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.

PostHeaderIcon It's hard to kick a dog when he is down

It’s hard to kick a dog when he is down.

There was a woman who was unhappy with her husband. He was not very nice to her, and did not allow her to have much self-esteem. He was not much of a success himself.

Eventually she met another chap who made her feel good about herself, who appreciated her. She planned to leave her husband and ‘take up’ with this other man.

PostHeaderIcon The documentary

The Documentary

I have been honoured in that a very charming, vivacious documentary maker from Melbourne is interested in making a doc around me. She has been up here twice now, each time filming a little more. I have seen an uncut version of the first day, wherein only I spoke. It was somewhat of a shock!

I had no idea I was so entertaining, or that my face was so full of expression! I told my daughter this, saying, ‘It is no wonder that I am such a hit at guest speaking...’
‘Or that your little grandchildren just love you...’ she added.

PostHeaderIcon 'AUSTRALIAN WOMEN'S HEALTH' magazine

I was fortunate enough to be included in a group of notable women who were featured in the above magazine, April issue. The caption on the front page read ‘Life Wisdom from Women Who Matter.’

The photographer who was sent to photograph me was told to get a semi-serious shot. This task proved to be difficult as I am not a ‘semi-serious’ type!

PostHeaderIcon My fear of trusting someone with the keys to my home began when I was eleven

My fear of trusting someone else with the keys to my home began when I was eleven.

My parents had overcome to some extent the poverty associated with moving from the dairy farm at Buccan to the suburb of Greenslopes in Brisbane. It had been a brave move in 1937. After two years, we were now settled in the new house in Bunya Street and Dad had a regular job as a carpenter. Grandma and Grandad had followed us into town, and lived three streets away.