Curiosity
Without Prejudice
I am always curious, wondering what makes things so and why not this way? And for a writer the best thing you can have is a curiosity about people. They are the most fascinating subject, ever.
I love to go to other places (apart from my fear of flying) and see how the other half live. Bali was an eye opener, so was England. And it's amazing how you can adapt if you have to.
I like the UK, it's so different and more social than here,
you can walk up the street in Wakefield and people greet you,
"Ey up love"
Thats just a greeting, and they think you are exotic with an Aussie accent.
And I love the shopping and the sheer history of the place, it's always warm where ever you go and to be with down to earth Yorkshire folk is a delight.
I miss that Auntie Pat is not there, a larger than life, Auntie Mame. who taught me to make proper onion gravy. A bad wicked woman that led me astray many a time and made me laugh like no other. Once having a curry with her "up town" and she wet her knickers literally from laughing about something I said. She was irreverent and funny and had a big soft heart and I loved her unconditionally. Always so good to me and
Auntie Betty, little pet. She glows with love and down to earth practical advice. I loved the way she would stuff B full of food, (he ended up looking like a Bhudda when we returned from the UK.)
I had to untie his shoes and heave him up on the bed after one particular meal, him lying down and he was groaning,
"I think I have done damage to my stomach"
But we just laughed and fell asleep for about 3 hours. Zobked, stuffed full like Dresden Geese.
Auntie Bet was very much a dutiful wife and happily married for 50 years but she told me of a dark rebellion she had one day,
She worked full time as a head cook at a School canteen and the school dinners over there are hot meals type. So she ran that with an iron fist, probably doling out extra to poor kids.
And she would go home exhausted, not driving, always public transport, and she had to put in paperwork once a week "up Town" on a Sunday night.
So it was Sunday tea time and she had turned the kitchen upside down all day with washing, and Uncle Ernest sitting in the armchair, called out.
"Where's ma tea woman "
And she was buttering bread at the time, and he ended up wearing it. She almost laughed then, as she was telling me, him little buddha sitting there, not moving, covered in slices of bread and butter.
And she had grabbed her handbag and walked he five miles to "Uptown" and back, and he never spoke a word to her,
He was a lovely man, Uncle Ernest, simple and uncomplicated, lazy and indulged. He used to pinch a twig a day from the hedge, so he never had to cut it. Guess that's pretty smart.
But she Betty has outlived him now by 20 years and now she is herself, impish, the last surving sibling of my Mum's family. My family bring her out regularly, to Australia and she turns 90 this year and looks fantastic.
Strong as she ever was and learning more tact as she gets older. When she was younger she would give it to you with both barrels and when it came to me, no doubt she was right.
My Mum was like that, caring, but cross her and OMG, the she devil came out and she was vicious. I was always apologising to her and I would say,
"I'm trying!!!!!!"
And she would just answer,
"Yes, very"
I resented my Mum a lot when I was a teenager, she always was angry and frustrated, not enough money, ever. And for some reason she only ever took on menial jobs, that were way beneath her, carpet weaving, shoe factory, she'd been in the RAAF as a Traffic Controller, she could have easily gone back to Office Work.
But She probably always knew there was something wrong with her and with the shocking things she had been through in the war, who knows, what went on inside her brain.
Love Janette
I am always curious, wondering what makes things so and why not this way? And for a writer the best thing you can have is a curiosity about people. They are the most fascinating subject, ever.
I love to go to other places (apart from my fear of flying) and see how the other half live. Bali was an eye opener, so was England. And it's amazing how you can adapt if you have to.
I like the UK, it's so different and more social than here,
you can walk up the street in Wakefield and people greet you,
"Ey up love"
Thats just a greeting, and they think you are exotic with an Aussie accent.
And I love the shopping and the sheer history of the place, it's always warm where ever you go and to be with down to earth Yorkshire folk is a delight.
I miss that Auntie Pat is not there, a larger than life, Auntie Mame. who taught me to make proper onion gravy. A bad wicked woman that led me astray many a time and made me laugh like no other. Once having a curry with her "up town" and she wet her knickers literally from laughing about something I said. She was irreverent and funny and had a big soft heart and I loved her unconditionally. Always so good to me and
Auntie Betty, little pet. She glows with love and down to earth practical advice. I loved the way she would stuff B full of food, (he ended up looking like a Bhudda when we returned from the UK.)
I had to untie his shoes and heave him up on the bed after one particular meal, him lying down and he was groaning,
"I think I have done damage to my stomach"
But we just laughed and fell asleep for about 3 hours. Zobked, stuffed full like Dresden Geese.
Auntie Bet was very much a dutiful wife and happily married for 50 years but she told me of a dark rebellion she had one day,
She worked full time as a head cook at a School canteen and the school dinners over there are hot meals type. So she ran that with an iron fist, probably doling out extra to poor kids.
And she would go home exhausted, not driving, always public transport, and she had to put in paperwork once a week "up Town" on a Sunday night.
So it was Sunday tea time and she had turned the kitchen upside down all day with washing, and Uncle Ernest sitting in the armchair, called out.
"Where's ma tea woman "
And she was buttering bread at the time, and he ended up wearing it. She almost laughed then, as she was telling me, him little buddha sitting there, not moving, covered in slices of bread and butter.
And she had grabbed her handbag and walked he five miles to "Uptown" and back, and he never spoke a word to her,
He was a lovely man, Uncle Ernest, simple and uncomplicated, lazy and indulged. He used to pinch a twig a day from the hedge, so he never had to cut it. Guess that's pretty smart.
But she Betty has outlived him now by 20 years and now she is herself, impish, the last surving sibling of my Mum's family. My family bring her out regularly, to Australia and she turns 90 this year and looks fantastic.
Strong as she ever was and learning more tact as she gets older. When she was younger she would give it to you with both barrels and when it came to me, no doubt she was right.
My Mum was like that, caring, but cross her and OMG, the she devil came out and she was vicious. I was always apologising to her and I would say,
"I'm trying!!!!!!"
And she would just answer,
"Yes, very"
I resented my Mum a lot when I was a teenager, she always was angry and frustrated, not enough money, ever. And for some reason she only ever took on menial jobs, that were way beneath her, carpet weaving, shoe factory, she'd been in the RAAF as a Traffic Controller, she could have easily gone back to Office Work.
But She probably always knew there was something wrong with her and with the shocking things she had been through in the war, who knows, what went on inside her brain.
Love Janette
