Tuesday, December 12, 2023
Tuesday, November 28, 2023
Sunday, November 5, 2023
Murrumbidgee Living
We hardly glimpsed
the
Murrumbidgee
that winter
weekend
we first checked
out the town
the pub
bistro and Botanic Gardens donkeys
got our
attention
and despite
its location
the Tourist
Information Centre
didn’t advertise
the river’s existence
the only waters
we tested
were
chlorinated
contained by
tiles
The promise
of a life
where nature
and art would combine
brought us
here
we were
warned of floods
but reassured
by sturdy
levees
and would
not see
the river swell
‘til two
years in
when the full
bellied Murrumbidgee
drowned its plastic
buoys
roiled
around trees
submerged
shores
and
swallowed picnic shelters
When the
river receded
debris and dragged
tree limbs
caked in mud
made for an
apocalyptic
khaki landscape
and sodden
ground
sucked at our
feet
Now we have
seen the Murrumbidgee
in flood and
depleted
have fallen
under the spell
of its flow
and towering
gums
sublime in
health
or ashen
silhouette
we’ve walked
the Wiradjuri track
from
Flowerdale to Oura
by remnants
of the Hampden Bridge
and relics
of the old pumping station
traced the
intersecting lagoons
and watched
Wollundry turtles
raise their
leathery necks and snouted faces
above the
water’s surface
glimpsed
darting kingfishers
iridescent
blue
against light
stippled leaves and water
seen inky cormorants
perched on
fallen tree limbs
wings outstretched
to catch the breeze
watched neat
native wood ducks
and their
shiny mallard cousins
forage on
the river banks
seen the contentious
French geese
cross The Esplanade
in procession
and always,
always
under skies
alive
with squadrons
of cockatoos
wheeling and calling
We have heard
Gobbagombulin's and Pomilgalarna’s story
read Mary Gilmour
on the
stinking
swan hoppers
coated in evidence
of slaughter
seen the Gumi
races revived
and
Wollundry all lit up
for a local mini
Vivid
and know the
fate the river’s deep
can bring to
those unfamiliar
We respect the Murrumbidgee
the Murrumbidjeri
our adopted waterway
artery of Wiradjuri country
and draw energy and solace
from our existence
on its banks
Tuesday, October 31, 2023
Kings and Queens of Halloween
Halloween has its origins in the festival of Samhain (pron. Sow – wane) celebrated by the Celts of ancient Britain and Ireland, at least 2000 years ago. November 1st was, in that era, in the northern hemisphere, considered the first day of the New Year and marked the onset of winter. It was the time of year when animals were brought in from pasture, crops were harvested and land tenures were renewed. During the Samhain festival it was believed that the boundary between the living and dead became blurred and the souls of the dead returned to visit their former homes. Fires were lit to frighten away evil spirits, and people sometimes donned disguises, usually draping themselves in animal skins, to avoid being recognised by ghosts. When the Romans conquered the Celts in the 1st century CE, their festivities of Feralia, venerating dead ancestors, and of Pomona, the goddess of the harvest, were merged with Samhain. Later still in the 6th century AD, Pope Gregory I harnessed the supernatural aspects of these pagan celebrations and superimposed them with Christian rites designating November 1st All saints Day and thereby making 31st October All Hallows Day Evening, the night before saints were to be venerated. That name eventually morphed into ‘Halloween’. Dressing up in costumes as saints, angels and devils became part of Halloween from around AD 1000. (Sources: Encyclopedia Britannica & https://www.history.com/).
Promotional poster for the show featuring Jai Normes
Performing in drag for Halloween became part of Wagga Wagga culture in AD 2022 when local café/arts hub The Curious Rabbit hosted the first Hallow’d Queens event on 22nd October that year. By 2023 it had become a firm tradition and Hallow'd Queens expanded to the Riverina Playhouse on the banks of the Murrumbidgee, the show emceed with subtle menace by local drag king Crash O’Byrn. The theme was spooky B&B accommodation with Crash as concierge inviting us to tour the nooks and crannies of an imaginary gothic building. As we did so we encountered various drag performers enacting spooky scenarios. There was a shrill Janet chanelling Shelley Duval from The Shining and escaping her psychopathic pursuer to the tune of ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’, her hapless dummy child flailing about in her arms. There was Erica d’Hesperus, sporting a serpentine dress of her own design referencing Disney’s Ursula performing ‘I’ll Put a Spell on You’ . There was an ’aesthetician’ (aka mad scientist), Jai Normés, mixing chemicals to the strains of ‘Weird Science’ then injecting his hapless victim with luminescent gayness formula to Dorian Electra‘s ‘My Agenda’. Imina Something introduced us to a salacious un-holy nun with a craving to paint an audience member's portrait and enacted a knife wielding Chucky to ‘Devil Gate Drive’.Jeffree
delighted as always with the sheer vulgarity and machismo of his performance to
‘Psychokiller’ offering us a pleasing
outline of his modest genitalia and enjoying a literal bloodbath. Strewth performed both a histrionic version
of ‘Phantom of the Opera’ with her
puppet sidekick Crikey and Kylie Minogue’s ‘I
Believe In You’ with reworked Halloween-style lyrics and some disturbing
audience interaction. Other highlights
were Nefertiti’s blood-red lit writhing erotic
routine to ‘Year Zero’ summoning Baphomet and Jeffree’s showcasing his
feminine side to ‘Wuthering Heights’ delivered with more hysteria than even Ms
Kate Bush could muster.
The show’s finale
was an homage to Quentin Tarantino’s ‘Stuck
In The Middle With You’ Reservoir Dogs torture scene charitably not
approaching cinematic realism but still a wonderfully tasteless rendering of
sadism and cannibalism.
The Playhouse’s
dimensions and equipment gave the troupe greater scope for staging and lighting
than they had last year and they took full advantage with some wonderfully
atmospheric effects including a smoke machine and strobe lighting. The
technical set up for each sequence was a bit sluggish but the audience of
mainly hardcore fans and supporters didn’t seem to mind. Their attire made it
clear they had whole heartedly embraced the evening’s themes with costumes that
included drag chic of all types, an evil pixie and a Goth nursing mother!
The
Hallow’d Queens promise to make this an annual event and it will be exciting to
see what their combined creativity spawns in October 2024. In the meantime we
have the Wollundry Drag Pageant to look forward to in March.
Saturday, October 14, 2023
There's something great in the neighbourhood
Playwright Lally Katz wrote Neighbourhood Watch as a vehicle for Robyn Nevin; the lead role of Ana, an ageing refugee from WW2 Hungary, has also been performed by Miriam Margolyes. In SoACT’s production, company veteran, Diana Lovett’s timing and characterisation skills propel this complex and rewarding drama, currently playing at The Basement Theatre, so effectively that I think her performance would stand alongside theirs comfortably. I would also venture that Diana invests Ana with a pathos and ‘everywoman’ quality that might be more difficult for her celebrity peers to achieve. Her performance is a joy!
Diana is ably supported by a great ensemble cast, standouts being Elena
Zacharia as Catherine and Charles Sykes as Ken, the twenty somethings grappling
with love, health, friendship and career issues in suburban Australia
Neighbourhood Watch is set in the year between Kevin
Rudd’s election as Prime Minister and Barack Obama’s as US President - a time
when its youngest characters dare to find cause for hope. The play depicts two
seemingly mismatched neighbours who form a friendship that enables each to heal
from past harsh experiences and re-learn trust.
Performed in the round, unusual for SoACT productions, clever use is
made of actors' non performing time to assist with prop, set and costume
movement. Ana’s reminiscences of her
past, vividly recounted to Catherine, are elegantly and evocatively realised, a
tribute to Michael Mitchell’s pacy sensitive direction and to the work of the
production team. Michael also ensures that the actors never favour any one bank
of audience members (I tested this by changing seats at interval). Some
interesting use of musical numbers enhances the narrative and the emotional
texture of the play which ranges from broadly comic lines contrasting men who
make quiche to those who favour their ‘sausages’ to poignant and frightening
depictions of death, near death and injury.
At over two hours in length, the writer/editor in me would have made a
few cuts to the text, but that is a minor quibble as the story arc earns that
duration with only a few scenes that might be considered extraneous.
If you’re a Wagga Wagga local I urge you to go and see Neighbourhood Watch for a really rich night at the theatre and to support some of your most talented and creative neighbours. Others may need to hold out for Gillian Armstrong's mooted film adaptation of the play.
Photo source: SoACT's Facebook page
Saturday, October 7, 2023
Less is more work
Albury writer Robyne Young recently introduced a group of us to the idea of the ‘zero draft,’ the brain dump that precedes any attempt to craft a narrative or sequence your material. American poet Ellen Bass says that the best writing contains only the essential and recommends you first express the whole of your idea in all its detail then ‘weed out the inessential’. I realise that the prose pieces I’ve written often recount incidents in such detail that they may bore the reader, or as my spouse says, would only be of interest to someone who knows you (i.e. tell someone who cares).
It is easier to be economical in poetry. It is by nature succinct, impressionistic. But with a story to tell I am tempted to provide information about the weather, how I know the people involved, the names of places and types of vehicle etc. While I know less is more, making more less is hard work.
I was ready
to shelve 2,000 plus words of recent prose that fell into these traps when I
encountered Bass’s advice. Then I had coffee with, Karen, who features in the
anecdote and discussed it with her. Perhaps I could redeem the piece with
weeding and capturing only what was notable about the experience we shared.
Karen was
my companion for a 500 km trip to my cousin Beryl’s funeral. We both wanted to
say goodbye, but also to put in a plea for her boxes of genealogical material. Beryl
was my first cousin once removed, Karen is distantly related to Beryl’s late
husband. We’d only met a couple of times before our road trip. It was nice to
have a seasoned traveller as a companion. Karen has lived in five states. Her
bumper sticker reads: ‘NICKINGOFFAGAIN’.
Karen instigated
most of our conversations en route. We skated from topic to topic: astrology
(she is a Libra), political corruption (she believes some of the money
disgraced MP Darryl Maguire got former NSW Premier Gladys Berejiklian to ‘throw
at’ Wagga remains unaccounted for) and history, family and social (European
bees were introduced to Australia in 1822 because native bees did not produce
enough honey). Her driving style is likewise fluid (she drove because I found
out too late that her car is a manual which I can’t drive). A passenger’s
perspective can be skewed, but it felt like we almost brushed against trucks to
our left a few times and we definitely drubbed against the corrugations on the
outer edge of the road. Karen gestured extravagantly as she spoke, sometimes
leaving the gear stick and steering wheel briefly untouched then taking
skilful corrective action when she had made her point.
Our
destination was the Squid’s Ink Inn, on the shores of Lake Macquarie. On arrival the manager, a surly man
in his 30s, assigned us our rooms stating that he had already charged both to
Karen’s credit card. Karen deemed him ‘shonky’ as we had intended to pay for
our accommodation separately and he should not have processed the payment at
all until we arrived and checked in. I reimbursed Karen by paying for dinner in
the motel restaurant. Sorted, we thought.
The next morning we
strolled by the lake then set off at about 9.30 am for Beryl’s funeral which was
scheduled for 11 am at Lake Macquarie Memorial Park. Google Maps showed it as being
about twenty minutes away so we had ample time.
I pressed ‘start’ on Google Maps directions but we soon realised that we
were looping back through the same roads. Karen exclaimed ‘we’ve driven past those same trees four or five times and they haven’t
grown any’…
Then we saw tall
whirls of smoke on the horizon and hit a diversion set up by emergency
services. Time was getting tight. We lost the GPS signal and I re-entered our
destination. In minutes we found ourselves on the motorway to Sydney and our
trip time recalculated to over an hour. Turns out there is an almost
identically named funeral facility on Sydney’s north shore. Karen remained calm
and even tempered, but my vagus nerve was having none of it. Suddenly finding a
loo was more urgent than honouring my cousin’s passing. A search for
conveniences proved fruitless. We spied some secluded bushland where a
council ute was parked on a gravel turning circle. Karen pulled in, passed
me a box of Kleenex and I legged it into the vegetation. Karen engaged the driver
in conversation and obtained accurate directions to the Memorial Park.
We arrived about 40
minutes late and shuffled into a pew in the chapel behind the assembled friends
and relatives just as the minister was concluding her remarks. I had never been
to an interment. I was truly grateful that Beryl had opted for burial as it
gave us a second chance to pay respects. We followed the coffin on its gurney
down a gentle hill amongst rose bushes and immaculately trimmed hedges to the
graveside. There we exchanged hugs and handshakes, memories and stories.
Beryl’s granddaughter read Do Not Stand
At My Grave and Weep. We all stood and wept. Then we each collected a gerbera from the
funeral director to place on the coffin before it was lowered into the grave
and out of sight. The atmosphere at the wake was friendly. Karen and I had a
chance to talk genealogy with various guests and secured a promise from the
family that Beryl’s papers would find their way to Wagga.
Too weary to contemplate
the long drive home, we booked another night at the Squid’s Ink Inn specifying that we wanted to be charged separately. When we drove up all the parking
spaces were taken. The manager, with an unwarranted show of magnanimity (we
were paying guests after all) let us park in the driveway of his onsite
accommodation. Karen reiterated to me that she distrusted
him. The next morning he happily processed my room payment on my credit card
and it was not until we returned home that Karen found he had also charged her
for two more nights’ accommodation i.e. my room had been billed to both of us. It
took a six month long campaign of dispute resolution for Karen to get the money
re-credited. ‘Shonky’ indeed!
We were less chatty on
the drive home. Back in Wagga I thanked Karen for chauffeuring, for keeping
calm when we got lost and for having that box of Kleenex handy. If we
contemplate nicking off again, I hope the reason isn’t a funeral, but our next
adventure will be sorting through those boxes of family history records.
Thursday, August 31, 2023
Moreton Bay - Redcliffe Map poem
Recently, at a writing workshop, maps and tourist brochures were distributed to participants and we had 10 minutes to compose a poem based on whichever item we had been handed. I got a map of the Moreton Bay/Redcliffe area of Queensland. This, with a bit of subsequent tweaking, is the poem I wrote.
Redcliffe Poem
Redcliffe is not Red Heap
that is a Norman Lindsay novel
with a saucy cover
we stocked at mum’s bookshop
in Diments Way, Hurstville
Scarborough Street is not
Scarborough Road
in Lytham, St Anne’s
where we lived when I was a kid
nor is it Scarborough Fair
in case you're going there
Quay Circuit is not Circular Quay
which itself is not circular but
semi circular
to geometry-minded Europeans
but Warrung to Eora nation people
Moreton Bay is celebrated
(is that the right word?)
in a ballad of convict suffering
though now known for its bugs
which are not bugs
but prized seafood
Margate Beach is Margate Beach
but not the one in Kent with
donkey rides
and ‘Kiss Me Quick’ hats
However we map it, nothing is
immutable
everywhere evokes elsewhere.
Monday, June 26, 2023
Intrigued By What Inspires - a review of the 10 x Ten Play Fest
Last Saturday night I was at a performance of the Wagga Wagga School of Arts (SoACT)’s 2023 Ten X 10 Play Fest. It is an annual event where SoACT invites playwrights from across the country to submit previously unproduced 10 minute dramas to a committee and selects 10 of them to stage. It is made possible by a series of local sponsors, most prominently Riverina Water. I've been to the Play Fest twice before (disclaimer - my daughter was in one of the dramas the first time I went). This year's theme, Intrigue and Inspiration, was reflected in some of the selected works but was essentially a hook on which to hang their marketing.
The bill opened with Therese Edmond’s clever, compelling The Return of Sherlock Homes, a two hander premised on Conan Doyle trying to get the detective monkey off his back and write about spiritualism only to be faced with the bitter pill (appropriately enough for a trained physician) that Sherlock would be his legacy no matter what ‘silly’ or ‘very silly’ subjects he tried to tackle later in is writing career. Ian Wright and Felix Hadler acquitted themselves very well and co-directors Urzy Hadler and Cat May used the Playhouse’s stage and limited props (most impressively a flamboyant feather quill) very effectively.
Amanda
Ley’s Hitman Wanted followed setting
a mood of dark comedy that permeated several of the night’s offerings. Ley
pushes the joke of regretting a drunken post into sinister territory when one
of her characters realises she has summoned an eastern European hitman to ‘take
out’ her ex fiancée. Craig Dixon did a nice comic turn as the multi-talented assassin
Sergei and the line about Air Tasker providing him with better leads than
Gumtree was one of the best quips of the evening.
Diggin (sic) Up The Past introduced us to a rather posh, glam blonde motel
proprietor who narrated and commented on the action - a tale of two scoundrels
hoping to find proceeds of crime where they had secreted them some years
before. Julian Smith’s and Adrian Hallam’s more naturalistic delivery and comic
timing deserve commendation but overall the play was too episodic in structure
and for me at least the denouement was telegraphed from the outset.
Robyn
Horwell’s Daze and Vi was an exercise
in gently humorous dialogue delivered by the eponymous elderly women. They
scoured the newspaper obituaries and riffed on acquaintances they’d sent off
and how they’d like their own exits to be conducted revealing their contrasting
characters and attitudes to mortality as they did so. The play’s ending – when the discussion
became less theoretical – was a touch heavy handed.
The next
play, The Authoress, was the
disappointment of the night for me. The program notes state that playwright
Seth Freeman has an impressive career as a writer and is active in ‘the empowerment of women and human rights’. Why
then he would pen this confused and trivialising drama about gender roles and giving
voice to the marginalised is anyone’s guess. The charismatic Imogen Rubi was underutilized
and obliged to deliver absurdly inconsistent lines and casting Eddie Pratt as a
cross dressing wannabe expert on lesbian relationships with no reference to his
beard obliterated even the slimmest chance that an audience member could
suspend disbelief.
At interval
one of the SoACT members whispered to me that the best was yet to come and Suzy
Wilds’ A Perfect Fit kicked off the
second half of the program (and some stylish footwear) quite strongly. It was
well-structured with strongly drawn characters and tackled themes of poverty and
domestic violence with assurance even if Bob Hitchens’ homeless character was
perhaps a little too well-groomed and insightful to ring completely true.
A Criminal Mind was intent on packing its ten minutes‘
duration with a maximum number of plot twists and titillating ideas. Paula
Armstrong’s script gave us accountancy
jokes, marital intervention, potential S&M antics and gallows humour all enacted
by Balin Willis and Tamara Dixon with commendable energy while the hostage
characters had little to do but look frightened and impatient. Less would have been
more with this plot and more balanced contribution across the cast would have
worked better too.
Jeffrey
Barnes’ Free Kill bamboozled me. Was
it a satire on commuting, an homage to Sharon and Kim, or a warning not to
dabble in or underestimate the dark arts?
Maybe all of the above. Cleverly staged but with a distractingly
overwrought characterization from Bec Huxtable, this play’s ideas could have
been streamlined and refined further. There was so much comic potential in
creating the characters of annoying train passengers that wasn’t really
exploited.
The next offering Second Guessing was an attempt to depict the predicament and dynamics of the disciples in the immediate aftermath of Christ’s crucifixion and apparent rising in a modern context. It had plenty of tension and some of the most unfussy, convincing acting of the night. Adrian Hallam is to be congratulated for the tempo and mood he and his cast created. However, apart from the feat of transposition it was unclear what playwright Glen Hunting was trying to say.
Finally
another two hander, The Octopus Pot, Louise
Hopewell’s expose of the true nature a seemingly likeable bloke via the device
of his widow composing his eulogy. A clever idea and it worked to some extent. Shaun Perry struck the right balance with his
characterisation, coercion, menace and eventually violence erupting plausibly.
Jo-Anne Strader had the unenviable task of convincing the audience that she had
been controlled and abused until a few days prior but was now bursting with
chutzpah and verve at the chance to dish the dirt on Harry. Not 100% convincing
and at risk of trivializing real life domestic violence scenarios.
And then we
were done (to paraphrase the title of SoACT’s next production)*…
As Fay Walters and Margaret Bannister say in their program notes, the 10 by Ten Play Fest has been ‘bringing writers, directors and actors (I would add audiences) into a vibrant annual theatre event’ for fourteen years now and the recency of the works selected and performed means there is a ‘freshness to the topics and the way they are handled’. Wagga Wagga should be proud that our community provides this yearly opportunity for emerging dramatists to practice and hone their craft.
* Agatha
Christie’s And Then there Were None
opens on 6 August
Tuesday, May 9, 2023
ACROSTICS
Today at Claire Baker's fortnightly Word Play workshop we tried our hands at acrostics. Here are mine.
Friday, March 10, 2023
Etiquette of the Water
A poem about my recent boating excursion with a friend...
Rebecca bought
a shiny boat
and invited
Jan aboard
attracted
to a jaunt afloat
Jan still
felt untoward
Rebecca’s
skills were surely great
her vessel water
tight
but at going
anywhere by eight
Jan’s inner
sloth took fright
they
compromised on half past nine
for their lakeside
rendezvous
the
temperature was just sublime
the water
looked nice too
to get the
boat set up to launch
with all
its parts secured
they employed
ev’ry kind of wrench
in Bec’s substantial
hoard
Lastly a fiddly
hood-like thing
the bimini they erected
to ensure
that from the sun and wind
they would
be protected
As the vessel
edged towards the wet
it occurred
to Jan
that
neither had joined the boat club yet
but to use
their ramp they planned
Rebecca
said she’d made a call
but the
club sounded elitist
joining their
ranks she thought she’d stall
and maybe completely
resist -
If
questioned they agreed to assume
an air of
nonchalance
say they
intended to join soon
but wished
to try it once
The craft
began its slow descent
into the
muddy swell
when a lean
young tousle-haired gent
was maneuvering
his as well
he gently
nudged their boat aside
with a slight
cocking of his head
Bec turned
to Jan and softly said
‘that’s water etiquette’
before they
commenced across the lake
they
hovered on the jetty
pondering what
steps to take
to board
and keep things steady
With one
sure hand Bec held the boat
with the
other she helped Jan
their
sandalled feet were duly soaked
as they
hatched their launching plan
This boat,
as small boats are wont,
had one
bench seat for two
of course the pilot faced the front
but the
passenger, (who knew?)
must face away, to aft
Back to
back they’d lean
so while
the pilot steered the craft
Jan could
see where they’d been!
The lake now
clear of floating traffic
Bec turned
the ignition key
but the
craft remained quite static
what had caused
this little hitch?
and how could
it be mended?
Bec had
just to flick a switch
the
propeller then descended
They were
off and cut a frothy path
speeding on
their ride
their feet received
another bath
as did much
else inside
Bouncing in
no direction particular
the bimini
poles a-shakin’
in her
quest to stay perpendicular
a tight hold
of them Jan was takin’
she
surprised herself by realising that
she'd had the presence of mind
to secure her
mobile phone and hat
firmly beneath
her behind
Communication
between the friends was tough
with their
reverse bookend posture
at first
the trip was loud and rough
life
jackets’ a further imposture
'How fast do you think we’re going?' asked Bec
her words
almost lost in the breeze
Jan in fact
had no way to check
nor could she
guess it with ease
next she thought
she heard Bec say
‘I think 4 is the limit’
‘Knots?’ she pondered, anyway
she was sure they’d reached it
Bec
indicated boats some metres away
implying
they should be steering clear
not capsize
them or drench them in spray
more water
etiquette it would appear
Then Bec
brought the boat around
smoothly, with
lesser velocity
for their next
two laps Jan found
her pole
grasp could cease its ferocity
philosophical
now re. her sodden feet
and enjoying
the ride with her chum
well-adjusted
too to her backward seat
and her
phone’s imprint on her bum
At about this
point Bec needed a break
and turned
the boat t’ward the shore
their pace by
now, steady and sedate
Jan would
not have said ’no’ to some more
If getting
into the vessel
had proved
quite a challenge
getting out
was more of a hassle
that Jan
doubted she’d easily manage
Twixt the
side of the boat and the jetty’s edge
like a human
concertina
she
shuffled and got temporarily wedged
and hoped
no other boat owners had seen her
Rebecca
helped her to the shore
this time
getting a soaking
but in
seconds they were once more
on terra
firma and joking
Later over
coffee, Rebecca still fairly soggy
said: ‘I am taking the boat out Sunday noon
to acclimatise Cliffy and Maggie, my doggies
to the experience soon…
Her remark occasioned
Jan’s speculation
would the
pups behave as they oughta?
what would
be their seating orientation?
would they respect
the etiquette of the water?
Monday, January 9, 2023
Looking back on the track...
Twice before I have blogged about the year that was - events past & lessons learnt. My most recent post The Ballad of Beryl was the culmination of shared conversations and emails and a tribute to an extraordinary woman. Since then, I have been considering what to write. Nothing specific came to me with the same sense of urgency or purpose. Of the various ideas and themes I had jotted down throughout the year I had only been inspired to develop a few. Then, earlier this week I trawled though a year’s worth of diary entries and photographs taken during 2022 to see what stood out.
I found much worth recalling …
January
Day trip to
Adelong with my sister in searing heat. Looked at the falls and gold
works. Photographed them and a mural in
town depicting youths clambering across Kurrajong Hill personified as the head
and face of a (presumably) Aboriginal man, and up the edge of a conveniently
placed air conditioner vent. The imposing
Royal Hotel with its Victorian leadlight and cedar staircase, cream and
terracotta woodwork and wrap around balcony wasn’t serving lunch. With few
other choices we opted for the Adelong Services and Citizens Club. The club’s
exterior is a marriage of Edwardian bank and early 20thC cinema
architecture but the 1970s wood paneling and formica of its interior welcome
you in to try its ‘Chinese & Australian Meals’. We had fish and chips and a
Thai beef & prawn salad. Just
outside the club stands a lone digger statue and roll call of the fallen. A war
memorial is, as Peter Sculthorpe so poignantly evoked in his autobiographical composition, at the
heart of almost all small country towns.
In 2021 our
writers’ group was approached by a media company as a source of articles about items
of local interest. I produced a piece about Janine Middlemost and the charming
quirky clothes she designs, makes and sells in her eponymous shop. The company rejected
it as being an ‘advertorial’ so I expanded it and posted it to this blog as Material Comforts on 3 January 2022
My daughter
and I went to see a local production of Mama
Mia and were hugely impressed with its quality. One of the nurses from the
blood bank we’re friendly with was in the chorus, eschewing her usual dancing
roles pending a hip replacement.
Our dog
Stella had 2.5 kg tumour successfully removed from her abdomen.
February
Animatronic
dinosaurs came to the Wagga Showground. I was more than compensated for an un-
scintillating hour of my time by parlaying the experience into a poem that went
over very well at the open mic.
March
Visited
Canberra to see the Jeffrey Smart exhibition and stayed with husband’s friend-since-high-school
and his partner. Their new poodle pups Yin & Yang and our ageing greyhound
X got along famously. They gifted her their latex squeaking pig on our departure.
Wagga celebrated its second Mardi Gras unhampered by the district’s grasshopper
plague (perhaps grasshoppers don’t like platform shoes and lycra). My husband and Stella rode on the SES float
and our daughter performed hula hoop routines in the parade. I felt very proud.
Junee Museum held an open day with blacksmithing demonstrations and country
music covers. The museum is located in the Broadway Hotel (built 1914) whose
interior boasts art nouveau pressed metal ceilings and walls of gleaming green tiles
interspersed with floral and garlanded decorative ones. We bumped into retired
school teacher Brian Beazley whose wood working skills, ukulele playing and
bush ballad renditions are renowned throughout the Riverina.
April
Already a
veteran of standup comedy with her own hula hooping coaching and performing
business, our daughter, Hooly Dooly made one of her occasional forays into legit theatre
portraying a fairy in Midnight Dream,
local impresario Stephen Roots' country and western flavored adaptation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Another
theatre highlight was Geoffrey Atherden’s Black
Cockatoo at the Civic, a
compelling account of how a group of activists restores the story of
First Nations cricketer Johnny Mullagh to the national consciousness.
Our son visited Wagga
and I drove back to Sydney with him. During my visit we took the ferry to Wendy
Whiteley’s Secret Garden which lived up to its reputation and enjoyed a late
Lavender Bay lunch. My knowledge of and
capacity to tolerate Sydney roads has dwindled and I got lost several times
driving out to meet friends for dinner at Sydney Rowing Club. It was a public
holiday and the place was quiet but the staff still didn’t seem inclined to
wipe down the bar. Consulting the wine list it seemed that any choice we made would
be a ’sticky’!
Determined to keep up
my aquatic regimen I went for a swim at the Victoria Park pool. Its cold water
and dilapidated change rooms made me grateful for Wagga’s Oasis; however I
acknowledge that Sydney Council has considerably more recreation facilities to
maintain than Wagga does. I guess THE place for regional visitors to take a dip
is the North Sydney Pool (just ask Bridget McKenzie).
May
The month
began with news of the unexpected death of my wonderful former colleague and,
in recent years, Facebook friend, Chris Bonney. His funeral was in Adelaide on
the 6th and thanks to the widespread practice of streaming such
events I was able to see and hear his send off.
If ever a man was loved and celebrated…
Mona, not the gallery, the ‘community-focused magazine
for women who live in regional, rural and remote communities in Australia’
launched its second edition in nearby Narrandera. I had submitted pieces which
weren’t used in the print edition but which have since appeared on their blog.
It was a catered, feel-good event that served as good promotion for Books On
East and East Street Café. On our return to Wagga, the sat nav decided to take
the back way and we drove for over an hour and a half on unlit country roads
but happily free of encounters with kangaroos.
On 15 May
Scott Morrison and his cronies were roundly defeated by the ALP and my faith in
Australian democracy was restored.
June
Visited a client in Coleambally (est. 1968 pop. 1,331). We met at the only café in town with no chance of privacy or anonymity. Notable facts about Coleambally: all the streets are named for birds, the water tower is called ‘The Wine Glass’ and is surrounded by a mosaic depicting the town’s short history, giving due prominence to the Ruston Bucyrus Erie excavator.
Self referential art at the base of the 'Wine Glass', Coleambally. Can you spot the Ruston Bucyrus Erie excavator?
Also for
work, I got a tour of the Defence Shed and Pro Patria Centre. The latter is a former convent with an impressive
chapel featuring amazing stained glass including a window depicting
Indigenous themes. The facility is being adapted to provide a centre for reflection
and treatment for local veterans. I was going to write a post about the centre
but got stalled so instead wrote a letter to the Daily Advertiser in support of
the project.
Claire
Baker, a colleague from Booranga Writers whose poems I much admire was a
featured reader at the June meeting of the Perth poetry group. As their
meetings are streamed I was able to join in. Claire shared the bill with WA
poet Gabrielle Everall whose singsong delivery of her graphic and gender disrupting
works featuring Severin, a character from Leopold von Sacher-Masoch's novella Venus in Furs, I am still
processing. Claire’s work was polished and poignant.
July
There are
possums nesting in the roof cavity above our en suite. They poke out their
little pink paws through a hole in the ceiling some times. Visited Aurora,
a laser light show in the Albury Botanic Gardens. Photographed buildings and streetscapes
prior. The round trip was tiring – I don’t know how my boss does it twice a
week. Also botanical and lepidopterological, was the exhibition Transformations - Art of the Scott Sisters
at the Museum of the Riverina in the old council chambers. I hadn’t heard of
these 19thC artists before and loved their work.
Attended
performance of Bell Shakespeare’s Comedy
of Errors so disappointing I devoted an entire blog post to it (13 July
2022). I participated (by video – I was
not well and couldn’t attend in person) a reading of works inspired by Helen Grace’s
short films. Mine related to The
Immortals. I have dabbled in ekphrasis
exercises in conjunction with the gallery a few times now. I love that I can
combine my appreciation of visual art forms with the act of writing
August
Sydney’s Griffin
Theatre ran playwright workshops for aspiring local writers under 30 in
conjunction with the Civic Theatre. Participants, who included our daughter,
did a read through of the finished product. So much talent! It seems the
collaboration will continue in some shape or form this year. The Wagga
Monumental Cemetery has always been a favourite dog walking destination. On a
quest to find the unmarked resting place of my husband’s great great grandfather
(see post 2 October 2022) I was
delighted to locate remnant stone work from the Turvey vault, a once impressive
edifice in a suburb of Wagga Wagga moved to the cemetery when a road was
widened. The panel, sans the dog sculptures which used to guard it, looks remarkably
modern for something carved in 1885.
As the suburb becomes more built up it is less usual to see wildlife in the grounds around our house. Kangaroos and blue tongues were frequent visitors when we first moved here. In August a beautiful barn owl alighted on our front balcony and stayed there for hours in broad daylight. A real treat. August was also when we slavishly practiced the ABC classic choir carol Yerbil With Clarence and videoed ourselves to meet the deadline of month’s end. Unfortunately we were pressed for time and sent in raw footage containing more than one expletive (uttered when we stuffed up). The radio station, which released the composite video in December, chose not use us in the finished product. I think we need to learn our limitations. Nothing can compete with the nurturing and sustained rehearsal we got singing in Jonathan Welch’s massed community choir in 2016.
September
At the
Forum Cinema we saw of Jodi Comer’s tour de force performance in the National
Theatre’s production of Prima Facie captured
on film. Booranga Writers hosted a workshop by
poet Nathan Curnow. Nathan told us that rather than a poem being all about the
writer conveying a message, it ‘sets up the scaffolding for the reader to have
an experience’ and warned us to ‘beware adverbs’.
Made a pilgrimage to Newcastle to see Peter our artist friend of 25 years plus who was about to celebrate his 85th birthday, to catch up with two friends we have known almost as long (since my early public service days) and to see my first cousin once removed, Beryl, in respite care. We booked dog friendly accommodation in Merewether and took Stella with us. With her we walked on the beach, visited the Honeysuckle waterfront area and several cafes and pubs. Our landlords kindly looked after her when we went out for dinner. At the Lock Up gallery we saw eclectic high energy work by Deborah Kelly and at Peter’s lock up (storage unit) we saw his latest work and he gave us a painting of his we’d admired since the days we all resided in Glebe in the 1970s. We came home via Cowra where dogs are welcome in the Japanese gardens. This is the last picture of the three of us together.
Last trip with Stella
OctoberAfter
several unsuccessful attempts to cultivate nasturtiums from nursey stock we
grew them from seed this spring and by October they rioted across the terraces
of our garden in glorious saffron and crimson shades and copious fleshy green
umbrella leaves. Their profusion framed the area where we laid our beloved
Stella to rest when she died suddenly and unexpectedly on the 12th,
a few days shy of her 13th birthday. We planted Stella Bella day lilies and a tea tree on her grave – they are
flourishing.
At the
Civic we saw Sunshine Supergirl, Yvonne
Goolagong’s life dramatized. If anyone had told me that plays about Indigenous
sporting legends would be amongst my favourite theatre in 2022 I would have
been skeptical but this and Black
Cockatoo were amazing. Arts
journalist/curator Julie Ewington delivered ‘We Need To Talk About Art’ at the
gallery. She is a huge advocate of jargon-free unpretentious captioning and
artists’ statements. At The Curious
Rabbit our daughter was one of 7 performers shimmying and lip syncing with a
satanic edge in Hallowed Queens, a drag show for Halloween. Almost as
camp and tremendous fun were David Hobson and Colin Lane pretending to be
ignorant of each other’s milieus and then wowing us with the duet from the Pearl
Fishers in Men In Tails at the Civic.
November
I turned 66
in November and more than any other gift I wanted a dog back in my life. The
day after my birthday we drove to Bethungra to check out a Kelpie X puppy at a
refuge called Iron Dogs. Of course we were unable to resist Reilly (now Sheila
O’Reilly) and she has joined our household.
I sensed
that seeing my cousin Beryl in September would be our last encounter. She died on
13th November. Karen James, a Wagga-based fellow family historian and correspondent
of Beryl‘s was kind enough to accompany me to Lake Macquarie for the funeral. I
could not have asked for a more good-humoured companion and despite the sadness
of the occasion we had some lovely outings not least to the beautifully situated
local art gallery which was showing the finalists in the Lake Art Prize.
More drag and burlesque were in store at Cabaret Schmabaert conceived by Leeton hoop and flow performer Dizzy Dilemma. The hilarious and sophisticated acts featured deserve a regular showcase. The Civic Theatre turns 40 in 2023 so its season launch was more flamboyant than usual. Jonathan Welch gets his second mention in this post for tricking us into a vulgar spoonerism and getting us to sing nursery rhymes at the top of our voices.
December
Another poet colleague, Joan Cahill, launched her latest collection. I got the all clear after a skin check for melanoma. We made an abortive attempt to see an exhibition at CSU’s HR Gallop Gallery. In the middle of the day the doors were unlocked but the gallery was in darkness and we were unable to find a light switch (I suspect the lights were on a timer and because adjacent class rooms were not in use no-one considered the gallery might attract visitors). What we could discern in the gloom of Donna Caffrey’s, Sam Bowker’s and others’ work looked wonderful. I hope we have another chance to see it. Then there was Christmas/New Year with a just manageable amount of food preparation and excessive consumption of the results, lots of cooling off in the pool and, for the first time in 3 years, completion of the ritual 1000 piece jigsaw.
So much
more I could have included but this has turned into an epic. Happy New Year everyone!