PostHeaderIcon Courier Mail Interview - September 2012

It's sex and the senior moment for 84-year-old author Doreen Wendt-Weir

Doreen Weir

LET'S TALK ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHAT: Doreen Wendt-Weir, 84, came up with the idea for her book Sex in Your Seventies while listening to uni students talk about sex. Picture: Luke Marsden Source: The Courier-Mail

DOREEN Wendt-Weir is just like any other sweet 84-year-old lady who enjoys sitting in her garden, assuming all those other sweet elderly ladies write and talk about sex for seniors.

PostHeaderIcon FINISHED THIS SHI(F)T...

My middle-aged, beautiful daughter is quite prim and prissy. She is also reserved and timid in the workplace. She works two days a week from home, typing medical reports, and is very happy in her job. She always tries to do what is asked of her, and does not like to upset anyone. She does not make waves.

When these women, quite a few of them, sign out for the day, they are required to do so on the computer, with a few words of farewell to the other co-workers.

PostHeaderIcon SHE'S OURS!

SHE’S OURS!

I had committed the unpardonable sin. I had left my husband. My three young daughters had elected to go with me. And we were castigated...by all of my relatives, but not by my neighbours and friends.

Times were tough economically, but the hardest part for us was the isolation from my family, my father and two sisters. My aunt was in ‘no man’s land’, she was not taking sides. I was quite desolate, despite my feeling that I had done what was best, but I tried not to communicate this to my children.

PostHeaderIcon THE PRIVET TREE

The Privet Tree

I must not forget. He cut down the privet tree. For me. For no other reason. Just for me. I must not forget.

I knew that the privet in flower was affecting my health. It was notorious for doing so, for causing sore throats, allergies, aches and pains, for a multitude of ailments. And it was growing just a few metres from our verandah, but in our neighbour’s yard, just over the border.

PostHeaderIcon I KNEW HOW BRIDGET FELT...

I KNEW HOW BRIDGET FELT...

I knew how she felt. I had felt like it once, when I was about six. Over seventy years ago.

Our family had been on a rare outing in those depression days. We had motored from the dairy farm at Buccan to Beenleigh, (where I had been born in a nursing home), to attend the local Agricultural Show. I, along with Marty and Joan, had been given the huge sum of one shilling each (ten cents) to spend. There was no doubt about what I was going to do with mine.

PostHeaderIcon THE TARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY

THE TARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY

They were dressed in period costume as they welcomed us and provided lunch in the old Tara School, now part of the Historical precinct.

One of their members, in her old-fashioned garb, became our courier, and we toured the small town of 1000 residents. As she said, it was hard going making an interesting tour of Tara.

We ascended the stairs of the old school as some four ladies and two gents welcomed us on the verandah. They were all dressed colonial style.

PostHeaderIcon A visit to Ray Station, in Queensland's outback

It was 112 kilometres from the main road to the homestead; a red, dusty winding road that seemed to go on and on. But we knew we were near when there appeared on our right a metal configuration of graceful brolgas dancing, made by our host (we were told) from recycled machinery parts. Clever indeed! And artistic! What were we to expect next?

And then we were there, at the old homestead, built in 1874 by the Duracks. And Mark Tully, descendant, was waiting for us. He waved, smiling, and we felt very welcome.

PostHeaderIcon LOGAN VILLAGE, THE PIONEERS' LUNCHEON

LOGAN VILLAGE...THE FIRST 150 YEARS

As a descendant of one of the pioneering families of the Logan Village district, I was invited to be a special guest at the ‘Pioneers Lunch’ to be held on 14th April 2012.

PostHeaderIcon THE FIRST SNOWDROP

THE FIRST SNOWDROPS

Of course I didn’t recognise him. I didn’t really remember him. He had been a pleasant teenager, over thirty years ago, when he would call in to my gallery with his father.

PostHeaderIcon How it hurts

Being hurt emotionally is not solely the realm of the young. I am hurting, and I am old. I know I look and act and feel much younger than my years.

My man and I were very happy together for eight years. I supported him in his ventures, which sometimes were not to my liking. We had a good sex life.

It was one-sided, I know. He did not live my life as much as I lived his. But I enjoyed looking after him, and I loved him holding me. Our bodies liked each other, and I loved the nearness of him. I believe this was reciprocated. I always loved him dearly.