I’m sorry have we met?

This is what I usually wonder when my husband (of 26 years) Albert hands his Christmas gift to me.

For an Italian he gives me the lamest gifts (in true stereotypical fashion you would think he would be great at this stuff), so much so that I now have very low expectations. Worse gift ever? The foot spa (oh yes). It was one of those plug in ones, electricity and water – weren’t we warned about this mix?

This gift was for a woman (i.e. me) who hates anything touching her feet, only has a pedicure under sufferance and will spring up onto the bedroom light fixture if her feet are so much as lightly brushed under the sheets during the night.

Darling Albert never seems to hear my subtle hints or even the less subtle ones, like ‘how about a charm bracelet, then the boys could buy me a charm each year to add to it’. To which he replied ‘Yes, but would they wear one?’

Holy Hell!

Every year, just before Christmas my friend Lisa heads into Myers and chooses a lovely matching bra and undies set, then leaves them at the counter for her husband to pick up.

But I reckon this makes it way too easy (even though I would love some decent underwear). I’ve only just realised that after all these years, I actually like to make Albert sweat his Christmas gift to me. This is the kind of endearing habit that husbands and wives eventually fall into.

So I’ve ‘upped the ante’ and now when Albert asks what I would like –  no more hints, no mercy. I very sweetly say ‘If you have to ask, then you obviously don’t know me at all’.

You know sometimes, I kinda feel sorry for him.

How fast can we go?

Don’t stand in the way of a woman and her passions.  I used to look at my mother-in-law and think wow there is always something on for that woman.  She was such fun, easy to get along with and interested in everyone she met, so there were always a number of invites to celebrations or events stuck to the fridge door – 21st, baby showers, the dinner on the MCG celebrating 100 years, Madonna concert – fast she goes!

More recently I was thinking how fast life had become and smiled when I reflected on communications – one Friday afternoon I sent a text to a friend

me: “pub?”
her: ‘yep’
me:‘k’

Flattened Day 1

On my first trip to Bali, first day I headed off with my sister-in-law, daughter and niece to check the retail. First thing we had to do was navigate and weave our way through motor bikes, bicycles, taxis, cars and anything else that could move.  Car horns tooting loudly, motorbikes whizzing past, mini buses dodging everything in sight.

We stop at the road edge thinking about crossing it.  Sister-in-law makes a run for it, followed quickly by Neice and Daughter. I stuck on the other side of the road and no break in traffic. I can hear Daugher calling out to me as they hopped into a taxi, hurry up mum, you’ll be right.

So I took a deep breath and made a run for it. First step into the road my hat flew off my head into the path of an oncoming bus.

No chance to grab it or turn around and go back for it, save yourself I thought.

I jumped into the taxi and the driver said ‘your hat madam, your hat’ and I said don’t worry about it, feeling slightly embarrassed.

No sooner had I said that he jumped out of the car to rescue my hat. We looked toward the hat in horror as a car drove straight over it.

The taxi driver still managed to pick it up safely and handed it to me with a wry smile on his face.  My checked fedora was now was decorated with black tyre marks, of course it was crushed, however I was not.

I calmly put the hat on my head and thanked our driver. The girls broke into hysterics.  Day 1 – it was a long week.

My Night with Elvis

It had been planned for ages. The tickets had been bought months earlier. It had been a popular topic around the dinner table. Yet still I had left the ‘what will I wear’ til the last minute. You know those phases you go through? Wardrobe love, wardrobe hate, wardrobe indifference, the favs, the challenges, the geez why do I still have that?

On the night we went to meet Elvis, I decided rock chick was best. It was a look I’d been cultivating. Black jeans, polka dot 8 up Doc Martens were the core elements. The top was interchangeable depending on the audience. Silk shirt for business, raw silk black shirt with mandarin collar for events, grey t-shirt for casual. And for Elvis?

Black t-shirt, Aunty Mod badge with grey vest, topped off with a purple velvet jacket.

The journey was full of expectation. Palpable. We did dinner in Ackland St, St Kilda. Once a bubbling vibrant street of the unusual, its glory is now a little faded. You can clearly see what it once was, and you can clearly see how the big brands have moved in to take advantage, and you can clearly see how they have sucked the life out of it. Shopworn. Not waving, drowning.

Rising above it all, standing like giants of style at the end of the catwalk – Luna Park and the Palais. Untouchable divas. The evening sky gave all it had, but still just a backdrop to their centrestage demands.

Elvis has been touring the world with his Spinning Wheel of… A thirty foot carnival game with his song list the cherry for audience members pulled up on stage.

We hadn’t even talked about it. About the possibility that it could be one of us. It would never happen.

We had fallen in love to a soundtrack of Elvis. Actually I used that line on Ed Kuepper once while grabbing an autograph. Ed simply looked mildly surprised and asked if we were still together.

Mick had all the albums, singles, vinyl, CD and we had seen him each time he came to Oz. We even took our son Merlyn to his first concert at 10 years of age. Elvis at the Antheeum. And he was stunned – Merlyn not Elvis.

We settled into the arms of The Palais, fabulous aisle seats with a great view of the stage. A great set from Joe Camilieri, wow is that guy underrated, you can hear why Elvis and Joe are mates.

Elvis arrived to thunderous applause, a crowd frenzied by the ultimate showman. Pure carnival. One woman was brought out of the audience for a spin, I was so excited for her. Then a second. What a treat. They looked stoned, and while entreated to dance and entertain the audience, and indeed Elvis, they could barely raise knee.

In front of me a woman was entreating an Elvis helper to take her husband.

“No”, she said “we are looking for a couple now, will you both come?”

“Oh no”, the woman in front said, “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Take us, we will, we will, we will, yes us, we are a couple, we will dance, what do you need? We can, we can.” She turned to look at us.

“Will you dance?” she asked

“Of course. We’re fabulous dancers.” I said trying to keep my voice under the tone of fingernails on a blackboard.

“Come on then”. She grabbed my hand and pulled me to me feet. Mick followed. I couldn’t hear a thing except my heartbeat threatening to burst my eardrums. I asked the woman in front to hold my bag, she looked a little crushed.

The Elvis helper took us to the stage via the central aisle. We raise our arms entreating the crowd to join in our excitement, wow did they…

Finally on stage I got to kiss Mr Costello and look him in the eye, though focus was an issue. We spun the wheel, one turn each. Elvis asked if we were married. Normally I would see that as insult considering that marriage is a patriarchal construct. I demurred no we just love each other. Elvis entreated Mick to ask me to marry him onstage, we played it up for the audience, but I’m sorry Elvis not even for you.

We danced on stage while Elvis sang us four songs…

We leapt lively into the gogo cage for a slow one, so I stripped off my velvet jacket and dragged it around Michael’s neck bringing him closer, slowly, with sexy.

Later that week the phsyio confirmed a torn cartilage.

But I would do it all again.

For you.

Elvis.

Love Aunty Mod

Shoot me… Please

In my wildest dreams who would have thought, that at the tender age of… well a certain age, that I’d be flapping around sorting outfits for a photo shoot?

I was delighted to be approached by a gorgeous lady called Lilac, who with her husband Joshua, run their own business Joshua Winterson Photography. Lilac and Joshua have been promoting their business by doing profiles on other local businesses. And, yes they wanted to do a profile on the bitch behind b’itch body oils (a side project of Aunty Beads). A date was set.

The night before the ‘shoot’ I heard from my friend, and stylist, Meagan Harding. Meagan was looking for models for a shoot the next day. Now before you think, geez this woman must be hot… everyone in Melbourne wants to ‘shoot’ her. Let me clarify, many would shoot me but not that kind of shoot.

I arose early on the fateful day and quickly demolished my house trying to find the right outfit; you know cool, in a thrown together kind of way. Nothing. I quickly phoned my Aunty Mod, frenzied pic taking and txting ensued. 99% of my ideas were dismissed with laughter and comments like ‘too hippy try hard’. Oh boy, I was in trouble, and being laughed at was stuffing up my Zen frame of mind. Then she said; ‘I don’t know why you didn’t call Meagan’ aaarrrrrrrrghhhh.

Tranquility gone, no clothes, trashed house, seriously could this get any worse?

Finally, I managed to pull myself together to greet Lilac and Joshua (did I mention the shoot was at my house? which I’d just trashed). What an amazing duo. Lilac did the interviewing and Joshua snapped away happily in the background. Two hours, several thousand shots and a cup of tea, it was all done.

>Off I went to my second shoot. Yeah, getting the hang of this model lark! Getting lost wasn’t part of the plan – blood pressure rising again! I can feel stress etching lines on my face quicker than a holiday in the desert. Luckily Meagan was expecting me in the afternoon sometime, and being a stylist; she’s got heaps of clothes and had a make-up artist, Michelle Hoang, doing hair and make-up. So, figured it would all work out right?

When I arrived Meagan’s house was buzzing hub of activity; models in various stages of dress, make-up and having pics taken. Before I knew it, I was dolled up and ‘on’. It was great fun, one minute corporate business woman, the next minute evening vamp. I couldn’t believe how skilled these girls were at changing my look with the stroke of a brush, and a jacket.

I eventually left and dragged my tired arse home, of course getting stuck in traffic, make-up melting and starting to look like Bette Davis in Whatever happened to Baby Jane’. I finally got home, totally exhausted. It is such hard work! I can see why models get paid big bucks, I wouldn’t get out of bed for less than 10K. Well actually I just wouldn’t get out of bed for most things…

Never let your guide get away…

The story so far….. I turned 50 a few years ago, but have only just recently got around to organising a weekend away (for the milestone birthday) with my sisters. The next sister (Aunty Beads) in line to turn 50 will do so soon, so I had to get something organised promptly. Scoopon popped up in my email and I knew what I wanted – A Rafting Trip!

The little yellow blow-up raft hung precariously on the lip of the three meter ‘drop’. Inside were my two older sisters (Lush and Verve) and their partners, bundled up in wet-suits, thermals, life jackets and helmets.

However, there were only four of them in the raft, one was missing. Where was their guide?

From my raft advantage further down stream (we had already gone over) I could see the raft move into position, but something wasn’t right (apart from being one member short). ‘Oh shit’, I whispered ‘It’s going over backwards’. ‘That’s okay’ replied my guide Joel,’ they can go down backwards or forwards just not sideways’.

With that, of course my sisters’ raft turned sideways.

But where the hell was their guide? I could still only count four people. Then out of the corner of my eye I spotted him standing on the rocks, yelling and waving his arms above his head. Of course, you couldn’t hear a thing with the roar of the water, but why on earth would you let your guide get out of the raft and then head towards a three meter drop on your own?

Were they mad?

‘They’re not going to make it’ said Joel and even I could see that this was not going to end well.

Down they came, the raft went vertical and out they went – flung straight into the raging freezing waters of the King River (coming straight from the snow fields). One partner managed to stay in the raft and in amongst the swirling of the waters managed to pull everyone back into the raft (legs, paddles and arms waving everywhere).

All this action was within the first ten minutes of a two hour rafting trip and the poor things were wet through, frozen, a little battered and helmets sitting at odd angles, but they were all laughing hysterically. ‘Happy Birthday Col’, they called out as they floated past me.

‘Consider that my present’ I yelled back.

love Aunty Darling

Aunty Lush recounts the adventure from the other raft… here…

Turning that certain age

Well here she is – the 50 year old rafting queen.  Why oh why did I say yes, a moment of madness I should think!  We do love Aunty Darling, and wanted to be a part of her special birthday. Here’s my story about that fateful day.

Three rafts, three couples, three guides. And the rapids…

Aunty Verve and I (Aunty Lush) took to the yellow raft with partners Peter & Steve.  We were proud (and scared) and led the brigade of yellow rafts over the first rapid with Ryan our guide, who had a wonderful sense of humour, or so we thought.  Yep we got over that first rapid okay and decided to wait for the fateful journeys from the other rafters. We watched and applauded however we felt rather letdown that no-one had fallen out.

It was decided by the group (except me – they should have listened) that we were good enough to do it again, by ourselves! Challenge that mother of a rapid, without our guide.  Everyone else was having a go, why shouldn’t we ?

We did notice, albeit too late that their guides went with them.  Panic set in – no way can we do this by ourselves, Aunty Verve looked at the fear on my face and said come-on we’ll be okay. Famous last words.

After putting our raft in the water and rowing away from the cliff edge, to get a good run-up to the rapid, we turned around. I knew we were too close.

Partners in the front, Verve and I in the back. We rowed and rowed, yes we were heading in the right direction, raft steady and facing the right way.

Okay good. Not feeling too bad at the moment, although I couldn’t hear the rapids over my heartbeats.

What was happening ?  We were turning. OMG turning around and heading over the rapids backwards.

Screaming, screaming – everything turned black and cold and we hit the water with a thud.

Upon coming up for air I was under the raft and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Verve and I tried to grab the sides.

There was one person left in the raft, Peter, how the hell did he manage to stay in when the three of us were thrown out.

I have never felt so scared, cold and out of control and how we got back in the raft I’ll never know.

Happy bloody 50th Aunty Darling and lets see what mischief we can get into for Aunty Beads next on the birthday list.

Aunty Lush