The wedding

Son’s wedding on the weekend: gorgeous setting by a rock-pool, with ducks in the creek and roses going mad with colour. It was simply a beautiful, happy, loving, joy-filled day and evening. The reception was lit with a myriad of ‘fairy’ lights and the table decorations were giant martini glasses (and I do mean ‘giant’) filled with red liquid and floating tea-lights. Speeches were simple and heart-felt, and totally devoid of sleaze. Food was delicious and abundant. Drinks were varied and free. The cake was outstanding. All in all it was one of the happiest days I’ve spent in a long time. Instead of the traditional bridal waltz, the bride and groom were announced, they stepped into the room and immediately began doing their...

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Books and me.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon with a group of women in the local college. (Hello girls!) I gave a “Readers’ Digest” version of my life and also talked about being a writer. I organized my thoughts around something the children’s writer – Christobel Mattingley – once told me: It takes all our lives to write books. To write well requires a lot of living, and our feelings and experiences are the wellspring from which our stories flow. It was interesting to rediscover how I’ve had a lifelong love affair with words, stories and books. Of course, I’ve always known that but, yesterday, as I recounted important moments in my life, I was surprised how often my life and books intersected. I wrote plays, poems and stories...

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The grapes of…?

Yesterday the Old Boy and I took two lovely Irish ladies on a short trip through the Barossa Valley. They’re the mother and aunty of my son’s fiancee, out here for the wedding. (Only two weeks to go!) We had a nice day: the weather was perfect, the vines were green and leafy, the picnic lunch with a surprise visit by a hungry family of magpies was fun, the shopping was delightful and the visits to a couple of wineries were most pleasant. We even saw a mother, teenager and baby kangaroo grazing on the side of the road. As we tootled along through the picturesque towns and past the beautiful vineyards – vines to the left of us, vines to the right – I said: How blessed are we to live here?! Later, as our conversation meandered like the...

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The “what-ifs”.

I had an attack of the “what-ifs” the other day: what if I hadn’t been discouraged from writing back in the mumbly-mumbles; what if, back in the day, I’d tried to get into journalism like my father wished instead of teachers’ college like my mother wanted; what if I’d become a comedienne like I wanted; what if I’d had more confidence in my ability years ago; what if…? You know how it goes. “What brought this on?” you ask. My frustration levels are reaching an all-time high. Publishers accept your submission but won’t tell you if they’ve rejected it; you’re supposed to figure that out by yourself once a suitable time has lapsed. So, how long do you wait…hoping…praying…?...

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