KerrieJean.com

Is one just not enough?

Have just returned from my daily unconstitutional with this alarming observation…..

Multiple births are not only de rigueur: they’re the norm…..

And from the number of dual carriageway prams on my main street [being jogged along by 45 kilo 45-year-olds in Olympic cycling team lycra] conception by traditional means, is over.

[........Do you take this man, woman, indeterminate to have and to hold and from this day forth, promise to embark on all the IVF treatments it takes to have at least two children in one go...?]

It wasn’t always like this…..

I am the product of sex and when I was growing up in Leeton, Murray-Darling Basin, the Pacific Rim in the 1960’s, there were many, many children from similar backgrounds.

And everyone knew the couples who ‘could not have children’ because even though they’d been married for more than nine months, they didn’t have any.

People were deeply compassionate towards couples who ‘could not have children’.

And working out just whose fault it was, was very important.

[Cr: Oregon State University Archives: flickr]

….It’s him/it’s a blockage/it’s her/it’s a twisted something/it’s both/it’s a blockage and a twisted something/ it’s God’s will/ there’s no blockage or twisted something……..

No one dared ask the couple who ‘could not have children’ what the problem was…..

That’d be rude……

I liked the couples who ‘could not have children’.

They were always snazzily turned out and could afford to go on P&O Cruises to exotic places on the Pacific Rim.

They were very dignified and even pinched each others’ bums in public.

In restrospect, I wonder how many of them could have children but didn’t want any.

……Perhaps with the prevailing mood, best to let the talk of blockages and twisted things go unchecked.

And for those couples who did want kids but found the quest elusive and did not have access to technologies to change the situation, good on you…..

You moved well through my town……

And try as they will, the Fecundity Police could never catch ya!

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Those of us of a certain age all remember those special couples I speak of, don’t we?

Perhaps you were even part of one of them……

Would love to hear from you…..on this or any other front…….

It’s free, it’s easy……how about you throw caution to the wind – and DO it now 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.

The current crop of  rabid anti-fungal/anti-vermin marketers should be locked up….

Sent to jail.

I speak specifically of those responsible for two high rotation television advertisements……

Have you seen – and very likely itched  – your way though them?

The first warns that the liquid soap dispenser – lurking on the outer reaches of the war zone that is your bathroom basin – is a ticking time bomb.

Because when those you love so much it hurts use your dispenser [and where their hands have been let’s not even ponder]  the ‘press here’ device is rendered a seething pit of microbe degeneracy.

…..Microbes which can fell someone you love so much it hurts at six paces.

 …..Mutant exocet range spectrum bacterium which – on discovery – made Dr Howard Florey fall to the laboratory floor – and weep ['cause it really hurt..]

……Invisible clusters of body-eating-self-sucking compounds…….

The solution?

A soap dispenser with hand sensor.

Thus, no more of the the ‘laying on dispenser’ of  the filthy extremities of those you love so much it hurts.

Thank you.

Our second product of shame?

Pillows embossed with gentle reminders: suggested replacement dates in an effort to avoid one of the horrors of the contemporary bedroom retreat……

Which is….?

Pillows turning into mini ecosystems of dangerous bacterium and fungal clusters..

[Inside my pillow - 3am. Cr: The Field Museum Library: flickr]

Previously trapped now airborne multifarious residues….

Nasal droppings scientifically proven to feed on themselves and then multiply to set up new colonies in doonas and vertical blinds…..

Ear wax enclaves which left unchecked will stratify, spread and eventually decommission bedside lamps……..

God help me…….

As one who’s – on more than one occasion – shared a pillow or two with life-size concoctions of all-singing, all-dancing mutant basic building blocks of life specimens, this latest news comes as a complete shock.

But let me tell you this.

I will not be buying pillows with alarming ‘use by’ dates stamped on them.

For when I have faced those life-size concoctions of all-singing, all-dancing mutant basic building block of life specimens, my emotional immune system has fought courageously – and won.

I’ve done it and so have you……

Please say ‘no’ to the opportunistic marketers who would have you believe otherwise.

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Golly gosh…..

Isn’t it great to vent cold, hard fury?

Aren’t those advertisments I speak of, despicable?

Or maybe you’ve been availing yourself of date stamped pillows – and have found strange, perhaps unexpected solace in them?

Why, why, WHY?

Declaration of possible conflict of interest in line with ABC Guidelines:

I wish to make it known that there’s a couple of *germ phobics in my family. * They’ve been date stamping pillows and bars of soap for yonks.

Please report in – everything is valid, just like life itself. Do it by:

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: Sydney, Australia, Friday June 11th, 2010.

Got back from Leeton Wednesday night but have only just woken up.

Still a bit iffy.

Low cumulus cover and one thunder clap at Wagga Wagga Airport set off a traditional free-floating pre-flight nervy. The last thing I remember is downing a handful of valium and ringing Gwennie to tell her how much I loved her……new perm.

What a wonderful trip!

I went to Leeton as a Woman and came back – still a Woman but with two high tech sound cards chock-a-block with honest, hard-working locals speaking openly of their hopes, dreams, fears, extra-marital affairs, water allocations, favourite rice recipes (Rice Medley, Festive Rice Ring) and deeply spiritual quests.

I asked everyone who gave so freely of their time:  Does God Know Leeton Exists?

A quick scan of my notes shows the community is split 50-50. But, I can break the deadlock – and I will!  Yes, yes, YES God knows Leeton exists and He sent his only draftsman Walter Burley Griffin to save it.

Highlights of the ‘embedded in Leeton’  freebie….sorry, ASSIGNMENT.

*The superb professionalism of The Producer. She wouldn’t let me smoke while conducting interviews and, in retrospect, I think her directive was harsh – but probably right in the circumstances.

*The raid on the Leeton-Whitton Crows dressing sheds on Sunday. So powerful was the testosterone aura I fainted and had to be carried out on a stretcher.

*Brazilian Wax, Tresses Salon. Don’t know why I didn’t have one years ago. Feel like Eve in The Garden Of Eden - Pre Original Sin.

Anyway, still a little disorientated…

AND there’s still so much heavy lifting to do for the upcoming kerriejean.com multi-platform series. 

I told The Producer I trusted her implicitly and was – albeit reluctantly – prepared to leave the editing, post-production, scripting, voiceover, on-line design, twittering, Facebook inserts and crazy rounds of pre-publicity interviews to her but she said:

Fat Chance!

Back to bed. Wobble, wobble, wobble……..[memo to self: see detox professional tomorrow if balance still not quite right]

Read on for the Leeton ’on location’ report……. 

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Memories – like the calling of a name, misty water coloured memories - of the way weez were……

Dear, dear kerriejean.com supporters it is now 97 hours since I flew Air Valium from Sydney to the Riverina where I’m darting around – with Australia’s most experienced out-of-work comedy producer - plucking out material for my upcoming ground breaking multi-platform series. 

All funded by YOU.

What, WHAT can I say to convince you that the hired Hyundai hatchback, the prawn cutlet platters, the crazy round of rice paddy visits, the explosive reunions with old flames – and hard edged journalism - are a valid use of YOUR hard earned money?

Perhaps this piece of (visual) evidence?

(The centrepiece of Walter Burley Griffin’s vision for Leeton: Band Rotunda, Chelmsford Place. Cr: Shirmax: flickr)

Or perhaps this (non-visual) snippet?

*Could it have been only Saturday that I was running the gauntlet in Banna Avenue Griffith, investigating reports of Organised Swearing in a city which continues to refuse to lance its boils, cut out the cancer eating away at its very heart – AND giving the Australian television viewing public – with its insatiable appetite for stories which speak to the very heart of who we are – the best night in since ‘My Name’s McGooley, What’s Yours?’

All in all, a personal and professional rollercoaster……..

…..Which today threatens to reach new and dizzying heights with a vist to the world famous bird watchers’ paradise, the Fivebough Swamp, Bog And Wetlands.  

My host is none other than Mr Brent Lawrence whose seminal presentation ‘Leeton In Sixty Seconds’ is shown, discussed and debated at tourism industry seminars worldwide.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cdacvI0uRMU&feature=related

Today though, just two questions for Mr Lawrence:

The first:

So Mr Lawrence the Siberian Cranes come all the way from Russia – but why won’t a bloke even come 20 kms from Whitton to take me out?

I have no doubt Mr Lawrence will answer in the manner of the consumate professional he is.

But like most difficult interviews, I will leave my most controversial question to last.

Mr Lawrence, do you identify with the matinee idol, Forrest Tucker, who it is said loved nature in spite of what it did to him?

Apologies for such a quick report back….

It’s all go, go, GO.

My appointment book shows just for this morning – Mr Lawrence, ‘I Love Leeton’ intimate tattoo application, Walter Burley Griffin Memorial Water Towers re-enactment (Leeton High School students will be Tower 1, St Francis College students, Tower 2), Observation platform: Sunwhite Rice Cake processing line – Leeton Rice Mills.

As usual (sigh, sigh, sigh), I will still punch out a small hole in my windows of opportunities to read your posts.

Love to hear what’s happening in your patch (sigh, sigh, sigh) but to be honest I can’t think of anything that could beat what I’ve got going here.

Another thing – since I’ve been in Leeton I’m noticing a great improvement in my facial wrinkles and general jowl line. Gwennie (mum) says it because I’m packing on the weight but I truly think it’s more to do with my plummeting stress levels. You be the judge when the photos go up……

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 URL thingo.

To live a double life is to be propelled into dark places way out of your usual personal TomTom range…….

(cr: Gabby DC: flickr)

How do I know?

Because I did.

I’d like to say it all started innocently, but that would be a lie.

On a day even more appalling than others, Sister Mary McKillya – of St Joseph’s Convent and Prison Farm, Leeton – made terrible accusations about my relationship with The Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Specifically, that I had weak ties with the best trio that (sort of) ever lived.

Sister Mary McKillya informed me that I was now on a Holy Trinity Disciplinary Programme. 

Daily - at 4pm - I was to collect eggs from Leeton’s most productive chookyard which was in the grounds of the nearby Presbytery. 

After collecting the eggs in a big enamel bucket (provided as part of my programme) I was to cross the road, knock on the convent kitchen door and hand over the eggs to Sister Egg Contact.

*Suspecting there were adult concepts involved I dared not ask why nuns could not – in pairs, if need be - harvest their own eggs.

That afternoon, I told Gwennie her daughter was an Egg Runner. 

Without hestitation, in a threatening tone which I had never heard before, or since, she said:

I WANT SOME AND I’LL PAY.

And so it was that Egg Pimp Gwennie put a false bottom in the enamel bucket.  

For a while, I was happy. I collected the eggs. I hid four and I handed over the rest to Sister Egg Contact. Sometimes, Sister Egg Contact would give me rainbow cake and lemonade. And talk about how Sister Mary McKillya was pleased with my progress on the Trinity Discipline Programme:

She is turning into a fine Egg Collector and is earning trust…..

Thank you Sister Egg Contact……

…..All the while thinking: 

You dare come near that bucket, and I swear to God I won’t be able to guarantee your personal safety…..swear to God I WON’T!!!

Every Friday, Gwennie paid up.

But she was changing. And not in a nice way. She was high, drowning in the compliments she got about cakes made with the contraband Super Eggs.

I’d take a vow of celibacy if it meant all my eggs could be like that……..

And then one day:

I want more KJ, I WANT MORE!

Soon, I was reporting to Sister Egg Contact that I wasn’t masquerading as a vet BUT the chooks didn’t look at all well – in fact, half dead -  AND hardly any were laying.

By then, I had so much cash I was laundering it in Griffith - buying dozens and dozens of boob tubes which I knew I’d never get to wear.

Gwennie, who had been so loved for her modest nature, turned obnoxious. She spent her days pushing sponges:

Look at this,  will you please just take a look at THIS!!!

So, how did it all end?

If I don’t say so myself, very well thank you.

One day, Sister Egg Contact announced that the St Vincent de Paul society wanted to resume the chookyard site for charitable purposes. I was to be re-assigned to altar cleaning duties.

And Gwennie?

She went back to being nice.

But not before she’d made it very clear around town that she thought the nuns use of child labour, disgraceful.

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*So, there you have it – I’m out, out, OUT and proud of it. I hope Gwennie feels the same way – I really, really do…..

Have you ever lived (or ARE living ) a double life? Would love to know all about it. Anyone who tells you it can’t  sometimes be fun is really having themselves on, don’t you think?

Perhaps you have just have fond memories of a chookyard from long ago…..

And, as usual, the poetry, the prose and the peccadillos that ARE  the stanzas of your life (did I really write that?) are eagerly awaited…….

All posters take a deep breath…and 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 URL thingo.