jmgoyder

wings and things

Love story 92 – Upbringingness, Andony and popcorn

“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]

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Oh no!

It’s Father’s Day today and Ants is being brought home by one of his nephews in about half an hour.

The trouble is that yesterday I somehow twisted my left ankle so badly that I can hardly walk, let alone drive.

Luckily the house is full of walking sticks!

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Love story 91 – Another world

We’d rented a cottage at Flinders Bay, a tiny, magical little place, consisting of only forty-two tiny blocks – a two hour drive south for us.

“How big is the world?” Ming asked from his car seat in the back. He was three years old. We were only an hour into our journey and I wondered if his question was another version of “Are we there yet?” I hoped not.

“Huge,” I said.

“Are we aweady in the other one?”

“The other what?”

“The other world?”

“Not yet.”

“Yes we are so!” he said with certainty.

“What do you mean?”

“We doan have hunnerts of twees in our world.”

We were driving through a forest of beautiful karri trees and I suddenly realised how weird this would seem to Ming who was used to living on a cleared farm.

A few minutes later we stopped at a parking bay to eat our picnic lunch. The forest towered above us, filtering out the sunlight all except for a few bright shafts that Ming took great delight in jumping through over and over.

“I like this world way better than our one,” he said, decisively.

An hour or so later we approached Flinders Bay and I reached behind to nudge Ming’s leg until he woke up. “We’re here, Ming.” I said, excited myself. “This is Flinders Bay.”

He took his dummy out [yes, I know a 3-year-old with a dummy is bit unusual] and watched silently through the car window as Anthony eased the car down a steep slope into the tiny bay area. The view of the water was spectacular.

“It’s annuva world!” Ming exclaimed. “One, two, fwee – this is numba fwee world! How many worlds is there, Andony?” He always addressed these more difficult questions to Anthony, which was usually a great relief.

“Just one,” Anthony said, still negotiating the steep slope of the road.

“No it’s not!” Ming replied indignantly. “This is numba fwee – I just toldja that.”

I nudged Anthony as we pulled into the driveway of the beachside cottage. “Ming thinks we’re in another world,” I whispered. “Humour him.”

“Whadidja say to Andony, Mummy?” Ming shrilled, never one to miss a whisper.

I gave up on Anthony, who looked perplexed. “Daddy reckons this is another world but he doesn’t know how many there are, all together, Ming,” I said, getting out of the car.

Ming unclipped his seatbelt and threw himself out and onto the grass. “Are we gonna live here in this world now?” he asked, pointing to the cottage. He was so excited he could hardly contain himself.

“No, just for one week, Mingy,” I said, picking him up.

“How big is one week, Mummy?”

Argh! “Ask Anthony,” I said, knowing then that Ming would definitely provide us with a whirl-wind, one-week trip around the worlds!

This was confirmed when Ming looked over my shoulder at the incredible beachfront and asked, “Is this where all the worlds get borned, Mummy?”

I looked at the view through his eyes and said, without hesitation, “Yes.”

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Love story 90 – My camellia tree

I think we have over 20 camellia trees here – it is too rainy for me to go out and count them so it’s on my long list of ‘things to do’. Anthony planted most of them when he and his mother and brother first came here (he was 21 I think so it was before I was born and that’s why I don’t necessarily know all the details).

After we got married, he started planting more – I’m not quite sure why and, not being the least bit interested in gardening, I didn’t take much notice. But one day, on one of his rare days off from milking the cows, Anthony coaxed me to hop in the ute and drive one hour north to a camellia nursery called Heavenly Gardens. Booooooring, I thought, as I strapped little toddler Ming into his car seat, but I resigned myself.

When we got there, we were greeted by the owner, an ancient looking woman, almost bent double with a back condition, like an upside down L. She and one of the men who worked there, showed us through forests of camellias while I tried to allay my own boredom by allaying Ming’s. Then, all of a sudden, I saw it, a tree in full flower, each one like a ballerina. It was nothing like any of the camellias we had at home; it was much more beautiful and it was really unusual. My interest sparked, I inquired about it but the elderly woman said it was the only one she had, it was very rare and it was definitely not for sale. Her off-sider pointed out to me that it was planted in the ground and well established so there was no way she would sell it to me.

It came time for morning tea and the elderly woman and her off-sider welcomed us into a shed to share tea and cake and we sat down together while Ming vroomed around the shed with a pretend car. I said to the elderly woman that I was not a gardener but I really loved the tree and, with a twinkle in her eye, she told me that the boys would have to dig it out of the ground, and that she really didn’t want to sell it. “I wouldn’t take anything less than $350,” she murmured, looking into the distance nonchalantly.

“It’s a deal!” I exclaimed. Anthony, who was sitting next to me, had overheard this little exchange and pinched me on the bum, whispering, “Are you crazy? It’s only worth $50 at most. Nobody pays $350 for a camellia.”

But already, the elderly woman had somehow signalled her troops and three men, including her off-sider (who later told us he was a nephew), were walking away from the shed with shovels in their hands. My heart did a grin flip! I pulled my money out of my back pocket and gave it to the elderly woman who smiled softly at me. Anthony sighed and hurried down to fetch the ute. Then he helped the men load the tree on and I shook hands with nephew who told us to drive out and around the side of the nursery. He had a mysterious expression on his face.

Well, we drove around and he loaded three more potted camellias onto the ute. They weren’t the same as my tree but they were still lovely. The nephew said, “The old girl really ripped you off, so this is to make up for it. She won’t know.”

Not long after, we heard that the elderly woman had died and that Heavenly Gardens had closed down. By this time Anthony had planted my tree for me and look at it now – 16 years later!

I am going to pick some now and take them into Anthony at the nursing lodge.

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Love story 89 – I miss him

The trouble is I miss him the way he was, not the way he is now. It’s okay, I tell him this to his face and he understands because he misses himself too. My Anthony – just a couple of years ago.

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Love story 88 – Saying ‘I love you’

Such a dangerous thing to say when embarking (or trying to) on a romantic relationship.

“I love you.”

And there are so many ways of saying it:

“I love you [despite the fact that you are a selfish pig and a worm and the worst thing that ever happened to me and I hate your guts too].”

Clarification note: the stuff in the square bracketts is what might be thought but not actually spoken.

“I love you” mustn’t be said wistfully, plaintively, longingly or hesitantly. The hesitant “I love you” is something to avoid at all costs because it can produce a really loooooooooooooong pause from the recipient, or else they might suddenly have to go to the loo.

“I love you [and I know it is going to take you some time to digest this because you really are a bit thick].”

The first time I uttered these dangerous words to Anthony I was about 18 and he was 41 and I was helping him deliver a calf. In retrospect, this was probably rather bad timing. Also I couldn’t quite get the words beyond a whisper but he must have heard because he looked at me askance as the calf slipped out.

After that tentative attempt, I didn’t say “I love you” again for a year or so and then, in my 20s I couldn’t seem to stop saying it to him. But the first time he properly heard me, his face went pale, his knees quivered and his big muscly body tensed as if I had attacked him with some sort of foreign weapon.

Well, as many of you know, it all worked out. Anthony threw more “I love yous” at me than I could possibly digest before we finally got married.

And now?

Every night, when I ring him at the nursing lodge to say goodnight, it is the last thing we both say to each other.

I LOVE YOU

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Love story 87 – Dealing with disappointment

As a young girl in love with an older man who often let me down, I remember being told constantly by him that when I got older I wouldn’t get so disappointed. At the time I was in my 20s and he was in his 40s. I have never forgotten him telling me that and I did, eventually, resign myself to disappointment (when he suddenly couldn’t accompany me to my brother’s first wedding where I was singing; when he suddenly couldn’t come up to Perth for the weekend because the cows were calving; when he forgot to remember my birthday; when he didn’t ring me for over a week; when he asked me to move in with him and then changed his mind ETC.)

Don’t get me wrong. In the end, all of those disappointments were cancelled out in a happilyeverafterish way and Anthony and I had an exceptionally wonderful first year of marriage (and many more), which included Ming’s entry into our lives, before Anthony was struck for the first time with cancer and had to have his kidney removed. Mutual devastation and, yes, disappointment but with a lot of hope too.

Two years ago, Ming was playing football for a local team and for his school when one day he took his guernsey off after a game and I saw how twisted his back was. Now, before you ask why I hadn’t seen this before, it was winter, so I hadn’t seen him with his shirt off for ages. We knew he had a scoliosis and he was being treated regularly by a chiropractor, osteopath, physical trainer, physiotherapist in order to prevent it from getting worse. But on that day, I saw that what had previously only been visible in an X-ray was now visible to the naked eye. I felt a bit sick and quietly asked the coach to take a look … long story short Ming was very suddenly seen by our doctor and a spinal surgeon and told he would have to quit football immediately. This verdict was given a day before his school’s annual football finals in Perth. The disappointment was not only Ming’s but also the two teams he played for, and Ants’ and mine of course because he had been showing great promise and was passionate about football and very good.

There is a lot more to this story including Ming’s sobbing the day we were told he had to stop playing football immediately, that he would have to have surgery and that he would never be able to play football again. And I remember telling him, on the two-hour drive home from this appointment, that the disappointment would ease off as he got older. Instead of resisting this, he dried his eyes and nodded his head in acceptance. “I’ll still be able to ride my motorbike, won’t I, Mum?” he asked.

It took me few ticks to answer this because I had been told by several professionals that he should not be riding a motorbike.

“Of course you can!” I said.

At the end of the football season that year, I didn’t think we would be invited to the presentations because Ming had stopped playing, but on that day, a couple of the mothers of other boys in the team rang me to say we must come because they had something to present Ming with and I was not to tell Ming because it would be a surprise. Well it was a huge shock. The team had ‘retired’ his number 20 guernsey and had it framed with photos of the team and of Ming in action. I was standing at the back of the room chatting to friends when Ming’s name was announced. He had no idea and was just there to cheer his buddies on and I smiled thinking that he would be given a small token. So the shock was pretty huge!

In terms of size, it was the biggest award given that night with lots of cheering for Mingy and I had to bite my lip not to cry. Ming had to give a little impromptu speech and nearly got teary himself and everyone was taking photos but I didn’t have my camera so took the one above the next day. Ming was 16 then.

Well before this event I had told Ming about Anthony’s philosophy of disappointment and I remember Ming wondering about this. However he did turn his football disappointment into the joy of reading the literary classics (hahahaha – that is an absolute joke) – into the joy of music (that is true).

And now, two years down the track, it is Anthony’s disappointment that I somehow have to alleviate. I said to him the other day when he became disappointed about not being able to come home overnight anymore, “You told me once that the older you get, the less disappointed you feel.”

“I was young then,” he said, reaching for my hand.

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Love story 86 – Now and then…

My fantastic husband, Anthony, has now been living at the nursing lodge for around 6 months, during which time it has become more and more difficult to bring him home. At first we did overnighters but, due to many of his Parkinson’s disease symptoms, this gradually became impossible. Then Ming and I tried to bring Anthony home just for the day and that, too, became difficult due to his increasing immobility and other factors.

Just recently, I have utilized the services of a wheelchair taxi and that has been relatively successful, though expensive until I fill out the 500 page form and produce a zillion bits of ID.  I don’t tell Ants about the expense because he has always been a money worrier. The following picture is of just before Ants went into the nursing lodge. Our little alien is in the background climbing onto to the roof to dance again.

I have only just rediscovered this photo and it makes me wonder because Anthony has an expressionless face (Parkinson’s disease does that), but he’s still giving a ‘thumbs up’! I think this was around two years ago. A lot has happened since then.

Sometimes I miss Anthony being home to the point where I soak my pillow with sobbing; sometimes I feel a stab of relief that I no longer have to do what we used to call ‘the night shift’; sometimes I miss the past so much that I want to go back …

… to the day we got married

… to the day Ming was born.

But now is now, and now is unavoidable and now is good.

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Love story 85 – The ‘missing link’, the ‘alien’ and the scent of perfection

I used to jokingly call Anthony ‘the missing link’ (as in the scientic term for something that is somewhere between an ape and a human), and Ming, ‘the alien’ because when he was born he so resembled ET (remember that movie?) This picture shows you why….

It was January, one of the hottest months of the year in Australia, when we brought our little alien home from hospital. As neither of us had ever had a baby before, I remember Anthony driving us all home at a snail’s pace, terrified that every bump in the road would somehow injure the baby in the back of the car in an oversized baby seat. I sat in the back next to Ming, watching him sleep and beside myself with excitement that he would soon be home with us.

Those next few days were bliss. Ming would mostly sleep and Anthony and I would spend hours just looking at him in his bassinet. As soon as Anthony came inside from milking the cows he would go straight to Ming and gaze at him. We were both in awe of him and the delight was almost overwhelming. Our smiles stretched our faces in ways they’d never been stretched before.

We were ridiculously proud and couldn’t believe it when others didn’t gasp in wonder when they saw Ming. When I finally got brave enough to take him grocery shopping with me, I was astounded when we were not surrounded by crowds of admiring people, and relieved when grannies came up and stroked his bald head, smiling at my permanent grin.

The ecstacy of those first few weeks of Ming’s life was so potent that I can still smell it now – the flowers in the garden, the pooey nappies, the mown grass, the perspiration under Anthony’s arms, steak cooking on the barbecue, the milky burps, the softness of that bald little head, the cowshit scent, wafting into the house from the dairy, the frangipannish sunlight streaming into every room, the little dachschunds as I held them above Ming’s bassinet so they could have a look, and Inna’s 4711 perfume that I found in a drawer during that first week.

Perfection.

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Love story 84 – Ming’s first Christmas

Ming was nearly 12 months old when he experienced his first Christmas. Anthony and I had bought him a big toy truck and one of those small, plastic ride-on cars. Both our families had followed the pillow-case tradition so, after Ming was asleep, I carefully wrapped the two big presents, then, with some difficulty, stuffed them into a pillowcase and put this at the end of his cot.

Then, underneath the Christmas tree, Anthony and I put our presents to each other and lots of little things for Ming. The final touch was to fill a red stocking with chocolates for Ming and sticky-tape it to the mantle-piece, near the tree.

I was so excited that I couldn’t fall asleep until around 2am, then I woke up at 4am, still excited! So, by the time Ming and Anthony woke up, after 8am, I was almost delirious with anticipation and exhaustion. I couldn’t wait for Ming to see the pillow-case but, when he finally did get up, he didn’t even notice it – and I had to point it out to him.

We all clambered onto the big bed and emptied the pillow-case out. Ming looked at the two enormous wrapped presents and then gave us his wise-owl look, as if to say, What the hell is going on?

“Father Christmas has left you two presents, Ming,” I said, excitedly but he still didn’t respond. He just sucked on his dummy and watched us grin at him, probably thinking we’d gone slightly mad. I suppose I’d expected him to just magically absorb the Christmas presents thing and, I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed by his lack of spirit. Even when I showed him a picture of Santa with a big sack of gifts on his back, he remained impassive.

“Open one of them for him,” Anthony whispered, so I began to gently tear the wrapping paper off the toy truck to expose one of its wheels.

Well that was the only trigger needed. As soon as Ming saw that wheel, he spat his dummy out and his bewildered expression transformed instantaneously into an enormous grin. “TWUCK!” he repeated over and over, tearing at the wrapping paper ecstatically. Even if I’d been able to anticipate that moment and had a camera ready it would have been impossible to capture Ming’s glee when the truck was finally exposed in all its glory.

Once Ming had opened that first present, he very quickly cottoned onto the idea and went crazy for more and his continued delight was contagious.

We most certainly set a precedent that first Christmas. Its magic permeated Ming’s psyche so effectively that when, the following year, I once again woke up at 4am, it wasn’t my excitement, it was Ming’s that woke me. He was standing next to the bed, patting my cheek with one hand and holding a very full pillowcase with his other hand.  His little face seemed to glow in the dim light of dawn.

“Mummy,” he whispered seriously, “Fava Quistmust happinded again!”

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