February Books

I was going to list all the books that I read throughout February but thought “who gives a rats?” So I will share a book update instead.

The Little Community Library has been in existence now for four years, coinciding with my retirement, and is self managing other than a weekly visit for a quick tidy up. It is well supported by locals although the demand for children’s books continues to outstrip supply.

Some of the books that have been through the Little Library over the past few months are tagging along on a short road trip we are taking to the Western Downs area of Queensland where they will join some of their country cousin Little Libraries along the way. A local Charity Store also provides books to recycle across Little Libraries as does a national service organisation. It is amazing how a handful of fresh titles can add to a Free Library in a rural setting that has been doing it tough given recent floods, bushfires, and kennel cough. Lookout south coast of New South Wales : a delivery is coming your way too.

I picked up some cheap reading material at a car boot sale last week : $2.50. Bargain!

Although this was a stupid move when you consider the pile of books by my bed that I haven’t as yet touched.

A member of our Book Club recently recommended “The Underground Railway” by Colson Whitehead which I saw this week made the New York Times’ 25 Best Historical Fiction Books of All Time List. As a newcomer to our reading circle as well as to our shores it is interesting that this lass is introducing us to a wider circle of books. Indeed, this one is a five star read.

Another recommendation by a group committed to expanding the practise of letter writing which I recently joined is “The Little French Bookshop” by Cecile Pivot. This is a nice little book – yes, I have been lectured about the use of nice – about a woman who runs a french bookshop who instigates a letter writing workshop.

Life Lesson :

Books can have more than one life. Share, Give, Recycle.

We don’t need a list of rights and wrongs, tables of dos and don’ts: We need books, time, and silence. Thou shalt not is soon forgotten, but Once upon a time lasts forever.” – Philip Pullman

The Xmas Tree

I wasn’t going to bother with the Xmas Tree this year but changed my mind after learning I’ll be having a full house for the holidays. I know it is still too early to feel Ho Ho Ho and to play Glenn Miller’s Orchestra on the stereo, but I do need to consider space options and to plan accordingly.

The tree has been hosed, dried, and all wasp nests removed, and it is now homed in a corner far away from the action under my “Casablanca” movie poster. Interestingly, I watched “Casablanca” – again – only last week as part of the 80th anniversary celebrations since the movie release, during which I texted both daughters and suggested that with the grandchild now being 2 it was about time he was blooded. They agreed to sitting down together over a cheese platter and plonk during the holidays and educating the child. Said child’s father reincarnated Rick Blain at his wedding so “Home Alone” and “Christmas With The Kranks” would be wholly unsuitable viewing for a Little Person.

My tree is thirty years old and looks it. I’m not bothering with decorations because the grandfurbaby has been known to eat them. He’s a Lab and the Vet assures me that the reason Labs tend to eat anything is due to a chemical imbalance. Although I do have concerns along the same line for the tinsel the tree is so ugly it needs coverage. Fingers crossed that bub will be “blinded by the light”.

Cat Balou, aged 5, and I had a girls day out thirty years ago whilst residing in Adelaide. With only 14 months between her and sister, Pocahontas, I always thought it important to have some one-on-one time with the girls, so together we travelled by Obahn ( a bus on its own track) into the City for thick shakes on the Ground Floor of David Jones, whilst watching the John Martin Christmas Pageant snake through Rundle Mall.

Cat Balou selected our new Xmas Tree which we decorated with bibs and bobs handcrafted from Kindy and Play Group. I still have them all. Macaroni on cardboard. Toilet paper rolls covered in cotton wool. Probably a few more wasp nests if I looked closely.

In an other area of the house I am in the process of setting up a craft station for Harry and his Aunt. Together they can create some new decorations to cover the hideousness of the Tree.

Life Lesson : Afterall, it’s not about the Tree, is it?

Where Things Take You In 2 Parts

My partner’s family lost their matriarch earlier this year. She was the same age as the Queen when she passed and had lived a long, rich life as a farmer’s wife, mother, and teacher in a little bush school on the East Coast of Tasmania. Life in a farming community meant that she and her husband were much involved with the local district. They each had a love of sharing the stories of their family as well as the stories of previous generations.

In recent years her daughter and grand daughter were able to record many of Marion’s stories, stories about the early days on the farm, the Depression, War, and family. But time ran out, as it does.

There is no record of why Marion was gifted this necklace by a Tribal Elder many years ago.
( Packaging is a recent Amazon purchase). That is a tale that has been lost forever. It must have been an interesting story; it should have been an interesting story to be retold through the generations.

It is fitting then that this necklace is being passed down to the next generation in a First Nations Smoking Ceremony to be held on the family farm. We may never know the story behind the origin of the beads though a new story is about to begin.

Watching this evenings news coverage reminded me that in 1963 my Uncle and Aunty took my cousin and I into Hyde Park in the Sydney CBD to see Queen Elizabeth. I was not yet 4 years of age but do remember sitting on my Uncle Ray’s shoulders to catch a glimpse as the Royals drove past in a shiny black, open vehicle. I have strong memories of the garden beds being full of colourful flowers

Having looked up the dates of that particular visit I’ve worked out that I was spending time with Uncle Ray and Aunty Isobel because my baby sister had been born only days beforehand and had not yet been released from hospital.

Uncle Ray and Aunty Isobel are long gone, as is my sister, Isobel.

Isn’t it amazing how memories from long ago can resurface ?

LIFE LESSON :

Hold those you care about close, share those stories, and write your memoirs.

Grey Days and Hissy Fits

It’s been a disappointing winter with grey days, Covid and all of its accoutrements. So I admit to a recent hissy fit when for the past few weeks there has been a lack of children’s books in the Little Community Library up at the local park. None as in Nil. Zilch.Nada.

I appreciate that Little People can get attached to books and not want to share them, and I also get that times are tough and may be a borrowed book is as good as it gets for some families. That’s okay. Any child with a book is a positive, right?

With school holidays, lousy weather, and a three day day lockdown I put a call out for donations of books for the kids. Cheekily I even included information about a pop up preloved book sale ( fundraiser) happening less than two kilometres away.

Guess what? Nil. Zilch. Nada. And being bloody minded I refused to put a hand in my own pocket…this time.

Inwardly I fumed. How hard is it to return or donate a second hand book about Peppa Pig or Thomas the Tank Engine?

My interest waned in the Little Library and my visits dropped to a weekly perfunctory event only. There was even the odd rant about not being everybody’s mother or grandmother. Gemini’s do tend to rant after all.

There have also been a few unsavoury looking types hanging about the park of late. Not being judgemental but hey, I found an official document in the Little Library reminding so and so of his coming appointment with his parole officer. Gulp. Made me wonder if donated books were being sold off at Garage Sales or the like.

Anyway, I relented yesterday and set off to the park to discover twenty kiddies books, a couple of Disney DVDs and an adults section absolutely overflowing.

Thankyou Thankyou Thankyou

The Life Lesson being, I guess, that we are all battling a lousy winter and outside, unseen forces -something that’s truly worth ranting about.

Old Dogs and New Tricks

I failed Domestic Science at High School. The only F I ever received on a report card. I knew better than to enrol in Sewing Classes after having received a D, in a scale from A to D, at Primary School. My mother, a seamstress who could turn a parachute into a wedding gown during the war years, was appalled. She gave me her first Singer Sewing Machine thinking that it would provide encouragement. Never switched it on and it later became a garden ornament alongside the gnomes.

Unable to use a needle and thread the only thing I used a needle for was removing splinters out of little fingers when the children were small.

Knitting, crochet, and quilting were never options though I’ve always been pretty handy with a paintbrush. Over the years I have painted both the exteriors and interiors of several houses. Unfortunately, often in colours that have had real estate agents cringing. My last house I opted to bulldoze and redevelop after comments about my sunflower yellow and budgie green colour scheme.

(Personal Note : That’s what comes of living with someone whose life is coloured by beige).

So I’m a little surprised with two new hobbies I’ve picked up since retirement.
Having the time to explore new interests truly is one of the positives of the finality of a working life. No guilt whatsoever. Loving it!

Mind you, I’ve had some EPIC fails. Like square dancing. Who knew it was so hard to differentiate between your left and your right? The popularity of using the clocks on our electrics as opposed to a watch has only exacerbated this issue (for sum of us). And those flouncy skirts were cute when I was six, not so at sixty.

What I am enjoying is an online Art Therapy study program. I’ve done collage, meditation to promote creativity, learnt about colour therapy, created my Tree of Life, and am currently working with clay. Well, plasticine really – it’s less expensive.

Art Therapy is used as a healing process. I was creatively stunted when I was young and perpetually fearful of having my knuckles rapped with a ruler by over zealous teachers when I coloured outside the lines. A bit like Harry Chapin’s song :

(Personal Note : Probably accounts for Mr Beige).

My search for Trailblazing Aussie Women is proving fascinating. I started with names of well known women but this exercise has led me down a rabbit hole and I have stumbled upon an 8 year old who walked the Kokoda Track and proceeded to climb Kilimanjaro and Everest, an Indigenous woman with a degree from Harvard, and a lass who has been working on the Mars Mission.

LIFE LESSON : You can teach an old dog new tricks.

1 Year Anniversary

I was never one to pursue dreams nor chase rainbows. Not ambitious and never goal orientated. I’m more one of these “one foot in front of the other and just keep moving forward” people.

So I retired not because I had reached a certain age nor a certain stage of independence but because getting out of bed to the alarm became a chore. That first cup of tea at 5 in the morning lost its flavour. I couldn’t taste my toast and Vegemite. I was functioning on automatic pilot and had been for several years. Didn’t make me any less interested in my work performance; it just left me empty.

So I did attend a couple of financial seminars, read a few books, and tried to become a little more savvy about taxation, franking and dividends in the last few years of my working life.

Essentially I did not take one word of advice from any financial advisor or bank manager who all recommended that I continue working for another 8 years minimum. I actually closed my account at the bank which I had been utilising since primary school days after being lectured by a pup. Pleasant pup, but a pup nonetheless. Don’t nag me about financial management until you’ve paid off your own property and covered the kiddies tertiary education thanks Sonny Jim.

So it was damn-the-experts and go with the gut. I just quit. Never once have I looked back nor regreted the decision. One of my greatest pleasures is watching everybody go past on their way to work each morning as I sit with my pot of English Breakfast…..It really is the simple things.

Breakfast in the garden

There are simply too many positives to share here, too many experiences that I would not have enjoyed had I still been tied to a desk.

Today I read some research that said “ Retire at 55 and live to 80; work till you’re 65 and die at 67. New data shows how work pounds older bodies.” And “Ten working years could cost you twenty years of your Retirement”.

Feeling vindicated even if its all lies.

There are two big Life Lessons I have gained over the past twelve months:

1. Financial Advisors work for you, you don’t work for them. And bolt when they start throwing around psychology.

2. Every day is a gem. Celebrate each and every one. Even that first beautiful cup of tea at 5 in the morning.

Maryborough and a Touch of Whimsey : Part 1

Maryborough is 300kms north of Brisbane, inland on the Mary River, and positioned between those tourist mecca’s, Hervey Bay and the Sunshine Coast. Founded in 1847, proclaimed a municipality in 1861, it became a city in 1905. During the second half of the 19th-century, the city was an entry point for immigrants arriving in Queensland from all parts of the world.

Maryborough’s income comes from numerous farming and station prospects in and around the city and it’s healthy fishing industry. Tourism also plays a significant part in the economy and sells itself as the Heritage City of Queensland  holding heritage markets each Thursday. Many 19th and 20th century buildings have been preserved and the suburbs are littered with the quintessential old Queenslander homes, ( which a Danish friend described as a “wooden s***box on stilts”) and which are worth a small fortune.

However, Maryborough’s real claim to fame is as the birth place of whom? Here’s a clue……

And another, in case that one was a little obtuse….

Yep, P L Travers, the author of the Mary Poppins books lived in Maryborough before moving elsewhere at age eight. Her father managed a bank, in the building where, in a room on the second storey, she was born. This is in the centre of town and still in use, no longer as a bank but as a retail shop. A life-size bronze statue of Mary Poppins, as P.L. Travers described her, complete with umbrella was erected outside the old bank premises at 331 Kent Street, on the corner of Richmond Street, in 2005. 

It is now one of Maryborough’s most famous and photographed icons.

From dusk till 9pm every night there is an illuminated mural that is simply enchanting. ( I was between tea and a show so without camera – Damn!) Here’s another mural – the joint is jumping with them!

But there’s more – we Aussies are adept at flogging a dead horse, you see.

Every winter school holidays for the past ten years Maryborough has held a Mary Poppins Festival. The Festival offers something for all the family. The ‘Art of Storytelling’ program includes film, art, music, performance and literature during the 10-day event. Events are held in various locations across the CBD as well as heritage-listed Queens Park.

Maryborough, thank you for your hospitality. It was a lovely visit.

I do so love our country towns and learn something new at each and every one.LIFE LESSON : Get away from the cricket on the telly and help our farmers and country cousins by spending a few bob in their towns. You’ll be blown away by some of the stories these townships can share.