Naughty Little Secrets

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Let’s face it, we all have them!  A secret crush, a gross habit or those cheeky pranks pulled long ago – we all have those little deeds that we tuck away.  For the last twenty odd years I have been a devoted watcher of “Bold and the Beautiful.”  Now, that may not seem like much of a secret but there is no-one outside of my immediate family who would believe it! It started innocently enough as a young Mum when a playgroup I joined would plan the activities around the early afternoon B&B screening, which centred around the outrageous competition between Brooke and Taylor for Ridge’s ever wandering love!  I was writing my thesis at the time and secretly and smugly felt above all the soapy drama.  Look how that turned out!

I often wondered myself why I persisted with this particular soapy and came to realise that it had become somewhat of a constant in the touch and go life of a military spouse.  Just a little snip in the day that was always there regardless of the state or indeed the country we were calling home.  My kids are now adults and they love teasing me about watching B&B.  Even though it is possible to download and record pretty much anything these days – I still do it old school and plonk with a cup of tea most afternoons.  I call B&B my daily brain and booty rest.  By the way, Brook and Taylor are still at it!

I have been very good at keeping the secrets of others. There have been a few, none illegal – thank goodness! Being a confidential caretaker can take its toll.  I know I lost a dear friendship in such a role.  As time passed and relationship decisions were made, I could see that my knowing what had happened would be a hurdle and sure enough as time went on the friendship distanced and eventually ended.  That secret though, I have never shared it.

As much as we all have our little secrets, we also love to divulge them especially if we can do so anonymously.  It can be a great relief to spill the goods on ourselves in a manner that can never be traced.  It’s fun and cheeky or sometimes a way to give some air to a deep ache.

What is your naughty little secret?  Is it something funny or a cheeky revenge secret? Do you honour a secret anniversary that nobody else knows about?  Have you spilled a secret that caused havoc?

 

 

 

Where Christmas Is White

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Lost in the lovely chaos of Christmas and summer but better late than never.  I found a little time somewhere in the holiday crazy wonderfulness to write a little, but forgot to post.  I couldn’t leave it behind so here’s to a little late Christmas joy!

A white Christmas in Australia means sand between the toes! I have lived in the USA, the Middle East and in the UK and it is true that a cold, snowy Christmas or holiday season is truly exquisite for many. Steeped in traditions centered around crackling fires, delicious mulled wines, silly sweaters, beautifully lit churches, winter frolicking and snow sports, could it possibly get any better?

Well, not necessarily better – but certainly different, though still with all the joy and sparkle of celebrating family, friends and wishing to be generous and hopeful for all people.

Here in the summery southern hemisphere it’s all about the extended school holidays, beach, boating, chapel services under the stars and on the sand.  Bare feet rule! Mulled wines give way to icy champagne and cranberry cocktails and chilled beers peeping metal heads out from icy blankets!  Many of the trimmings are understandably different with an emphasis on outdoor cooking, seafood, seafood and more seafood. The retail organised chaos at the fish markets around the country claim the news headlines.

The handed down traditions from migration trails are alive and well this year and I tapped into them as I was hosting for the first time in our forever home having recently retired.  I cooked chicken on the bone resting on cranberries and basted with an orange, ginger and garlic sauce.  The potatoes were mashed with cream and parmesan and placed next to the sweet variety of spuds roasted in rosemary and garlic.

There was gravy, plenty of it – spiced with home grown herbs simmering as Paul Kelly’s, “I’ll be making gravy” blasts in the background interrupting the loop of more tradition Carols and the heavenly harmonies of ‘Na Leo’ from the Hawaiian Islands.  Cold sliced ham and a fresh take on the Caesar salad – crisp baby cos with tips dipped in homemade dressing then panko crumbs with lashings of crispy bacon and no less than a dozen fresh eggs cooked with still bright yellow yokes, gives us a hot or cold option for the day.  There has to be roasted carrots with almonds and plenty of greens tossed in butter.  We went old style with a twist and celebrated at our long table overlooking the lake. Happy days with all the kids/young adults and their partners home with us and at the table dressed in a variety of swimmers and t-shirts!  Christmas on the Sunshine Coast in Australia.  Bucket list worthy!

We started a new tradition this year.  Borrowed from a dear friend of Texan origin who spent this holiday season grieving the loss of her husband and the father of her three exceptional young wonders.  Shelly invited us to their home on Christmas Eve when we lived in Florida and we were warmly folded into their awesome long held tradition of Mexican fare for extended family and friends.  This year we used her authentic recipes and all chipped in to cook up a feast – our new tradition in honor of the good times and friendship we shared with this beautiful family.

One final mention of the boat.  Boxing day boating is a new treat for our family – new boat, new tradition.  We packed drinks and munchies and loaded up the ‘Patricia Joan’ (named for my husband’s dear Mother who passed this year) to take the whole lot of us in various groups across the Pumicestone Passage to the white sands of Bribie Island.  After such a wonderful but busy Christmas day, lolling about in the crystal waters was wonderful.  Later as we sat in the shade of the umbrellas watching our precious three and their partners playing beach cricket in the water we could not have felt more blessed.  Christmas and special holidays whether north or south of the poles are most special when shared with loved ones.

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Fiction

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Voice of Frankie

I plan to kill a rapist, a liar and a politician.  Now I imagine that you might be thinking that you have discovered the first and far too obvious twist in this tale already and that you believe that all three are one and the same person.

Well, you would be wrong.  They are indeed three individual and very distinct people.   Now why would I want to kill anyone, let alone three people?  I have a simple answer for that.

They all, deserve to die.

Two for their sins and one because he was just too fucking stupid and busy whoring himself to the media to hear the truth and lacked the intellectual capacity to read facts and be advised. Thus, the far smarter liar got away with his twisted obsession and stripped the rape victim emotionally bare and inflicted selfish pain deeper and more life changing than any physical attack.

Let’s diverge for a moment and discuss the media. Incompetent, lazy, talentless lot that they are, feeding poisonous unsubstantiated bullshit to the 24/7 frenzy.  They missed the real story.  Political interference.  Illegal release of documents.  Lies and deceit.  Absence of protocol leading to misery for the innocent and an open crack for the snake of a liar.

My God I have been patient.  But all that has changed now.  I no longer have the luxury of time. I must say though; I have not wasted the time which has been served to me. Not a moment has been squandered in the wait to see each one of these cowards delivered to the oblivion they so deserve.  Oh no, I have been exceedingly patient, but do not, for one moment interpret that as inaction on my part.

Because I have been active.

I have used the years wisely.  And it will be my right and my pleasure to see each one of them take their last filthy breath with my eyes on them.

So, what is your question, your thoughts streaming ahead of my words?

Is there an order?  Are they to be killed together?  Which one is first? Just how are they going to die?

Well of course, there is a precise order! Details, years in the making.

You don’t go about planning murder without meticulous detail, not if you intend to get away with it.  And I do intend to get away with it.  Just not in the way that you might imagine.

I will tell you this much.

There will be a suicide, a murder and an assassination. At the end of it, I intend to get exactly what I deserve.  Plans such as mine require assets.  Not just financial capital of which I have abundance. Though with regards to money I have liquidated and distributed my wealth, to the worthy.  Contacts have been crucial.  My time in the east has served me well.  An eye for an eye – they get me.

*****

The rapist was first.  I knew he would be easy, living so isolated in his self-imposed prison of guilt and shame.  Well that’s not enough.  He has to pay more than that for the lives he wrecked.  Yes, more than one victim.  Usually young and naive with inexperience.  Boys in the bodies of men. The coward certainly stalked and picked his prey.  Fitting that he shot himself with a hunting rifle.  Such an unknown and uncared for old man, no one was looking too hard into the circumstances of his not so terribly unexpected end. People knew about him all right.  Alcoholic.  Exactly why no one cared much to see him finally in the ground.  But I had him on his knees first, blubbering over his sickness and thinking I could care less about the things his own Daddy did to him. That just made him all the worse in my thinking.

The next one was my specialty and the one that kept me going when I thought I might have doubted my own reserves to see this through.  And to think that it all became possible by a chance sighting of his unforgettable wife with a curly headed boy in a south side drug store.  One simple, unplanned run of the mill moment and I had the means to have access to the liar, by far the ugliest and most dangerous of the three cowards.  If you knew how he manipulated a victim, just a boy really, but a boy on the cusp of manhood trying to make his way in the world who fell prey to a vile monster only to be manipulated for decades by the liar, intent on covering his own back.

A cunning man is a dangerous man indeed, but one that is both highly intelligent and a pathological liar, well, now that was a challenge.

She sleeps separate from him, in a back room.  I know because I acquired an exceptional drone from my contacts.  The car is kept on the driveway – helpful.  It was a cold, dark morning – perfect.  Helpful too that he was the type to spend obscene money on a bicycle and liked it to be seen.  Timing was crucial and everything went to plan.  I rolled that car down the dark drive moments after him.  Snug in my beanie and blonde wig. Lights off.  My device worth the outrageous amount I paid to override the system – easy.

Perhaps he heard the familiar engine as at the moment of impact he turned his head.  There was not a split second of hesitation, the intention to be of brutal force with his orbit high and the road landing a guarantee of the end.  My last look was planned, I wore a long black coat, black pipe jeans with ten inch heels on my boots.  She is very tall, his wife.  I rolled him over with my foot and the universe rewarded me as he opened his eyes for the last time to see me.  I bent down close – the last words he heard – gutless liar.  Do you think I went too far framing his wife?  She knew, she knew from the days before and after as he lied and manipulated others in an attempt to hide his vast shortcomings.  She can see what it is like to be wrongly accused, have ugly press.  Shake up her pathetic life.   Any half decent lawyer should get her sorted out in a relatively short time.  Had I wanted to frame her and give her a jail stint, I certainly could have.

Now the big wig, interestingly that was the easiest of all. He personifies the term ego maniac. Thoroughly obsessed with himself, he likes to give off the persona of being an everyday sort of guy.  Just one who throws lavish expensive parties for his mates and their old school friends then hides it with other government funded shows.  He is unworthy and dumb.  Old, out of shape and past his due date but his assassination will ensure the book – the real story will roar up the lists with the proceeds already tied to victim support.

I have been telling you that timing and planning are everything.  Well, ironically not for this one.  He broke from schedule.  His ego served him to me.  He drove his own car with his wife to the main mall.  Maybe he is not so stupid after all, this act was guaranteed to give him a lot of media coverage.  Just an ordinary guy giving his extraordinary visitors a little family time in his own publicly funded palace.  The coffee shop is an open space.  Way too easy, almost disappointing.  There will be some minders around but they will hesitate here in public.  I look harmless, that age where a woman begins to become invisible.  My aim is better than good and I get close enough to look him in the eye, his face open to the accolades he expects me to bestow on him.  He may live.  If he does it will be with far reaching and life shortening disabilities.  I knew where to aim.  Most likely he will die.

The media would have loved that I sat down and finished his coffee.  The adrenaline which had propelled me dissipated quickly and the weariness I felt settled in my bones.  I was surprised that my removal was not rougher.  The hundreds of phones made my exit almost regal.  I kept my head high and my eyes conveyed no remorse, no fear.

The care here is more professional than I expected. End stage cancer is not for sissies and I am doing better than I would have in the public health system.  I won’t make trial and that’s ok for every detail, document and proof has already gone to press in my book.  Dedicated to the real victims, both of them.

*****

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Hugs or Kisses?

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I come from a family of huggers and my husband comes from a family of kissers, well to be clear – peckers.  They deliver the peck on the cheek to everyone of the female species – family, friends, relatives, pretty much anyone who passes the five minute test.  I prefer not to be kissed or pecked by anyone but my husband and children or my parents when they were living.  I am blessed with three siblings and thankfully we hug hello and goodbye.

My Dad was a shy man and found public shows of affection difficult.  As with many traits he grew more comfortable with this in his later years but he remained a hugger. Now, that I think of it – I really love the idea that the only woman he kissed was his wife and our Mum.

I have never lost the feeling of unease at the awkward ‘kissy’ greeting and have plenty of small to epic ‘fail’ tales!  Even one with our pup, and yes there was tongue involved, yew! Think sloppy wet lips, disgusting beards, lipstick on my wedding day before entering the church, awkward left or right mistakes and all those ‘air’ kisses – please just quickly hug me, if  you must! I am envious of males who have the culturally accepted option of handshake.  I know it is no longer gender specific but there have been numerous times on meeting someone that my extended hand has been grabbed and used as a lever to be pulled in for the cheek kiss.  I am older and wiser and more confident to stand my ground on this now.

As a hugger (though to be honest I prefer to tighten my circle with giving those away too)  I cannot abide being pecked by randoms, sometimes twice or even three times if following European culture.  I would not be surprised if ‘kissers’ find a big ole’ hug repulsive.  Let’s face it, not everyone wants arms and all that goes with them – plastered in and around their personal space!

Diagnose me with OCD but to be honest I’d be happy if we all just smiled and waved! Ok, even I know that is a bit much.  It is wonderful to show those we love and care for our delight at their arrival and nothing beats a big goodbye hug.

I do not have grandbubbers yet and I will have no kissy hang-ups when those heavenly babies are in my vicinity.

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My grown adult ‘children’ were kissed and hugged at every opportunity (and we still do) but not on the lips – we were a ‘lips off’ family.  There was never a discussion about this one way or the other – it just was what it was.

I have just started reading Jodi Picoult’s, The Storyteller and it was her talented writing describing the making of bread, “I love the fact that it needs to sit quietly, to retreat from touch and noise and drama, in order to evolve.  I have to admit, I often feel that way myself.”

That’s me, I heard myself saying aloud.  Thinking about how beautifully Picoult shaped those words started me on the track of Hugs or Kisses.  

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I believe there is an art to great hugs.  They come from the heart and show themselves as arms wide open with an unmistakeable sense of warmth and welcome.  My dear friend Dave is a great hugger and he says to his kids, “my arms will always be wide open for you.”  He gives a genuine hug with no awkwardness – it personifies authentic.

For most of our two years in the US we had Canadian neighbours.    I recall Dean saying, “We’re Canadian!  Canadians are huggers,” in his booming, fabulous accent.  Though there was always more than a hug for his gorgeous wife when he arrived home from work – a kiss for her, the very first thing he did, then hugs for anyone else.  Fabulous!

I think I need a t-shirt which reads –

I am Australian – but I identify as Canadian – so hugs only!

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Hello Wonderful New Year

 

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Sun shinning, dogs sleeping and the promising new year all the way ahead.  One year ends and another begins.  It has been a big year full of joy, love and deep loss.  Today, the first day of the year started with extended couch talk as our eldest wonder and her Dad and I swapped stories and double coffees.  Not a bad start!

No resolutions as the goal list is ongoing – more writing, keep up with Spanish, well-being and fitness, as much time as possible on the water whether on the boat, in the kayak or standing on the paddle boards and being ‘present’.  I am chronically guilty of looking back and planning forward and forgetting to be in the moment.  Perhaps I have a resolution after all.

I do plan to take a contentment photo each day this year to compile into a visual journal of 2019.  The word ‘joy’ is one of my favorites although I decided that the feeling I want to record are those diverse moments in time where mind, body and soul are connected in contentment.

Today, I begin.

 

 

Suicide

 

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My mind keeps slipping to dark places.  Why?  It has been globally reported and each time I search for an update – to seek out the why, I see the images, replay the memories – the time of knowing the living life, an enormous life of wife, family and parents – dear sweet elderly parents, still living.  A life of substantial achievement, opportunity, adventure and purpose beyond the comprehension of those of us more ordinary.  So, why?

My closed eyes see her bouncy beauty, enduring elegance – mother, wife, friend and a woman of faith.  Where is she tonight and how can she possibly be able to draw breath with a heart that has been pulverized.  Her story of dedication, care and support altered into an existence Continue reading “Suicide”

The Gift

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Recently I have been bestowed the most treasured gift that I could ever wish for – words.  I write because I love words, love writing with them, reading them, making up stories in my head with them, thinking about them but most of all I love receiving them. Especially when they are completely unexpected – what a true gift!

I received the unanticipated treasure from my husband’s Dad, Henry Alexander Caughey (always known and adored as Harry) who sadly passed to heaven on the first day of February, 2017.  Over thirty-five years I have written letters to my family, my husband’s family and dear friends.  Long before email and of course text message, I actually used to handwrite letters and cards.

My surprise was not only that Harry had held on to all or some of the letters, it was the magical experience of discovering that he had written a message on one of my letters, long stored in his beautiful wooden writing desk to be discovered after his passing.  The sentiment was simply beautiful.

I wanted to share a letter I sent to Harry when he was in his final year.  It was not handwritten as it took a very long time to draft, and many tears as I knew I was writing my final letter to Harry and deeply thinking of my own sweet Dad who had passed six years previous.

Dear Harry,

There have been important men in my life, my fabulous brothers, relatives by family and marriage, a few colleagues and a few select number of men I would name as friends.  Only four men, the four most impactful and dearest of men to me would I say that the term ‘important’ does not near enough convey the place in my heart and life that they hold.  They are my father Alex, my husband Shane, my son Harry and you, Harry.

My father held himself to the highest standard of human integrity and honesty that is possible.  He came from the poorest of backgrounds and yet money meant nothing to my father except in the sense of its essential nature to support his family.  He was beyond generous but never a fool.  His word was a given – always.  I am only beginning to understand how much of who he was as a man, husband and father was because of the fabric of his heritage.  I am very proud to be his daughter.

It would take pages and pages to tell you of the impact of Shane on my life.  There has not been a single day I have doubted his love, integrity and commitment.  A deeply private man who demonstrates his love of me and our children to his very core everyday in a thousand ways.  He is a clever man who has achieved a great deal, but only I can tell you Harry – he is a great man who has never wavered from being the finest husband and father that you could ever want of him.

My Harry, a man I know – but in many ways the boy of my heart and because I had just one son – I can freely love him as my boy, my best boy, my favourite boy and can never think of him without smiling and feeling that physical warming of my heart.  He is outstanding and for me packages up such good character with much of it coming from Alex and Shane and you.

Now Harry – you.  I always think of you with love, gratitude and thankfulness.  I am thankful for the man you produced in Shane.  There are too many attributes to name (even following AFL…it gives him such pleasure – ‘most’ of the time). 

You showed him how to be a man of character and purpose, with strength of will, impeccable morals, unflinching loyalty and worthy of trust.  He got it from you – thank you so dearly.

He did however, inherit a few other traits also – lost wallets, misplaced glasses, missing car keys, lateness (usually doing a good deed somewhere) – thanks for that too!

Harry – you welcomed me to your family without judgement and with an open heart – thank you.  You never interfered, but you were always willing to give honest advice when asked – thank you.  You are great fun and the best company.  I have seen you bear the weight of immense popularity at times but you always managed to spread yourself evenly somehow.  Thank you.

I am truly blessed to have such heroes of men to be in the most pivotal of roles in my life.  I wanted to put down some words to share with you – to show you my thankfulness for your loving part in my life.  To thank you for Shane and for my Harry.  You and my Dad are very similar in many ways and this is the biggest compliment I can pay you Harry.

Thank you for the wonderful, caring, cheeky, entertaining old boy that you are Harry Caughey.  XX xxx

Harry left me a message on a letter I wrote to him about the naming of our son – Henry Alexander Caughey born in March, 1992 and named after his grandfather (Poppy). Henry was not a popular name at the time and Harry was not the ‘hot’ name that it is today.  There had been a naming tradition in the family which had slipped in this generation so that when my husband told me that his deepest wish would be to name his son after his father, in my heart there simply was no decision to make.  Honestly, I too was not keen on the name ‘Henry’ – Jack, would have been my choice and when I was pregnant with number three I felt for sure I would soon be out and about with Harry and Jack, the Caughey boys.  My little family colluded and convinced me of a collie pup they were already referring to as Jack.  By the way, our third was a girl, confirmed early on by scan although I was convinced it was incorrect and I had a little ‘Jack’.  Though she is as beautiful and feminine looking as her big sister – she hated ballet and piano, could beat the boys at soccer and barreled through childhood never far from her brother.

Those words, that little message are a magnificent gift and legacy that I shall pass on to my Harry.  I too shall write on the letter and keep it safe for him for when the time comes. Hopefully, he will be a much older man with his own growing family and will more deeply cherish its significance.

This inspires me to remember to send more words, deeply loving thoughts to be shared.

It has never been quicker or easier to send sweet words – have you ever had beautiful words come to you in an unforeseen manner and will you leave words as treasures, gifts and legacy?

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