Nostalgic Saturday

I know I only read my brother Graham's email for the first time this morning but it made me Nostalgic for so many things, I just had to include it today. I didn't include ALL of his photos, but you get the idea :-)

"Sorry for taking awhile to give you an update on chicken No1. (Graham is growing chickens and this, his first, comes in at a delicious 1.8 kg!)

Here it is before and after (sorry about the picture I must have been shaking with excitement)

I just slow roasted it in the oven on 140 for a bit over an hour. I did absolutely nothing to it other than put a bit of olive oil in the baking tray and covered it with foil. I have had trouble finding time to put it on as most nights I am getting in around 8.30-9pm (got to love day light saving) by which time the last thing I feel like doing is putting on a chook to roast. It’s been sitting in the fridge in its little vacuum bag so on my way home from work the other day I thought I will put it on as soon as I get home and I can watch it before I go out to milk the cows. So I popped it on and got busy doing other things and I think I left it on a bit long. When it came out it was all golden and yummy looking, not to mention the amazing smell. I could have eaten it right away but the cows needed to be milked so covered it up put it back in the turned off oven. After milking the cows I processed another 5 chickens, with the borrowed plucker and stumbled back inside at 9.15pm.

Now I really don’t think I gave this chicken a fair go, I was tired, I had just processed 5 chickens which involves all the yucky stuff (I had washed my hands 2 or 3 times), it was possibly overcooked and it had cooled down to room temperature. I thought what am I going to do with it, the idea of eating chicken was not very appealing, actually eating anything wasn’t appealing. I decided I would just cut it up so could put in sandwiches add it to a curry make a pie or something. I started off with the legs, the meat was quite dark but not dry or tough, I could just pull the meat off with my fingers, then the thighs, wings and finally the breasts. There was quite a pile of meat and my curiosity got the better of me so I tried a little bit.............................., it wasn’t that good, it was great! It melted in my mouth the flavour was unbelievable it was undoubtedly the best chicken I have ever had. I tried another bit and you know what it was just as good. The first piece obviously wasn’t a fluke. By the time I finished cutting it up the pile was a bit smaller than when I started. I bagged it up into little bags and put 2 in the freezer and 2 in the fridge. People don’t know what their missing out on when they buy a factory chook. I was a bit worried that after all the work I had put into them they wouldn’t be any good but I am happy.

So I have got about 30 to go. I had a bit of trouble getting the scalder and plucker set up. My fist attempt with it ruined 2 of the three I did. It wouldn’t pluck and it tore the skin. I skinned the two and boned them out so I didn’t waste them. The water was too cold it needs to be at around 60 degrees C to loosen the feathers for the plucker. It’s an old hot water system that I cut the top off and it couldn’t keep the temp up so I have put a gas ring under it to solve that problem. The plucker was making a mess of them. The legs were getting caught in the hole where the plucked feathers go out. I don’t know how the owners get on with it but I made some modifications and it works well now. It takes about 10min per chicken from when I go and get the chickens out of the paddock to having them bagged up in the freezer, so I have only been doing 5 or so a night. Hopefully this weekend I will get them all finished. I am using the kitchen in the cottage for bagging and freezing them, it saves carting them over to the house and there is room over there for the freezer. It's not full yet!

The eggs are coming in pretty regularly now, I’m getting 5-6 a day from the 8 hens. We couldn’t keep up with them so the other week Nancy took 3 dozen to work to give a way as a bit of a promotion and today she took the first dozen that were getting paid for. I weighed them and they came out at 900g net so I think I should call them extra jumbo, the lid wouldn’t actually shut! At $6 a dozen my first customer was very happy.

I haven’t shown you any pictures of the veggie patch because there wasn’t much to see. I haven’t been able to weed much and my plan is not to do too much anyway, but until the plants get bigger it’s a bit hard to see them.

You can see the corn, some spinach, peas, the brown lines are tomatoes, the green is grass, I haven’t put up the trellis yet.

The pumpkin, squash, zucchini, cucumber, watermelon and rockmelon are all taking off, it’s hard to see them but we’ve been picking artichokes and the beans are really taking off as well.

The veggie patch is approximately 80m2 only half is planted the rest is access. I planted medic and Lucerne in between the beds which I mow for mulch. There is corn, potatoes, eggplant(2types), kale(6types), peas, asparagus, tomatoes (8 types), Spinach (2 types), radicchio, cape gooseberry, carrots (2 types), Beetroot, Salsify, artichokes (2 types), self sown lettuce, Self sown Tomatoes, Fennel, Celery, Leeks, Beans (5 types), cabbage (2 types), garlic, parsley, dill, collards, Pumpkins (4or5 types), Squash (3 types), zucchini (3types), watermelon, and honey dew melons. There will be something that I have forgotten so I will apologise to all the plants that I have forgotten and just say that I appreciate their contribution to the gardens diversity and ultimate sustainability!

Mulberrys aren’t far away either just think jam, pies, icecream........and then there will be figs, its almost too much to think about."

A Dream Career

When I was in primary school my dream job was being a doctor. I wanted to be one for years.

By the time I got to Year 9 my dream had changed and journalism and the media had taken over. I even had a job on a statewide newspaper as a local correspondent and when I was nearly 18 I was chosen as one of 5 young people in the state to work on the youth focus pages in the state's daily newspaper. The one problem with journalism was that I couldn't write my own material - it takes years to be a feature writer and I wasn't sure how I would cope with years of garden openings, traffic accidents, local crime and the like until I had earned the reward of something more challenging.

I do also confess to wanting a job as a radio announcer (worked at the local radio station for that one - even did a couple of ads) but I didn't like the sound of my voice so I let that go.

And since I have been in the "real world" I have done a myriad of jobs. How fortunate to live in a world with so many opportunities.

Nostaligic Saturday - School Days

My first school readers that I remember were the Dick and Dora series. And we can't forget the all important of Nip (the dog) and Fluff (the cat). They ran a lot. They jumped a lot. They saw a lot. They opened up the world of word to me.

I know the modern readers are a lot more entertaining and educational. They even have real color photos but I still yearn for the simplicity of life that included Dick and Dora and their little adventures.

From Dick and Dora, it wasn't long before I started on the SRA lab. Oh, I loved those cards and I whizzed through them as quickly as I could. I sucked up all of the facts they taught me. I relished the fictional stories. I am sure I was the first to finish the box (although my memory may be putting a golden glow on that specific aspect of my life).

Every now and then something wil happen in my world and I will remember I got my initial knowledge of the subject from SRA. I wonder if all of my old favorites are available in today's boxes?

I love my books and still voraciously read as many as I can but I have never forgotten the joy of learning to read, of realizing there was a whole world of entertainment and information that was opening up to me - and to grab it all I had to do was to open the book and turn the squiggles into words.

Jams and Preserves

I grew up on a 10 acre block. That meant one thing - fruit trees. Many of my friends, or my parent's friends were in the same position.

And if you have mega-heaps of fruit, and it is free fruit at that, it means that every now and then, when the various crops ripen, Mum pulled out the Fowlers Vacola (the orange set - none of this modern fancy stuff) and she started cooking.

Now if you were a kid and you were smart it was a good time to go and play outside - way outside, or find some homework, or, well do anything to get out of helping pick, peel and pip.

Nonetheless through the year we had apricots, chinese gooseberries, apples, nectarines and plums jammed, fresh, bottled or stewed. And then there were the bonus crops that were swapped with a friend - or they simply had more than they could handle and shared the surplus. That meant blackberries, mulberries, pears, strawberries - well just about anything really. Oh and I can't forget the various marmalades made by all and swapped freely.

I think I have worked out why the tradition is dying - and it isn't that the preserving is hard, or that tinned fruit is so plentiful, it is more a case of buying fruit negates the purpose of preserving it to a large extent. And with smaller land parcels, and busier lives, few of us have the orchard in the back yard so access to "free" fruit is virtually eliminated.

Grandpa's Patch

The Wagin Woolarama started life as a local agricultural show but over the years became the biggest sheep show in the southern hemisphere.

My mom's family has a sheep stud so obviously they were very involved over the years - either as displaying sheep, judging sheep, cooking, sewing, hosting people, helping set up, pull down, committee work or all of the above - plus the many other chores that are associated with such a big event. Wagin has a population of about 2000 - 3000 and the event attracted (my guess) 50,000 so it wasn't just my family that wore many hats, everyone in the community pitched in big-time.

As the years progressed and Grandpa became less physically active, his pride and joy was cultivating a patch of grass that the sheep were displayed and judged on. Wagin is not known for a big water supply so it took a genuine 12 months of dedicated work to get the patch looking immaculate and green. Every time we went to visit, the tour of the town inevitably included a viewing of the lawn. And I must admit it was a mighty fine lawn - none of this kikuyu, cooch or any other the other tough species - this was a very fine grass, manicured to within an inch of its life and an incredible verdant green.

So you can imagine how much I giggled when I saw this photo (yes I have a photo for Nostaligic Saturday!!!) that Auntie Julie sent me this week (taken by Cousin Tim) - yes it is a delightful tribute to have a judging area named in Grandpa's honor but I am sure he is rolling in his grave to know the surface is artificial turf!!! Okay it is at the Royal Show (State Fair) in Perth so maybe it will be a slow roll but I am sure he is rolling nonetheless. :-)

It's Show Time

It is that time of the year when, as a child, I would be getting ready for the local Agricultural Show.

In the flower section, I would always enter a floating bowl and/or a sand bowl. Both were similar although, as the name suggests, one was a bowl of water and the other a bowl of sand. Into these flowers and other plant material (like leaves or seeds) were used to create pictures. Ideally I would also have a bunch of flowers as well - I do know that if you planted the sweet peas on Anzac Day (25 March) they were ready for show day (mid October) so that would have been an obvious choice and a few other floral arrangement-type projects.

My cooking entries varied over the years - from pikelets, to scones, to pumpkin cakes, to lemon butter to decorated arrowroot biscuits.

Then there was the entries that came in via the school - whether as an individual work or part of various displays.

Once all of that was done, it came down to deciding what to wear. Now as it was Show Day (or two days actually) there would be one new outfit plus a new look to an existing one (say a new shirt to wear with a skirt I already had). That obviously meant the sewing machine got pulled out. I know Mom made us outfits for many years but as so I was old enough - about 13 from memory - it was my turn to whip up something special.

So that was the Show - as well as friends, show bags, fireworks, carnival rides, side show alley, the animals, the craft, the vegetables, a Lion's club burger ... well it seemed like there was enough to entertain me for weeks.

I don't know whether it was that grand, or whether it is just the memory of a child, but I am not going to find out :-).

Nostalgic Saturday - Farm Girl Moments

I grew up in the country and regularly visited my grandparents wheat/sheep farm on school holidays. My Dad ran the dairy at the local Agricultural College and as such I could also go with him on school holidays and milk cows, care for chickens, pigs, calves and whatever else needed doing at the time. I was in Rural Youth and did really well for myself in a number of competitions. I do like to think of myself as a 'farm girl' but, well, really I am not. I am competent, and I did dabble, but I am not really a true farm girl.

In my early 20s I visited the farm after it passed to my Uncle and Aunt, and after Grandpa had had his strokes. The job of the day was to pull the hayseeds out of the sheeps eyes. First they needed to be moved from the paddocks to the pens. No problem, Cousin Stuart did all of that. For some reason he then left for a moment, or was otherwise occupied and the sheep needed to be run through a race. It could have waited until Stuart got back but I had the sheep dogs so I figured it would be no problem - they knew what they were doing even if I was only having a go.

My problem was that I didn't know the codes to get the dogs to "go" - I tried a few whistles but they weren't right. I tried a "get behind" just like Grandpa used to say, but Uncle Arthur had trained these dogs and he obviously has a different tone, or phrase. I tried to look them in the eye and have a rational conversation but that was equally as useless.

I turned around to see Grandpa laughing so hard he had tears coming down his cheeks. His strokes had rendered him speechless (unless he was singing in church) so he couldn't help as such so he decided to laugh instead. I chose that too :-)

Oh, and yes I did do a session of pulling out the hayseeds - so maybe I am a farm girl (just a little bit).

Nostaligic Saturday - The Countdown Years

Some of my best times with John revolved around music. Now we had quite different styles but there were two things we really had in common: Countdown and Meatloaf.

Meatloaf we didn't really celebrate big time until John's final months when we spent long afternoons singing away at the top of our voices (and I am sure to the distress of the neighbors) but prior to that it was always something we defaulted to when we couldn't decide what cd to play.

The Countdown years we dwelled on a lot longer - coming up regularly during the ten years we knew year other - especially on sunny Saturday afternoons.

We hit on our common love of Countdown not long after we first met when we were still sitting up all night talking - especially on the weekends. This was at a time when 'rage' (on the ABC) was replaying Countdown between midnight and 6 am. We taped the lot and they were replayed regularly - again with lots of loud and happy singing and conversations beginning with "Do you remember when ..."

Countdown covered my life from the age of 9 - 17. John was about the same but as he was a few years older, he saw the show almost from the beginning. In any case, there was enough of an overlap for us never to run out of things to say.

So much of our lives were caught up in the music of our respective youths - what we wore, who we were dating, what we were doing, our hopes and our dreams and other little memories all got triggered off with snippets of various songs

I know most of Australia around my age grew up with Countdown but I have never met anyone who had such an overlap in the response to the show - even with people of my own age. I have tried to have similar trips down memory lane with others but it's not the same and it appears that that was a unique John and me thing.

I don't listen to music anymore, well rarely anyway, but when I hear one of the songs from the Countdown I can't help but smile - both from the original memories of my childhood but also with the new ones with John.

Yes I have just watched a little documentary on Countdown and I am feeling a bit nostalgic on this Saturday.

Nostalgic Saturday

When I was growing up, Friday night was fish and chip night. Yes this was the days before McDonalds and Pizza Hut. As well a my piece of fish and serve of chips I could have a drink.

Usually I chose milk (from a carton, not from the dairy like the rest of our milk lol) but every now and then I chose a soft drink called "Candy". Candy was a flourescent pink color and the can (the half sized cans - yes you had a choice of little or regular in those days - and it was steel with a ring top) was striped with hot pink, silver and musk pink lines about 2 mm wide. I can't really remember what it tasted like - I guess a sweeter (if possible) creaming soda.

Yes these were the days where for 1 cent you got three to five lollies (candies to the international reader). My 20 cents pocket money went a long way in those days (5 cents on candy, 15 cents for other things).

These were the days when Peter's Drumstick sold for a dollar - can you imagine that! No one I knew (adults or children) could imagine anyone spending a dollar on an icecream and we were sure it was the end of the Drumstick forever!

So Candy is now long gone (I don't know anyone who even remembers it), a can of soft-drink is now the smaller size - buddy bottles rule, lollies generally come pre-packaged - or at best you have three or four jars to pick from (not the 20+ that I was used to) and 5 cents doesn't feed you for a week, an icecream for a dollar is a bargain, and the Drumstick is made by multi-national Nestle.

Train Travel

On one day every school holidays from the age of about 13, a group of friends and myself were allowed to travel to Bunbury (about 30 minutes away) for the day on the Australind. There would be about 6 - 8 of us and it was the day and age when we all promised we would stay together (and did) so we could go without parents. I am not sure you could do that these days but there are a lot of things you wouldn't let your kids do these days.

Anyway, the train was superseded by one of those new fancy ones in 1987 but OUR Australind was the 'old' Australind and it had windows in wooden frames that opened and it actually made that clicketty-clack noise that seems to have been relegated to the history books. There were of course cakes and pies that you could buy once on-board - and even they seemed better than those served up today in their little plastic bags. And our Australind carried a tube that was exchanged out of the engine window to the station master every time it went by - whether it stopped or not. Never knew what was in there but it looked very important :-)

The photo is the only one I could find of the old lady and it taken at the Perth train station.

Birthday Memory

I have never been a real fan of celebrating my birthday with other people - nothing to do with turning older - just that they never quite feel right. Maybe I have difficulty in accepting the love of others, maybe it doesn't work out just they way I wanted, maybe ....

Last year was great because I was with my Dad for the first time in forever but I now usually take the day off work and go and spend time with me, cooking something off my 'once a year list' and doing whatever comes up.

My other favorite birthday was an un-birthday I had with John. His plan was to give me my present, take me out to a posh restaurant and shower me with champagne. I was decidedly bah-humbug about it all so we decided to have an un-birthday. There would be no presents. There would be no birthday wishes, 'un' or otherwise. There would only be the two of us so I wouldn't accidentally run into someone who might know the significance of the day. Instead of a restaurant we had fish and chips on a beach (twice - lunch and dinner). Instead of champagne, we had beer. Everything that came up that might be birthday-related, we did the opposite.

It was perfect :-)

Stalked by Strelitzias

Many of my early afternoons were spent playing in the gardens of my biological mom's friends.

Mrs Stanford had a quarter acre of roses and other large plants with paths winding in and out and all around. Now this was the day and age where roses weren't pretty bushes on top of a topiary stand. Roses were 6 foot tall bushes. And everything else was equally as lush and rampant. A perfect place for all manner of children's games.

The only problem with this specific garden was that there were strelitzias in one corner. They terrified me. Imagine being a three foot high kid (or somewhere around that) that tears around a corner and comes face to face with the bird from the name "Bird of Paradise" on top of a five foot stalk. I kept saying to myself "it is only a plant, it is only a plant" in the same way that we say "it is only a movie" but it made no difference. They genuinely scared me.

Yes I have grown out of this somewhat, and up close (shiver) they are architectural masterieces but I can't say I have any actual affinity for the beastie.

Sunday Mornings

Sunday mornings in our house was open-house and devonshire tea time. My birth mom (Roma) would make batches of fresh scones and these were served with lashings of cream and jam (often home-made).

Now I have done extensive research on the ability to make scones and can conclusively say that the 'scone making gene' skips generations. I have a dozen families I can lift up as proof but please believe me, it's true. If your grandmother didn't have it, then neither will you.

I can make an incredible pumpkin scone but regular scones ... well. Actually I have been told they are just fine but when you have had one of Roma's - big and fluffy and steaming hot and with their little crust on the outside and all 'round perfect - you soon learn that 'fine' just, well, isn't lol.

Anyway, folks would begin to rock up sometime after 9 and the last would leave sometime after 12. There could be 10 - 20 people there on any particular morning. There would be lots of chatter, mugs of coffee, cups of tea, tinkles of laughter and plates and plates of scones.

Nostaligic Saturday - School Days

Okay this painting is from way before my time but I can't find any photos of my school on the net so it will just have to do as something representative :-)

I was struggling to think of what to post for this - wish I had photos as a prompt - but the situation was resolved when I was having my morning snuggles with the twins when Miss A suggested I post something on what I did at school when I was her age (7). Excellent idea Miss A so here goes.

From the classroom, you walked a it forward and on your left we had a girls shed and a boys shed - which were right next door to each other. We were allowed to visit but never enter the 'other' shed. It was in this shed (which only had three sides) that we played "What's the Time Mr Wolf" and a similar game with letters - we can't figure out the name of it as it has changed over the years (they call today's version Poison Letters). In any case one person stood at the front with their back to the rest and randomly called out letters. You took one step forward if that letter appeared in your name and two steps if it was a capital letter for you. First one to the top of the shed took over as caller and so the game went.

We had a big slide and a little slide - and you had to be in grade 3 or above to go on the big slide. It was really shiny and made out of stainless steel (or something similar) so you can guess how useful that was when you live in Western Australia - you risked third degree burns just looking at it under the summer sun lol.

We had a Cinderella style coach made out of thick metal tubing (that it, it was the shape of the coach but it didn't actually have walls) which was a prize place to play. Obviously there were the fairy tales that you could re-enact to your heat's content, but it also made a great space ship, a submarine and general climbing frame. I distinctly remember re-enacting the cartoon show Sealab 2020 where we would have to go out of the coach through the floor - just like they did on tv.

Next to that was a sandpit (which never really interested me) and a long grassed area under pine trees. This was also good for playing the games we played in the shed but was also useful for cartwheels (and other gymnastic endeavours) or lying in the shade reading books and other such quiet activities.

Further along was a little dirt area (next to the bike racks which were out of bounds) and this was great for playing marbles.

All of this circled an asphalt court ... which I think was netball but my memory is a bit wobbly there. In any case we could play anything on that area.

Oh, and behind the slides was the little oval - but that was mainly for boys playing football so the girls didn't really go there.

Pretty impressive array of activities for a little country school - and that was all for Grades 1 and 2 - the older kids had other areas of the school to play in.

Thanks Miss A, loved that walk down memory lane :-)

Summer Fun

During the Depression a massive project to build a diversion drain - to divert the Harvey River from its original course to the ocean, a depth of about 30' and a distance of abut 20 miles - was completed (by men with shovels). This ensured that the river wouldn't flood and industries based on irrigation could be developed in the Harvey area. That is my memory of the story of how it all came about anyway.

In any case, as a result of the development, the entire district has grids of drains that carry the irrigation water. Not only did this water feed the 'beloved' oranges but it also gave us an almost permanent swimming hole (well a long hole) that went right through the property. This luxury had a still pond at one end (very suitable for just lounging), it had water that ran fast enough you could actually ride it for much of the length, and a tunnel (bridge that went over the road). And if you get get over the periodic leach attack, this was heaven on a stick.

So while going to the Weir (these are the days waaaay before the town had a public pool) was a lot of fun, it did necessitate getting parental transport and conning them into spending time away from whatever they were doing. The irrigation drain was right there on the doorstop and only needed a quick holler as you ran out the door to let the adults know where to find you, and it was as cold and wet as any girl could dream of on a hot summer's day.

Happy days :-)

Nostaligic Saturday

When I was growing up we had an orange orchard on our property.

You have got to know I didn't appreciate that one little bit (apart from the climbing options available of course). Having an orchard meant that child labor was involved in picking oranges and packing oranges. Then there was the constant supply of the beasties - and never say "I'm hungry" because the automatic response was "have an orange".

And whenever guests came child labor would be involved in squeezing 10 litres or so - which wasn't a big deal because we had an electric squeezer - but orange juice is sticky and the empty skins are even stickier and the kitchen needed to be cleaned at the end of it all.

Then came the glorious day when the orchard was pulled out - "freedom" I cried but it was really on the beginning of the never-ending stick-picks that required ongoing child labor.

Is it possible that I am exaggerating? Possibly. Did I also mention that we hired labor to help with the picking? No. Does it mean I will eat an orange? No, definitely not! I will use them in cooking, and if someone else squeezes them I will happily drink real juice but I can't bring myself to eat one - and never ask me to peel one with my fingers ....

First Kiss

My first kiss wasn't really my first kiss but it is the one that I count as my first.

It was the night of my 16th birthday and G joined us at the movies (The God's Must Be Crazy). He sat next to me. I had liked him since I was 12. He had apparently thought I was 15/16 then so asked my Dad could he take me out - and G, so the story goes, nearly died when he found out I was just 12, especially as G was 19 at the time lol.

Anyway I spent half the movie trying to figure out how I could 'accidentally' make physical contact with this man, to let him know that he was still oh so special when I eventually gave up and just dropped my arm on the armrest - to find his directly underneath! He wrapped is fingers around mine and yes, we held hands for the rest of the movie.

I don't quite remember what happened when we got home, I know it would have involved at least a cup of coffee with the folks (after all of these years G was definitely in the 'family friend' category).

Then it was home time and I was nominated to walk G to his car. So on a cloudless night, with the stars shining ever so brightly, we hugged and we talked. And then we kissed - his arms firmly around my waist, his lips on mine. Yes my legs turned to jelly and my heart skipped a beat and he just held me tighter.

I have never experienced any kiss so powerful since, nor has any other kiss ever made my knees go weak.

Dairy Memories

When I was young my Dad worked at the local Agricultural School in charge of the dairy. On school holidays or long weekends I got to go and help him out - not just in the dairy but across the whole farm.

The day began with rounding up the cows for milking. I loved sitting in front of Dad on the motorbike and seeing the cows eyes reflect in the headlights on the dark winter nights/mornings. Only years later did I realized that I was wind-protection in that position lol :-)

So we milked the cows - and yes I am quite competent in that area - and cleaned down the dairy. Then the calves were fed (ah Dencovit). Then we headed to the chook sheds to collect eggs. These needed to be collected, cleaned, graded and packed.

From there the day could vary - something to do in the orchard, or with the pigs, hay or silage might need to be distributed, fences shifted, sheep tended, maintenance done - but it all ended with a milking at the end of the day.

I might never have lived on a farm as a kid but I still call myself a farm girl. I drive past Friesians whenever I go to work and still can't help but sigh and think pleasant thoughts.

Nostaligic Satuday

"They" started to teach us to dance in early primary school with the May Pole. This was followed by the Barn Dance, Pride of Erin, the Waltz ... the list goes on.

I must admit my interest was casual at best - I mean standing on the hot bitumen quadrangle in 100 degree heat (so yes it was a bit warm out there) while I was trying desperately not to catch any boy germs wasn't an ideal way to inspire me. Oh yes, and repeat this for at least 5 years running.

High school wasn't a whole lot better - there was all the malarcky about who was dancing with who, or who wanted to be dancing with someone - all so much more important than the actual dance.

But something changed and I started taking ballroom dance lessons in Bunbury on a Thursday evening when my parents joined the same class. And then I got IT. To dance, to trip the light fantastic, to swing and swirl and ... yes I got it.

Then I started going to the odd dance out at Uduc hall (one of the little settlements out of Harvey). These were held once a month and generally catered for the over 70 crowd but there was the occasional younger set that turned up - those around 50 lol.

Anyway to be twirled around the floor on the arm of a senior gentleman who had been dancing for way more years than I had ever been alive was a real pleasure. To feel a gentle but guiding hand in the small of your back leading you, but never forcing you, was something I enjoyed immensely.

Then it all stopped again. Did I get busy, or life just took over, or, well not sure really. But I do remember with immense fondness dancing the dances of the ages.

I don't even know if they have "dances" anymore but I dance at home, and to my own rhythm and it is all good :-)

Nostaligic Saturday

For some years when I was growing up, playing cricket all summer was something of an institution. I got my first cricket bat for a Christmas present and faithfully applied linseed oil - rubbing it until it glowed. Then dad gave me an even better present - he built me a cricket pitch.

We lived on a 10 acre property and there was a section of clay soil that wasn't planted with any crops over the burning summer so it was a perfect location. The dimensions were exact, the surface levelled perfectly - yes, you could really do the car key test on it.

So the neighbor's kids and other friends turned up and we were set. Most of them were boys but that was neither here nor there - there was cricket to be played.

House rules were pretty simple - if it went over the channel you were six and out - and had to go get the ball. And girls (not me of course) didn't have to bowl properly - and you weren't allowed to bowl really hard at the girls either (they were girls after all - didn't want them crying). Oh, and the game finished went the sun went down.

So our version of Lillie and Thommo and Marsh and the Chappells and dozens of other individuals from various other international teams starred at their respective, batting, bowling or fielding talents. And not only did we have the Test matches to draw on for inspiration - there was that new game of one day cricket that was making its mark.

It was magic and one of the true highlights of my life.

I did thank my Dad for building me my beloved pitch just last year. He had no memory of it at all. He did recall mowing a bit of grass near the pine tree at one point where we all had a bit of a whack every now and then but that was it. Could that be all it was? I certainly don't care - I like my version of the story so much better - and I still dream of linseed oil, and hot summer days and the whack of the ball. Magic!