Yesterday I made a snap decision and gave the emus away to neighbours who run a farmstay up in the hills north of here – not very far away. The Emerys will now be able to run around more freely instead of being penned in and taken for ‘walks’. I am going to miss them so much!
Every now and then I blog about blogging. I do this when I am blanxious – that’s a word that means ‘anxious about blogging’.
I know for sure that I am not the only blanxious person in the world and that, if I were, I would contact the Guiness Book of Records and make a lot of money.
Instead, I have decided to contact the English Dictionary people to tell them I have invented a new word to describe blog-blipping bona fides (‘bona fide’ comes from the Latin and, roughly translated, means ‘in good faith’.)
Blanxiety is a condition that may (or may not) include the following symptoms:
This blanxiety condition has several more symptoms but it is beyond the scope of this post to outline all of them so ….
I guess this is my way of apologizing for … I’m not sure what!
Note to non-bloggers: keep your innocence!
We had an appointment today in Perth (two hours north of here) for Ming to see the surgeon who operated on his scoliosis in February. After the usual X-rays and waiting room waiting, the surgeon said Ming’s spinal curve (Cobb’s angle – see below) had further reduced from 35% to 22%. Now I don’t understand the maths of this because I am not mathematically inclined, however, considering Ming’s curve was 75%/80% before surgery (depending on which radiologist was interpreting the X-ray) then I think 22% is beyond fantastic! I didn’t realize that his spine might straighten even more post-surgery.
http://www.e-radiography.net/radpath/c/cobbs-angle.htm
As we were leaving, I noticed a teenage girl who had tears in her eyes as she left the building with her parents so I told Ming to go and say something comforting to her while I went to the loo. When I came outside I found Ming talking in his loud, open, gesticulating way to the little family, and the girl’s eyes were no longer teary – they were shining. I said I was his mum and that we’d been a bit worried that she was upset. Then we all exchanged handshakes and wished each other well, all of us smiling.
We didn’t exchange names or contact details because it was all a bit ‘in the moment’ but that’s probably okay.
One of my blog friends has the interesting nickname of ‘bulldog’. You can find his blog here:
http://visitstothepark.wordpress.com/
Recently, he sent me a special photograph and I am now sharing it here because it reminds me of how an argument can clear the air.
Thanks bulldog!
Tonight the argument escalated to a point where we are both terribly shaken at how ferocious we can be towards each other.
The Aga was off because we ran out of kerosene a few days ago so, instead, we filled the kitchen with the heat of our fury until words whimpered away, and our tears tore our anger into small shivers of hot shock.
My son and I looked at each other with black eyes, unblinking and hateful but then one of us blinked and we found comfort in the Chinese food I’d brought home.
I have just tucked him in – this Anthony clone, Ming – and he admitted that he is terrified of losing me in the same way he has lost Anthony, his father, to illness. My sprained ankle terrified and engraged him.
His rage was thunderous and his beautiful face was contorted into a thousand lines of teenage fear. “I can’t lose you too, Mum,” he said, shivering into the blankets I piled ontop of him.
He always starts ‘the argument’ but I don’t blame him at all for this – my fantastic son, Ming.
Zaruma: Julie, I spoke to Tapper and she was quite defensive and just said she felt so sorry for Daffy after he lost Dotty. Apparently, Daffy thought Dotty was just laying eggs somewhere but it’s been too long now, so he has accepted that the fox got her, but he is grief-stricken.
Me: I know, Zaruma, and it is great to see that you’ve developed a bit of empathy.
Zaruma: I just miss those frolicking, rollicking days before Tapper changed. I concede that I feel sorry for Daffy – yes – but I do have a solution if you are willing to listen, Julie.
Me: Okay, I’m listening.
Zaruma: Just cook Daffy for dinner.
Me: What’s wrong, Zaruma? Why are you hiding?
Zaruma: I’m not hiding, Julie, I just need to be alone for awhile to think things through.
Me: Well come out and socialize soon please. I don’t like to see you like this.
Zaruma: I’m a bit sad – very sad actually – about Tapper. I thought she was my girlfriend but now she seems to like Daffy. I didn’t know she was a fence-sitter when we first met.
Me: I didn’t either, Zaruma, but according to my research, monogamy is not a requirement in duckdom.
Zaruma: But how can she compare my handsomeness to that daffy Daffy’s? I would really appreciate your honest opinion here, Julie.
Me: Okay, Zaruma, it’s quite possibly due to your lack of hygiene. Clean yourself up and go and have a talk to Tapper, then come back and we’ll discuss it further, okay?
Zaruma: Thanks, Julie. I’ll meet you at the back veranda door at 5pm. I am just warning you that I might have to bite Daffy in the meantime.
Me: You do what you have to do, Zaruma – you were my first duck, so I fully support whatever you think is best.
Zaruma: I’m a drake, Julie, not a duck.
Last year, before Anthony turned 75, I decided to throw him a huge party and invite every single one of his friends and relatives. I knew at the time that it would be our last opportunity to do this because of how rapidly Anthony’s health was deteriorating. The party was a resounding success with everyone here at the farm – over 100 people! One of the highlights was this poem, written by his friend, Eden, and read out by his nephew, Andrew. Eden had handwritten it and I now have it framed and on the wall in Anthony’s room at the nursing lodge. Every time I read it, it makes me laugh and cry and laugh again.
Goyder’s Show
So long ago by just a chance
to town he came for drink and dance.
That’s how we met so long ago, and
set the future’s wonderful show.
From Balingup hills to Dardanup flats,
drinking, hard working and fast cars to bat.
Like the “G.T.” roaring from “Bythorne’s” gate,
only shortly after to meet its fate.
The “A9X” would do no such thing,
It was far too precious with all its bling.
The shake of his hand is a law to abide,
welcoming many to “come inside.”
The kitchen table like a rock to the land,
a tea or a beer always at hand.
The AGA sits with pride of place,
the warmth of its glow etched in his face.
Cows in the shed, calves on the chain,
Shorts, teeshirt ’n boots he’d tend to them for gain.
The hours long and days of repeat,
milk quota cheques made it ever so sweet.
The “Inkys and Docs” were to provide for a stash,
when times were hard and the beef market crash.
That’s breeding the dachshunds should you not know,
just another chapter in this wonderful show.
Loyal to his siblings, workers and friends,
Arthur and Ken, the incredible men.
Side by side, intuitively so, Anthony Goyder
would give them a go.
So many shared his trust and kind ways,
so many fortunate come what may.
Somewhere in the midst came a wife and a son,
a job in the waiting, which had to be done.
They’re the pride of his fleet and ultimate test
To his boyness manner and youthful zest.
A husband sincere and ‘King of the Dads’
Menzies his son, such a fortunate lad.
‘His Royal Highness’ of Paradise Road,
is always there to share the load
of a mind stressed or persons ill,
he’s always kind and full of will.
Not father, brother or simply friend
but something of each his curious blend.
This man would show the way of right
and steady the wrong of which I might.
These qualities not destined at birth,
but earnestly found as he treads the earth.
This bloke of endless humour and wit
has a soulful nature blended from grit.
Should a scrap of fight I had to go
I’d have Goyder on side and not as foe.
The hard hits he’d take for all his mob,
then wryly smile and say good job.
His humour and wit come to the fore
exclaiming “they missed the Goyder once more!”
A yell to his mates would be “grab us a beer,
let’s get out now with something to cheer!”
In 25 years it’s cheers we will,
the time going by like the ring of a till.
With Queen’s telegram he’ll calling us back,
for a drink and a yarn at the “Bythorne Shack.”
“A Queen’s telegram! I’m one hundred you know.”
I can’t wait for that in his wonderful show ….
Me on the left and Ants on the right as the poem was being read out.
“Danny and me is gonna get marrieded, Andony,” Ming pronounced after watching Three Weddings and a Funeral with us one Saturday afternoon.
“Are you just?” Anthony said, bemused. “When?”
“When we get all growed up – probly next year.”
“Who’s Danny?” I asked. Ming had never mentioned him before.
“He’s my bestest, bestest friend in the whole wide world.”
“I thought Dillan was your best friend,” said Anthony, passing me the popcorn.
“He is, Andony!”
“So why are you marrying Danny?” I asked.
“Because Danny and me hates girls.”
“But I’m a girl,” I said, indignantly.
Ming giggled, hysterically. “No you’re not, Mummy – you’re a woooomin.”
“Girls grow up into women, you know,” I said, passing Ming the popcorn.
“Oh.” It took Ming awhile to absorb this, but even when the penny dropped, he resumed laughing – (rather unkindly, I thought later.)
“Is Danny a new boy?” asked Anthony.
“He ownee comeded yesterday, Andony,” Ming said, his eyes alight with the elation of having made this new friend.
“Pretty quick courtship, then,” Anthony muttered to me, grinning.
“We don’t wanna do it like that vidido .”
“So how are you going to do it – the wedding?” I asked, intrigued.
“Jus out in the forest, just in a fort. We can build it.”
“Sounds quite nice,” I said. “You better invite him over.”
“NO!” Ming exclaimed, looking worried, and passing Anthony the popcorn.
Anthony and I glanced at each other, mystified. “Why not?” we said, in unison.
“He’s too special.”
I told my friend, Sue, the next day, over coffee, thinking that she, too, would see this as cute. I’d forgotten about her conservative streak.
“You need to put him straight, Julie,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s not natural, is it?” She frowned.
“It seems okay to me. He’s only four. Actually I think it’s quite beautiful,” I said.
“But what about, you know, the implications? Don’t you think you should explain that marriage is between a man and a woman and not … you know?”
“For goodness sake, Sue, he has a little-boy crush on another little boy. You’re making it sound like it’s somehow wrong.” I was getting annoyed.
“There are issues here, Julie,” Sue retorted.
“What – like he and Danny might grow up and find they still want to get married?” I laughed. “It’s not likely is it? And who cares if it is!”
“Well it’s much likelier if you don’t put a stop to it,” she said adamantly.
We finished our coffees and parted, agreeing to disagree.
When I told Anthony about Sue’s disapproval he roared with laughter. “Probably a bit homophobic, poor thing,” he said.
I hadn’t even thought it through to that extent – it seemed ridiculous to do so, but the really great thing Anthony and I discovered inside ourselves was an acceptance of whatever path Ming chose to take, sexually.
But I’ll never forget Ming’s words to me, back when he told us about getting married.
“I reeeelly love Danny, Mummy – way up to the sky.”
[Note: Sue doesn’t like popcorn]
During Anthony’s rather difficult Father’s day visit yesterday, there were a few moments of enjoyment (but only in hindsight). As I was hobbling around the kitchen using one of his walking sticks, and his nephew was trying to get Anthony to turn his walking frame around in order to sit down, Ming gave me a look of utter confoundment and withdrew to his room. I can’t say I blame him.
Once I put my boots on, my sore ankle steadied itself so I abandoned the walking stick for a slight limp as I poured teas, coffees and whiskeys for Ants, his nephew, another friend and me. Nobody seemed to care about my sore ankle as all the attention was focussed on Anthony who was a bit silent and slumpy, so instead we chased a few conversations around the room, had a few laughs and, when it came time for our visitors to go, I got up, winced with pain and said, petulantly, “How come nobody cares about my ankle?”
Suddenly, Anthony emerged from his silence and said to his nephew, “There is always something wrong with her!”
Hilarity filled the kitchen and I gave him a huge hug.
jmgoyder 