KerrieJean.com

I spent a fair few Saturdays hanging around outside St Joseph’s Basilica – Leeton, NSW – waiting for brides to fall out of gleaming Holdens and Fords…….

I was not alone.

And weddings of ‘particular interest’ attracted crowds of onlookers, all women and girls.

‘Of particular interest’ could mean many things….

Heavily pregnant brides always pulled big numbers.

Very dramatic. 

A mix of emotions among  the onlookers: ‘There but by the grace of God go I’,  ‘She’ll go into labour during the bridal waltz’,  ‘There must be at least 56 yards of satin in that dress.  Sad really……darn sad.’

In my town, it was said that snub noses were caused by pregnant brides corsetting themselves in too tightly for the big day.

I saw nothing to make me believe otherwise.

‘Of particular interest’ could also mean the marriage of  a local netball, kangaroo shooting or footy celebrity.

If two celebrities were marrying each other – eg a  beautiful netball champion and a drop dead gorgeous Australian Rules footballer – it could hardly get any better…

Except if…..

Both sets of parents were flashy types who’d made squillons out of gravel or demountable homes……..

And it was a known fact that they’d  got the wedding partys’ imported dresses from a boutique on the Gold Coast.

And the reception wasn’t going to be at the RSL because …….well, just BECAUSE…….

Yes, it was all quite unbelievable……..

Until everyone turned up for ‘a squiz’ .

General non-invitees consensus:  Unflattering dress, unflattering makeup, unflattering foundation and eyeshadow, unflattering shoes, unflattering hairdo, unflattering flowers, unflattering veil, unflattering earrings…….quite nice gloves [bought locally].

You can criticise brides but laugh at them?

NEVER.

I think some of  The Chaser boys are family men…..

How would they feel if I’d turned up outside their wedding – and laughed at their brides?

I don’t think they’d like it.

Fullstop.

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Anzac Day Story

If ever there was the evidence I am no longer a reasonably alluring little babe, this is it……..

I am old enough to have been at Anzac Day marches where there was a big contingent of Gallipoli veterans.

In my hometown – the irrigated, salinity ridden settlement of Leeton, NSW – Anzac Days provided welcome opportunities for bored and belligerent youngsters to go up the main street and explore notions of patriotism and pomp.

The five Ross girls were no exception.

On the Anzac Days of my childhood – in the late sixties/early seventies – flashy townsfolk who could afford to party or go water skiing at a Murrumbidgee River beach called Turkey Flat, did.  

Subsequently, the number of veterans amassing near the Memorial Holden Dealership then marching down Pine Avenue, far surpassed the entertainment-deprived onlookers.

So great were the veteran numbers that even in a small town they were able to march under their own banners – Rats of Tobruk,  Pit Bulls of Passchendael, Grass Spiders of Gallipoli, Killer Whales of Kokoda……..

It was surprising to discover that Barry the Butcher or Pat the Plumber were – in other lives - killer whales or pit bull terriers.

These were the times too that every town with a modicum of self-respect supported more bands than those amassed for the final scenes of  ’Brassed Off’.

It was also surprising to find out that Jack [who I always saw 'jackhammering' the local footpaths] was very multi-skilled.

There he was with a very serious, if not pained, look on his face  – blowing bagpipes but mostly concerned about a kilt malfunction.

There are two Leeton Anzac Day incidents I remember well.

The first involved my ‘middle’ sister.

Five sisters went up to Pine Avenue that Anzac Day.

Only four returned.

Julie went missing in action. 

Hec and Gwennie were besides themselves…….

As the hours went by - and the military police were about to called – in walked Private Julie.

She’d had a lovely day – eating cream cakes and drinking lime cordial – with a kindly woman who, so the gossip went, ran a house of ill repute.  

The second is this.

While I was marvelling at how ‘Jack the Jackhammerer’ could hold it all together, an old veteran ‘went down’ – just near the big War Memorial, near the Leeton Post Office.

He was in big trouble.

From the crowd, a lady was running.

‘I’m a nurse, I’m a nurse!’

[Australian Field Nurse:  Cr: Aus War Memorial, Canberra: flickr]

I could not see our fallen veteran…….

But I could see our field nurse.

A small women, it was as if she was bouncing up and down on our fallen veteran’s chest.

Suddenly, she stood bolt upright, punched her fist in the air and yelled:

‘He’s back, he’s back!’

I knew that our field nurse had done something very special.

*Click ‘ere for a past Anzac Day post about Hec:

http://www.kerriejean.com.au/2009/04/just-a-little-anzac-day-note/

Your Anzac Day memories? Share them with everybody:

Just by clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following 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 URL thingo.

You know the feelin’?

You’re so chipper, so up yourself you decide: time to let the world in on an intimacy so profound it’s a wonder Dr Phil hasn’t already been on the case.

Call me cunning, call me impulsive, call me anything you like – I don’t give a damm…..here goes……

I do NOT own an iron or an ironing board and have not had either in my keeping for two-and-a-half decades.

['Please stop ironing the paper towels': cr: Library of Congress: flickr]

There, I’ve said it..

Why, why, why? [I hear you bleat]

Why, why turn your back on the Industrial Revolution’s greatest legacy – the device that irrevocably changed for the better the personal presentation [if not the very demeanour] of right-thinking folks everywhere?

Simple….

Because I come from a long line [four sisters, one mum, Gwennie] of extreme, fetishistic ironers.

……..They’d iron the back lawn if cords were made just a bit longer.

As it is, nothing remotely ‘ironable’ is safe……

Chux super wipes, special occasion and everyday knickers, bra cups, patty cake cases, knee support bandages, Huggies………

Years ago, I worked out that here was a bunch of good women forever trying to wrest control of an out-of-control world.

I knew that my world would always be a crazy roundabout of dates and the unpredictable advances marking all stellar careers – so stopped ironing.

All WITHOUT changing my wardrobe or personal habits – quite the opposite.

Never a fan of  ‘drip drying’, I wash and spin and put in the dryer [setting: 'crucible'] even garments and intimate accoutrements that warn: ‘Dryclean Or Cry Or Go Broke’.

Be it at work or at play, I disport myself in the aforementioned sans ironing.

The crucial factor?

On an annual basis, I factor in the loss of up to 46 percent of my wardrobe.

All due to wilful ‘mishandling’ issues.

But I happily accept this under my no iron rule.

I’d certainly love you to join me…..

There’s only one further stipulation:

You must NOT ever be seen in those appalling garments that fashion emporiums proudly market as ‘pre-scrunched’.

Wanna look like tent that’s been pushed into the bag without being dried off?

Go ahead….

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Well, well, well……….busy times in here……and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the way I like it…..

Another thing I do know….

Australia has a secret ironing history which deserves to be told…..

Let’s start today – would love to hear your great tales from ‘around the iron’…….

And…..if you [sadly] don’t hail from a well-known ironing family….I’d still like to receive news about anything afoot in your patch….

Go on, throw caution to the wind – and send a message to KJ and the world:

Just by clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following 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 URL thingo.

Loyal readers are well aware that my romantic history is best described as a romp through terrain both sublime – and ridiculous.

I’m proud of it……

Over the decades I’ve supped and danced and frolicked and done crosswords…….and fought and had perverse dealings with…..well, quite a few men.

However, there’s one category of Man of which I have little intimate knowledge  -  something I’ve decided to remedy as a matter of urgency in the interests of a well rounded Mid- Romantic-Career.

My next target group?

That of the historically significant but largely forgotton Self Made Men…….

Glory Days: Self Made Men [Cr: Swedish National Heritage Board: flickr]

Decades ago – when my love trajectory was still firmly on the launch pad – Self Made Men were much admired.

It was as if they had not emerged via the time tested means of sexual embrace.

Being Self Made, they just popped on Leeton’s main street…..

But the process of becoming a fully formed Self-Made Man was complex – and not always pretty……

For Self Made Men saw opportunites where mere mortals did not.

Self Made Men made big money in commodities like sewage, gravel and stone fruit stones.

They said they were ‘gunna buy up half of Wagga’ with the profits – and they did.

Self Made Men were often [dare I say it?] on the plain or short side.

But that didn’t matter.

Their wives were always ‘the best sorts’ in town: resplendent in tropical jumpsuits purchased in Sydney enroute to the P &O passenger terminal.

…….Tales circulated about Self-Made Men and their wives and obnoxious offspring sailing to exotic locales in the South Pacific…..

…..Arriving back in Leeton with never before seen five-metre high decorative village totems, glorious muumuus and 25.4 gallon bottles of duty free Tia Maria.

Not that Self-Made Men didn’t have a social conscience.

Quite the opposite.

They sponsored…….

….New goals posts, new goal posts unveiling ceremony barbeques, cardiac arrest gizmos, cardiac arrest gizmo acquisition barbeques……

It was good to know that Self-Made Men never forgot where they came from – themselves.

So…..I’m looking for a Self-Made Man.

A Self-Made Man who’d feel privileged to sponsor me……

HOWEVER, if you’re a Self-Made Man who’s managed to make an unmitigated mess of yourself, please do not apply…..

…………………………….

So, how are we all. Just quietly, my search for a viable Self-Made Man has really put a spring in my step.

Isn’t it always the same?

….You feel a little jaded – and then, zippity do da, a new project emerges!

I’d be very interested to know whether you have experiences of Self-Made Men…….even voting for Mark Latham counts!

…Or – even better – maybe you’re the real deal yourself……oh boy……

As per usual, I’d like [very much] to hear news from your fertile [or hopelessly barren] patch…..

Do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following 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 URL thingo.

I have just emerged from my traditional self-induced Valium Non-Frequent Terrified Flyer Coma……..

With pathetic news…….

During my one-month ‘Summering over’ in the  controversial Murray-Darling Basin community of my hometown, Leeton, NSW, I – for the first time in decades – desperately tried to form a meangingful new relationship.

The target of my affections?

A scungy donkey which – in mysterious circumstances – has come to reside at my oldest sister’s small rural spread.

[When donkeys were fun. cr: National Library, Scotland:flickr]

His name is ‘Hee-Haw’.

Not that he cares. 

‘Hee-Haw’ answers to nobody. Does less than nothing.  Neither loves nor hates. Contributes nowt. Plug ugly…..

 ……Occasionally bares his big choppers to make darn sure the world knows he’s still breathing….

……. Looking exactly like the old sub-editors on my first newspaper who were always coming to terms with ill-fitting dentures.

What did I want from ‘Hee-Haw’?

Not much.

Just what I’d tried to get from other doomed-from-the start relationships……..

Mutuality; companionship; an acknowledgement of what it is to be human and donkey……..a laugh or two.

Every morning, I’d get very close to ‘Hee-Haw’, look him straight in the eye……..and talk and talk and talk.

Asked him what it was like to be the continual butt of crass sexual innuendo in relation to his private parts.

Asked him who he admired most. Simpson or The Donkey?

Wanted to know if it was appropriate for me to ask the council if he could parade up the main street on Christmas Eve - me astride with a blow-up wading pool under flowing garments and my nephew walking alongside with a concerned look on his face.

…….And I begged him to show emotion….joy, hate, anger, conflicted……..ANYTHING.

Nothing.

Eventually, I exploded.

Told sister that I disliked ‘Hee-Haw’ very much. 

More to the point, he repulsed me.

She said I was a hateful person.

……And, unlike me, ‘Hee-Haw’ was harmless.

I said donkeys should be castrated. Assigned to the dustbin of extinction.

She said she was going to make quadruple cream matchsticks [my fave] but had changed her mind.

I said I didn’t want ‘Hee-Haw’ to come between us.

To tell you the truth, it’s going to take a long time for things to get back on track.

Isn’t it pathetic…….isn’t it always the same?

A bad, lazy ‘good for nothin’ guy gets to pull the strings……

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So…..so…..so…….2011 off to a cracking start….

Familial relations strained to beaking point and I’m being reported to the RSPCA for psychological abuse…..

The next thing, you’ll be writing in telling me how you love donkeys – and how they should be called in to help mop up Brisbane…….

Say what you like. I don’t care.

On a happier note, please report in on what’s happening (or not) on your patch.

This is a generalist ‘Living, Loving, Learning’ forum so you can offload your thoughts and fears and observations – and no-one will think any the less of you.

Isn’t that great?

Go ahead. Do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following 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 URL thingo.

DATELINE: Monday Jan 10. Murray-Darling Basin, Murrumbigee Irrigation Area Without Guaranteed Water, Leeton, NSW, Pacific Rim, Computer Terminal Reserved For Seniors, Leeton Library.

Hello, hello, hello…….tentative greetings once more from Australia’s most controversial Basin…….

Greetings again from a town rent asunder - a town where family members are at war with each other more than usual.

Some long to pack up and go live somewhere with 21st Century amenities like trees, handsome men and occasional inclines……

Others argue long into stinking hot nights that the importance of water for the cycle of life has always been hopelessly overstated:

‘I’m stayin’, I’m stayin’, I’m bloody well stayin’ – this is where I got my first sunstroke, this is where I got divorced (twice) and this is where I intend to get divorced again……I’m stayin’, I’m stayin’, I’m bloody well stayin’……….[by the way KJ, you busy Saturday night?]

[Hands Off Our Town: cr: Powerhouse Museum Collection: flickr]

Where do I stand?

Well, as one who’s never been a fence sitter [because of serious OH&S issues] and is not about to start now, I’ll tell you where…….

I want the uncertainty to end.

I want to know if my hometown will continue to provide the same level of services it has always prided itself on doing so……..

I want to be assured I’ll be able to get a Brazilian Wax in secure and pleasant surroundings…….

I want to be assured there’ll be able-bodied and filthy rich rice farmers to date……..

And I want to be assured that if those dates do not go to plan, I have easy access to mental health care teams.

This is the reality.

The reality behind the headlines, the politicking and the promises……

Country people have the right to Brazilian Waxes and love – just like their city counterparts.

Remember this next time you read, or hear, or watch a story about the Murray-Darling Basin Plan.

And let your imagination and emotions run free.

Empathy – not sympathy – PLEASE!

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Gosh, gosh, GOSH! I’m glad I got that off my chest.

I mean some people - they really don’t know what they’re talking about……..

How are you handling the usual January-driven uncertainties…..?

You know what I mean?

Will I go to Fiji or use the money to buy new blinds?

Will I accept that there is no God or continue going to Mass etc, etc, etc?

Always difficult.

My counsel? For the time being, just keep making the same mistakes. To change direction at present would just add to your stress.

Love to hear from you. Everything valid.

[Particularly if you're about to make a big mistake and want to be assured that you're on the right track.......trust me, I'll back you all the way....] 

Do report in by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following 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 URL thingo.

Dateline:  Monday (too hot, delusional, don’t know the date) Murray-Darling Basin, Murrumbigee Irrigation Area with no water, New South Wales, Pacific Rim, Leeton, New South Wales.

Happy New Year!

Needless to say, I’d love to to give you a big tongue kiss as appropriate thanks for coming in here and helping fund this old stager’s moisturiser and sun spot removal costs – but that’s not possible.

…….So instead, pinch your bum NOW and say out loud:

‘This one’s from KJ!’

Now….back to what’s loosely called ‘life’ in Australia’s most controversial/contested zone.

Simply put: it’s a wonder you’re reading this.

I am a journalist.

More than once in a stellar career spanning 30 years, I have put myself on the line.

I have sipped lattes for four days waiting for distressed juries to hand down verdicts in macabre cases, I have seen politicians pushing Y-fronts below belts before facing the cameras, I have had starlets look me in the eye and say: ‘Yes KJ, they are real’ [and I have gone home and wept and raged at their audacity]

But, nothing prepared for for this……

The last two days have seen temperatures soar to 43 degrees.

And Gwennie’s massive rooftop airconditioner spluttered – and died.

Gwennie (86), me and another loved one have just spent 48 hours slumped in front of one desk fan.

[cr:Sam Hood, State Library, NSW: flickr]

Three women in just bras and panties. Three women gulping water from old juice bottles. Three women forced to face each other, ’see’ each other in terrible circumstances.

I would like to tell you that the three semi-nude cross-generationalists behaved well.

But that would be a lie.

I would like to tell you that I can forgive Gwennie for what she said to me.

But that would be a lie.

At 4pm, New Year’s Day, 2011, she turned to me, had a big swig of water –  and said:

‘You’re wearing the wrong bra. You need something with a bit more horsepower. You really should go and get fitted.’

Time stopped.

Sweat poured off me.

Then I went in hard.

‘Well, Cottontails don’t do much for me. I’d like to see you in something a little more playful.’

Time stopped.

And then we all went back to putting our energies into staying alive.

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How’s it going on your patch? Any holiday disasters?

My New Year resolution? Get fitted for a bra with a bit more horsepower. Yours is no doubt a little more meangingful but I am I and You are You……and that’s not going to change, is it?

So, report in. Easy. Carbon neutral. Done by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following 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 URL thingo.