I have a new respect for cabbage moths. I am intent on destroying them of course. And there are plenty of them in my garden right now. But I have been observing them more closely of late; taking more notice of their movements, their flight paths.

They seem to fly in pairs, assiduously. I presume they are mates. How nice! Yes, if the leader goes one way, the other will follow, over lawn and trees, high and low. Is it the male who leads...or the female?

PostHeaderIcon ANOTHER STORY...The realisation has hit...


I am totally ashamed of him. Totally. To think he would behave as badly as this. He must think I am pretty stupid...or think that he is being very smart.

I can see now that he has been building a case against me. When I had the luncheon party for our dancing friends last week, he casually mentioned that I had given him until Christmas to find another place to live. I was quite stunned, as I had presumed that any such arrangement was between him and me. And I had not given him such an ultimatum anyhow.

PostHeaderIcon Treasured Old Sayings


I found this collection of inspiring sayings that I had looked at often long ago...the paper was yellowed with age. You could see that all had been much loved.

What do I care for the wind and rain,
Or the clouds in the sullen, grey sky?
To me, ‘tis ever a fair, bright world,
Beloved, when you are nigh.

Do the good that’s nearest,
’Though it’s dull the whiles;
Helping, when you meet them
Lame dogs over stiles.

Help me to need no aid from men,
That I may help such men who need.

Beautiful hands are always found
Where the heaviest duties lie.

PostHeaderIcon The custard seed


He was only six years of age, but already he had that instinct to grow things. He had learned from his great-uncle how you planted, nurtured and produced.

So when he had enquired of his mother as to the lumps in the custard, and she had replied that they were ‘custard seeds’, he had the urge to plant some and produce more, he being so fond of custard and always wanting more.

PostHeaderIcon POSTSCRIPT TO 'My father's passport...'


Because I now had in my possession my Dad’s passport, it somehow gave me the ability to sell off his lawn bowls, which I had been tenderly glancing at every time I entered my study where I had placed them in a prominent position. I enjoyed being thus reminded of him.

PostHeaderIcon ANOTHER GIG


She was so bright and informative when she telephoned, how could I resist?

She had heard me speak on ABC radio, was impressed with my ready wit apparently (great!), had subsequently purchased my book Sex in Your Seventies on line, liked what I had to say, and now wondered whether I would be interested in being interviewed on video to assist them in the promotion of their venture, ‘Complete Aged Care Placement Solutions’. It sounded okay to me.

PostHeaderIcon Much Ado...another woman's tale


The dishwasher was almost loaded, most of the cutlery was already in their respective baskets, and I was serving lunch.

PostHeaderIcon My Father's Passport


I was busy when the phone call came. ‘Yes?’ I enquired, ‘Can I help you?’

‘Is that you Doreen? We met years ago. You probably would not remember. But I was wondering if you could help you know who Harry Wendt is?’
‘He was my father!’ I exclaimed.
‘Well, we have his passport here in the bookshop!’

PostHeaderIcon The dolls in Grafton Cathedral

I was intrigued with the story of ‘the dolls’. I listened with interest to the architectural history of Christ Church Cathedral in Grafton, but when the two dolls were mentioned, I knew that was the centre of my concern. I knew that when I thought of the cathedral, I would think of the dolls.

PostHeaderIcon The Book Run


When my married daughter who lives nearby, asks me what I would like for my birthday, I invariably reply, ‘Let’s do a book run!’

We set out early, in time to be at our chosen destination by the time the shops open. This could be fifty or sixty kilometres away. We only repeat journeys if there has been a request for more books.

Susan is the driver. I navigate us to the Post Office or newsagent. She parks close by. The first time that day, she bullies me. She knows it takes a lot of gumption to flog my books, especially one titled ‘Sex in Your Seventies.’