example.

Much too hard.

The mother

Yearning now

Accepting change as change

Relinquishing.

The thread of love

Stronger than silk

Her certainty and hope.

It’s later now.

She watches footy games

Half-men.

They checked to see she saw that goal

But shy

Their friends’ approval

Makes them gruff.

Be there,

But be invisible

Is what they ask.

A girl arrives

And sees him as her own.

Embrace her too

And bring her with him

Into the circle

Of their home.

The fear comes next

Streets full of threat,

The pull of peers,

Their values not her own.

These sons must make their mark,

Must test and try

And challenge all they know.

She waits and prays

And listens for their sound

Assured by faith

They’ll make it through

To pathways of their own.

And now they’re men

With children of their own.

What memories are theirs?

They watch her standing by

And see her as their child.

The circle surely turned.

Her gaze speaks now

Of gratitude and joy,

Of love that has been proved

And now becomes again

That early wondrous thing,

A woman and a man.

The mother sees

Her sons.