KerrieJean.com

HAS IT REALLY COME TO THIS….?

Yes it has. Oh my, how the reasonably well turned out, have fallen.

I am writing about my TEETH.

(cr: eyesplash Mikul: flickr)

I am the newest entrant in the long tradition of dental/oral hygiene writing…… 
The renowned novelist opens up on the subject of his famously vile father, Sir Kingsley, and the $30,000 fortune he spent repairing his own famously vile teeth. (Blurb from salon.com) 

The description of the day’s events when Martin Amis had all his teeth out is THE classic of the dental canon. I read ’Experience’ before my current troubles - then thrilling, now chilling…

My teeth are not fabulously vile….YET. BUT, they are full of drama and the narrative (potentially fabulously vile ) possibilities are endless.

God help me. How could anyone be paying this much money for NO teeth?

The history. My teeth started out as teeth. In line with Intelligent Design, I spat out the first lot and the replacements arrived on schedule. They served me well until suddenly three years ago, fang chaos. 

It was extra terrifying because tooth-centred events unfolded quickly and WITHOUT NOTICE. Big bits falling off, agonising pains shooting brainwards, overnight eruptions, slippage, unexplained craters…..

My once pretty mouth was on the move and where it was headed NO-ONE KNEW.

Mercifully, I am a child of the Murrumbigee Irrigation Area so I know all about BIG projects, big dreams. When my dentist (in calming tones) declared my teeth an unprecedented structural, aesthetic and financial challenge, I remained calm but firm.

Look Madam….when the Snowy Mountains Scheme was mooted there were many doubters……mountains could NOT be moved, rivers NOT diverted. Think of it like this. My gob? The Snowy. My dream? To have you blast through. To change it forever. Understand?

Understood. So major mouth-building works have been undertaken. Surveying. Drilling. Filling. Pulverising. Root canals forged. And even a bridge built… which was to dislodge, come clean out while I was enjoying a risotto, yes RISOTTO, luncheon with a handsome gentleman.

In terms of the Snowy Scheme, I have a long way to go. My mouthworks so far are akin to the completion of the Yanco and Gogeldrie Weirs. Coleambally has yet to exist.

BUT, the dream remains:

To present myself with a full set of resin on my next date.

So, over to you for stories about your teeth (yes, it has comes to this!) Particularly interested in hearing from people that have some. And, as per usual, I’d be privileged to get your news on just about anything…..

Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space – not necessary!

May I introduce you to handsome RAAF Navigator (Serviceman no 412859) Hec Ross of Leeton? (on right).

I carry this pic on my person and turn it over when I get nervy. You see on the back of the photo Navigator Hec is doing his coordinates, working out where the bloody hell he and his bomber mates are. So, when I get frazzled I think:

If Hec could keep his mind on the job in woeful circumstances I surely can work my piddly problems out. 

So here’s to Hec who could NEVER guts the thought of marching on April 25th.

I’ve got a little box with a few Hec ‘war things’ in it.

A letter from the Air Department (Jan 21st, 1949) tells Hec that his service medals have arrived.  One, for just being there (War Medal) and the other, for just being in the Pacific (The Pacific Star). I’ve also got bits and pieces off his uniform: beautiful studs, nifty stripes (not too many mind!) and a mother-of-pearl heart with a bird on it.

I know next to nought about Hec’s War.

He didn’t talk about it but occasionally, after drinks had been taken, he’d have a little sing about it.

Now, the starting of the *Vultee is a most peculiar art…….off you go Hec….finally working up to a big finish….)

Early in the morning when the dew is on the grass, you will see the Vultee men all sitting on their arse……

(* Vultee Vengeance dive bomber)

Other snippets:

**** Hec ran a book on the Melbourne Cup. In a gesture of unbridled patriotism, he and his pilot took a dive bomber up to get good radio reception for the race. It is acknowledged that his promotional opportunities were strictly limited after this episode.

**** Because of something which happened in The War, Hec was deaf in one ear. But Gwennie, always a great supporter of equal opportunities, made sure he NEVER felt disabled. YOU CAN HEAR ME WHEN YOU WANT TO. YES YOU CAN HEC, YES YOU CAN!!!

**** Hec drank a fair bit of beer before The War – and he quickly resumed his normal routine after it.

**** Did the War make Hec nervy? I think so. He got himself SO worked up – particularly during the footy season, Lent and whenever anyone dared mention Billy or Sonia McMahon.

Forgot to tell you. While Hec didn’t march, he did take it upon himself to run the best Anzac Day two-up school in the Riverina…..

Always a pleasure to hear from you….

*This is Leeton’s War Monument (cr: Mattinbgn) which has been noted by contributors to this post.

And…..Leeton Anzac Day 2009 slideshow (courtesy of The Irrigator)

http://www.irrigator.com.au/slideshowplayer.aspx?id=6205

Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space – not necessary!

 

Up and at it early – I’m off for an overnighter in a cute cottage (somewhere picturesque) with something called THE GIRLS.

Cr: Lana aka BADGIRL: flickr

I hope it’s better than last time. I was very lonely.

****For starters, me and THE GIRLS could NOT find common ground re fellas…….

The problem? They all had at least ONE  – husband, defacto, significant other, partner, sperm donor, yoga teacher….

Just quietly, the news on the fellas-in-captivity front (except for those with exemptions: yoga teachers and gay sperm donors) was NOT good. Complaints, complaints, complaints. But I did learn something - that if fellas-in-capitivity TOOK NOTICE of the different coloured domestic rubbish bins and distributed waste accordingly, they’d be treated to a lot (okay a bit) more sex. 

***THE GIRLS and me could NOT agree on what makes for a lovely spread.

Why, WHY must everything have to be marinated? And why MUST contemporary nibblies STINK TO HIGH HEAVEN?  *As a young reporter, I was lucky enough to be on the site of two shallow graves. Do you have experience with washed rind cheese? Enough said.
I much prefer to let my chippies and Kraft lumps breathe, speak for themselves. Good news though on the libation front: NO ONE was fighting me for my Riccadonna.

***THE GIRLS and me could NOT agree on mothering strategies.

I don’t have children but I do have STRONG maternal instincts. I’ve got valid things to say. I deserve to be heard. 

This is what my MATERNAL instincts were telling me:

- Timmy is NOT a genius, he’s a little shithead.

- Private schools are good – they keep unsavoury elements out of the public system. 

- Breast feeding destroys figures. Yes it does.

So, off I go again. A report on proceedings will be tabled. *Someone said someone had picked up a home botox kit in Mexico. Yee hee! 

*******BONUS! New The Ginger Man adventure underway – ON THE BEACH SOMEWHERE IN BRITAIN. 

Kicked off in the previous comments section. Unfolding in this one.

What on earth will Long John Pilger do next? 

******************

As always, I must hear from you or they’ll close me down. Do you prefer single or mixed gender events? Are you happy with your gender? Are you thinking of joining a Men’s Group?  Has THE SISTERHOOD ever been nasty to you?  And – as usual – anything else.

Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space – not necessary!

For a small town girl, it was terrifying to lob onto a university campus in the seventies. SO terrifying that on my first attempt I stayed just three weeks (but I’ll tell you about that another time when I feel stronger).

Anyway, there I was again with Gwennie and Hec praying that I wouldn’t repeat the previous year’s vicious cycle:  University, 21 days/Leeton Cannery Process Line, 190 days/Doldrums, indefinite. 

BUT on Tertiary Attempt #2, I still found University culture - even on a semi-rural campus in Bathurst - very alienating.

There were three big MANDATORY MMMs – HATRED of Men, Make-up and Meat Eaters.

God Help Me. These are women who will kill if they find out what is moving among them -  a man loving, meat eating, make-up wearing FANATIC. 

In the early morning darkness of my small room, I hatched a survival plan. I knew I could not, WOULD NOT stop loving men or wearing make-up.  But maybe, just maybe, I could offer up meat.

So, I told my new strident peer group that I was a Strict Vegetarian.

 Cr: Ganymedes Costagravas: flickr

My life as an honest Strict V lasted precisely three hours – 7am until 10am. Without my usual three sausage rolls at 9:45am, I wasn’t functioning. So, I snuck down town to Heath’s Pie Shop (no peers in there!) and got stuck in. And because I knew that I would NOT be eating meat publicly, I followed up with two pies and a pastie.

So, began my Double Life – as Strict Vegetarian AND Speed Meat Eater.

To say I was under shocking (and mounting pressure) would be an understatement. I was now creeping into the booths at Heaths up to three times a day WHILE publicly devouring masses of foul concoctions – lentil thingos, soy surprises, nut meat medleys……

I WAS MISS PROTEIN SUBSTITUTE WITH A TERRIBLE SECRET.

THEN, things became even more distressing…….

I was eating for two – THE Speed Meat Eater and THE Strict Vegetarian. I’d arrived on campus a very neat 58 kilos – by the end of semester one, I was fast approaching 70. Urgent calculations sickened me.

Starting undergrad weight: 58 kilos. Double Life weight gain over one semester: 12 kilos. Three-year Degree: 9 semesters. Projected overall weight gain on graduation: 9 x 12 kilos = 108 kilos.

Actual projected weight on Graduation: 108 kilos + 58 kilos= 166 kilos.

And so it was a very nervy, MUCH BIGGER student of higher learning who presented herself to Gwennie at the end of semester one.

Are you pregnant?

No Gwennie, no but I have an awful secret…..I have been leading a Double Life.

…..You can tell me but quite possibly NOT Hec. Have you been going to Mass AND worshipping crazed gurus through yoga or that tantric thingo? We all do stupid things when we’re young KJ, we all do………

It all came out. It was very emotional.

Gwennie said to be myself, no matter how tacky that was. She’d recently seen our family tree and there wasn’t one Strict Vegetarian on it. She said – without makeup - I looked like I’d been exhumed and most men deserved to be loved EXCEPT those who played Rugby Union.

Semester Two was much better. My Double Life was over.  I started to spread the word about the small but influential Riverina School Of Feminism.

Are you leading a double life? How do you cope?  Are you exhausted and nervy? Is it worth it? Or, is YOUR double life the best thing you’ve ever embark on? Why does it work for you? And, of course, anything else that you’d like to report in on……

Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space – not necessary!

I AM A TWEAKER AND WILL DIE A TWEAKER…..

For non-sensualists-who-don’t-like-a-giggle-or-two, a TWEAKER is a joyful practitioner of the craft of Bum Pinching.

In the nineties, Bum Pinchers were the very first targets of anti-sexual harassment zealots. But KJ, like TWEAKERS everywhere, did NOT desist.

We got angry. We got organised. TWEAKERS went underground, forming secret Tweaking networks. While the Bum Pinching Prohibitionists claimed victory, our Tweaking exploits had become even more audacious.

Tweaking: Safe & Easy (Cr: emceeEsher:flickr)

I have (and will continue) to Tweak at work, family gatherings and dinner parties (PARTICULARLY when I’m the only single person present).  

In fact, as me (and my targets) get older, Tweaking is even more satisfying. (more…)