Once, in an important work meeting with the senior execs, I opened my notepad and was confronted by a huge, black cockroach that had taken up residence between the pages of my notepad. We all saw it waving its monstrous antennae as it contemplated its next move. I made a hasty exit from the meeting, at which point the cockroach made its own dash for freedom. There may have been screaming. Did the bigwigs help with the dispatch? What do you think? I love my life.
Eyes agog. Cockroach! One extra makes a quorum. Best meeting ever.
True story, one which is best told on a weekend when nobody is reading.
I have never regretted being a pesticide-free household.
An image flickers like an old home movie across the screen.
A young girl stands by an open fridge door drinking thirstily from a large bottle of Passiona. A woman, her mother, appears in the background and chastises her daughter for drinking too much soft drink.Too much Passiona. Always Passiona.
"Drink water," the child's mother says.But the child doesn't stop.
Images flicker alternately between the child vomiting violently, and drinking from the bottle of Passiona, before vomiting again. The child becomes thinner and thinner.
Images of the wasting child flicker faster until she is nothing but a wisp of fetid Passiona air, translucent and ephemeral as she drifts in and out of consciousness.
When I was a small girl, I lived on a rural property on the outskirts of Sydney. Every week, the soft drink man would deliver a crate of syrupy, carbonated drinks to the property. They were supposed to be a treat, but I couldn’t get enough of them. My favourite was a passionfruit-flavoured fizzy called Passiona. In the 50 years since I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, I have always craved carbonated fizzy drinks on those rare occasions when my blood glucose levels have been seriously high. It is worth noting that I became a Type 1 diabetic in the months after I recovered from a serious bout of the measles. Isn’t it fortunate that there are now vaccines to protect against many serious viruses that can trigger our immune systems to go into hyper drive and attack our own bodies?
The (optional) task for Day 14 of National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) is to write a poem/piece that takes the form of the opening scene of the movie of your life.
In Australia, there are whispers of a murderous cabal of people-eating koalas. Known colloquially as “drop bears”, their location is known only to Aussies, who avoid them for dear life. The modus operandi of the drop bear is to drop down from the trees onto unsuspecting visitors. That’s when things get gruesome. But times are a-changing, ladies and gentlemen. Survival of our respective species, of the planet, means we will all need to reduce our meat consumption. Let’s see how that goes. Gather round.
Blood red eyes, dagger claws, give lie to that sweet furry body and button nose. “To our sacrifice and to yours!” The leader of the Drop Bears includes the captive in her hypnotic gaze. Then, in a booming bark, she projects to the crowd, “One last time. For tomorrow we turn vegan.” The crowd blanches, then tentatively at first, begins to chant,“Flu-ffy. Flu-ffy.” “But tonight. Tonight, Sisters. Tonight, Brothers. Tonight, there will be feasting on more meaty prey.” “Flu-ffy. Flu-ffy.” Silence falls – or maybe drops – as the throng gathers to feast. Finally, a shout rings out. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow, we dine on the Infidel.” The crowd roars. “Flu-ffy. Flu-ffy.”
A Vegetable’s Nightmare The silence ripples. Beyond the shadows, beyond the adulation, in gardens across the country, the infidels quiver in their beds.
If you are a visitor to Australia and plan on visiting koala habitat, best do that during the day. Koalas and their kin, the drop bears, are nocturnal and feed at night. There’s no telling if the drop bears will honour their resolution.
Day 5 of the NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a poem about a mythical person or creature (drop bears are more secretive than mythical) doing something unusual – or at least something that seems unusual in relation to that person/creature. I made a slight deviation from the brief, but near enough is good enough.
Stay safe, everyone. Kind Regards. Tracy.
PS. I had rather too much fun setting up the photos. I’ve had the koala toy since I was a baby.
There has been many a twist and turn, and a few curve balls thrown at us over the last few weeks.
My mother and step-father visited from up north, skirting the floods that have left thousands homeless on the east coast of Australia. It has been over two years since I had my hair cut. My mother plaited it for me. The plait was a bit wonky, so perfect for me.
I have three dogs – Makea Fluffy Bear, Ama Mouse and Fynnie Puss. Makea is a Finnish Lapphund, Ama and Fynn are Finnish Spitz. The Finnish Lapphund was originally bred to herd reindeer and to guard the family, while the Finnish Spitz’s role was to hunt small game like grouse and squirrels. Each dog barks a lot but usually for different reasons, so between them they have all bases covered. Much of our evening is spent barking at the possums that walk the telecommunications cable or at rodents that may or may not be frequenting their domain.
The year that my sister, brother and I had our last Christmas together with our father, was probably the same year that my father bought a jet ski and a schmick new wetsuit to affirm his mid-life experiment. In keeping with the new purchases, he also rented a holiday house at the south coast over the Christmas/New Year holiday period. It was our first ever trip to, and holiday at, the south coast. Summer holidays at the coast are a Canberra tradition that was normally beyond our means. My father also paid for my brother and sister to fly down from Queensland for the festivities, the offer to pay the airfares alone being insufficient to bribe them to make the trip south.
Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day and general ramble, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.
My anxiety levels have been up this week. I haven’t been all that well so I’ve been fussing about getting old and needing another toilet in the house. We have only one toilet and when you have only one house toilet and you live with a house full of people, there’s often a clash of needs. The cost of housing has skyrocketed in Australia. It is now well beyond the reach of first-home buyers, unless, of course, mum and dad can help out. The cost of rent is also astronomical. Canberra (Australia) rents are the highest of any Australian capital city, and that’s saying something. So, the grown-up children will probably be living at home for a while longer.
Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.
Unfortunately, I’ve had a really shit week. I accidentally got my Covid booster shot during the week. I had a doctor’s appointment late one afternoon and they had vaccine doses left over so they offered me one and I accepted. Gee, the fizzer shot raises your blood glucose level, doesn’t it? My BG has been all over the shop. The day after my shot, I was high all day so I decided to walk that blood sugar down. I felt really good when I started out. That should have been a warning sign. With the pump cannula in my leg (I know, stupid), the intramuscular insulin and exercise slammed me down pretty fast. I started to stagger when I reached my street on my way home. I don’t know why I didn’t stop to drink my Lucozade when I felt the hypo symptoms. Too far gone and too stupid, I guess. But I only had a few hundred metres to go, so I pushed on. I made it to our bin when my legs started to collapse under me. I then somehow made it to the front steps. I don’t know how long I was outside, clutching on to the railing, but by the time I was discovered, I was covered in mosquito bites. I remember whispering, “Help me. Help me.” Very pathetic. My True Love has a sixth sense about these things and he found me on the stairs.