My first attempt at a sonnet...

 

Aquatic Aerobics Alphabet

 

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

Kings and Queens of Halloween

Halloween combines a plethora of supernatural images and associations

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 1^st 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 1^st 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 6^th century AD, Pope Gregory I harnessed the supernatural aspects of these pagan celebrations and superimposed them with Christian rites designating  November 1^st All saints Day and thereby making 31^st 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 22^nd 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’.  

Concierge at the satanic B&B, Jeffree

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.

Top left: Imina Something as the painting nun and her hapless victim from the audience. Top right: Janet embodying victimhood. Bottom left: Sultry Queen Nefertiti. Bottom right: Strewth & Crikey

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.

Disclaimer: Julia Erwin/Jai Normes is the author's offspring.

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

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.

Ellen Bass source: https://lectures.org/event/ellen-bass/

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.

100% accurate description of Libran characteristics  - sources: Karen and https://www.astrosage.com/zodiac/libra-woman.asp

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.

View of Lake Macquarie from the Squid' Ink Inn (my photo)

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. 

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.

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.

Promotional poster

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.

Above left: Therese Edmonds and right: Suzy Wilds

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.

The Riverina Playhouse, venue for 10 by Ten

* Agatha Christie’s And Then there Were None opens on 6 August

ACROSTICS

Today at Claire Baker's fortnightly Word Play workshop we tried our hands at acrostics. Here are mine.

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?

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 20^thC 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.

The Adelong mural subtly incorporating elements of the built environment

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.

Decorative elements of The Broadway Hotel, Junee

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).

The Secret Garden

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 6^th 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 19^thC 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.

All that remains of the once opulent Turvey family vault

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.

Our visitor

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

October

After 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 12^th, a few days shy of her 13^th 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.

Sheila & friend

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.

Braddon Snape's Allusive Object winner of 2022 Lake Art Prize

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.

Peter's painting 

So much more I could have included but this has turned into an epic. Happy New Year everyone!