MY LITTLE GROWING STORY Update 25/5/2014

MY LITTLE GROWING STORY

This is a story about a shallow girl.

(Ctrl - End) will take you to the last post.

The story is planned to grow when I have time. There is no plan, no synopsis and no first and second draft. Please excuse the hasty ideas, formatting and the odd spelling error that springs to life as I write. Please don’t look for any bristling intellect or insights because you are bound to be disappointed. There are none. It is pure fiction, even a little bit trashy.

By Frances Harris

Before we start I’d like you to know I have the Australian flag at the head of my bed and a kangaroo and a koala on my bedside table. In case you don’t know, a lot of people think the koala is a bear, but it’s not, it’s just a koala. I can't understand why other patriotic Australians can't do this. 

Thirty isn’t too old do you think? I’ve been out of the dating game for perhaps two years, or so? Oh! Please let me introduce myself. Hi! I’m ‘Raina,’ the girl who doesn’t fit in,’ and never has done. At least we’ve got that settled before we start. I can’t work out why it all turned out that way, but it just did? You might think this is a strange way to put it, but I don’t know any other way to explain it to you really. Even when I was a kid at school, I was always the one on the outside of the huddle, trying to figure out how to get in. By the time I’d figured it out, all the kids were gone to lunch in the shelter shed. My vice is chocolate. I eat lots of chocolate just like the freckles all over my forehead, high on my cheeks and all over my nose. I suppose if anyone tried to describe me, they would say I am shallow, but I try to make up for that with my almost perfect mousy hair that I dye deep brown and individual style of makeup, I think you would call bright. I like bright red lips, just because I do, there is no real reason for it. I’m not that deep. And I suppose then, you could describe me as being an individual, because I can’t think of a better word for it. Even when I go to bed, I like to have my face and makeup looking perfect.  Bad luck there isn’t anyone else around to see it. - Well I think I’m about to change all that!

I sprung from a normal suburban family, with a mother, a father and a rigid thinking grandmother, who when she stood up to her full grown height, was all of four foot eleven inches tall. Oh, many a man has underestimated ‘Jenna,’ thinking those fluffy little lace collars she wore around her neck and made them all by herself and those rosy little pink cheeks meant she was a pushover.  Oh no! I still remember her at the football when I was a lanky long legged kid alongside of her, when she was beating the daylights out of the newest umpire at the local football club when she didn’t agree with his decisions. She gave me a little umbrella too, but I never got what she wanted me to do with it. The regulars all knew her. Those smart umpires would say g’day to her and flash a toothy grin her way before the whistle blew for the match. Then they knew they could get away with anything, They made Jenna feel like she was the Queen of England. She even waved like the queen.

I have one sister Bella, then there were three brothers, called Alpha, Beeta and Deltar, all of them named when my dad was doing Greek lessons. Delta went for a walk one day and never came back, so I suppose now I only have two brothers.  We never really sent out a search party to find him. We just thought he walked off out  into the sunset and became a famous sea captain or a movie star who will one day show up again on the big screen in front of us.

(Update 6/5/1014)

I need to think about how to hold on to a man once I bag him.  It sounds easy, but I don’t need to change me, I like the way I am. I’ll just have to change him. Usually I can get a man easy, it’s like fishing. You hold on to the good ones and throw the little ones back. But holding on to the big ones is not so easy I found. Maybe I should be more forceful and set a trap. Since the last five men got away I’ll have to think about it a bit more. It doesn’t sound right to lock him up, but I wonder what I’m allowed. I still don’t get why everything goes bad for me each time, because I look good and smell good and I’m usually easy to get on with after he brings me my morning coffee.  Maybe I should be more resourceful, more cunning like a fox.

I can cook a great sponge cake, with pink and blue frosting, and teeny weeny little white birds on top. He won’t appreciate It took me twenty seven tries to get that cake right. I also do a good macaroni cheese. I’m the full package and ready for action. I plan to share my wide screen television with the next one every second night, after he makes dinner and does the washing and puts the rubbish out, before we make it official. And he must have a good car. That’s my bottom line. Oh, and he must accept that my cat whoozy can sleep on our bed whenever he likes. Oh, and I keep the sand box under the bed so he doesn’t have to walk far. The cat has that name because he has one eye, picked out by a magpie that makes him fall down a lot.                                                                                                                               

The story of my man catching exploits never ends up the way I planned. I wish my tall grandma Molly was here to give me good advice. She was a babe in her time: she was my dad’s mum. I found the hot photos in my dad’s garage when I was fishing around in boxes looking for my dolls. I wonder if grandpa knew she had another life. She always had something wise to say to us kids when she was around.

I suppose the worst, and first man in my life was Mike the biker, who taught me a lot, some of it good it not so good, and most of. I will always remember how he taught me to stuff a full hamburger in my mouth and eat it in three gulps. When I first saw him sitting on that big, roaring black Harley Davidson, my heart fluttered. My imagination drifted to the romantic possibilities of life out on the open road.

In the beginning I could see my life panning out perfectly with him. He had a few imperfections, but that didn’t matter to me. We were poor but honest people. Well at least I was, I found out later. Yes, I could imagine the wind flying through my hair, my red scarf fluttering behind me and my arms clamped tightly around this massive, muscly mountain of a man with us both roaring away to anywhere. My heart was bursting with adventure. I met him one Monday and he was the love of my life till about Tuesday the next week, when I realized something was not right.

I met him outside a biker bar in the next town of Balybaloopna, a fairly innocent place I thought, smelling of beer and I remember a trace of badly cleaned up blood on the cement door step out the front. Not a good look, I thought, but I was prepared to overlook anything for this new man of mine. Early in the relationship he stared becoming secretive, making stop offs at every town. He had a lot of friends, all named Jim. They seemed to love him. Strange how they were always waiting for him when he rode into town, and when I waved my scarf in the air and squealed ‘woo-hoo!’ he got mad and told me to shut up. I put it all down to a tiny misunderstanding. He was really a nice man, and I was prepared to give him some space.

Then it was when we were hustled to the police station in cuffs I thought - this is strange, the cops have made a terrible mistake. When I found out Mike was really Nickolas, and he wasn’t from Balybaloopna like he said, the alarm bells started to go off in my head. So after the court hearing, I said goodbye to Mike; Nick the biker, or whoever he was minus my money, my dignity and my virginity.

I went up the coast for a while to collect my thoughts and get my balance. What I got out of that experience was to never again hook up with a man with a motor bike, the next one must have a car.

(Update 8/5/1014)

So now I say to myself: Raina, you’ve made some mistakes in your life and you have to forgive yourself. You still have time to find a man to settle down with before your ovaries are shot. I love kids, and have my heart set on three, with our own home: I want none of this renting business. Yeah, it has to have four bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a place to let our hair down with a few friends. And hubby will have a corner all to himself. There has to be a ‘wood barby,’ in the back yard and. Hmm…. I can smell the chops and sausages sizzling right now.

I can visualise the nursery and all of its little doo-dads. Mauve walls, a white ceiling, a clickety-clack mobile hanging above the polished wooden crib. I should be able to pick one up for a song at an antique shop. Black and white tiles in the family room and….. I’d better do a budget to make sure we can afford it. Now to find some writing paper and a pen with some ink in it. Column 1 – I have to find a man on at least fifty thousand dollars to cover everything. Column 2 – he must agree to do half the housework. Column 4 – He must have a mother who is willing to mind the kids three days a week. Done! Now for the easy part, I have to find a man.

So where can I find a man on fifty thousand dollars……or even sixty. Now I must be very smart about this. Perhaps an inner city coffee shop, or in a big bank…, or join a fishing club. I’ve got it!  All that fishing gear costs a bundle. Those men have to be loaded before they get in the front door of a lodge. Column 5 - I’ll have to buy some sexy outfits and winter shoes, for cold days. Ohhh! This seems so exciting. I can imagine two bodies entwined on a comfy sofa, in front of a huge crackling fire in the outback of Tasmania. And, best of all, a huge sparkling rock on the third finger of my right hand. Column 6 – First I have to ask him what kind of car he drives.

(Update 9/5/1014)

Hi! I’m ‘Raina,’ the girl who doesn’t fit in,’ I say to myself sarcastically as I search my face for pimples. ‘Who would want me?’ Temporarily my mind flips, when I think about my florid past, but I have to pull myself together and take my time. That was yesterday, now this is today,’ I remind myself while fixing my dress. ‘I’m too hasty, that’s the trouble.’ I take a deep breath, stand tall and march confidently from the restroom. I look at my date hunched over in the corner and I panic while searching nervously for the nearest exit door. ‘Oh no, he’s looking my way. How do I get out of this?’ He flashes a lustful smile my way. I re-panic, and wipe rising droplets from my forehead. The thought of going back to his place after dinner makes me want to puke. ‘Hello darling,’ a voice screeches from the crowded bar. I look over and see a raven haired flamenco dancer in a flowing red dress ogling my date.

Conchita! He responds with both arms outstretched. ‘Hang on a minute,’ I think. He might be plain, ordinary, boring and have no personality whatsoever, but he’s my date!’ I think indignantly. Who is she, anyhow?’ The woman darts across the room, nearly stumbling over a mat in her black dancing shoes. I follow too, hoping to head her off. She falls into the arms of Charles, my date and they giggle and stroke each other in a very familiar way. “Please no butt stroking, please not that. Oh they are butt stroking, I don’t know what to do now?’ A billow of tears and runs down my face, and I don’t have a tissue on me. ‘Should I wipe it with my sleeve, or what can I do? A strong arm plants a clean handkerchief right in front of my face and I spin around. ‘My name is Constantine, and I am ringmaster at the circus on the other side of town.’ He says smoothly. ‘Would you like to see my caravan on the way home?’ He looks so kind and generous when I search his acutely masculine face for clues. ‘Are those diamond studs in his ears?’ I think. ‘I would love to,’ I answer.

We lock arms and together we stride confidently outside the huge double doors. ‘This is so romantic; I think I have found my true knight in shining armour.’

(Update 12/5/1014)

The story about Constantine and me starts and finishes almost word for word like all the others. It's a great story that comes to a sticky end. The only bright side of this is it could have been worse, or could it? What have I missed from all this? So why do I always overlook the obvious? All my friends are sort of happily married and statistically have their 2.5 children like the census says.I want that too! So why don't I get it? Come on brain work it out!

Maybe I was a bit hasty this last time. Now I think about it; the new plan was to take my time in this relationship. Constantine took it slowly with me for the first week. He listened to me and I was impressed, but…., there’s always that little b.., word that gets in the way of success. I didn’t sleep with him on the first date, not this time. I learned that, now I deserve respect. I didn’t think about it with the others either and I think that could be where I made my mistakes.

It was all going so well with Constantine, until he opened the bottle of pink champagne and gave me the expensive gold bracelet with the teeny weeny little gemstones on it that were arranged to say ‘I love you.’ I was so happy, he was my one true hero and well, you know, it happened, again, and again and again. To think about it, that was the only time he gave me anything. I was carried away for a while, but then I started to notice things. Would you believe he had so much hair, - everywhere. There wasn’t a place it was missing, except on his face, and not even down there. I saw some photos of his family and they are all hairy, even his sisters. I figured it went back seven generations.

He told me he owned the company but was always saying; have you got a fifty honey, or a twenty? I forgot to bring my wallet. I got so used to him saying it; I used to mouth the words with him. When we were outside in his car looking over a precipice at acres of pine trees under the moon, and a flock of fruit bats would fly past, he would tell me about the places he had visited all over the world with the circus. He used to promise, just as soon as work drops off he would take me to Paris. I was so excited, and even started to pack my bags. I only wondered who would look after my pet snake Sara, this time. And would she get the right food while we are away? She has to have fresh rats, not frozen. It’s a lot to worry about since Fiona let her out of her cage last time.

You should have seen the inside of his caravan, feather down coverall with a snarling tiger on acres of bed. There are four big mirrors on the walls and a video recorder in each corner. I was overwhelmed. Too bad he wanted the bracelet back after we broke up. Said I was a selfish bitch when I wanted to keep it. When I asked for my money back, he said he would mail it to me. I could hardly pay my rent by the time we were finished. How could he be so cruel? I get the results of the pregnancy test next Wednesday.

The biggest fright I got was when I saw compromising pictures of me in the buff on Facebook about a week or two after the circus moved on.  I wanted to just melt into a flat blob and slither away into the garden.

So what did I learn from this relationship? I suppose, - always look around for the cameras first. 

(Update 13/5/1014)

Several months went by, and as Raina worked her way around every club and bar in town, she started to feel that something was missing in her life. She began to imagine another life, better than this. She decided to chase after a healthy more fulfilling place, where there would be adventure, fun and she would find her road to maturity. So she bought a one way bus ticket to anywhere. Her final destination finished in a logging camp in the high misty mountains of far off New South Wales.

I can’t imagine where my future will flow, Raina mused. I think and I hope and I wonder; what will become of me? I decide to pull my chair closer to the fire. I haven’t seen my mother in a while. Come to think of it, haven’t seen her for more than quite a while. I wonder what she thought when she gave birth to me. Did she look into my little blue eyes and think; ‘not another mouth to feed?’ Or did she want me to grow up just like her? Did she look forward to me; or suspect she had a little tear-away in her arms, a girl who would climb trees, scale fences and play cricket with the boys? Was I a disappointment? Did she change her mind when she saw I don’t like ribbons and lace, and piles of curls? I suppose so, but I don’t know. I’ll never know.

I can’t spend much time on wondering now, I have a life to live. It’s up to me to make my own future, because no one else will do it for me.  Trouble is, every time I feel secure with someone, I get edgy and expect disaster. I’m good at disaster. It’s the story of my love life. If I stir this soup any more I think the spoon will stand up in the pot by itself. I love the smell or ox tail and bubbling vegetables, with that slight waft of onion in the cool night air. ‘How romantic this is!’ Just one more log on the fire and I can turn in for the night. ‘What’s that scratching sound in those dark trees, is it a dingo?’ I hope Jack gets here soon,’ she squeaks.

Raina fluffed up her sleeping bag and piled soft leaves under it and stowed away the axe in the tent. After looking around, she sat on a tinder dry log, her hands tucked under her chin, lost in the glow of the flickering fire. ‘Jack! The food’s ready!’ She called, her eyes turning to the sagging tartan sleeping bag next to hers. She had a deep sense of excitement and dread; what am I doing? She thought. What am I getting myself into? The sleeping arrangements were of little comfort to her, but she was not alone, which was the one thing she feared most of all.

I scooped some of the hot brew into a metal bowl; waving my hand over the top trying to cool it. Then I poured another bowl and put it on some flat stones on the ground. I lifted up a spoon to my mouth and the exquisite tingling of delicious food altered my strained feelings and I could feel my whole body relax in the moment. A stray lock of my hair made its way into the bowl of soup and I lifted it out with a shake. Then suddenly felt the need to sit upright and said: ‘what if he’s married?’ Meanwhile, I felt the soft tickle of a beard brush against my face and tingle of a gentle kiss placed on my cheek. – I was his.

(Update 24/5/2014)

I heard what you said,' he whispered. Then he placed his hands on either side of my cheeks. 'Look into these eyes, do you trust me?' he asked. I looked into Jack's big brown eyes, and saw no hint of deceit, but then..., no, I don't think I can see the face of a liar. But what does a liar look like? I don't know. - There are liars, and there are liars... how do I know? If I say 'no,' then we can't go on together. If I say yes, it's hard to find a back door in this relationship to exit gracefully. I smiled slightly, then reached down and carefully handed him the soup. 'Drink it while it's hot. I made it myself.' Jack did not say another word all night. He glared into the smoldering embers of the fire, his brow furrowed, until there were small twinkling pieces of charcoal left in the middle. I felt annoyed Jack didn't say anything nice to me about her soup. - But then I felt so guilty too. I was confused.

But why should I feel guilty? The nerve of the man asking me a question like that when we are in the early days of this relationship. Raina finished the dishes and slunk into her sleeping bag and smoldered, just like the embers in the fireplace. She promised herself she would take her time in this relationship, because she has a track record of stupid that goes back years. If he thinks he knows her she thinks: he should give her space. So why am I feeling under pressure; I made the food, I did the dishes, I paid for the food. So what did he do? - Nothing!... not a good start; is it? 

Next morning Raina pulled herself together and decided she was a bit too harsh on Jack last night. He's had a hard life. What, with his sick mother in Malta, his boy with polio and the debts his ex-wife left him....poor Jack. Maybe he will love a hot coffee waiting for him when he wakes up.

I started to get back the spring in my step and went about straightening up the camp site. Then I decided to forget about everything that happened last night and pretend it never happened. But when Jack woke up, he ignored me for at least half an hour. I was confused. In fact I was so surprised when he threw on his heavy tartan jacket, slipping his left arm into the sleeve as he walked up the track. I followed him, forgetting about my coat, and felt the bitter cold wind on my arms. I realized I should have known better, but he was much more important to me than that. When I caught up with him, Jack was standing staring over a cliff, looking far off into the distance. His eyes were dazed and he seemed occupied and seemed not to notice me. 'I'm sorry Jack,' I plead. 'I do trust you!'

With those words Jack lowered his head and seemed to relax, but didn't say anything. He mumbled something passionately in Maltese, and then strode back towards the camp. Raina tried to catch up, while thinking of ways to appease him. 'What can I do to make it up to you,' she begs. 

I was thinking to myself, 'wow, he's sensitive, a hard nut to crack.' He turned to me angrily and asked for twenty dollars. I wasn't sure I had twenty dollars; Raina had spent nearly everything on dinner. 'There's a cash machine in the next town.' What?' I think, 'he wants me get him twenty dollars? How do I get to the next town?' 'Go to the road and hitch a ride,' he urged. 'I need twenty dollars now!' By then I was very confused. 'What do you need twenty dollars for?' I ask nicely. He didn't answer. The prospect of being single again flashed before my eyes. I turned and trudged towards the road, looking for a stray vehicle to give me a lift.

(Update 25/5/2014)

It was cold out there on the mountain road. As Raina looked far off into the tree covered mountains, all she saw were endless roads snaking around countless mountains; and not a car, truck or bus in sight. She crossed her aching arms across her chest and slapped her shoulders trying to keep warm. Steady puffs of steam billowed from her mouth and nose with each breath. 

I wonder what jack is doing right now? She thinks. I hope he's warm. Little did she know Jack was packing up his kit getting ready to move on to another secluded place to live. Thinking he might be recognized, Jack knew he had little time to get away. He hurriedly stuffed his things, including the tent into two canvas back packs, putting one on his back and the other he slung over his shoulder. Steadily he walked up another track; different to the one where Raina had walked and was patiently waiting for a lift further up. Jack caught sight of a huge yellow rig coming his way so he flagged it down. The driver was a friendly man, in his forties, with long greying hair sticking out from under a cap. He had a huge rippling stomach, like someone who depends often on fast food, and it seemed to shape perfectly around his seat. Jack flashed a nervous smile at the driver then scrambled aboard. 'You look tired man; haven't I seen you somewhere before? With no sign of an answer, the driver shrugged his shoulders and drove on. ‘You can climb into the sleeping compartment and take a nap if you like.' Jack said nothing more. He was thankful he was on the move again and gladly took up the offer. He pulled the black curtains shut then dozed off. 

The rig went on for a while, before slowing to take on another passenger at the next bend. Jack was vaguely aware of the squealing brakes, but still in a daze, returned to his peaceful slumber. The woman's voice was soft and he was not interested enough to listen to their broken conversation over the humming sound of the engine. That woman was Raina. The driver said his name was Chester, originally from California who migrated here because he wanted to see more of his ex-wife. 'Turned out to be a bad move,' he said, with the expected tone of disappointment in his voice. 'I haven't had much luck with men either,' the woman said wistfully. 'I seem to be jinxed.' Yeah, you and me both,' Chester says with a laugh.

‘Where’s the next town,’ the Raina asks. ‘I have to get off there to get some money.’ The driver turns his head her way with some curiosity, until he realizes he needs to keep his eyes on the road. ‘There are no towns in at least….three hundred miles!’ Raina’s eyes fling open and she raises herself in her seat: ‘You’re kidding me, aren’t you? Please say you’re kidding me!’ Chester concentrates on the road and after a pause says: ’nope, ‘I’m not kidding you!’ Raina seems perplexed. She looks behind at the road they’ve just travelled. Her voice raises at least two pitches. Jack! She screeches; ‘what about Jack? He’ll be out there all alone, he won’t cope.’ Behind the curtain the sleeping traveller is awakened by the sound of his name. He recoils into the sheets behind the curtains; he thinks his worst nightmare is about to unfold in front of him.

All kinds of scenarios race through Raina’s mind. ‘Poor Jack, I’ve only just met him and I let him down badly. What will he think happened to me? How can I explain my actions?’ She feverishly runs her hands through her hair. ’What’s that in my hands? It’s my hair! My hair is coming out!’ Chester ignores her protests and watches the road. ‘Maybe you are well rid of him,’ he suggests. ‘Oh no, he is different.’ Another pause and the driver asks: ’are you sure?’ Raina sticks to her story, until Chester asks the next question. ‘So why did he send you out to get money when he knew you couldn’t go anywhere?’

I felt my brain explode. Jack, my beautiful Jack, there must be an explanation. So, why did you send me up to the road, when there was nowhere for me to go? Were you trying to brush me off? - You beast, you were! If you can’t explain yourself when I see you again, you will pay!!!!

WHAT MATTERS?

WHAT MATTERS?

By Frances Harris

Philosophers and scholars have been trying to define the question of WHAT MATTERS? Since records began. Even as Homo erectus left the plains of Africa and fanned out over the globe, their cave drawing and carvings revealed a yearning to define a greater purpose or add meaning to their existence. I too have been searching for this very same thing. It’s not with any urgency or panic, but as a steady inner need to make sense of this complex existence, with all the good the bad  and reasoning that goes with it.

The one enduring theme that stands out like a beacon of history is that we humans will invent another more pleasing self-serving reality if we don’t like the one we are in, then we live in it and defend it, sometimes to the death. There is nothing more apparent than the stories handed down to populations just before a leader plans to take their country to war. One classic example is the story of World War one. The German leaders told their innocent public that the French were coming to overrun their country. Unfortunately the French citizens had been left out of the loop. When they saw the military escalation in Germany they concluded the Germans must be coming to take them over.

So the honest German’s dropped everything to enlist in the armed forces and went off to ward off the French invaders, and the French armed themselves to do the same. Near the end the Germans realised they had been duped, so refused to kill any more Frenchmen and wanted to go back to their families. Eventually it all came to a very sticky end. What mattered then? Well I suppose we have to look at from whose perspective we should follow. From the leaders; their agenda was obvious. From the perspective of the populations; defending their territory and way of life is what mattered above all else. Doesn’t that story sound familiar?

The first time I became aware that things didn’t add up, is when I was an eight year old learning Australian history at primary school. Our teachers read to us that Captain James Cook discovered an uninhabited Australia in the good ship Endeavour. Because he and his crew were the first to set foot on this land and the flag was raised, it was claimed for the English. This neat package led to the settling of the New South Wales colony in 1788, and was an ideal place to offload the burgeoning number sof poor people, convicts and undesirables who were growing in numbers back in England.  

I wanted to know about the little matter of the local inhabiting aboriginals, but this was quickly dismissed and we were told ownership of the country was proclaimed. English scientists and scholars at the time had been fiercely debating whether aboriginals were in fact human, which served the interests of the English establishment. Aboriginal remains were shipped over to the mother country in an attempt to get the evidence.

Statue of Captain James Cook - St Kilda Beach.

Even thought so much about we humans is apparent I was still not satisfied I had found what really matters. Perhaps the only way to reveal the answers was to look at the world through fresh eyes. I went back to many of places that have been my reality at different stages of my life.  Those experiences are vivid in my memory still. The place where we lived with my grandparents’ house in Brighton is gone. A new house, with all its history is unfolding right now on that spot, just as it did when we were there. One day that will be gone, and soon. All I could think that mattered was - the thoughts I took away from it, and little else.

 I went back to the family home where my husband and family lived, with all of its vivid events, so intense at the time are now all gone. The new two story building stands in the place of our once suburban home. All that is left are my memories and what I took away from them. I thought after these journeys I would have a better insight into what matters, but had become more puzzled than ever. It’s like making a big splash in a pool of water, just to turn around and find it’s now clear and still.

I walked in many places and searched and found a few historical monuments that told me interesting stories. With my detective mind, I thought I was on to something useful. Around the city of Melbourne, Australia in out of the way places are statues and busts of people who mattered around the end of the 18^th century. One, Tommy Bent, a wealthy property developer still towers of the Nepean Highway, Brighton. He was a very portly man and all I could think of, was he had such a huge midriff; he was in line for a heart attack. Perhaps that’s not what people of the 18^th and 19^th century had seen as what matters. He was a revered figure in his time, a politician and man of note. He lived to the age of 65 years. Not surprising, I thought.

As an afterthought, a small bust of his wife was placed well away from his monument, by his daughter. The divisions and importance of men and women of the times was very apparent. Another bust of a man said he was - A good colonist, another was revered as – A good public servant.  Churches were built to tower above the populations and huge amounts of money ensured they would endure way after all of the other buildings crumble. Religion was clearly what mattered to people’s in the those early years.

 Statue of Tommy Bent - Brighton

  

Carlo Satani - A good public servant

A small tribute to Tommy Bent's wife. 

Still no wiser, I asked myself what is it that endures well after the buildings, politics and people have gone? Then a light bulb lit up in my brain - the experiences and the important qualities we pass on to others is what matters. I think about the integrity and priorities of my grandparents, parents, uncles and aunts and how they have been passed on. I look at the good people of history and the wonderful works and philosophies and freedoms they have given future generations to enjoy. One in particular is Dr Fred Hollows and the people’s lives he transformed by saving their sight. Imagine how his work improved the generations that followed on after him. Yes, your deity, love, kindness, the willingness to share, generosity and the nurturing of our families and complete strangers, and lessons  we have learned - is - WHAT MATTERS!



ADVERTISING

ADVERTISING

By Frances Harris



Advertising is the spice of life that employs a huge workforce. But sometimes there can be too much spice to swallow all at one time. I often wonder why so much money is being poured into more and more advertising spaces, competing for our ever decreasing attention. Glitzy messages go into every little crevice or opening that can be legally, or not so legally accessed; places like our web pages, email, or our home letter boxes. How much paper is stuffed into our letter boxes and never read, that goes straight into the waste bin.  All that paper amounts to forests of trees!

I sometimes wonder if the advertising gurus give thought to whether their hard work actually does any good. Have they realised it might be irritating us enough to make us turn away completely? I hate it when I open my email inbox and an advertisement is plastered right across the screen so I have to peer over and under it to get to my messages. It’s like scratching fingernails down a blackboard. I can honestly say, I don’t remember the contents of one of them, but I do remember the frustration, and the times wondering if I should change to another carrier just to escape.

Then there is the advertising panel either on the internet or a billboard with brightly coloured windows and panels to attract our attention, but is so complex we can’t quickly follow the message. How many people would stop or break their stride to pour over an advertisement because they didn’t get the message the first time round? There is an approximate five second window to capture the audience, otherwise it’s all over.

My next favourite gripe is when I sign up for a monthly publication to arrive in my in box once a month, and when I go back to retrieve it, there are twenty or more publications I didn’t ask for and will never read, arriving once a week. I don’t think the advertising community has realised that in a complex world; less is more and the simple and reliable is more likely to succeed. Building loyalty organically seems to be a thing of the past. If I had received that one publication, on time and it was worth reading I would be less hesitant to explore further. Now, when anyone asks me to sign up for anything new, I ask myself what’s their motive? Are they looking for a way to swamp me with other offers and advertising that will keep me away from what I want to do? And how do I finally stop them once they get started when I don’t exactly know where to find the source?

And then, the thing I hate most over everything else, is when I search through news web sites for the latest headlines and a booming voice starts telling me about a weight loss pill I don’t need and despite all my attempts to stop it, I can’t. I have no choice but to close the window. Sometimes even that won’t work and the noise chases me off the computer altogether.  I can’t see how that idea is good for business. No wonder many oldies are sworn off computers and don’t read news any more. They were once the primary audience. These actions must be cutting out huge chunks of customers bowled over in the rush to capture them.

I don’t read the news very often now, and despite what the pundits of paperless news say, people are being turned off and some may stop reading the news altogether. Yes they are dropping away from news print, but it doesn’t necessarily follow they are signing up for electronic news. I expect to be one of them. Once I used to follow every headline available but have steadily reduced my exposure over time. Content is poorer than it used to be, and not interesting enough to capture my attention. I can take only so much celebrity scandal. I might read a heading, squeezed tightly between two large advertisements, but I don’t usually feel the need to go any further than that. Sometimes all three are misleading and have nothing to do with the subject. I regularly feel corralled into turning my attention to something I don’t care about, so I don’t go back. It’s amazing to think none of the major players has figured out that an unpleasant experience doesn’t win loyalty.

The only advertisements I do read now are the ones that tell me I can fly away on a holiday to some warm isolated island that has long sandy beaches and blue waters I can enjoy. I look for it to have no connection with either civilization or the internet so I don’t have to worry about aggressive advertising.   

THE TERMITE MOUND

THE TERMITE MOUND

By Frances Harris



Humans are strange creatures. Collectively we can send a rocket to the moon, produce plastic that has a memory of its own, we can delve into the depths of the sea in a tiny sea craft; send driverless drones to report back to a point thousands of kilometres away. Not to mention that we can obliterate our own kind at the press of a button. But what we can’t seem to do is keep our own kind fed, safe, comfortable and living without fear. We soil our homes with pollutions, destroy our natural food sources through greed, and there is continual unrest in our populations. For most of our lives we waste massive energy doing things that are of no substantial benefit to anyone. Then when our plans mess up, we spend more energy trying to fix them.

Termites, on the other hand seem to have life sewn up. Everything they do has a constructive purpose, there are very little wasted resources or energy and everything is executed efficiently and with a minimum of fuss. So why can’t we do that? When did we lose our focus? Or did we ever have it in the first place?

Termites don’t need spray bottles, rakes, wheelbarrows, hoses, cups saucers, plates, chairs, tables, heaters, coolers, fans, conditioners and the like. They don’t need to spend the bulk of their lives amassing and managing currency to pay for these items or digging holes in the ground looking for oil. They don’t seem to have the obsessive need to be better than each other or take more resources than they can use. No superannuation, taxes, management committees, funds management and the list goes out of sight.

The one thing termites have over humans is that they keep their lives in order without layers and layers of supervision or consultatnts. They don’t need a police force or management structure or political structure because there is rarely descent. They don’t need a budget to balance because life for a termite is uncomplicated and well planned. They have all that they need to look after their own.

Their termite mounds are often located way out in the desert, still they manage to maintain an orderly life. There is a reliable plan known by all and executed with precision. There is enough of everything for everyone. They go about providing nourishment for all of the members because they toil all day collecting and storing it. They ensure the colony produces a new well cared for new generation to preserve the species. The mission is to ensure there is a well fed, comfortable, insulated, dry, safe place to for all to live in. War is almost unheard of.

It’s at this point I start to feel uncomfortable about being a human because I realise we waste enormous amounts of energy procrastinating, supervising, making fragmented decisions and we spend very little time doing our jobs to completion. Everything we do is strung together or hitched up till another time. Not a lot of our effort works effectively to mesh with the efforts of others of our own kind. It’s been possibly eighty years since the water pipes in our street were installed, and now that the street floods regularly, the authorities have decided to work on them. That just about sums it up.

Termites can get the job done without sub committees, super committees or surveys. They don’t need three tiered management and they don’t seem to need elections, or technology to communicate with each other. Maybe because their lives are so orderly there is very little to report. It doesn’t matter what time of the day, each little termite knows what to do and when its working day starts and when it ends. Nobody starves and nobody is left homeless. The young have everything they need with armies of workers to take care for them for the full twenty four hours.  No child care fees, imagine that!

Maybe they could fight back if they were threatened, or have some wonderfully devious plan to hide until the threat is gone. When I get to thinking about these principles, isn’t the termite life close to our idea of utopia than we can imagine? So which ones of us are the smart ones? We design and construct multi story buildings nobody lives in that are empty but still consuming energy in varying degrees most of the time. Doesn’t that sound ridiculous? It does to me.  

Maybe it’s time to go back to the drawing board and take in some good lessons from those little termites that seem to have the game stitched up. If we were to lead uncomplicated lives like the termites, would there be more time to reflect on the real things that matter before we eventually destroy everything we take for granted? I think if we humans don’t take a good look around us, the termites might eventually be the only ones left to carry on.