THE REASON

I noticed the other day that I hadn't posted anything on my "Chicken on the Head" blog since the 6th of May. No, that can't be right. Surely it hasn't been that long. Today is... the 6th of July! Oh wait, it has been that long.  Where has the last two months gone?

No more excuses, it's time to get back of the horse, to get to back to it.

So tar dah. 

Announcing... the "Chicken of the Head" blog re-start.

I do have a reason for this pause. It's not because I had nothing to say. Anyone who knows me would agree that I rarely have nothing to say. It's quite the opposite, I often have more to say than most people. The reason for the pause is also not because I had nothing to writing. Like my need to have something to say, my need to write has also not diminished. I have been writing. I have been writing lots, great tomes of stuff.

I have been writing story ideas that pop into my head, bits of novels that I have started and have been adding to in fits and starts. I have been writing more tales about my fictitious Uncle Maurie and bad poetry. I have been writing expressions of interests for work, copious emails, shopping lists, Facebook posts, and a first drafts for the "Chicken on the Head" blog. Only thing is, none of this writing makes into the blog. Lets face it, does anyone really want to read my shopping lists or an expressions of interest for some job. I don't think so. 

The other thing that has been happening is that everything that I write for the blog, I write in a note book that lives next to my bed, ready for those 3 am "don't think you are going to sleep" ideas that pop into my head. Yes, I write pretty much everything in long hand in a note book before you get to see it. The trick is getting it out of the note book and onto a computer screen. 

I don't normally make excuses for my behaviour, my doing or not doing. I try and live by the rule of being 100% responsible for my own actions. If it hasn't be done, it's because I haven't done it. But this time I do have an excuse, actually it is more of a reason than an excuse. A very good reason why the stuff in my head has made it only as far as my note book and has failed to get onto the computer screen. I have been busy.

Or more accurately, my life has become busy.

When I left my job back in March this year, I made the decision to make space in my life. Up until that point I had been running around like the proverbial chicken with no head and not really getting anywhere. I needed to stop, breathe and get my life back on track. And stop I did, almost a dead stop. I gave myself time and I have to admit that during this time I spent more than one day on the couch, in my pj's, watching bad daytime TV. I was exhausted, burnt out, overwhelmed by my life. But I knew this and prepared for it and gave myself permission to take this time. Six weeks of pajama wearing, navel gazing nothingness so that when May arrived I would be ready. Ready to get going again.

By the time May did arrive though, boredom was starting to set in. My navel gazing and categorising of bellybutton fluff was starting to have an odd effect on me. My hope and positivity was starting to drain from my sole and hopelessness loomed like a solid brick wall. I began to have a niggling feeling that I had made the worst decision of my life. That is was a big mistake to leave my "oh so secure" job in search of freedom, passion and a life beyond the four walls of a 6 x 4 grey cubical. Panic was setting in. The CV came out. My belief in myself was bottoming out. I heard that they were hiring again at my old job, a lower paid position than the one I had left. One that wasn't a management role, with much less responsibilities. Maybe I could have my cake and eat it too.

I have a weird belief in my life. I believe that just when you think you are about to chuck it in or if you can't make a decision or are at a lose end the universe steps up and whacks you around the side of the head and offers up a chance to change. This has happened to me several times during my life so these days when it happens I usually sit up and pay attention. It was as I was deciding whether to return to my old job that I received my kick in the pants by the universe and things began to change. I stopped, took a breath and listened, to myself, to my daughter and to a friend. I knew I couldn't go back to that "oh so secure" job. That there was no going back. And in that instant, things began to change.

Which brings me to what I have been doing since the last post on the 6th May. The reason why nothing has appeared on the blog. I have been working and writing and planning and networking and gardening and, believe it or not, making space in my life to let these things happen.

I have been working with an Architect friend on his projects. I have been following my passion for writing when ever I have a free moment. I have been planning the development of a community garden for Canungra with some new friends. I have been strategising and planning the development of my landscape architecture business, traveling interstate for a job proposal and seeking out new opportunities. I have been getting my hands dirty in my garden, building with the help of my husband a wallaby, chicken and dog proof veggie garden, ready for spring planting. I have been breathing, making space and taking notice. I have moved on.

So the reason is, I have been busy. Busy living. It's not an excuse, just the reason. Because when you are busy life is at it's best. Life is great when your busy but not hectic.

I'm pretty sure I will still spend the occasional day on the couch in pj's but now I prefer to do that when the week that stretches out before me is littered stuff that involves writing and working, gardening and planning, family and friends. A week that is busy.

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

Uncle Maurie – Media Tart

My Uncle Maurie is a lovely old guy. A little eccentric, but a lovely old guy.

Uncle Maurie is old. 84. And he still lives in the house that Grandpa built with the money he got from the war. A shack of asbestos and weather boards, with a buckling pine board floor made from orange crates and a miss matched kitchen which is strangely located next to the front door.

Originally, the shack sat on about one and half acres of land. But over the years the Mount Lindesay Highway, barely the width of a car when Grandpa bought the land, has inched closer and closer to the front door. Now the highway is was right outside. 50 meters wide, a four lane highway, two vehicle pull off lanes, guard rails and a service road on either side. Mum claims that when the government took from Nan that final bit of land for the service road, that was the end of her. That was what caused the “turn that took Nan out”. Uncle Maurie, though, didn’t seem to mind. He has always enjoyed sitting on the tiny front porch, watching the world go by. It was just a bit closer now.

Uncle Maurie is my mum’s older brother and her only sibling. For as long as I can remember the sibling rivalry between these two has been as fierce as a couple of mice fighting over the same piece of cheese. My brother and I are Uncle Maurie’s only family, apart from Mum, who “washes her hands of him” regularly. He never married but lived with Nan, and cared for her after Grandpa died. When Nan also passed away the land and shack was supposed to be sold and the money divided between the two siblings. But the highway development had made the land almost worthless and the shack; well it’s hardly what you would call charming. So in the end the decision was made to let Uncle Maurie live out his days, quietly, in the home he had always known.

And we really did think it would be quiet. That is, until the day that Uncle Maurie got his first taste of life as a celebrity.

I could hear my mobile going mad in my handbag on the seat next to me. Not having Bluetooth in the car, and being a bit anti-mobile phone, I decided I would let it ring. After all I was only five minutes from home, I’ll answer it then. But it didn’t stop. And it didn’t stop even as I was fumbled with the keys to my house.

“Are you home? Quick, quick, turn the TV on. Channel 7. Quick. You’ll miss it.” It was my brother.

The TV started speaking before the picture came on and I could hear Uncle Maurie’s voice. Then the telephone started ringing and my brother's voice was still in my ear on the mobile.

“Oh my god. Are you watching this? How funny is it? Mum is going to freak.”

Gobsmacked. Speechless. I stood there watching my Uncle Maurie. In his old man y-fronts and a rather holey singlet. Chatting nonchalantly to a reporter.

The phone was ringing frantically but there was no way I was going to answer it. I knew that Mum would be on the other end and I knew that she was not happy.

It took me a couple of seconds but eventually I focused in on what Uncle Maurie was saying.

“You see. I found some eggs. In the bushes. Up the back of me block. A cat or sumthin’ had got the mother. The eggs were still warm so I brung them inta the house and scratched ‘roun for a bit of sumthin’ to keep 'em warm. I was gonna eat them but I thought they’d be bad and I didn't want a gut ache or the runs. So I says to maself, “self, duck for dinner”.

The reporter clearly was struggling for control. Standing in front of him was this strange old man, with very few teeth in his head, wearing only baggy undies and a holey singlet.  Not exactly the stuff that the Walkley’s are made of, but priceless none the less.

“Mr Mason”

“Call me Mozza”, corrects Uncle Maurie with a big gappy grin.

“Mozza” smirks the reporter.“Mozza. Did you consider that running out onto a very busy four lane highway at peak hour, and on sunset, might be dangerous?”

“I've lived off this road all me life. I was ‘ere when it was nuffen but a bush track. I know this road like the back of me hand”. 

With this Uncle Maurie raise a hand and waved around a bag of frozen peas. 

“Mr Mason”, a different voice, slightly out of camera shot.

“Mozza!”, corrects Uncle Maurie.

“Mozza”, the different voice, now sounding slightly exasperated. “Mozza has been made aware of the danger and the disruption his actions has caused this evening. However, no charges will be laid.” 

The TV picture widens to include a policeman, standing to the side of Uncle Maurie, firmly holding the arm without the peas. The reporter, fighting to keep his composure, turns back to Uncle Maurie.

“Mozza… I understand that you have been a long term resident and have seen a lot of changes in this area during your life”. Uncle Maruie nods sagely. “But surely you must agree that to suddenly run out onto a four lane highway, dressed only in your underwear and waving a bag of frozen peas, might be cause for alarm.”

“I wasn’t doin’ nuffin’ wrong. I was jus helpin’ me babies get across tha road to tha water over there.” Uncle Maurie waves his bag of frozen peas in the direction of the little lake on a property on the other side of the highway. “I didn’t want them to get squished”.

“Mr Mason”

“Mozza!!”, corrects Uncle Maurie.

“Mozza” the policeman, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes, “Mozza is well known throughout the community and fortunately for Mr… Mozza one of the motorists tonight recognised him and helped him off the road preventing a tragedy. As I stated before no charges will be laid, only a warning this time”. 

At this Uncle Maurie gave a stern nod to the reporter, who nearly chokes on his laughter.

“Mozza… one final question. What’s with the peas?”

Uncle Maurie looked perplexed. “Peas?”

“Yes. The bag of frozen peas you have in your hand”.

“Oh. Well I s’pose it was the first thing I grabbed. I was cookin’ me tea you see. An I sees me babies heading off under the guard rail. So I looks ‘round for sumthin’ bright and I must have grabs the peas. They're yellow, see.” Uncle Maurie shakes the bag of peas in the reporter’s face.

“Oh my god”.

“I know. It’s hilarious. Classic Uncle Mozza”. 

The home phone is still ringing a fit.

With this the policeman turns away from the camera, unable to hide his grin and the reporter is on the verge of losing it completely. To save face the reporter quickly throws back to the studio, but this catches the anchor unaware. She has her head in her hands and is racked with laughter. She looks up. Wipes the tears from her eyes and thanks the reporter for the live cross before moving onto the next story.

My phone is still ringing and I can hear my brother on the mobile, roaring with laughter. In the background his wife calls out “I told you. Your family are a bunch of weirdos. Honestly who tries to direct traffic on a four lane highway with a bag of peas, wearing only undies?”

I never did answer my phone that night or the next day. I thought it best to let my mum cool down a bit before discussing Uncle Maurie’s TV debut.

A few months later my brother and I got an invite to Uncle Maurie’s for a “Sundee dinner”. I surprised to find that we were not his only guests. The reporter and the policeman who featured in Uncle Maurie’s 15 minutes of fame were also at the table. Uncle Maurie shone brightly that afternoon, as the “star”.  The highlight of the afternoon was Uncle Maurie's roast duck. 

Later, as my brother and I said our goodbyes, I noticed some new additions to Uncle Maurie’s kitchen. Sitting in the corner, next to the stove, was a couple of bright orange “witches hats” and hanging on the back of the kitchen door, a hi-vis vest.  “Just in case” he winks at me.

-o-O-o-

This story is a work of pure fiction.

I did have an Uncle Maurie but he passed away when I was a child. And my Uncle Maurie was nothing like this one. This Uncle Maurie doesn't exist; he is mixture of many men from my life. In no particular order; my dad, my father-in-law, my real uncle, my brother, a friend of ours from Redland Bay and several other elderly gentlemen that I have meet through the work that I do. The other characters in the story are not representations of people that I know or family members but I will admit that some special family quirks have creeped in here and there.

The shack on the Mt Lindesay Highway sort of does exist. There are a lot of places like that on the road out to Jimboomba, west of Brisbane. The description of the shack itself comes partly from a shack that my husband’s family has and my grandmother’s house.

The story about the ducks and the frozen peas. The ducks I made up but the man directing traffic with frozen peas, well that’s a real life story and the inspiration behind this one. I hope you enjoyed it.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-12-09/man-directs-traffic-using-frozen-peas-darwin/5953566

-o-O-o-

If you are reading this from somewhere outside of Australia and are not familiar with some of the colloquialism used in the story, below is a small glossary of terms.

“ the turn that took Nan out” – a generalisation used by older members of my family to explain health conditions that are not clearly understood. It could be a heart attack, a stroke, or anything other medical problem. It all becomes a “turn”.

“old man y-fronts” and “undies” – these are the same thing. Old man y-fronts are a particular type of underwear, sort of like the old man equivalent to grandma underpants. Really big, really baggy but have a “y front” opening for ease of use.

“singlet” – another undergarment, a sleeveless vest.

“Walkley’s” – Australian journalist awards.

“Mozza” – typical Australian style of nickname/term of endearment but it only suits some names. Maurie – Mozza, Darren – Dazza, Sharon – Shazza etc.

“tea” – the meal eating at night. Not to be confused with “Sundee dinner”, this actually means lunch.

“witches hats” – traffic cones.

“hi-vis vest” – high visibility safety vest, typically fluoro yellow or orange and worn by emergency or road workers.