Narrell's Story
20th November, 1993
Famous last words maybe, but I have said a million times "I will write a book before I die". Why, I wonder have I waited until this moment to even start? Could perchance this be my epitaph? Will I die tonight? Stand by for the next episode - I'll tell you tomorrow!
One of the hardest things about writing, is knowing what to include and what to leave out. So I want to write a book - what's the subject? Everyone has said at one time or another, "why don't you write a book - your life is so full of stories." I like to tell stories, I love to relate a real-life incident to people and make it come alive for them so that they can imagine it. Sometimes a story needs a little garnishing to make it presentable, but it is always, in essence, the truth!
So now, back to my dilemma; what to write about? I recently started reading 'The Complete Works of Henry Lawson' - I like the man! He tells stories that jump right out of the book and live in your memory as real events. I have also read Geraldine Doyle's new book and she does the same thing. Both writers really just collect anecdotes. So after lying in bed for a few hours with thoughts running through my mind, I have the formula for my book:- 'The world according to Narrell' - a collection of anecdotes. It won't be a very well-travelled book, because the extent of my travels has been very limited. Overseas to Magnetic Island and Manly, north to Cairns, south to Merimbula and west to um, does Ballarat count? I never was good at geography. Anyway suffice to say my expeditions are mostly local, but I do believe that I see a lot more in my travels than the average tourist. I'm a people watcher. I like to watch what they do and how they do it. You know what it's like when you're in an elevator and everyone looks at the door, the ceiling or the floor; I look directly into their faces, I even commit the cardinal sin of speaking. Or when you're in traffic and you watch the conversation between the couple in the car in front. I try to work out what they're saying to each other by their actions and mannerisms.
Back to this book. I think I'd really like to start with my family. Therein lay a million tales: to borrow my friend Geraldine's line, "being in my family is like living in a bowl of meusli - what's not fruit or nuts is flakes". Probably a more accurate picture would be " a crazy collection of characters clumped in a clan".
DAD
I have to start with my father. He's the member of the family everybody loves to hate but loves all the same. Dad makes the rules: The rules cannot be changed, bent or disobeyed. Dad's rules go like:-
Thou shalt rise with the sun, work all day, have tea at dark, watch TV, then sleep all night (Except when the rule maker elects to use a kanga hammer at midnight to remove the bathroom tiles or elects to sleep all day and prowl all night). Thou shalt not swear (unless thy name is Ron). Get my drift?
When visitors have outworn their welcome it is perfectly acceptable for Dad to yell out "Haven't you got a home to go to?" or just go to bed and leave them to it. Poor Dad, he's a lovable soul. Everything is black or white - no greys for Dad. He's finding it pretty hard coping in the nineties, but oh boy, you should have seen how he dealt with the seventies! The Rolling Stones were a communist plot; every male under 20 years of age was a 'long haired git'. Motor bikes were taboo. I still remember famous last words to a dating daughter - "you don't think you're going out that door dressed like that?" or usually "go and wash that muck off your face before you walk out that door", spoken by a man standing in the baggiest shorts, the filthiest T-shirt with a silly looking hat on his head. Sartorial elegance indeed! Doors were certainly a thing in our house: if you weren't in the DOOR by midnight, the DOORwas locked, " if you slam that door one more time I'll take it off it's hinges" ( I came home after being away one weekend only to find I had no hinged door. Of course I was very upset because I hadn't slammed it lately...what a joke on me, they were preparing to paint my room, the old "you're not going out that DOOR:- with him/her; like that; in that; on that etc" and "if you walk out that DOOR don't ever come back". I guess the DOOR was pretty important to Dad, it was his door!
Dad's making concessions to age these days, C.R.A.F.T. has set in (Can't Remember A Flaming Thing). Just the other night he said "did you hear about that bloke (can't remember his name) who invented (can't think what it was), I wrote it down here somewhere but I can't remember where I put it" - great story Dad! You do have to laugh or cry sometimes. This man had the memory of a computer and put us all to shame for years.
MUM
Not so Mum, however, she was born with C.R.A.F.T.. She says she doesn't remember much 'these days' but I can't remember a time when she could remember anything. Dad has always delighted in 'taking the mickey out of' Mum. When he was a comedian, the biggest laughs he got were for his 'wife' jokes - the worst for Mum was that most of his stories were true! Mum's always doing something.....she has, for my whole life, had a hectic social life and so many hobbies. She's the crafty type, you know, heavily into things like sewing, flower making, ribbon tying (my Mum can wrap the best looking present), painting, even dippity-glassing (that was probably the silliest hobby), you name it - she does it. Then there was ten-pin bowling, tennis, golf, shopping and the most amazing amount of card playing. All these activities become rituals...Mum's weekly timetable is really tight. She's the eternal homemaker too, with home-cooking and everything 'just right' in her house. If anyone loves a party, it's Mum - anytime, anyplace. She manages to gather her little brood around for all sorts of occasions, sometimes just for the special event of 'Chinese Chicken' - a dish that Mum has never mastered the knack of cooking for less than 20 people. So everytime she says 'Chinese Chicken' is on, everyone is expected to turn up and consume the mountain of food.
Speaking of Mum's memory (oh well, jumping back a bit), probably one of the worst days that makes me laugh the most, was the day I was to see the Doctor in town to have my varicose veins attended to. Mum had insisted that I couldn't go alone because I may have been unable to drive home, although my husband was willing and able to chauffeur me, Mum was adamant it was her job. All the preceding week she checked and confirmed the arrangements. Come the morning of the big day out and I woke early, cleaned the house, ironed, showered and dressed then proceeded to wait out the front of my house for Mum to collect me. After about 15 minutes my husband suggested I should ring Mum to see if she had left. I was very surprised when a chirpy voice answered at the other end, I enquired as to what she was doing and her reply was "I set the alarm for early this morning, got up on time and I can't for the life of me remember what I set it for". I just said "Mum Doctor's" and there was dead silence at the other end then "I'll be right there". Okay so now we were well over half an hour late for a specialist's appointment. When Mum finally arrived, she came speeding down the road. It usually takes Mum hours to get organised of a morning but this day she was out the door in minutes flat. She kept apologising all the way to town and by the time we entered the Doctor's office she really was a nervous wreck. We were ushered straight in and Mum declined the Doctor's invitation to watch the procedure and claimed "I don't like to watch operations" to which the Doctor replied "Nor do I". What a day! The Doctor then decided not to proceed with the procedure as my legs were worse than the last timew he'd seen them (of course they were - I had been on my feet for hours). The next step was off to the hospital to book in for surgery. OK now we can go home, Mum suggested that I should now drive because she was a little weary from the morning's activity, I asked her which direction to take and she told me to follow this road to the end. She is now beginning to relax and chats merrily away until we come to a sudden dead end and just bush..."what did they do with the road?" exclaims Mum.......that's my darling Mother.
My sister on the other hand remembers everything she chooses to in the way in which she chooses. An A-grade student with no common sense, my sister was always the brains of the outfit, Lord only knows where she hides them. I recall when we were children our house had some very heavy, large furniture which resided on the back verandah about 30 foot above the ground. One day when we were staging a neighbourhood concert (my first foray into the entertainment business) and were collecting all available chairs for our audience. When it came to trying to get these large chairs downstairs I had the bright idea that because they were so heavy I would lower them down on a rope, so I sent my baby sister downstairs to guide their landing. It was quite a struggle to get the chair onto the railing so it could be lowered to the ground but as soon as it toppled over the rail it just sped to the ground into the waiting arms of my sister. I really got into a lot of trouble that day for flattening my sister! Speaking of trouble that reminds me of the day that my sister and I did something wrong and knew that we would 'cop the wooden spoon for it', so we hid the dreaded spoon. When Mum discovered the crime and reached for the spoon drawer, my sister and I began to giggle until the moment when Mum revealed an even larger spoon than her normal weapon...who said she was dumb......boy, did we run! My sister has never been a mathematical wiz, she can count as long as she can see her fingers, but gets a little confused about such things as arithmetic (she didn't appreciate the gift of an abacus I gave her one year), when we were young I was always able to get away with exchanging one of these bright shiny coins for one of those daggy little ones (a polished penny for a dull sixpence).
As daughters go, mine is probably better than most, even though we have spent the better part of her life in dispute. She has been a constant source of amusement and heartbreak. This will have to be where it is wise to know what to omit because I don't think there would be enough paper to record all the Lee files. She is very theatrical, a pretty girl, who, at 18, still has an innocence about her that I pray never wanes. Even today I jokingly told people that my friend's four-year-old daughter was babysitting her sister of 6 weeks. While driving home in the car, Lee asked if it was a wise thing to leave such a new baby in the care of such a young child....get the picture? She has just completed her HSC but still keeps her clothes in a 'wardrove', looks at her reflection in a 'moo-ror' and asks to 'lend $5' when she doesn't have a penny.
We used to live in an old house in Sydney (lots of old houses really) and Lee always 'christened' things...like 'rat rock' - the place where she saw a rat run one day, the 'botanic gardens' - a couple of plants in a plot. She had and has still a vivid imagination - take for instance, the large porcelain clowns which Lee insisted moved by their own volition and whose eyes followed her. She loved to make movies - travelogues of the house and yard, news breaks, commercials, anything. One day a friend was holding the camera and he said to Lee "you should see what you look like from this side of the camera"..Lee promptly arose from her chair and went around to the other side of the camera to have a look....dummy! Always the inventor of fun and activity, when the Gulf war started Lee organised her friend and brother into a poster-making troop to write slogans along the lines of 'peace not war' etc. They spent the entire afternoon and then went out and placed the posters in shops and on poles in our neighbourhood. The whole house was decorated with the posters, until later that evening when they had a fight and ripped them all down and put the whole lot in the bin. If ever she was ill, it was always some rare disease. The best she came up with was when she was auditioning for a role in the drama group's play. She was delivering her lines like a true professional, when suddenly she slumped to the floor. The entire room spent several seconds flicking over pages in the script to find the instruction to faint, before they realised that it wasn't part of the play and that she had actually collapsed. After we had brought her round and delivered her home her condition deteriorated during the afternoon and the doctor was called in. Toxic Shock Syndrome was diagnosed and she was rushed to hospital, on the journey to the casualty department she said "Mummy, do I really have toxic waste syndrome?" What can you answer? We still don't know what she really did have, but she 'cooked' from the inside out and peeled from head to toe. By the way she did win the role! One evening while we were driving home from Sydney, Lee was showing-off in front of her friend and giving her brother a hard time, even telling me, her mother not to be so immature. The next thing, out of the blue she says, "oh look, a mummy bunny and two baby bunnies". She was serious - it did look like a mother and two young rabbits in silhouette in the moon, but it was her timing that was so hilarious. As I did say earlier, I could go on forever but I will have to move on to Shane.
My little 'clown' has had the most unfortunate or beginnings and risen above most of his obstacles. He started life with s couple of complications even while still in hospital. Overcoming these we bought home a lovely little placid baby until he contracted tonsilitis at only two weeks old. Ear infections followed tonsilitis ad infinitum until we finally found a specialist who could cure it. Unfortunately this start to life created a little monster, an angry little boy with teeth problems as well as many other health problems. We struggled through years of tantrums and bad behaviour until we get to now. This crazy kid tries to be everything to everyone. A born performer, who just wants to be centre stage day and night. He sings, plays guitar, writes songs, dabbles on keyboard, writes scripts, tries to learn magic, dances, loves to be a clown and wants to learn every instrument ever invented. Shane is my entertainment, always on show...he takes in everything he sees and is a great mimic. If ever there was an enquiring mind it is Shane's....he drives everyone crazy with his incessant questions and chatter, but there is no denying he has an endearing personality. Shane is in no way academically minded, his learning takes place on the way to having fun....he is the student that drives teachers insane but is still their favourite. If there is an accident somewhere, Shane will find it...he is really just an accident waiting to happen. Shane will be successful at something one day, I have no idea what - but he has the drive and determination to win1
My husband and I knew each other and dated when we were only 17. We can't remember why we stopped seeing each other, we tend to believe it was just a matter of neither of us bothering to ring the other (pretty intense, eh?). But twenty years later our paths crossed and we were amazed to discover that in a world of constant change we had remained the same in essence, older, maybe not wiser, definitely sillier and it all mattered. After two 'errors in judgement' type marriages, I had vowed I wouldn't ever marry again - but along came John - now this was a different story
! He couldn't give me anything that I didn't already have except himself and he didn't promise me anything that he couldn't deliver...I know this time I have made a right decision....our backgrounds are similar and our 'remember when's are basically the same as well. Probably the only problem we encounter is that John has an ability to live with unfinished business, to procrastinate and to put things off until tomorrow, I, on the other hand want everything done yesterday so I can do even more tomorrow. That's another hiccup, John buckles under pressure and I thrive on it until it buckles me. But John does have an amazing ability to 'knock-off', to take time out, something he is trying to teach me.
One day, after an exhausting week, I came home expecting to bury myself in work solidly for the remainder of the day. John met me at the car and relieved me of my baggage, guided me to a chair and insisted I sit. On my home office computer he had placed a sign 'Closed for lunch' and hanging from the doorway was an extremely long document detailing the reasons why I was to finish work for a while and further instructions for the day. He had prepared a lovely lunch and even put the answering machine on. I must honestly say it was a most appreciated break and a very thoughtful gesture.
John is very smart - but don't ever try to get a simple explanation from him. Even a simple query like"do you know why the phone isn't working" would bring an answer detailing how and when the thing was invented, by whom and how many 'doovywhatsits' are in it not to mention a detailed breakdown of telecommunications through the centuries. Sometimes, by the time John has explained something to me, I have forgotten the original question. I know I drive him crazy with my idiosyncrasies, weird ways and even weirder family but he's ever so tolerant and I even think sometimes he fits in quite well.
I don't think I can keep travelling through my family, I really could go on forever - suffice to say that every generation on both sides have their fair share of 'meusli bars'. There would be more than enough tales to fill a complete Brittanica Home Library, but maybe one of the other 'flakes' could write about them!
