PostHeaderIcon POSTSCRIPT TO 'My father's passport...'

POSTSCRIPT TO ‘MY FATHER’S PASSPORT.’...

Because I now had in my possession my Dad’s passport, it somehow gave me the ability to sell off his lawn bowls, which I had been tenderly glancing at every time I entered my study where I had placed them in a prominent position. I enjoyed being thus reminded of him.

PostHeaderIcon ANOTHER GIG

ANOTHER GIG

She was so bright and informative when she telephoned, how could I resist?

She had heard me speak on ABC radio, was impressed with my ready wit apparently (great!), had subsequently purchased my book Sex in Your Seventies on line, liked what I had to say, and now wondered whether I would be interested in being interviewed on video to assist them in the promotion of their venture, ‘Complete Aged Care Placement Solutions’. It sounded okay to me.

PostHeaderIcon Much Ado...another woman's tale

MUCH ADO...

The dishwasher was almost loaded, most of the cutlery was already in their respective baskets, and I was serving lunch.

PostHeaderIcon My Father's Passport

MY FATHER’S PASSPORT

I was busy when the phone call came. ‘Yes?’ I enquired, ‘Can I help you?’

‘Is that you Doreen? We met years ago. You probably would not remember. But I was wondering if you could help us...do you know who Harry Wendt is?’
‘He was my father!’ I exclaimed.
‘Well, we have his passport here in the bookshop!’

PostHeaderIcon The dolls in Grafton Cathedral

I was intrigued with the story of ‘the dolls’. I listened with interest to the architectural history of Christ Church Cathedral in Grafton, but when the two dolls were mentioned, I knew that was the centre of my concern. I knew that when I thought of the cathedral, I would think of the dolls.

PostHeaderIcon The Book Run

THE BOOK RUN

When my married daughter who lives nearby, asks me what I would like for my birthday, I invariably reply, ‘Let’s do a book run!’

We set out early, in time to be at our chosen destination by the time the shops open. This could be fifty or sixty kilometres away. We only repeat journeys if there has been a request for more books.

Susan is the driver. I navigate us to the Post Office or newsagent. She parks close by. The first time that day, she bullies me. She knows it takes a lot of gumption to flog my books, especially one titled ‘Sex in Your Seventies.’

PostHeaderIcon Somebody is being sat on.

SOMEBODY IS BEING SAT ON

One of the interviewees in my book Sex in Your Seventies logically said, ‘If there are no arguments in a marriage, somebody is being sat on...’

PostHeaderIcon Beware!

A chap in his forties came to buy a book. In so doing, he told me what had occurred the day before:

He was a tradesman who, on his long journey home after work, pulled into a male public toilet in a rural area. He was relieving himself with some gusto when another male sidled up to the trough, standing precariously close to our burly carpenter. The other fellow peered at him, seeking eye contact, brushing against his body.

PostHeaderIcon IF YOU ARE NOT HAVING SEX...

IF YOU ARE NOT HAVING SEX, IT DOES NOT MATTER!
So what! You aren’t getting any? Big deal!

We have been brought up to feel that we are inadequate if we do not have a man in our life. Okay, it is nice and convenient to have a partner if one goes dancing, for example. Or at a dinner party or other group, to be the only one who is on her own can be disconcerting. But it need not be a disadvantage. It can be liberating!

PostHeaderIcon Tough Journey

TOUGH JOURNEY

Yet another suffering woman contacted me. (I think a lot of men are unhappy also, but they do not verbalise as women do). Here is her story:

‘It wasn’t supposed to end this way. I knew the journey would be difficult, but I had enough confidence in my ability to handle tough situations that I was sure all would be well; that he would respect me at least. But the going has become such stiff sledding, so hardheaded that I am near vanquished. I am close to giving up.

It needn’t be so. I am willing to compromise to a large extent. I am good at it.