I had almost finished doing the washing-up when I began to feel quite emotional… It had nothing to do with the conversation with my brother over lunch, which was very pleasant and genial. The day had been good so far – plenty of exercise, my hormones were fine and nothing was bothering me; I was simply standing there with my hands in the sink when I noticed, through  the gaps in the bubbles, the pretty colours in the hand-knitted cotton dishcloth. It started pale blue at one end for two rows, then on to mauve, cerise and white, and finished with a pale pink – a single line of navy blue against the white made it edgy in an artistic way, like a dark line in an abstract painting by Mondrian. But the point is that I recognised the handiwork and I thought of the hands that had made it…

Those are the hands I have known all my life; the hands that held me first and nurtured me with love and kindness; they are the industrious, hard working, tireless, giving, soothing and loving hands of my mother.

I wrung out the dishcloth in my slightly daintier hands (than Mum’s), wiped the kitchen worktops and returned it to the sink.

“Soak it in a little bleach every so often and it will keep on going for years,” I could almost hear Mum saying.

I did exactly that and the colours became brighter.

Although I felt emotional thinking about my mother and all she has done for me, I didn’t cry; in fact, I smiled to myself. Mum may be nearly blind these days but she is hale and hearty (if perhaps a little cold) in England. I expect she is knitting or making aprons (by feel, while she keeps abreast of world news on the radio) even as I write this.

At around five-thirty this afternoon I went out into the garden to find Bill, my elder brother (with whom I am staying at present). He was smiling as he walked up from the vegetable patch; he had something in his hand.

“Bill, I’ve invited Diane for dinner,” I called out before reaching him, “well, we had so many leftovers from the barbecue… and it won’t be as good another day from now.”

“Great idea,” he replied, “What about Henry?”

“He’s at work but Diane can take a dinner back for him.”

“Sally, look what I dug up just now. Ever seen anything like it?” Bill asked laughing.

He held the object suggestively in his hand and, for a moment or two, I wondered what it was exactly – then I burst out laughing.

Twenty minutes later, when our younger brother’s girlfriend arrived for dinner, she was rather taken aback by our unusual arrangement of salad on the table for there in the centre was an enormous… well, see for yourself. Let me just add that nobody fancied radish tonight…

This joke was awaiting me in my in-box this morning. I have a feeling that Robert thought I might pass this on to you… and he was right!

The Kind Nurse
A male patient is lying in bed in the hospital, wearing an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose.

A young student nurse appears and gives him a partial sponge bath.

“Nurse,”‘ he mumbles from behind the mask, “are my testicles black?”

Embarrassed, the young nurse replies, “I don’t know, Sir. I’m only here

to wash your upper body and feet.”

He struggles to ask again, “Nurse, please check for me. Are my testicles black?”

Concerned that he might elevate his blood pressure and heart rate from worrying

about his testicles, she overcomes her embarrassment and pulls back the covers.
She raises his gown, holds his manhood in one hand and his testicles gently in the other.

She looks very closely and says, “There’s nothing wrong with them,
Sir. They look fine.”

The man slowly pulls off his oxygen mask, smiles at her, and says very slowly,

“Thank you very much. That was wonderful. Now listen very, very closely:

Are – my – test – results – back?”

The carnival was over, well the Australia day festivities were over! The leftovers from the barbecue were tucked away into the fridge and all the guests had gone, even the ones who had held out to the very last, and even Ron (the young American who looks like Jeff Goldblum) who stayed on for a bit of karaoke fun; and even my niece, Loretta (who has her own house now), had to tear herself away. So at last, we were down to just the three of us – my brother, Bill, my nephew, Will, and little old me…

It was past ten o’clock – late for people who get up at five in the morning – but Will had just put on his favourite karaoke compilation and we couldn’t bear to retire to bed without singing “Morning has Broken”, then “The Sounds of Silence”, then…. well you get the picture. Bill didn’t want a microphone, he preferred to lie in his comfy recliner while Will and I sang the golden oldies. We must have sounded alright because Bill soon fell asleep.

William put down his microphone and joined me on the sofa. The song, “Sunshine On My Shoulders” came on and I didn’t think I knew it so I offered the microphone to my nephew.

“No, you sing,” he said.

The song came back to me and I could see John Denver’s face in my mind’s eye. The words were happy but the tune was sad; and I thought about John Denver’s premature demise in a plane crash; and the words made me think about sunshine on my shoulders – about my being in my homeland of Australia…

“I feel like crying,” I admitted to Will.

“So do I,” said my twenty-five year old nephew.

“You’re so soulful,” I responded, “maybe that’s why I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he said.

And I ran my hand through his hair (as aunties are apt to do), and I sang a few more songs, and now it’s time for bed. I’ll leave you with the lyrics of the song and wish you a sunny day wherever you may be.

Don’t worry, they are friendly, beer swilling, Australian crocodiles of an ornamental variety. There is a nice frog and a sociable magpie too…

My brother needed to go over to Capalaba yesterday; it’s not far away and I thought I would take Bill for a spin in my smart car (the Imprezza or, as we say in Australia, “The Impresser!”). Bill got in and I remembered there were some nice Mint Imperials in the compartment between our seats; Roland had put them in the car for me before lending me his car for three months (I was impressed by both the car and the Mint Imperials).

“Would you like a mint Bill?” I asked, taking two mints out with a flourish.

“Thank you,” he said taking the mint and looking very thoughtfully at it.

He began to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” I enquired.

“Someone once told me never to refuse a mint if it’s offered, and I have always followed that advice,” his voice trailed off enigmatically.

“Oh Bill, I just thought you might like a mint,” I laughed too before adding, “the people with bad breath never take the hint or the mint.”

Bill nodded. For a few moments we were both silent, each of us thinking of instances when, disappointingly, offers of mints were rejected…

Of course, that is not me –  “Too in love to eat mince” – I don’t need an excuse not to eat mince. Besides, I had just had a breakfast of egg and bacon (no toast – still dieting!), and mince was not even on the menu. You see my lovely brother, Bill, had gone outside the back door for a smoke when I heard him chuckling.

“Sally, this is so funny, you should come out and see this,” he called.

I ran, coffee cup in my hand, outside to see what was so amusing. Bill gestured towards the tree in his next-door neighbour’s back garden.

“See those two magpies on that bough?”

I nodded.

“Well the larger one is a fake magpie!”

True enough, the real magpie was besotted. He sidled up to his bird of choice, not seeming to mind that she may have been regarded as somewhat “plastic” by other, more discerning magpies. He chatted her up and showed off, trying to get her attention by hopping from one bough to another. He was just like any other boy in love.

Bill’s neighbour, Mary, was in her garden and heard us talking about the magpies.

“Want to see some more?” she asked me, hardly waiting for my reply as she dashed up the steps of her house and disappeared behind the screen door. Moments later her arm appeared – there was something in her hand… The magpies had eyes like hawks (except that they have cute little bushy eye-brows, as I’ve told you before) and several flew onto the porch railings whilst others waited in the wings (so to speak) on the side fence.

Now Mary is well-known in the neighbourhood for her love of magpies – you see she feeds them mince – and that is what enticed them to eat from her hand.

“I feed them raw sausage – cooked is too fatty – or they roll it in the dirt,” said Bill.

“And I feed them bacon fat,” I thought to myself.

Bill and I are of the opinion that magpies should be given a varied diet. But the magpie in the tree was not tempted by any tit-bits; he let the others vie for Mary’s outstretched arm while he stayed in the tree. As I said, he was too in love to eat mince….

“Which way shall we go?” my brother asked.

“Somewhere new. How about Lindum way?” I suggested.

Bill nodded.

“You lead and I’ll follow,” I said enthusiastically.

I love cycling with Bill. He always finds exciting places, off the beaten track, for us to discover. Yesterday was no exception. We turned off the main Wynnum road onto Fleming Road and before long we were in new territory to me; this time it was definitely horse country. It’s funny how things look so different when you’re cycling, especially at a leisurely pace; you have the chance to notice and appreciate everything.

We found a nice cycle path that looked promising but ended abruptly near properties with acreages and horses; however, there was a dirt track with tyre marks, that meandered around to the left of the creek and into the bush. Just as we reached the point where we wanted to turn back, a Ute pulling a trailer that carried two quad bikes appeared from the bush. I waved at the men in the truck as they passed by and was surprised a few minutes later when one of the men was stood holding a gate, waiting for us to come through so he could lock up.

“You must be brave,” said the man.

“Why? Are there croc’s?” I joked.

“Far worse than crocodiles,” he laughed, “swarms of mosquitoes! We’ve just been in there spraying them now.”

“So you are the men we have to be grateful to,” Bill said.

“I bet it’s horrible in there,” I added, to let the man know that we appreciated the difficult conditions of his work.

“Awful!” he twanged, “the mozzies swarm around our helmets in a black cloud – you can hardly see!”

I thought of the old film, “African Queen”, in particular the scene where Katharine Hepburn has the flying horrors from a swarm of black insects, and I got the picture.

“It must be a terrible job for you,” I sympathised.

“You must be kidding,” he broke into a broad grin and waved his hand in the direction of the quad bikes, “How many people get to drive around in those all day long?”

Just some shots of the countryside around Cabbage Tree Point, where we went fishing at the weekend. I love the old house (now used as a storage shed) on the hilltop.

It is just Bill, William and me here holding the fort  at the moment while the rest of the family are away. As you probably know from my previous blog posts, Bill is my eldest brother, with whom I am staying for some of the time whilst I am in Australia; and William is Bill’s eldest son. We are looking after Lita’s chooks and we’re trying to remember to feed Lily the cat (not to be confused with Lily the Pink, the Pink, the Pink – if you can remember that odd song); we are also being very helpful to one another because, now that we are all alone, we realise how much work there is to do.

Yesterday Bill and I had, independently, the same brainwave to do some shopping for dinner; however, we did not discuss our intentions so it was a surprise to each of us when we arrived home, within minutes of each other, laden with our purchases.

“I bought beef-mince,” said Bill putting the mince on the kitchen worktop.

“And I bought rump steak,” I said, pulling out the steak.

“Do you like mince?” Bill asked.

“Not much,” I answered truthfully, “Do you want mince for dinner?”

“I don’t mind at all – have whatever you like,” he answered.

My brother went outside to his shed, probably to sand down a chest of drawers, and I got to thinking that maybe he fancied a shepherd’s pie for dinner. The steak could wait for another day. If Bill fancied shepherd’s pie I would make one for him, minus any tomato (because my nephew hates tomatoes), and I would have just a small portion for myself (because the smell of mince cooking usually turns me off and makes me want to go vegetarian).

The huge pie was on the table. William came in from work and said he wasn’t very hungry and I took a serving no bigger than a dessert-spoonful. Funnily enough, we all went back for seconds (it didn’t taste so meaty with the browned potato and melted cheese on top!).

“That was nice,” Bill said.

“I thought you must have bought the mince because you fancied a shepherd’s pie,” I responded.

“To tell you the truth, Sally,” Bill smiled, “I thought I would give you a break from cooking for a change and I was going to cook the dinner tonight. I knew I could cook mince and I knew I could cook potatoes, so that is why I bought mince.”

It tickled me to think of my macho older brother planning to cook for me and William. I was so glad that used his mince. In fact it wasn’t a bad pie at all. We enjoyed the other half just as much tonight, especially as nobody had to cook.