Young Love

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I remember when I was in my first year of school. I loved my very first teacher so much. Every day when I left to go home, I would hug and kiss her goodbye. I don’t remember exactly why, but I do recall the strength of my feelings. I was four and a half.

I can also remember the first boy I fell in love with. I wanted to be in his presence every minute of the day, but he barely knew I existed. This was when I was five or six. I was devastated.

The only boy that liked me back then was really sweet and kind but I was in love with “Matthew”. The sweet and kind boy that liked me followed me around everywhere and I thought of him as “Moon Face”. I never called him this, but that is how I referred to him in my mind because he reminded me of the happy and smiley character out of the “Magic Faraway Tree” by Enid Blyton. Perhaps, his heart was saddened by my lack of enthusiasm for his school boy advances. I’m sorry Moon Face.

In grade 5, I remember playing kiss chasey. The only boy that chased me was the one I didn’t want to be kissed by. I ran into the girls’ toilet and slammed the metal gate shut against his onslaught but he burst through like an angry bull and smashed the gate open. My arm was crushed between the brick wall and the metal gate breaking my wrist.

Not a good start to the game of love.

I’m writing this not to demonstrate how pathetic my love life was in primary school, but because I am now in a position to watch my boys fall in love in their early years of school just as I did. Thankfully, I can say that they seem to have more luck than me.

One day, my eldest, when he was in grade 5 (so around 11 years old), slipped into the car and sadly told me he had broken up with his girlfriend. I love that he’s not too shy to share these events with me and we discussed it for a while. He was surprisingly accepting but I gave him my empathy, love and a big hug when we got home.

The next day, when I picked up my children again, my third son, (not to be left out), sadly told me he had broken up with his girlfriend. Trying to hide my amusement (he was only 5), I asked him if he was alright. Just as he started to answer, my fourth son (3 years old) piped up and said, “Can I have her?” To which son number three replied, “She’s not a box of chocolates!”

I was quite impressed that Felix (number 3), was able to so eloquently articulate his understanding and respect for girls at such a young age. I guess then, that I’m not at all surprised to find that at the age of nine, he is head over heels in love and so tender that he may just give Price Charming a run for his money.

They are cute together; just young and innocent love. Holding hands and spending time together is the extent of their relationship, but they don’t seem to have enough hours in the day to be together. At home they write each other letters which are delivered shyly in the playground and on weekends they try to arrange more time together as well.

Today, I found a letter Felix had written to Chloe. It was really lovely so I asked him why he didn’t send it. He said he was going to and I told him it that the words were so beautiful that it read like a poem. Felix turned to me and said, “Mum, it’s not a poem, it’s a song I wrote for her.”

Felix posted this little song on his blog today (he would love you to have a look) as well as writing it for her in a card. I wonder if he will sing it to her.

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Denise – friendship, loyalty and redemption

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Continuing on from my violent and schizophrenic, drunken boyfriend of that time, and after the incident of the knife at my throat from the night before, I decided it was definitely time to leave. What was to gain by putting my life in the hands of this maniac anyway? I’d say nothing but misery.

The next day when I turned up for work at Dracula’s, I walked through the dungeon-like front doors to find the chef sitting at the front desk chatting to one of the cast. While I waited to sign in, I overheard the conversation that ensued. I had come to know Denise better now and she was nothing like the grumpy chef that my first impression had led me to believe. Denise was full of life, funny, and with a cackling laugh that made people around laugh even if they didn’t know why they were laughing. She looked up mid conversation and sung out to any and all, “Anyone looking for a place to live?” (It’s funny how the Universe provides to those in desperate need.) Straight away, I stepped over and replied, “It’s funny you should ask, but I was just about to see if anyone needed a flatmate. “Done”, she said…”When do you want to move in?” To which I replied that tonight would be perfect.

After tearfully explaining my situation, Denise suggested that I really should come home with her that night and that we would go and pick up my stuff together as soon as we got a chance. This was my introduction to Denise’s big and generous heart. Who knows, perhaps she even saved my life.

Of course she held to her promise and my belongings were safely transported to her lovely little unit in Fairfield, and a fresh and far happier life started for me. I think now of those “Galloping Hooves” pounding on the bitumen as I fled from yet another unhappy chapter of my life.

On our first night together we sat drinking red wine, eating, talking and laughing into the small hours of the morning. I felt as light as a feather felt and stronger than I had felt in a long time. It was as if I had been living in a dark room and someone had just flicked on a light – it all seemed so obvious now that I could see things objectively. Life felt good.

We did have a visit from the abuser one night; crying and saying he loved me; that he couldn’t live without me. Bla, bla, bla. I didn’t care. I was amongst friends now – his power was gone. We just called the police and told him to piss off. The last I heard from him was that he wrote a letter to my parents apologising and a poem to me. I’ve put them in here because I think it’s interesting to see how the mind of this kind of person works. (I have kept all my letters the past)

“Dear Mr and Mrs ………..,

Please don’t hate me for the things I have done wrong to you and especially your daughter. I am sorry and deeply ashamed of myself and my conduct.

Love for me holds many feelings and one of them is jealousy. I know that instead of accepting Jenny’s love, I drove her away. I’ll understand if you or Jenny never want to see me again. Please give this poem to Jenny. I don’t know where she is living and tell her please I am really sorry.

Peter

p.s. Please write”

Peter’s Poem – 1988

“The day is hazy deep and gray,

Yet I am full of life,

My heart inside just wants to play,

For you my darling wife. (It was the only word I could think of which rhymed)

The outlook which I had on life,

Has changed from black to blue,

For the feeling of love has blossomed inside,

And I give it all to you (Jenny).”

So there you have it. Obviously he did find out where I lived and he stalked me for a while, but with the support of my good friend Denise, I managed to stay away from his “black to blue” life. I knew in my heart that there would only be one kind of “black and blue” if I went back to him regardless of what his intentions were.

My First Award

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One Lovely Blog Award

Thank you so much Gman for this “lovely” nomination. I have been watching your site ever since I started my blog in August 2012. You blow my mind! For those of you who have not yet visited the Gman, you can find him at, http://thebatamonblog.wordpress.com/. Although The Gman is only 12, he is incredibly talented; he draws, photographs, writes poetry, and is even writing a book. I just know he’s going to be famous one day.

I am following quite an eclectic group of blogs myself…hence the Gman. Some areas that I am very interested in are photography, art, humor, mental health, family. The amount of talent present in this world is infinite and I am enjoying mysneek previews into this amazing  and every changing gallery.

Some of the blogs I follow religiously deal with mental health issues and may not be appropriate to nominate in this case…so please do not feel unloved. I do avidly follow many others that as soon as a new post comes into my mail box, I just have to have a peek. I’m also amazed at how humble these people are about their talents. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do myself.

Thanks again GMan!

Seven Random Things About Myself:

  1. I started singing lessons a year ago.
  2. I am a single Mum with four children (all boys)
  3. I’m 44.
  4. I was a Jillaroo for four years (female version of Jackaroo/Cowboy)
  5. I studied Horse Breaking and Artifical Insemination.
  6. I can use a chainsaw and slaughter and butcher a sheep. (necessary Jillaroo skills)
  7. I love to dance (mostly Salsa).

My Nominees:

http://leafandtwig.wordpress.com/

http://etherealheights.wordpress.com/

http://verynovel.wordpress.com/

http://theartfrog.wordpress.com/

http://bwthoughts.wordpress.com/

http://emotionalmommie.wordpress.com/

http://jumpforjoyphotoproject.wordpress.com/

http://reluctantmediumatlarge.wordpress.com/

http://happianarky.com/

http://dingdongitsmrwrong.wordpress.com/

http://sincerelyslapdash.wordpress.com/

http://fairesfineart.wordpress.com/

http://thelastsongiheard.wordpress.com/

http://peanutbutteronthekeyboard.wordpress.com/

http://kelsgonebush.com/

Rules:

Include the blog award logo in your post.

Thank the person who nominated you.

Nominate 15 other people, and let them know you have done so.

Don’t Leave me My Friends!

23 Comments

Right now I am in the middle of moving house (thank you Sara), http://lamentsandlullabies.wordpress.com/, for sending the rental Gods my way), Applying for a Nursing Degree and breaking up from a four year relationshi as well as selling a business. No sympathy required, ….I just don’t want you all to leave me! Dooooon’t leeeeeave me! So, Because my writing head has probably already been packed and I can’t remember which box it’s in, I’m posting some photos (me of course), from my days and characters at “Dracula’s Theatre Restaurant”.

Enjoy my silly characters from 1988.

My cranky cook. Did I give the story away?

Impudent but dead French “bitch”

Split personality was great. I could be nice on one side and a total bitch on the other…me Gemini….no.

You’ll get wot ur given a’hole!

Hag the Bag

Some of the Crew including Mark Newman

Clown on a Wire

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I found this clown hanging on a wire in a lovely old and arty home in a place called Daylesford (Australia). I was attending my ex husband’s wedding actually (yes I had an invitation).

Anyway, my boys were terrified of it and I had to turn it to the wall so that they could sleep. Then the boys in the next room imagined that it was staring at them through the wall. In effect nobody slept and the house was haunted anyway (now I understand what that was all about – not very funny Le Clown).

This my friends was about 4 weeks ago, which is quite a strange coincidence seeing that it is obviously a picture of Le Clown in all his glory and I didn’t even know him then.

If you are reading this and have no idea what I’m talking about, how about visiting this red-nosed maniac and his gallery of gaggoons (whatever they are).

You may even find Eric there, sitting in the background rolling his eyes and reading a book. He’s actually quite normal and very nice.

http://clownonfire.wordpress.com/

Most importantly, I want to know how Le Clown hijacked my weekend 4 weeks ago with his evil eyes and smarmy comment, “We are all clowns, even me” (see top of shitty King hat)

p.s. I’ll paint you one if you like (not exactly the same of course) but would just have to work out how to get it to you. (house warming present for you and Sara!)

I’m Father F@#%**ing Christmas!

27 Comments

……..cont from previous post 

The rest of the children joined us on our mini adventure. Owen, (my previous reconnoitre partner) ran eagerly ahead to in order to present our “find” to the rest of the crew. He was pretty much ignored as the” treasure” drew them all in. Dutifully, he fell in behind the older children, but I could see that he was glowing with the knowledge that he was there first.

Our 12 feet clomped across the boards and around the twists and bends of the boardwalk’s conduit. There were no echoes in this forest; the damp wood beneath our feet sucked in the noise of our gallomping feet and fed it into the murky mud and rotting wood beneath, and the still, mossy trees absorbed our happy voices and playful laughter as if to say it was perhaps out of place. We didn’t mind and we raced on to the end.

The end was nowhere near as exciting as the journey itself, so we cast our disinterested eyes over the gravel path and sparse trees and retreated back to our path to return the way we had come. My older two boys hung back to explore a bit more but the younger three wanted to continue exploring the creek. It was then that I remembered I had left our picnic drinks, chips and chocolate, along with my camera back at the playground. I went ahead to retrieve it knowing the children were safe within earshot.

As I neared the playground, I heard a raw and thunderous man’s voice bellowing blue murder. I hesitated to see where it was coming from and saw a staggering figure a way past the pond. I collected my belongings and hurried back to the children like a mother hen, to draw them in close under my wings.

The children hadn’t heard the yells until I pointed them out and although they were ready to go home, I sat them down so I could see where this strange apparition was heading and to find out his intent.

The man was obviously very drunk, with a bottle of tequila in one hand and a bottle of “Sprite” in the other. He sat down at a picnic table and poured yet another drink and gazed belligerently around. He captured us in his sights and saw us all staring. He roared out, “Fuck Off”. Then, gazing through his bleary tequila goggles he bawled, “You’re beautiful”, and started to serenade me. It made me smile. I hadn’t been serenaded in a long while and it was quite sweet to hear the words, “You’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful and I fucking love you”.

By this time the children were equally disconcerted as well as highly amused. As they were a safe distance away, I decided to go to the car and retrieve my ventolin which I was in need of. I rummaged through my bag, took my puff and locked the door ready to return to the kids. I hesitated for a moment and thought, “I wonder if he’s hungry?” Going to the back of the car I took out the bag of chips I had just placed there and walked back  to present the man my peace pipe. He groggily looked up from his contemplation of the ground and smiled. His hair was a shock of white frizz, sitting like a halo of dandelion seeds around his head and shoulders; and his beard tickled his chest, content to be more of the same. He introduced himself as Peter and smiled. His eyes were kind and his smile was genuine.

He told me I was beautiful again and invited me to have a drink. I politely declined mumbling something about the kids, but he said, “What if we pretend I’m your long lost brother that you haven’t seen for years and years and years?” I smiled at him and said “OK” and held out my glass.

I said, “Peter, where have you been all this time? We’ve all missed you so much!” We laughed and chatted a bit for a while. Peter told me that he had no family or friends that he had seen for 20 years and no home to call his own. It made me wonder what had happened in this man’s life that took him down this lonely and clearly painful boardwalk of life.

Curiosity got the better of my children and they gradually ventured over to us in ones and twos. I made their introductions and very soon we were all laughing. I went back to the car and got the rest of the picnic – Lindor chocolate and juice. We had just devoured the chocolate when my youngest stepped out from behind me and said, “Who are you?” to which Peter stood up and flung his arms out wide, then answered “I’M FATHER FUCKING CHRISTMAS!”  I glanced up at him with Mummy discern to which he hastily apologised. Then he said, “What would you like for Christmas? I can get you anything you want.” Felix grinned and said he would like a car and Owen put an order in for a pirate ship. My older two watched in amusement while my little sleepover guest hid behind my back just peeping out from around my shoulder.

Owen then said, “Are you a hobo?” Again I glanced up at Peter gauging his reaction. I saw a current of pain flicker across his face and I gently said, “Out of the mouths of babes”. Peter smiled sadly and looked at the ground. Then he invited me to spend the night with him under the stars. I smiled and declined the offer. “What about a hug?” he asked. Josh, my ever diplomatic son jumped up and said, “I’ll give you a hug Peter”. And there it was in front of me, a gift of kindness from my son for a lonely stranger with an empty heart.

Suddenly, Peter stood up and threw away his empty lemonade bottle. He then upended the tequila, pouring his last few drinks to the ground. I couldn’t help but think he was going to regret that later. The bottle went flying through the air after it’s mixer mate and then he walked off without a goodbye or an explanation and I was left to finish my drink without my funny friend.

Josh looked down at the bench seat and said, “Hey Mum, he forgot the chips”. I told him he could take them to Peter if he wanted to; so he did. When he came back, Josh said that Peter had advised him to never leave home and had also allowed him to take a photo.

We left the park , and drove home talking about our interesting encounter, to light a fire outside and cook some sausages. I felt sad and reflective and couldn’t stop thinking about homeless Pete. Did he leave us because he saw his own shame reflected in the eyes of my family?  I truly hope not, but I felt that our little tryst had perhaps only highlighted the life that he yearned for, but believed to be far beyond his reach.

http://www.drinkwise.org.au/you-alcohol/alcohol-and-your-health/

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001940/

http://www.homeless.org.au/people/

http://alcohol.addictionblog.org/drug-and-alcohol-abuse-and-the-homeless/

http://au.reachout.com/Tough-Times/Somethings-not-right/Addiction?gclid=CL-g0dirlrICFbBUpgod1DQAWA

Just a Walk in the Park

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Yesterday was the first day of Spring, and true to its form, here in Australia, it was glorious. Blue sky, with a few wisps of cloud and that blossomy smell that can only signal a change to this blissful season.

I resolved to get the children to the park and we loaded into the Tarago in readiness to visit a little dell that I had driven past many times but never ventured to explore. On arrival, the boys tumbled out of the car, with Felix waiting at the door with his hand reaching out to help his little girl friend who had slept over last night. Sweet and innocent they are in their 9 year old love.

The park was really pretty in a wild and unkempt kind of way. Instead of the lurid colours of the countless council playgrounds we drive past these days, this one was all built from wood with just a little fort and a couple of swings nestled between the pond and lush green grass beyond. A shallow creek flowed into the pool, hinting at the pleasures we may find ahead if we accepted its invitation of the mossy climbing rocks and snaggled trees that beckoned.

After a while on the swings, my youngest and I went to explore. We followed the creek and were pleased to find that its introduction was a truthful illustration of the riches it had in store for us. Jumping from rock to rock, the creek opened out into another pool and we found two ducks deep in conversation on a log. We sat and watched for a while then walked around the rocks and weaved our way between crooked trees to find a damp and mossy boardwalk. My son and I ran along the wooden path and were lead into a dark and mysterious world of overhanging trees with the dank smell of rotting wood and fungi hanging low in the moist air.

Before venturing any further, we decided to go back and get the rest of the gang so we could share the next stage of our quest.

….to be continued

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