THE BIG GREEN TRACTOR HAS IT'S ENGINE STARTED

Finally l've found my dream machine thanks to all the John Deere salesmen!  The above photo was taken in Shepparton and when we went on to the Wimmera Machinary Field Days for the launch all at the Emmetts Stand made us very welcome.  The Wimmera Library Service staff were also very good to us and the three days just flew.    

 

The first photo was taken with year 11 students at Wedderburn P12  College where l presented a workshop on "How to Publish your first book" for the older students then went on to work with year7followed by two sessions with prep to year 6 students. I was amazed at the enthusiasm and high literacy skills displayed and had lots of fun acting out stories with the younger students.  Many thanks to the little bloke who offered to play the spider on the toilet wall and the lovely year 6 girl who played the part of my mother with such kindness.

 

Helen my wonderfully talented illustrator has been busy signing books at the Field Days then later at The Gifted Wombat in Stawell with Rae and MOCO Gallery in Halls Gap with Monique and Colin.  We also christened Marion's new shop Redrock Books and Gallery in Horsham which is looking mighty fine.

The book signings continue after a start at Shepparton with Geoff and Joan at Valley Books then Andrea at the Numurkah News Agency and of course Leanne and Mel at Wedderburn News Agency who set up a very special window display with lots of green tractors.

 

While Brian heads off to the Edwards river for some peace and quiet and hopefully a few Yellowbelly l am working on a few new stories for my book to be released around this time next year and preparation for the next book signings on 21st March at Benalla West Post Office with Amanda then Jack and Jane on 22nd at their new venture J's Cafe in Stanhope - a little extra hard work to add to their busy time in the News Agency, followed by Saturday 23rd at Kyabrum News Agency with Stephen and Claire.  If you are around in Tocumwal pop into the Information Centre where Liz from the Toke Post Office has arranged a signing and sausage sizzle from 10am - noon.  It's all go in the bush!

Off on the road again before setting up at the Quambatook Tractor Pull on Easter Saturday then heading home to Wonboyn for a couple of weeks rest and regrouping.

  Hope to see you somewhere along the track!

 

                                                                                           

 

 

 

 

The Hunter and the Prey - a bush romance!

                                   THE HUNTER AND THE PREY

 

They say that a man has no hope when a woman is on the hunt.  “They always get their man” beleaguered blokes sigh.  It seemed a fair comment as Joy certainly had Kevin in her sights and tracked him until he finally surrendered.  Mind you he felt no pain.

 

I watched from the sidelines as the romance grew and flowered like a beautiful, scented rose in a garden of weeds.  No one manages to keep a secret in a tiny country town and the new man in town became a hot topic on a Summer day at the local pub.  “Nice looking bloke” the girls declared unanimously “a bit shy, but worth a whirl”.  The local fellas held their breath, kept their heads low over their beers and felt sorry for the poor innocent.

 

Joy had enjoyed a few flings, which in the beginning were quite exciting, but tiring of it all she now felt it was time to settle down.  And there was Kevin in his crisp white shirt, black tie, neatly pressed trousers and cleanly shaven gentle face.  A bit of a change from her usual choices, mostly wild and wicked blokes all fancy free and not at all dependable.

 

A few discreet enquiries came up with the new bloke’s history which she memorised much like a resume and decided that this time a settled, respectable man was the go.  The town held it’s breath as she moved in to have a closer look.  Dressed to kill in a skimpy mini sun dress, she executed move one at the pub.  The juke box pumped out rock and roll as she danced closer.  Kevin backed against the pool table and stared her down.

 

 “Not much of a dancer are you” she purred.  He smiled uncertainly and froze like a rabbit in a spotlight.  Move two followed swiftly “want to come to a party” she invited innocently.  He blanched then nodded.  “He’s a goner” the blokes in the bar groaned “game over”.

 

Everything moved at the speed of light and this little romance became a gourmet feast for the gossip mongers and bets were on for a speedy wedding.  Kevin was not as much of a push over as they all thought.  A cautious and often mistrustful man, he had been badly burned by a vicious money hungry ex wife and was not keen to front up for another trip down that road.

 

 

For a while they lived in separate residences.  Kevin laughingly christened Joy’splace Chaos and his Control, “too many crazies at your place” he stated firmly. Months later to the delight of the local lasses who saw victory in sight he finally moved in and cemented the relationship. The blokes prepared to pay up on all bets and put it about that Kevin was a lost cause, then the silly sap proposed. Joy was in girl heaven.  The invitations were printed, reception booked and the attendants were ready to search for stunning frocks when Kevin got cold feet.  “It’s off” he declared, and went fishing.   The blokes put their dollars back in their pockets and it looked like a win to them.  Broken hearted Joy left town with her girly mates and flew to Bali for some retail therapy and pampering.  Stalemate!

 

 

Months later Joy, a little more cautious herself and certainly older and wiser had decided being single was not so bad after all.  Her money was still her own and her life revolved around work and play.  Kevin was still around, but not as the sun in her solar system.  She certainly didn’t feel obliged to cook, clean and care for him, which in a way made for a much easier life. To add a little spice to the fruit cake a new bloke sidled into town and again the hunt was on.  This bloke was a little rough around the edges, spacey and full of that airy fairy esoteric rubbish.  “A change is as good as a holiday” Joy claimed while enjoying coffee and cake with him at the local café.

 

Kevin looked a little worried as he served customers at the local store, trying to keep his cool.  His woman was showing signs that she could be tempted to get serious about this weirdo.  The local blokes were a bit confused the odds were even and no one stood to collect on the bets.  Joy appeared to be totally besotted.

 

Unable to contain himself Kevin fronted up at her door demanding an explanation. “But you called the wedding off” Joy exclaimed.  “Well I’ve changed my mind” Kevin roared “the marriage celebrant is free next week to do the deed”.  Joy ‘ ummed’ and ‘aahed’ – “whatever” was her bored reply.  For the next few days she appeared not to have a care in the world and was certainly not exhibiting the symptoms of a besotted bride to be.

 

 

“It’s a non- event” predicted the local Tarot reader, so the odds swung again in Kevin’s favour “he must be out of his mind”, was the response of the local lads sure that he would do a runner for the second time.

 

Saturday dawned on yet again another perfect Summers day.  Not a cloud in the sky and warm as a freshly baked cake.  Speaking of which, Joy had produced out of nowhere a two tier wedding cake and there on top was a toe tapping bride, hands on hips staring down her run away groom who firmly clutched his fishing rod.  Kevin was early, waiting in the rose garden for his bride.  With a look of shock on his face he watched her stroll up on the arm of his weirdo rival.  Neat as a pin the fella had scrubbed up pretty well, beard trimmed and hair freshly washed and neatly combed. Joy took Kevin’s arm “say hi to my brother Tony” she smirked.

 

 

 

                        

 

 

 

 

Check out some children's poetry

Titles available

 

Dogs with Soul

 

 DOGS WITH SOUL 

The Boss called in to give us the latest news. Missy the cocker spaniel had been diagnosed with cancer by the vet and he— "the Boss"— had made the decision to have her put down. Unfortunately the little dog belonged to number one daughter. "Be prepared for tears when you see her," was his parting comment as he made his swift departure.

Both Shirley and I were saddened, both for the little dog and her owner.

"Poor Hugo," Shirley added. "He'll be so lonely."

"Who's Hugo?" I queried, thinking this was another family member.

"Hugo's the other spaniel, Missy's mate."

We both had a moment or more's silence for both the dogs.

This got me thinking about dogs having souls. When we were little kids we were lucky to live close to the head of the RSPCA in our town. Mr Peake was a very understanding and compassionate man. He accepted all the sick and homeless creatures we delivered to him and helped us prepare for funerals for our pets. We enjoyed the funerals so much that we buried and mourned even insects gone to God, including worms. We custom-made coffins, organized flowers and had processions with grieving mourners. Very Gothic affairs.

We all believed that animals would go to heaven, so thus they had souls. We also understood that when we arrived in heaven we would be greeted by all our pets. Those pets would be in perfect shape, no illnesses, all damaged body parts healed, whole, and in their prime. No adults disagreed with this philosophy. How could they add to the misery of a child grieving for a much loved and missed pet?

Not so the Boss. He has his own cut and dried points of view. So when Shirley asked how Hugo, the lone spaniel, was bearing up after the removal of his best friend, the Boss let her have it. "I'm fed up with everyone treating animals like they're human. Dogs are only interested in two things," he snarled, "eating and sex. Hugo's too old for sex and now he has all the food he can eat—end of story."

Shirley and I were pretty stunned by his aggro comments. I'd met this approach before in regards to native animals. The purists who were biologist, scientific types had a big thing about anthropomorphising, and demanded a non-emotional approach to any descriptions of animals. This often made a simple story for kiddies quite boring and dry. They also had no time for caring people who talked to animals as if they were human. The Boss is quite a scientific bloke, so I guessed he fitted into this category quite well. I also sensed a little guilt around the issue, as he made the decision to put the little dog down.

I tend to have an up close and personal relationship with all creatures. Ask Blokie how I talk to all life forms and often try to communicate in their own lingo. This can often lead to some frustration and embarrassment for Blokie if other humans are about. It is rather warming to note that he often has little talks with animals himself now. I guess this fits into the "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" slot. He tends to agree that animals need companionship or a mate, as do humans. I have yet to convince him on the soul issue, as this relates to "religious mumbo jumbo".

Meanwhile, Shirley and I decided that blokes must be a bit like dogs then. I bet lots of blokes would be quite happy on their own. No more sexual pressure and plenty of tucker.

Last night, after a lovely meal, Blokie was tucking into some yummy bikkies and a cuppa. They looked pretty good—

"Pass me a bikkie please, Blokie," I politely requested. He gave me a fierce look as he clutched the bikkie barrel to his chest, and I could see that I had little hope of gaining control of the bikkies. How happy would he be, like that little dog—all the bikkies he could eat and no competition for his favourite tucker. Though, on reflection, Blokie might be a bit like poor Hugo, missing his mate and just a tad lonely. Vale Missy. Let's hope she's in doggy heaven free of pain and with loads of her own tucker.

Taking care of business

Susie's Stories

                                 SUSIE'S STORIES

I am working on a selection of short stories - mostly about women - to be published in two years' time. As an introduction, here is one of them - feel free to comment.

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HOW TO WASH YOUR UNDIES

When travelling, keeping up with the endless and often overwhelming array of laundry is very important to women. Blokes are not at all concerned about this, unless they run out of undies and socks. Just ask the nearest bloke about the reversal process to gain some clarity on this dilemma.

Most caravan parks have a laundry.  But, as women know, washing your underwear is more a daily consideration than a part of the major weekly wash.  Keeping up with a bloke involves a paper chase of socks, t-shirts and undies, often left in unlikely locations, strategically placed to make life more exciting for the love of his life.  The whole system falls apart when the cupboard is bare and the weather is turning very cool.

Solutions for these problems are naturally found in the shower block, where enlightened females compare ways of combatting such dilemmas.  Quietly showering one summery evening l eavesdropped on an interesting conversation.  "Nice hot shower isn't it?" commented the lady in an adjoining cubicle, to her friend further down the shower block.  "Yes," the friend agreed, "are you washing your undies?" This immediately had me hooked. "Yes l am," her friend answered, "and my t-shirt and socks." 

I was amazed by the collective washing ceremony being performed at any given time in all showers by women travelling around this big country of ours. Like the 100th-monkey syndrome, we were all latching onto this method of ensuring our underwear was clean and fresh each day.

I was very interested in the lady who took this a step further still by washing all her clothing while she shampooed her hair.+ For all caravanning and camping folk, especially those on a limited budget, this multiple usage of time and soap powder is amazingly resourceful. Imagine how many $1 coins can be saved by cutting back the weekly wash this way.

Throughout our travels l am constantly gathering sisterly advice from the 'grey nomads' we meet along the way. Like our mothers who helped us with advice on how to run our households effectively, these wandering goddesses are full of wonderful labour and money saving hints.

After all we are on the road to enjoyment and relaxation, not domestic slavery.  We all hope that we are escaping the endless drudgery of the vacuum cleaner and the washing machine, the mop and the iron.

Strangely enough it's impossible to convince the bloke that this is a wonderful idea. He still believes that womankind is addicted to cleaning, and that mankind helpfully creates the dirt and mess to aid her in her quest for fulfilment. There is simply no way he would wash his undies under the shower, when it's much more fun to plant washing in unusual places in the Bus, much more like an exciting treasure hunt.

Such are the differences we face as blokes and girlies. It is really 'too much information' when l pass on some of these wonderful travelling hints. Unlike fishing tips, housework is really on the 'let's forget it' list. It's important to remember that anything messy or unclean is invisible to blokes, though edibles such as chocolate are spotted easily and devoured instantly even when carefully concealed.

So, while l loiter around laundries and shower blocks, he checks out pontoons and piers, often coming home with tales of fishy catches. He does get to meet some interesting people from all corners of the globe, but then so do l. At the very least, by retirement age we will be well and truly clued up to this fascinating and challenging life style.