As many of you know, I separated the love story from this blog and created a new blog in an attempt to separate the past from the present. In some ways, this worked but, in other ways, it didn’t, so I’m now pasting back the chapters in a bit-by-bit way. Apologies to those who have already read the following! For newcomers, you can find the previous chapters in past posts on this blog. I’m sure all of that is as clear as mud – haha!
Love Story 26 – Eating oranges
I gradually put aside my grief over my father’s death, in order to care for Inna who was close to 85 and getting extremely frail.
Husband-to-be, Inna’s son, Anthony, was appreciative of my help but our mutual attraction was like a potent sort of pang between us because (as he told me several years later), I was still only 19 and he had entered his 40s. He respected me and wanted to protect me from himself. Somehow I understood this at the time and I respected his respect I guess.
But there is only so much respect a young girl in love can take. I just wanted him to throw his arms around me, kiss me like in the movies, tell me he loved me. And he didn’t.
Inna would give me big, ripe oranges from their orchard, for my bicycle trip home and I would sometimes turn in from the main road into a dirt track not far from home, put my bike down and eat every single orange.
Love story 27 – Polishing furniture
There was a huge amount of antique furniture in the house, particularly in the old dining room (the most original, ancient and beautiful part of the small farmhouse). There was a big dining room table with old chairs, a massive sideboard, a chiffonier and a grandfather clock.
For a kid like me, who had been moved from Sydney, NSW, to Toronto, Canada, to Papua New Guinea, then to Western Australia, polishing furniture was a totally unfamiliar activity. Nevertheless, I did as Inna told me and, thinking I should be quick, I took the can of polish, slapped it on and rubbed it in as fast as I could.
While I did this, Inna sat in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and watching me out of the corner of her eye (she was very good at this corner-of-the-eye thing). At one point she got up and put the kettle on the Aga and I took this as a cue.
It was rather a hot day so by the time I had finished polishing, I was more than ready for Inna’s cup of tea time and maybe a timtam, but as I unknelt from the dining room table legs and came into the kitchen, Inna said, “You did that far too quickly, dear, please go back and do it again properly.”
Love story 28 – The beautiful blonde children
Inna’s youngest son (two years younger than Anthony) and wife had four children. They lived across the road from the main farm but they visited often. The eldest girl was 12 and the rest were younger – two girls and two boys, all with white blonde hair, all gorgeous. I absolutely adored them.
The two girls would look at me sometimes, as if I were some sort of alien, and ask me things.
Girl 1: Where do you come from?
Girl 2: How come you don’t know how to make apple pie?
The two boys were a handful. The eldest was a soft, shy child who always wanted to help out, but the 4-year-old was a mischevious brat, who loved to lock me out of the house.
All four children loved Inna’s afternoon snack for them – counter biscuits with butter and peanut butter and the beautiful little brat could not get enough of these mini-sandwiches ….
Boy 1: Can I scrub the shower for you, Julie?
Boy 2: Tricked you again – hahahaha – locked out, Julie!
It would usually take the efforts of Anthony, his brother and, eventually Inna, to convince this 4-year-old to let me into the house again, after which he would scamper off.
Love story 29 – A big love
When we first moved from Sydney, Australia, to Toronto, Canada, I was around eight years old and I had a crush on a kid called Leonard who was in my class at school. Sometimes we would be in the same lift/elevator to our apartments and I would not be able to speak to him because I was afraid the crush would gush out of me.
When we moved to Papua New Guinnea, I had a crush on a man called Tom. It was a very secret crush because he was black and I was white. We left PNG when I was 15 and Tom (secretly) gave me his Seiko watch. I hid this watch for years.
When we moved to Bunbury, Western Australia, I had a crush on Robert during my last year of formal schooling. Robert didn’t have a crush on me, so I got a taste of the whole broken heart thing.
When I met Anthony, I didn’t have a crush, I didn’t have a clue, I didn’t understand then … that I had fallen in love, that it was a big love, that it was a love that would last.
jmgoyder 
this was so touching, loved reading about you!
Yeah I’m going to plonk the love story back on this blog in bits – hope it works!
so far, so good!
I’m glad you’re moving the love stories back to this blog.
Me too – so what if it gets confusing – hehe!
That’s what love often is!
It’s a funny phenomenon this love thing!
yes, thanks! I have not visited there in a while. School/renovations/chores/children take up my time. Am trying to keep up with your regular posts! 🙂 Good stories. i like the orange story best. i used to do the same with my neighbor’s pears.
I’ll just put them in here and there.
Lovely story, but the nicest part is that it’s true and therefore the very best kind of love story.
Glad you moved it back here.
V
x
Yeah, me too – thanks Victoria! Juliex
You really had to repolish the furniture?
Ahhh yes – have read most of these – but not the final one — the great divide between ‘crush’ and ‘true love’ ~ so beautiful Julie… nice to have you coming back to your Love Story too ~ everyone (including me) enjoys these so much…and hoping they are feeling good to you too 🙂 Sending Love from my crystal ball today ~ xo
I must’ve needed to distance the past from the present for awhile – weird! Now it’s all coming back together sort of I guess.
I just love reading about you and Anthony. I have to go back and find the earlier chapters.
Barb.
They’re somewhere back in the blog!