Thursday, 15 May 2014
All week I've driving down the
Bruce Highway, away from , to a small town to do some temp work
there. The trip down is a beaut. Yes, the road is crap and there are lots of
cowboys on it, but the scenery is so Far North Cairns with sugar cane fields and banana
plantations on either side of the road competing with mountains like Walsh's
Pyramid (pictured) , Bartle Frere and Bellenden Kerr. As I was drove along thinking
about lots of things, singing along to a Tim McGraw CD at the top of my lungs and
thinking about living in a shack, surrounded by an odd assortment of farm
animals, growing vegetables and generally being the 'old ratbag woman who lives
over there in that shack.' Yeah, I'm looking forward to that. Queensland
Monday, 12 May 2014
Saturday, 10 May 2014
So, I've been fighting a long, drawn out, tense battle all to do with honouring another's actions and words. It's never occurred to me to give up. You don't give up on honour let alone the rights and beliefs of another. Because someone dies it doesn't mean their words and wishes die. Those words are as real and as important as on the day they were spoken and written down. That person depended on you to follow through and make sure their wishes were heard. They needed them to be understood. Simple as that. Giving up a fight because it's hard? No fucking way will I let someone down. Ever.
Someone said to me "Don't you wish it was happening to someone else?" My answer was no and I explained that no one else could handle this as well as I am. Yeah, I'm full of myself but my mother always told everyone her duck (me) was a swan - calm on the outside but bite your damn hand off if you pushed her. I know there are no limits to what I will do when it comes to loyalty. I don't understand disloyal people or those who think a man's words can be overturned through selfishness and bullying.
Disloyalty? You reap what you sow.
Saturday, 3 May 2014
So, Norbert died yesterday. I was pretty surprised to find him dead. I looked at Cheryl, Neville and Louise. They were looking down at him. Then they looked at me. I said, "What's the go?" They didn't respond. Budgies are like that. Inscrutable. Stoic. Closed mouthed.
Just now I went outside to bring in the dried laundry. Ursula, my beauty challenged chook, was staring at something on the grass. I wandered over and found a dead budgie. Another one. Hmmm. This was grey and not mine. I suspected this one was an escapee. I wandered over to the budgie cage and looked at my three remaining budgies. They were tight lipped but exchanging furtive glances as if they knew too much. Hmmm.
I disposed of the runaway as I did Norbert, a weird side plot in the current story I'm writing coming to mind. Will there be a third budgie death to intrigue over? Hmmm...
Tuesday, 29 April 2014
After unceremoniously being dumped by her boyfriend, Cass Kelly has had enough of men and the big city. She needs a change and a challenge. On a drunken whim, she accepts a job working in a small hotel in the outback town of Mundabucka. Men? Who needs .them? Sex? Never, ever again.
Local cowboy Evan Bates is not one to say never and makes it only too obvious why she needs men, sex and him specifically. The redheaded Cass is in his sights and he aims to get her. But lust isn’t the only thing stirring in town. It’s the annual Throcker Thrash where legendary gold is hunted and Cass is caught up in the race for it. Who wants it so badly they’ll kill for it?
Two hours later, standing at the local airport at Mundabucka with a suitcase in one hand and two cackling caged chooks in the other, Cass looked around her. Behind her was a rusted-in-parts, corrugated tin shack that served as arrival and departures for the overly optimistically named Mundabucka International Airport. In front of her was dry, red dirt as far as the eye could see. And the heat? Suffocating. Unlike Cairns it was a dry heat that sucked all the moisture out of a body. Cass felt the sweat dripping down between her breasts and clinging to the short floral sundress she was wearing.
She put both the suitcase and chooks on the ground and re-scraped her hair up into a haphazard bun on top of her head. “Frig, it’s hot.” Cass looked around her. Other than the squinty-eyed airport controller, who introduced himself as Phil, there was no one. She was supposed to be met by someone called Evan. Phil smiled when she told him this.
“Evan’s a creature of whim. He gets the call of the wild and takes off just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
Cass was impressed as not only was Phil missing two front teeth but also three fingers on his left hand and two on his right. He explained this as a ‘run-in with a pissed off wild pig.’
She looked down at the caged chickens. “Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a brilliant idea but it’s not my worst.” They cackled loudly. “Oh, shut up. I know what I’m doing—kinda.” Cass muttered under her breath and looked around her once more. There was loads of nothing for miles. “Where the hell is he?”
“Who?” came a voice from behind her.
Cass spun around in surprise. “Where did you come from?” She asked as she surveyed the tall, lanky man with broad shoulders that most men would kill for. She looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen and saw only amusement. Men. Amusement. Not happening.
“You’d be the city chick here to work at McNally’s Hotel.”
City chick? “I’m Cass Kelly and undoubtedly you’d be the creature of whim, Phil was telling me about.”
The dark haired man smiled. “That’d be me.” Evan Bates at your service.” He looked down at the caged chooks. “You brought chooks.” That made his smile wider.
Cass picked up the cage. “You’re quick.”
Evan scratched his head. “You know, when Jo and Flo said you were bringing them I thought the old girls had lost their minds.”
“Do you have a problem with chickens?” They were her pets. She couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves when she went bush. They were like family. Sort of.
He shrugged. “Nope. We like chickens here—preferably deep fried.”
“You fry my chickens and I will fry your ass.”
Evan arched one eyebrow. “That could be fun.” His gaze then traveled down her body, lingering on her breasts, before moving down to her thong clad feet and back up to her eyes. “What’re their names?”
“How do you know I named them?” She had but that wasn’t the point. Do I look that obvious?
“You brought them all the way to the middle of nowhere. They have to be important to you.”
The chooks were quiet as they watched him. Cass squared her shoulders. “Mitzi and Bert.”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“Bert is a boy’s name. This chook is a female,” he pointed out as he reached for her bag.
“So?” Cass knew her tone was defensive but she wasn’t in the mood to deal with a smart ass man.
Still smiling at her, he responded, “Nothing. So, one bag only?”
“I travel light.” She had left everything she owned at Lorelle’s place. Not that ‘everything’ was much. It was an old television, a purple cane chair, a sofa bed and an oversized panda she won at the Cairns show when she was twelve and was reluctant to get rid of.
“Most women travel with all sorts of crap.”
“I’m not most women.”
Again, he looked her up and down. “Nope, you’re different all right.”
She wanted to ask what he meant by that but decided against it. She had a feeling the answer would be complicated and right now she needed easy and simple. “How far’s McNally’s?”
“It’s in the middle of town so that’d make it about five kilometers from here.”
“Great. Let’s go.” She desperately wanted a shower. “Where’s your car?”
“Yeah, I rode here.”
“Well, how am I supposed to get to McNally’s?”
“On the back of my horse.”
What the? She hadn’t ridden a horse in her life and wasn’t about to now. “What about my stuff?”
“Phil will drive over later with it.”
Cass placed the chicken cage on the ground. “Fine, I’ll go into town with Phil.”
“No worries. He goes off shift in six hours.”
Her eyes widened at that. “Six hours?”
“Yep, he’s stationed here in case of emergencies.”
Cass looked around at the vast expanse of nothingness. “Like what? Aliens landing?”
Monday, 28 April 2014
So, I was talking to a very good and wise friend about various things, as we do, and the subject came up about underwear and the three minute rule. What? You don’t know what the three minute rule is? To be honest, I didn’t know about it either. We were talking about underwear and how you may notice it on someone and wonder how comfortable it is or isn’t but essentially after three minutes it’s no longer an interesting topic and underwear is just underwear. It is probably even more so a three minute deal when you live with someone all the time and what’s covering a derriere is same old same old so a three minute look sums up the interest level.
I dunno. I think I want more when it comes to underwear consideration time when it comes to important to look at underwear be they on significant others or sexy men. I don’t want to be restricted to a glance or a seen-it-all-before-look. I believe when it comes to the perusal of underwear there should be no rules. Just my thoughts as someone who constantly wanders around the house in my underwear for longer than three minutes. I couldn't live with someone who was timing me and my underwear.
Say no to rules.
Say no to rules.
Saturday, 26 April 2014
So, I've been thinking about the name for a female nemesis. I've also been dealing with this situation. Writing versus life. Then the name of the nemesis was given to me by something happening in my life. I'm calling her Temerity Cann©. Why? Because someone in real life is pissed that women can be strong and bold enough to fight against dickheads.
So, thanks so much for shoving the word 'temerity' in my face. You know how much you mean to me.