by Pat Ritter
this issue?
The effects of marihuana could be clouding my thought pattern, but think about this whole situation. Can you imagine Kevin Rudd, present Prime Minister and Tony Abbott, present leader of the opposition sitting down with their respective cabinet members to work together in ‘stopping the boats’.
Yes – they would form ‘strange bedfellows’ however, who can tell what results would come from this action. Two heads always better than one. Would it be so bad for Tony Abbott to suggest a solution to the Prime Minister? I’m not saying they would stay ‘strange bedfellows’ but in the meantime what other solution would eventuate.
Just picture this scenario in your mind. Tony Abbott’s party came up with a suitable solution and stopped illegal immigrants from entering Australian waters. Would Kevin Rudd acknowledge Tony Abbott’s solution and work together to solve this issue or other issues of similar proportion? I doubt it because afterall it’s politics.
Word count: 366
Suppository Of Knowledge
We all know about the gaffe made by Mr Abbott when he said ‘Suppository of Knowledge’ instead of using the correct term ‘Repository of Knowledge’. Let me share with you a story of ‘Suppository of Knowledge’ I’ve personally experienced.
In my younger day I suffered from migraine headaches. At times these migraines were severe enough I needed medical treatment. To ease the pain, I’d pull my right eye from its socket, release the pain from behind my eye, replace the eye; I would’ve done such an act.
On the day in question I drove to a country town. The sun shone into my eyes through the windscreen. By the time I reached this town my head throbbed in pain. I had a severe migraine headache.
I stopped at the doctor’s surgery to seek help. This doctor was a little unusual in his practice of medicine often practicing non-medical treatments; my migraine throbbed behind my right eye caused almost blindness. I needed urgent medical help.
I entered his surgery he asked me to remove my clothing and stay dressed in my underwear. I had a headache – not something wrong with any other part of my body. He examined my right eye and instantly called his female assistant, who happened to be his wife, ‘look at this eye – he’s having a migraine headache’ he told her.
She came close enough to touch her body to mine. She nodded and stepped back. ‘Never seen anything like this before,’ he told me.
After further examination he asked I redress. His remarks, ‘because of your huge stomach, in my opinion, your stomach pulls on a nerve behind your eye causing the pain,’ he concluded, ‘I’ll give you a prescription for ‘suppositories’ – insert one immediately and one at each four hour interval to ease the pain.’ He dismissed me from his surgery.
Embarrassment overcame me to visit a male public toilet and there inserted one ‘suppository’ into the cavity of my body, my rectum which it was intended. Nothing happened.
Throughout the day I followed the doctor’s directions by inserting another ‘suppository’ into the same cavity of my body with no change. Honestly I wanted to do the same to the doctor.
At the time I heard Mr Abbott make this comment about ‘suppository of knowledge’, I wondered at the doctor’s ‘suppository of knowledge’ when he prescribed them to me to use.
Word count: 402
The Bath Tub
This is a true story. Each time I think back to this event in my life, I still bare the scar below my right knee, to remind me of the actual event.
This event was more than fifty-six years ago; this scar reminds me of how I received it.
I remember, at the time, my sister and cousin including myself visited my grandmother and stayed with her during our school vocation. My grandmother was the Post Mistress at Orello, a railway siding north of Roma, a western town where we lived at the time.
In those times there was no electricity, like we have today. My grandmother’s residence was attached to the rear of the Post Office. A couple of bedrooms, kitchen, completed the home and business.
Out the back of the dwelling a cast iron copper stood for use to boil water to wash clothes and bathe. My role was to fill the copper with sufficient water to bath three children. This was a container inside of the cast iron copper.
Eagerly I filled the interior of the copper basin with sufficient water, for the baths, pushed small kindling under the copper basin, with old used newspaper mixed with kindling, struck a match and ignited the paper. Soon flames escaped through the chimney of the cast iron copper into the atmosphere. I placed more kindling in the opening of the cast iron copper the fire blazed to heat the water for our bath.
In those times dwellings didn’t have bathrooms, as they have today. Once a week, we children placed a bath tub, round in circumference which measured about one metre across, and half the distance high constructed of galvanised tin. A handle positioned on either side of this bath tub for use to carry the bath tub.
After boiling sufficient water in the cast iron copper, I used a kerosene tin to empty the hot water from the copper and carry into the kitchen where I poured the boiling water into the bath tub. The water was too hot for us children to bathe; I filled the kerosene tin with cold water to top up the bath water.
Each of us children stripped off our clothes and jumped into the fresh bath. We scrubbed sunlit soap over our bodies – children being children, soon decided to skylark. I instigated a water war.
Somehow, this water war got out of hand. I jumped from the bath tub to escape, when I felt a sharp pain below my right knee. I looked down at my leg and saw blood flowing from a wound.
Where the handle fastened onto the outside of the bath tub, a strip of galvanised steel stuck out like a sharp weapon. In my haste to escape the calamity, my right leg struck this sharp piece of iron causing the injury.
Word count: 479
The Light Was Fading In Paradise
I live in Paradise, a small acreage on the outskirts of Brooloo in the rich Mary Valley near Imbil. Over the past decade I’ve enjoyed the view from my office window looking out to tall gum trees, dark iron bark trees and a multitude of bushland.
Different birds, crows, kookaburras, sing their songs constantly in their own language. Koala bears rest in the fork of different trees. Kangaroos eat by the clothes line nibbling on the only green grass available. Silence echoes until the chatter of birds take over my mind. I try and block out the noise.
My paradise gives me pleasure to live; my children and grandchildren reside as neighbours constantly checking my welfare. Each morning my two year old and one year old grandchildren visit to ask for a biscuit. I spoil them with kindness and sweets then return them to their parents.
In my paradise I’m left to be myself and can do anything I desire at anytime; list of daily things to do - write. Without interruption I write to my heart’s content.
I want to watch television, I do. I want to go for a walk, I do. In my paradise writing takes most of my time. When I’m writing a story for the writer’s group, or writing a novel, I look from my office window to see and feel how lucky to live in these surroundings and to do what I want to do.
I live in the perfect place to write allows me no excuse not to accomplish what I set out to do. Without constant interruption I achieve my goals.
My goal to write a novel per year takes almost ten months, the writer needs to have an enormous amount of time on their hands to complete this task.
At times, the light fades in my paradise owing to a lack of motivation on my part. This light would extinguish as if blowing out a candle. My desire to write with the love of writing keeps this candle glowing.
Word count: 347
The Once & Future King
Two kookaburras sat on a branch in an old gum tree when they laughed at the news of the recent birth of Prince George Alexander Louie of Cambridge.
One laughed to the other, ‘do you remember when Prince George’s father was born?’
‘To right I do – thirty-one years ago. I remember as if it was yesterda
y. I think at the time we were perched here on this same branch.’ He laughed.
‘You may be right old friend. Let me think, yes, I think we were perched on this same branch those many years ago.’ The other kookaburra laughed. His thoughts returned to the day when Prince Charles and Princess Diana carried Prince William from the hospital stairs to their waiting vehicle.
‘She’s a beauty – Princess Katherine – don’t you think?’ The other kookaburra laughed.
‘You bet ya. Prince William chose a good one when he chose her. When do you think Prince William will be King of England?’ He asked with a laugh.
‘After Queen Elizabeth passes on; she can’t have too long to go, but don’t forget her mother lived on and Prince Charles to be King of England – I feel sorry for Prince George because by the look of things – he’ll be an old man before he became King of England, don’t you think?’ He laughed.
‘Suppose you’re right. We’ll be dead and buried beneath this gum tree before Prince George becomes the future King of England. Hope he doesn’t stutter like his great great grandfather did.’
‘If he does than they’d need to have another Australian to help him, won’t they. We did a wonderful job to get him to speak properly.’ The other kookaburra laughed.
‘Malcolm Turnbull may be our Prime Minister and with him at the helm, he wants Australia to become independent from Royalty.’ He laughed.
‘Fancy President Malcolm being the Leader of Australia, what would we do without our Royal Family,’ laughed the other kookaburra.
‘We’ll never know our future King George – would we?’ Replied the other kookaburra, they sat on the branch in silence pondering their thoughts of the future King of England.
Word count: 358
The Spare Room
Sam sighted from his bedroom, the door to the spare room closed. Wonder what’s behind the door, echoed in his mind.
Far back as he remembered, no person had been in the spare room, his parents forbid him to open the door. His imagination ran wild, a dead body perhaps? My parent’s treasure chest hidden, he pondered.
Curiosity one day would get the better of Sam’s imagination; until the day arrived he would abide by his parent’s wishes and not open the door to the spare room.
A decade past to find Sam now an adult, his mind fixed on his future. He remembered the first he saw the door to the spare room, it’d never been opened. Should he confront his parents to ask what’s behind the green door?
His decision to confront his parents about this secret began by sitting beside his mother on the lounge.
Sam wanted the truth about the secret behind the door of the spare room?
‘Mother,’ Sam said in a quiet and non-evasive voice, ‘can you tell me why you haven’t opened the door to the spare room. I’m old enough.’
His mother burst into tears, covered her face with her hands and openly sobbed.
Sam immediately apologised for breeching the subject. Must be important if his mother cried, he thought.
She stopped sobbing, wiped her eyes with a tissue, tears trickling down her smooth face and said, ‘your bother was four when he fell into the river and drowned.’
Sam’s face changed to stone. Focused on his mother, he wasn’t aware he had a brother; he thought he was an only child. He smiled at his mother without speaking the words.
His voice not much louder than a whisper, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ He asked.
‘Your father and I didn’t want to upset you. Daniel was a good boy – a long time ago. I never want to forget him. His room is the same as when he left and always will be.’ She explained.
‘Can I see it please?’ Sam pleaded.
‘I suppose, I’ve kept the room clean and tidy knowing Daniel’s spirit is around.’ Sam’s mother explained.
They walked to the door of the spare room, Sam motioned to his mother when he placed his hand on the door knob to open it, and she nodded. Sam turned the door knob, opened the door, a replica of his own bedroom.
Word count: 406
The Thing Of Beauty – Is A Joy Forever
Love is a thing of beauty and can be a joy forever depending on the meaning.
For instance, I love to write. In fact I need to write daily. Writing is like a tonic otherwise I let me down.
Words flow from my mind, travel to my fingertips onto the keyboard displayed on the computer screen recording my thoughts. At times I need to pinch myself to see how real it is to live my dream.
After I reflect on when I started to write, I suppose I need to go back to my teenage years. In English class, sub-junior at Sandgate High School; I’d written what I thought an appropriate composition; the words were similar as if I’d spoken them. The teacher remarked ‘I had a gift for writing – I wrote the way I spoke which is unique’. I didn’t have the slightest understanding of what he meant.
Travel forward many years when I battled demons within to believe in what I wrote. Often these demons overtook my self belief leaving me with a wish never to write again, or if good enough.
With any lost love, after careful consideration of a missed love, I refocused again on writing.
My mind filled with ideas of ‘what I wanted to write’, I continued to not believe in my ability as a writer.
Hungry to be a successful writer, hung like a dark shadow in the depths of my mind. Is it possible I will ever be a writer, or publish my work, carried these negative thoughts?
Like a love for anything we do, I continued to dig deep into my subconscious to make my writing successful. Week after week, day after day, hour after hour, I continued to write developing a loving relationship with writing.
After twenty-five years of writing I can now say I am a successful author.
It was love at first sight when I fell in love with writing at age fourteen years? At the time I neither had the tools nor the love of writing to succeed.
After writing and publishing twelve novels, stories, and other material, I consider the love of writing and I have a successful marriage. A few bumps along the way as with any marriage. We’ve celebrated our silver jubilee and continue to foster a better understanding of our love for one another which I indeed hope will last forever.
Word count: 409
Was It Something I Said?
You can please some of the people some of the time, but almost impossible, to please all the people all of the time. A number of people will disagree with what you want to do; to each their own.
At different times my mind races with ideas and dreams. I don’t want to solve the world’s problems but I love solving problems which affect me. In other words, I love my life to run smooth. Not all of the time I succeed, many outside my control and therefore I’m behind the eight ball to solve them.
Another issue I possess ‘being too slow in my mind’ to make instant decisions. At the time they handed out the quick thinking pill, I didn’t receive any, making me a slow thinker.
Each time I experience an issue which I discover outside my scope of solving, I switch off and ignore the issue will go away. I’m not a coward, probably because I’m unable to think quickly on my feet the boat has left the dock, before I can see a solution to the issue.
At times I think my intellect to be slow. Been slow all of my life, when I try to understand what another person wants. Do they want me to ‘take the reins’ and speak my mind: turn the other cheek and ignore what they said.
I admit to ‘speaking out of turn’ many times in conversation with another person. Perhaps what I’d said caused this other person to shy away from me. I don’t know. Being a mind reader perhaps I would understand what the other person wanted.
A recent story comes to mind. For many years I visited an elderly lady, aged in her eighties, at her home and sat with her having a cup of tea and sharing our stories. This went on for five years. We become friends or I thought we had bondage of trust developed between us.
All was going well until an incident happened when
I left my thirteen years old grandson in her care whilst I visited the doctor. She agreed for him to stay with her.
After the visit, I returned and everything appeared normal. She never said anything. I thanked her for keeping an eye on my grandson and left.
The next day I heard on the town grapevine this elderly lady thought it was outrageous to leave my grandson with her whilst I visited the doctor.
Obviously it ‘was something I said’ to cause this person to act in the way she did. I haven’t spoken or visited her home since.
Word count: 472
What Is This Thing Called Love
Love between a mother and son is powerful. I’d like to share a recent story which occurred between a mother and her son. Mother is a single-mother working fulltime, her son, a thirteen year old who she loves more than anything else in the world.
In return the son also loves his mother beyond belief. They are a two person family for over twelve months since the mother separated from her partner after six year duration. Father of the son keeps in contact and is in a relationship with another woman. He has visitation rights each fortnight when the son stayed with him and his partner for the weekend.
Six months ago mother and son decided to leave the city to live in the country on her father’s farm. Suitable accommodation was built for this small family. The son attends the local country school and mother obtained work nearby. Everything appeared to be rosy.
Conflict began between mother and son causing disobedience by the son to his mother and people nearby. His school work decreased; friends became enemies, the son displayed disobedience with a no care attitude.
This became disheartening for the mother who didn’t know what to do about the behaviour of her son. She loved him more than anything else in the world but at the end of her tether of what to do.
Out of frustration she spoke with her father who witnessed his grandson’s unusual behaviour and isn’t very proud of what his grandson was doing to his mother.
After careful consideration a decision is made between mother and grandfather that if the son didn’t improve he should be taken to his father’s place and left there never to return to his home on the farm. There is no other alternative available to these two people.
At a confrontation between the parties involved; a proclamation is made to the son highlighting his behaviour and pattern of life he was heading. Lack of self-discipline and discipline were outlined to him.
This small talk was water off a duck’s back to see the son hadn’t taken any notice of this proclamation. The grandfather gave an ultimatum to his grandson he is willing to take the child to his father’s home where he would never see him again if he didn’t desist with this behaviour.
The grandson had two choices, one to continue on the pathway he is presently on or to alter his behaviour and change. This was his choice.
After a lengthy dialogue between mother and son, he, the son