Book: Redemption - Part XXXVI - Chapter 34...SECTION FIVE...

SECTION FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Acquiescence

January to February 2002

My first Spirit-commissioned painting was done in watercolour pencil on a page torn from a block of quality A4 watercolour paper, trimmed slightly to fit the 10” x 12” frame I had bought for it. On recovering her senses, Shelley had this to say: “Thank you so much! Thank you, Spirit! This is amazing! I’m a Libra, so that’s the scales. You didn’t know that, did you? As for the road, I wasn’t sure if I was on the right path, but Spirit is clearly telling me I am, as long as I make the right decisions. I’m not big on decisions, you know. But that’s a Libra trait. I love Uluru….Is that Uluru or is that the sun? I think it must be both because Spirit knows I love both. I love Uluru. I love sunsets. I love sunrises. I love the colours of the outback. I love looking at the stars. I love rainbows. I love it all! As for the faces, maybe they’re representative of me, or aspects of me. You know, it’s funny, but that day I saw a hand, too. I thought I was being silly, what with that hand on your bookcase and all. Isn’t that amazing?” As I walked back to my car, I felt warmth, gratitude, peace, and love. If this is what spiritual art was about, then I was all for it.

Shelley's painting. I called it Rite of Passage

On Wednesday January 2^nd, a staggeringly hot, humid day, Steve and I arrived at Chermside shopping centre to find hundreds more had the same idea. Minutes later, we surrendered our prized parking space because Steve was clutching his chest in agony. It wasn’t his heart, he insisted, although he didn’t object to my demands that we leave immediately. Being the Christmas-New Year period, no doctors were on duty at Geebung Medical Centre so the receptionist urged us to go straight to the Prince Charles Hospital. The only thing the tests he was given proved was that he had not had a heart attack – the same conclusion our doctor reached when Steve first presented with chest pain. It was all my fault, he joked for months afterwards, whenever telling anyone about the incident, because I wanted to be in air-conditioned comfort. I was glad he saw the humour in it because he wasn’t laughing at the time.

In the morning of January 3^rd, a beautifully-bound book of Liz’s poetry arrived in the mail. Our ideas on poetry were very different. Hers was like her paintings: dark and mysterious. In the afternoon, I presented myself to the Wesley Breast Clinic for my mammogram. Three hours later, I was being told I needed a core biopsy.  Unlike my first biopsy, this was to be done at the clinic the following Monday. I should have known it would not be routine. All the signs were there. When I conceded to my mother’s insistence I see my doctor and get the referral for my mammogram I got straight in. He said he would fax it through. As far as I was concerned, that was to be the end of the matter until I got my appointment. A week later, I distinctly heard my deceased classmate, Ann, telling me: He never sent it. Get on the phone. I was gobsmacked. Ann was right. The Wesley had no record of my referral. A call to my doctor sorted the matter out very quickly.

On Friday, I woke with Liz uppermost on my mind. It was winter in America, a dangerous time to be driving anywhere, let alone across the country. Her plan was to pack everything she could squeeze into her old kombi van and hit the road. There are leaps of faith, and there are leaps of stupidity. Hers fell into the latter category, but no matter what I said I could not convince her to change her mind, or at least delay her departure until the spring. She always was impulsive, and reckless, and foolhardy, and every other word one can use to describe rash behaviour. While most of Australia sweltered through extreme summer temperatures, the American winter was abysmally cold. They were having blizzards over there, and unbelievably deep snow drifts. John’s Christmas card told the story of what was happening in Maryland. New Jersey was not that far from Maryland. I couldn’t bear to think about it.

On Monday, while waiting at the breast clinic after my biopsy, I heard Annette’s name called. I looked up to see her following the caller. She hadn’t seen me. It was mid-morning by then. Two hours earlier I had the biopsy in which a gun-type instrument was used to fire a barb that grabbed a tiny piece of tissue. I didn’t know how much longer I would have to wait so I thought I may as well keep an eye out for her when she returned. When she did I called her over to my table. She seemed genuinely happy to see me, and over a cup of coffee, we talked about her family and mine, but every time the door opened she looked up. I didn’t take that as her not wanting to talk to me. I was all too familiar with the apprehension that went hand-in-hand with that look. When I left, with specific instructions not to get the bandage wet for two days, a physical impossibility in a heat wave, she was still waiting. I gave her a hug and wished her well. At 4pm, I got the all-clear. It was only calcification. With that worry gone, I rang Petula to say I was able to go to the courthouse with her in the morning.

Neville failed to show, and as case after case was dealt with by a judge who clearly didn’t suffer fools gladly, she became more and more apprehensive. There was no need for he proved to be a fair and considerate man who even gave her suggestions on how to proceed. He apologised for wasting her time and rescheduled the case for February 13^th. He also apologised for the court’s failure to follow up on an anomaly. Neville, he said, was sent a similar letter to hers, notifying him of the court date, but it was returned unopened and marked: Not at this address. Petula told the judge he would still have been at the address on the envelope, at the time the letter would have been received, because the house, although sold, had not then settled. The judge then read through some notes before saying: “Ah! This is Mr Porsche!” The notes obviously contained details of the failed mediation session last October. “Now, why does Mr (surname withheld) think he’s too good to attend my courtroom?”

On Thursday January 10^th, I had coffee with Heather and two of her friends from the Tarot night with Tamara. The first person Tamara had read for was a very negative woman who believed things positively-minded people would scoff at. Some “psychic” had told her not to leave the house on a certain date for if she did she would die. I told her that was absolute rot. Where do some people get off saying things like that to someone like her? Didn’t they realise it can become a self-fulfilling prophesy? After giving them my thoughts on that, we parted company. In the evening, when I was talking to Kristen, she said she was concerned about Aunty Kathleen. She had rung to thank her for her birthday gift but said she sounded strangely disoriented. When saying this, she said someone touched her hair and said Tianni pointed to Mum’s photo. I rang Kathleen the next morning. She was fine. Perhaps, I decided, Mum just wanted to be part of the conversation.

The following Sunday, I got a surprise visit from Peter. He’d flown down a few days earlier but hadn’t had time to see me beforehand. He stopped in on his way to the airport to collect Kay and her son. They were going to look for a flat for the lad while he’s at uni. I feared Peter had lost touch with the real world being up north. To his way of thinking, they’d find the flat, the kid would move in, and they could be on their way home tomorrow.

Six days later, Steve received news that his father’s estate had been settled. He and his siblings each inherited the sum of $2,220.75. It may not seem much, but for Steve, it meant car registration and insurance could be paid, something that just one day earlier had been impossible. The next day, I woke thinking I had to get an old photo of Steve and I enlarged. When fully awake, I realised it was January 17^th, our 32^nd wedding anniversary. Before doing so I met Peter and Kay at Chermside for coffee. They had still not found a place for Greg. During conversation, I mentioned the weird incident of the photo and Kay said she would love a copy of it. “I always loved that picture,” she said. “You were both so gorgeous and you looked so ‘60s!” I had to laugh. “Kay, it was the ‘60s.” I was glad I hadn’t had a chance to get it enlarged because Kay told me photocopying would be cheaper, and on quality paper, just as good. She was right. Whilst waiting, I was amazed to hear her tell me she had been trying to figure out how to ask me for a copy without seeming silly. So that’s what it was. Telepathy! On leaving the copy shop we went to Zen Gallery where we spent an hour. From there she went to Godfrey’s because she had a feeling she should look for a vacuum cleaner. Who should she find there, looking for a vacuum cleaner? Peter. I was in awe at picking up on Kay’s thoughts, but for Kay and Peter, it was a way of life. When he left us he had gone to look at cars and was supposed to meet Kay in a couple of hours where we had coffee.

Photo of Steve and me taken in 1969

On Friday, Che helped Steve with our faulty power steering as he was a natural with cars. On Saturday, Leigh rang to book me for more readings in February. On Sunday, I unsuccessfully scoured flea markets looking for a frame for a painting I did in the early ‘80s. It was of the hay barn at the farm. I never understood why I painted it, although in years to come I would. I had used a canvas board so without a frame to keep it flat, it had become concave. If I wanted to preserve it I knew I would need to do something sooner rather than later.

Hay Barn c. early 1980s

On Monday January 21^st, I met Roberta at Chermside for coffee. She was excited about her upcoming appointment with Jason McDonald. She only had four weeks left to wait. It seemed a lifetime ago that she made the appointment. A friend of hers was told the waiting period had blown out to six months when she rang! As we talked, Roberta felt I should study counselling and utilise my Tarot skills. It wasn’t the first time the suggestion had been made. The next day, Petula rang to tell me I may have a reading with her friend, Lenny. When Sarina told me about someone named Lenny who would assist my spiritual progress I was not prepared for how. Sarina had proven to be so accurate, I couldn’t understand why Roberta was determined to wait for Jason. But then, I was the same in my early days.

On Thursday, I got an email from Liz to say she had arrived safely in New Jersey, only a day later than planned. She said her departure was extremely painful and she was glad to be leaving her “ungrateful children”. For years she had done the Tough Love thing with Danuta, with some success, but the girl was too “self-centred and immature” to see that, she said. There was one light-hearted moment, however. She finally understood what I had to deal with when using library computers.

Friday wasn’t Steve’s best day. After returning to Prince Charles Hospital for a thallium test, he had to deal with bureaucracy gone mad at Centrelink. According to their letter, they wanted to know how we spent his inheritance. Although annoyed with that, he later yelled at me for itemizing everything I could find a receipt for. He said I was being childish and petty, and that they would only require an estimate. On Monday, when I was proven right, he threatened to take the matter up with his local Member of Parliament. The woman didn’t bat an eyelid. She simply parroted the company line. I had had enough and accused her of “Gestapo tactics”. That clearly struck a nerve for not only did she back off, she apologised before accepting the evidence tendered. I thought it more than a little interesting that he never thought twice before lashing out at me, yet he allowed others to walk all over him. My days of being bullied were long gone.

Before going to work on January 30^th, Steve did a reading about his current job as he felt something was up. He got a Karmic Crossroads which told him changes were not just in the wind, they were on top of him. Tamara rang through the day to say a man in her section wondered if Steve would be able to compile a list of shoddy or difficult companies he knew about. It was an unusual request, but I told her I would pass the message on. It would give him something else to think about. When he came home, with his toolbox, I knew what the Crossroads was all about. On the following Monday, he returned to Prince Charles Hospital for the results of his thallium test. After being given another ECG he was told all was fine. The doctor said he couldn’t explain the type of pain Steve had, but he had to concur with our family doctor. Steve definitely did not have a heart problem. The next day, I woke from a strange dream about him always being there for me, no matter what.

On Wednesday, I went to the Brisbane Spiritualist Church for the development circle. During the meditation, I saw the same hand I saw on my first day at the Self-Realization Fellowship. This time, I saw it as an extended hand reaching out to assist my spiritual development. I had to climb hills, mountains and stairs, take the hand, and move to the next stage. Eventually, I stood facing my guide. As he reached out to take my hand the earth opened up. I teetered on my side of the crevasse. Do I give way to fear and stay on my side, or do I accept the stretching hand and take a leap of faith? I heard the words “Accept” and “Surrender”. In the discussion that followed the minister said an extended hand means the hand of Spirit showing me things never seen before. She then said I must never surrender my will to anyone in the physical or spiritual realms. However, she added, a leap of faith is different. In the psychometry session, a man who selected my wedding ring from the tray said I should read a book called The Bridge Across Forever. He said he did not know if there was such a book in reality, only that he had ‘seen’ a book cover in his mind’s eye with those words and a wedding ring on it. When I got home there was a message from Lenore, known to Petula as Lenny. It made sense coming on a day of seeing my spiritual evolution in meditation. She said she wanted a reading, but the last two digits of her number had been cut off so I rang Petula.

At the library on Thursday, I realised there really was a book called The Bridge Across Forever. It was written by Richard Bach. The library didn’t have a copy on the shelves so I put in a request for it. They did, however, have another book by the same author, Jonathon Livingstone Seagull. I had previously only associated that title with American singer-songwriter, Neil Diamond. I had not seen the film. I only knew Neil Diamond did the sound track for it. I was glad I took the book home for it resonated with my meditation experience. Jonathon Livingstone Seagull is a remarkable story about rising above the ordinary and awakening to the potential of the spirit. I was so taken with it I went on to read more of his books, among them another favourite, Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah. When I finally got a copy of The Bridge Across Forever I could only stare at the cover. Under the title was a wedding ring! It was a remarkable story about love and how it can survive anything.

On Friday, I left a message for Lenore. On Saturday, I woke from a strange dream about Aunty Kathleen. Women were all around her; daughters, granddaughters, and great granddaughters. I was there, too. There was some sort of telephone conference in which people held an electronic device that showed pictures. In the dream I told her of a dream I had when I saw her as a very pretty child of fourteen. Her nose was sprinkled with freckles and her dark long hair was braided. On waking, I wondered if she was reviewing her life. A week earlier, Kristen told me she had another visit from my mother telling her that Kathleen would be joining her soon. Kristen called Mum a “Gatherer”. When I asked her why, she said she didn’t know.

On Sunday morning, Che called in to say he’d been having more trouble with his car. He was finally willing to accept he had bought a lemon because it looked good. He was lucky Gregg worked in a car parts store. When he left, I rang Tamara to tell her I was going in to the Spiritual Church if she wanted to come with me. She did and was glad. Beatrice, the guest medium, had very good advice for me from Mum. I was told off for being too serious. I should learn to relax more and have fun. When people come to me for readings I should deliver the message and let that be the end of the matter. I was guilty on all counts. She went on to say things will get better and I will wonder why I was so serious. I was a serious child. She had hoped I would grow out if it, but I didn’t. She felt like shaking me at times. Did I not know she was around me? Did I not know it was she who put ideas and things into my mind? When I said I did, my mother, through Beatrice said: “Why do you need to see me then?”  It was a valid point. Tamara was very impressed with Beatrice and said she had been trying to tell me the same thing for years. My mother and my second child were so very much alike it was scary.

On Wednesday February 13^th, Steve returned to his on-again, off-again job. It was getting tiresome. I wished they could get a decent contract so they could give him sustainable work. They were lucky that every time they called he was available. At court the same day, Neville was seen for what he was. The judge even had the court stenographer laughing when he told him in no uncertain terms to have certain matters in order for March 7^th or he would find himself in the witness stand where he would “get it out of him.” The law designed to give a spouse an equal share in their partner’s superannuation was yet to be passed. In their previous battles, Neville told Petula she would be a very old woman before she got one cent of “his money” because he was going to sit on it by retiring as late as possible. However, a split of Neville’s superannuation was the best the judge felt he could do for her under the circumstances. It was either that or his Coles-Myer shares, given to him as part of a salary package. The man was up to his neck in debt and had no real assets. In his determination to ensure she got nothing, he even sold the house for little more than the mortgage. The judge had had enough and told him if he failed to produce the requested documents on March 7^th he would adjourn the case until after the legislation takes effect. Neville was not a happy man when he left. But then, neither was Petula. She had her heart set on a settlement of $20,000. I told her the judge was doing the best he could with what he had to work with.

The next day, I bought a white ceramic seagull I found in a second hand shop that looked identical to the image on the cover of Jonathon Livingstone Seagull. I knew what the message was, so I promised Mum I would soar beyond my limitations. The same day, I lost my front door key. I got another cut from the spare, but it bothered me that a key was lying around somewhere. At the Brisbane Spiritualist Church the following Sunday, I saw two ladies I was told work together. Gloria gave the address and Irene gave the clairvoyant demonstration. She was so good I decided I must be there the next time she was on platform. During a conversation I had with a lady earlier in the tea room, certain things were said in relation to her deceased husband. To hear Irene give the woman a message from her husband using words that proved he was with her at the time we were talking, amazed me, but not her. I couldn’t believe it. The very same words she used when answering something I said were given back to her via Irene, but she couldn’t, or wouldn’t believe. What was she doing there? What was the point? I came to understand this was an on-going problem with her.

On Monday, I got a call from a woman named Jenny who said I was recommended to her. She booked in for the following Sunday morning. It was a while since I had had so many readings in one week. I had Lenore coming on Tuesday and Leigh’s group to read for on Friday. I was looking forward to reading for Lenore, if she was the Lenny Sarina spoke of, because I wondered how she would assist with my spiritual development. While waiting for her, I got a clear message to use the Eye of Horus stones. I had never used them with anyone before. But because of the message, I thought of Mum, and asked her to help me find my key. I went into Che’s old room, as I had done several times that day, and there was my key, sitting in clear view. I was so happy to have it back I didn’t go into the wherefores then. I did later, after Lenny left.

Lenny’s reading proved to be the first life-path reading I did. The same message was delivered with every spread, but she couldn’t see that because it didn’t relate to her current situation. It was not until I gave her the stones that she thought she might be able to make some sense from it all. I was glad I had taped the reading because I knew much will be made known to her as time unfolds. When she left, I thanked Mum, not only for the key, for I knew that was part of the overall message, but for helping me with my spiritual development.

During meditation the following week at the church, we were led by a lady’s clear voice to a path and over a bridge to a bench where someone from spirit would sit beside us. Mum sat beside me. In her hand was a pink and grey plastic box, the very same box she used to hide her money in and keep on top of her wardrobe. I told Mum I was so sorry for stealing the money and she said it was time to let it go. I then saw lots of pink light envelope me and I felt the most wondrous sense of peace, love and forgiveness. In the next instant, I saw myself at around age twelve, in my confirmation dress. With me were my former classmates, Elizabeth and Ann. I knew that was important, but I didn’t know why. Ann was gone by then, and I had no idea where Elizabeth was, or even if she was still alive. It was Ann who told me about Elizabeth having a baby at the same time she had hers, which wasn’t long before I had Kristen. Where was this leading? During the discussion afterwards, a man told me a lady surrounded me with the most beautiful flowers. I asked him if he could describe her. He could. Mum was with me! For the first time in a long time I was able to let go of the guilt and shame I had been carrying like a yoke around my neck. When I got home Petula called to tell me Lenny wasn’t sure about her reading. She said I came across as feeling “not good enough”, and “I wasn’t listening to her”. What lesson did I learn from the experience? Just what Mum told me through Beatrice: Deliver the message and let it go. Sarina was right, yet again. If Lenny wanted to see someone else, she had every right to do so. If she chose not to accept the message, she had every right to do that, too.

On Friday, my confidence was restored by Andrea, Glenys and Mona who all said their previous readings, which they didn’t think could come to pass, had, and in the way I said. Andrea was especially grateful for the warning about her husband’s job, but she had some good news. His job was safe after all. She told me that some Ansett jobs, not all by any stretch of the imagination, were to be salvaged by an eleventh hour deal with some of Australia’s most powerful businessmen. Not so, according to the cards. She couldn’t understand it. She said they were given uniforms and even their work rosters. The Seven of Swords crossing The Moon told me there was deception and trickery at work. I advised her to warn her husband and to tell him to warn the others. The so-called rescue of Ansett was not going to happen. I felt terrible saying that, but I had to. It was all there in the cards.

On Sunday, I read for Jenny who said she was referred by Andrea more than a year earlier. She kept putting it off, fearing what would be said. It turned out that that was the right time for her to have her reading. She left feeling very happy and positive about her future. In the afternoon, I went to the church to find yet another great medium on platform. She was an English woman named Elizabeth. Not only was she very accurate, she was a bit of a comedienne. At one point she said to the congregation: “Okay. Who’s saying ‘Pick me! Pick me!’ because as long as I hear that I can’t hear anything else.” No one moved. She tried to continue but paused again to say: “Now this is getting a bit much! If the person saying that doesn’t put their hand up so I can get on with this, we are going to be here for a long time.” No one put up their hand. Elizabeth tried again, and again she stopped because of that insistent plea. There was a roar of laughter from the congregation but Jeanne, the minister, was not impressed for there was a time limit on the demonstration. Elizabeth tried again to get a message for someone when she stopped, but this time, from near the back, a timid young girl put her hand up. “Forget him!” Elizabeth said “He’s not worth it! Okay. Do you understand?” The deeply embarrassed young woman nodded her understanding before sitting down, no doubt wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

During the meditation at the circle on the following Wednesday I saw my “monk” guide. He showed me lots of children and asked me to follow them into a cave. Inside was a large crystal ball, on which was a door that opened to expose a whole city inside. It was magical. I then heard the woman leading the meditation ask if we had a message for someone in the circle. With that, I saw my “monk” walk over to touch the head of a lady to my right. I asked what the message was and was told to pay attention. He touched her head again and her short dark hair suddenly became long and blonde. He then placed a crown on her head. Clearly, I was being shown one of her past lives. Was that why I had to pay attention? Would I be able to see people’s past lives?

Seven hours later, while watching the news, I heard the Ansett deal had fallen through. I instantly thought of Andrea and her husband. I knew she trusted me enough by then to have taken the message to him, and he hopefully, trusted me enough by then to take it to the other poor souls led on a merry quest to nowhere.

Book: Redemption - Part XXXV - Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Loose Ends

November - December 2001

On Thursday, I took a chair and my camera into the front yard to gauge the best vantage point to capture the house and mountains beyond. When I was happy, I took photos and marked the spot, no easy task when the ground was littered with twigs and bark. With Peter in Longreach, I had the perfect opportunity to work uninterrupted but I dithered. Instead of working on the painting, I spent my time ‘chatting’ with Liz on the computer. Although a fantastic innovation, Instant Messenger was a trap. It was also an excuse because part of me wasn’t sure I could do the old house justice. Peter bought it in Cairns, literally cut it in half with a chainsaw, and had it carted to his block on a rise facing the Kennedy Highway, between Mareeba and a little town called Walkamin. Once there, he climbed the gum tree at the front to gauge the best height for it. That house was his retirement project, something to do when he no longer had anything else to do. As a Libra, Peter was a typical air sign in that he couldn’t sit still for five minutes. I could understand why Mum resorted to tying him to the clothesline on laundry days. The only reason he built in underneath was because the kids rebelled. When I asked Kylie why they lived in “Mareeba” and not “Walkamin”, she said incredulously: “Have you seen Walkamin? If you had, you wouldn’t ask.”

In between housework and chatting with Liz, I was texting Petula, sometimes several times a day. She had gone to Indy (a car race at Surfer’s Paradise on the Gold Coast) with Mark, his brother and Rose, but it wasn’t what she hoped. The weekend broke the spell Rose had on her and forced her to remember why she had had nothing to do with her for years. She told me she also got a message. I was to “Listen”. Put on a blindfold, she texted, and just listen to the sounds of nature. Whenever I did, more often than not, even sitting on the back verandah, all I heard was the roar of traffic from the highway. Still, I knew she was right, just as Vi had been. This was a time for me to reflect on who I was, not if I would go back to Steve, but who I would be when I went back.

One afternoon, I had a long heart-to-heart chat with Kylie about her mother. I never knew the half of it. It was such a shame. Roslyn was clearly unbalanced. Many miscarriages and a lost infant can take a huge toll on anyone. It was what Peter preferred to believe. On Saturday, with Peter due back the following day, I drew the preliminary sketch, but with no ruler, I had trouble getting lines straight. It was the one thing I had omitted to pack and I couldn’t find one anywhere. It was extremely hot sitting in the front yard under the blazing sun, but at least I had an outline to work from. On Sunday, Peter nearly sprung me. He was supposed to arrive mid-afternoon, but I heard the tell-tale sound of his utility just after 10am. Thankfully, that gave me time to replace his canvas with the blank one. The first thing he said when he walked past was: “I won’t look”. He was in good spirits, but then I have never really known him to be any other way. In fact, his pet saying was “Shit Happens”. He must have had his down times, though, especially when Roslyn left, but he kept it together for the kids’ sake. They came home from school one afternoon to find the house they were then living in stripped. She even took the money in their bank accounts.

There was a lot of love in that old Queenslander. I could feel it from the highway. The entrance to his property was marked by two white-painted truck tyres. We were looking for them in 1997, only Peter’s weren’t the only ones. Thankfully, the others didn’t have an old white house that had seen better days. I always loved the style of the Queenslander with its airy verandahs. That was probably why it was the setting of a short story I wrote in the early 1980s called The House on Crescent Avenue. Peter's house may have had similar front steps to Crescent House, but his was nowhere near as grand. Enticing, though they looked, those steps weren’t used because Peter hadn’t got around to securing them. That’s what made Steve’s carrying me up and down them so remarkable after I broke my ankle. Despite the risk, he deemed it riskier to take me down the narrower internal staircase. Over the years, many a party was held in that old house to celebrate teenage milestones. It didn’t matter how many turned up, there was plenty of floor space to sleep on.

On the second Thursday in November, Kay took me to see the sights of Atherton. I was amazed at how similar she and Peter were, like two peas in a pod. I had heard of twin souls, but I never really appreciated the term until the time I spent in the north. Peter even wanted to buy Kay’s house when it was on the market but she beat him to it. I could understand why. It had breathtaking views of the Tablelands. Atherton, I discovered to my joy, was a gem. It had a fantastic crystal shop, and the health food shop was better than any I had seen in Brisbane. At an art supplies shop, I was able to get the paints I needed and some decent brushes. I happily turned in my roll of film for processing at a chemist shop knowing Kay would collect my photos when ready. From those photos I would paint Peter’s house for there was no way I was sitting in the hot sun with that endless stream of cars and trucks zooming past behind me.

With the federal election looming, talk soon turned to politics and we agreed to disagree. From Kay’s perspective, ALP Premier, Peter Beattie, was the best Queensland had had. Not from mine, he wasn’t, and especially not while he was determined to mould himself on Joh Bjelke-Petersen.  My own brother was a Bob Katter supporter. Maybe he was right for the people of Kennedy, but I had no time for him.  During one debate with Kay over Premier Beattie, I learned she knew the real man, not the “media tart” he happily portrayed. They had gone to school together, and when her husband found himself unjustly accused of a gross dereliction of duty, she sought out his help. I loved the way Kay told the story. Security guards refused to allow Peter entry with his thonged feet, and paint-spotted shorts and shirt. It took the intervention of the man himself.

On Election Day, Peter took me to see Kylie and her fiancé’s block of land before heading to Cairns where he had a meeting to attend. Kylie and Dean had been together for years although he was some years older than her. Their one stint apart proved to them they were right for each other, despite the age difference. That’s the way I felt about Steve. We were right for each other. When given the choice of walking with me, with all that entailed, or walking without me, he chose to walk with me. The test, of course, would come when I returned with the windchimes and other trinkets I bought in Cairns whilst waiting for Peter. It was the first time I had experienced Cairns for the perspective of the tourist. I couldn’t see what Steve had against the place.

Other than Howard’s Liberal-National Party government being returned, Sunday was a great day because I finished Peter’s painting. On Monday, I gave it two coats of sealant and on Tuesday, Kylie smuggled it out of the house to deliver it to Kay, who took it to be framed. On Tuesday evening, Kylie asked for another reading as it had been two weeks since her last. In the last reading, about whether she should accept a position with the school dental program, the cards advised her she should and that something would come up in two weeks which would be help her understand why. Something had happened at work that day to convince her she had made the right decision. She had been torn between what was best for her, and loyalty to the people who gave her a job when she needed one.

Wednesday November 14^th was Steve’s fifty-first birthday, but he didn’t have to be alone. Peter had to fly to Brisbane for a meeting so Steve picked him up from the airport and they shared a few ‘coldies’. The next day, before the news broke that Qantas had sacked 2,000 staff, Peter said former Ansett pilots and hostesses, blatantly wearing Ansett uniforms, flew his Qantas flight home. That was a red flag to a bull. Obviously, with so many former Ansett staff jobless, Qantas thought they could play mind games. On Friday, Steve rang to tell me to keep an eye on the news as a Qantas strike was looming. He was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get home. He said he was happy to drive up and get me if need be. Peter didn’t think it would come to anything and told me all I needed to know about flying. He was right.

At the end of my fourth week, the strangest thing happened when I was chatting with Liz. I had the sense I was grieving for our lost friendship, despite it being stronger than ever. On Saturday, Peter and Dean left early to lay the pipe work at the block, and while they were busy with that, Kylie took me into town. But first, she took me on a tour of the housing estate so I could get an idea of what her place would look like when finished. She was so happy. It was a joy to see. I did another reading for her on Sunday. Life looks good. I was feeling really happy until Petula called. Neville’s been blackmailing her by saying he won’t have the girls if she doesn’t do what he wants. The house had been sold, leaving little else he could use as leverage. It was beyond pathetic.

On Monday, I woke feeling strangely restless. By midday, the feeling was still with me. Liz helped me understand I may have been picking up on Steve’s irrational fear of flying. Perhaps she was right. Years before, I had won a mystery flight for two. It wasn’t taken because of Steve. In 1997, before he discovered the front passenger seat went all the way back, we discussed my flying back while he drove. Even then, he was terrified of the prospect of me being up there where he couldn’t protect me. If it wasn’t so smothering, it would be nice. Our talk of flying had her suggest I marry my maiden and married names and use “Warbird” as a registered business name accompanied by an drawing of a phoenix rising above the ashes of its past. It was a great idea until I mentioned it to Peter. A warbird, I discovered, is a name given to certain World War II aircraft. He told me the US air force built a base to defend Australia from the Japanese not far from his place. It was later turned into a museum and adventure flight centre.

Petula called several times throughout the day on Tuesday. Neville had changed his tune and was demanding the girls during the week. She said that was so he could have free weekends with his girlfriend. He told her if she doesn’t agree he will have the girls for two weeks per year during school holidays only. The man was an absolute menace. In a past life she was told he was a Roman Catholic priest and she was his lover. When he’d had his fill of her, he tossed her aside like an old rag. Nothing much had changed there.

Good news came on Wednesday when Steve told me he returned to his on-again, off-again job. On my last night with Peter, I presented him with his painting. He loved it. He said it was the best thing I could have given him. I knew I owed it all to Steve because I wouldn’t have thought to do it.

Pete's Paradise

On November 24^th, my last Saturday in the north, Peter took me to Cairns airport. On the way, he asked me to imagine the Kuranda Range stripped of virtually every tree, for that’s what it looked like several years earlier when a cyclone tore through the Tablelands. It was impossible for me to imagine such a sight. Despite Steve’s reservations, I had a great flight home and when I saw him my heart skipped a beat. Vi was right. We really did love each other. When we got home he poured me a glass of wine and just held me for the longest time. It was so good to be home.

At the library on Monday, I got a rambling email from Liz. She was very upset with her Arizona clairvoyant friend for telling her she had no future with Andrew, that he was incapable of commitment, and that she would end up alone. She also said he was not to be trusted. She said he was a weak, insipid man browbeaten by his wife. She warned her not to travel to New Jersey. Liz asked me to ask Tamara to do a reading for her. She said she would email a recent photo of him in a day or two. As I read, and re-read what she copied and pasted from Dee’s emails to her, that strange feeling of sadness washed over me again like a giant wave. What was the matter with me? How could I be grieving for a friendship as solid as ours? I did share a lot of Dee’s thoughts, and I had told Liz, maybe not in so many words, but I had told her she should pull back until he makes a decision on his marriage. I told her it was pointless taking on a man who could not, or would not, commit to her one hundred percent. She made excuses for him until he did something to make her sit up and take notice. One of those things involved her privacy. He abused his position with the government department he worked in to look up her personal history and made the mistake of saying things she knew she never told him. Still, I knew it had made no real difference.

On Thursday, I took Glenys’ painting to Leigh’s place. She was thrilled with it and knew Glenys would be, too. We chatted for about an hour before she rang Glenys to see if she would like to have lunch with us. When she walked through the door, the first thing she saw was her washtub, mounted at the correct angle on a chair. She shrieked with delight, saying it was exactly what she wanted, that she knew I would know what she wanted. When she asked me how much it was, I fell silent. I had no idea. I hadn’t considered that part of the process. Finally, I asked her to pay what she thought it was worth. She said she thought it was worth thousands but she didn’t have that much. I accepted her payment gratefully.

Glenys' Farm

Tamara got a new job on the last day in November. The same day George Harrison passed into Spirit, at 6.30pm Queensland time. I couldn’t stem the flood of tears for he was not only still my favourite Beatle, he was a deeply spiritual man who had made a real difference in the world. He would be greatly missed. Like millions the world over, I was saddened to hear of John Lennon’s death, especially the means of his death, but George. Vale, George. Rest in Peace.

On Sunday December 2^nd, I collected Tianni and Tamara and took them to Wilston where a family gathering was underway to celebrate my Aunt Irene and Uncle Ray’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. Years earlier, at another reunion in the same place, the hall of my old school, I was happy to reconnect to Frances and Anne. Kristen couldn’t go as she was working. When Steve tried to talk me out of going I hoped he wasn’t slipping back to his controlling ways. He never was one for family gatherings, probably because of his own family. All the same, Heather didn’t seem to have a problem. It was a festering wound he needed to heal before it killed him. An elderly man at the table we were sitting at asked me who I was. When I told him, he started talking about “that house Ernie Warman bought actually belonged to Ray’s family before.” It was news to me, as it was to others at the table. After leaving Wilston, we stopped at Heather’s place so Tamara could read for her daughter, Leonie. Whilst there, she picked up a framed wedding photo of Heather’s eldest son, Jasen and his bride, Mandy. She told Heather the marriage wouldn’t last for she ‘saw’ the photo being torn in two. It came as a shock to Heather because they were so much in love. Sadly, time has proven her correct.

On Monday, Petula called. She told me she and Mark went to Lismore after Indy. It was a nice place, she said. She felt they might move there one day. She also felt there was a little corner shop she could transform into an art and craft centre. She didn’t find it, nor did she ever move to Lismore. On Tuesday, Gladys’ granddaughter rang for Tamara’s number. She wanted a reading. The same afternoon, Che dropped by after work to give me Jen’s copy of Louise L. Hay’s book You Can Heal Your Life.  The following Monday Roberta rang, but I couldn’t talk long as I had to get a bus into town for an appointment. On the way home, I stopped at Chermside library to check my emails. Liz asked if I could do a reading for one of her tenants. When Roberta called back we talked for hours. She wanted a reading with Jason McDonald, but had a three month wait so I suggested she go to Kedron-Wavell RSL where he was putting on another show. When she didn’t get a message I suggested she see Sarina, who I felt she was better than Jason anyhow. He was too busy aping John Edward to notice he was losing his connection to Spirit.

On Tuesday, I knew I had to make an appointment to see my doctor to get a referral to the Wesley for my next mammogram. At my last appointment he told me if a close relative has been diagnosed with breast cancer, he could write a referral for me to have my X-rays cheaper. Both my mother’s sister, Irene, and my father’s sister had been diagnosed with the disease by that stage. Both responded well to treatment. The trouble was I kept putting it off. When at the shops to get bread one day I got a message to stop in to the clinic and make the appointment. I knew it was my mother so I dug my heels in. Didn’t I get an earful! The receptionist gave me the strangest look when I asked if I could make an appointment. “You can go straight in, if you like. He’s just had a cancellation.” It was so funny. I laughed all the way home. “Yes, Mum. Whatever you say, Mum”

When I got home I found Tamara’s ‘photo reading’ of Andrew in the mailbox. It was not only very detailed, it pulled no punches. As I typed it up, verbatim; I couldn’t help but wonder what Liz would make of it. Tamara’s words were not too dissimilar to Dee’s or mine. Yes, there was a soul connection. Yes, it was very strong. Yes, there was the chance they could share a magical relationship, but it all came down to whether he was willing to master lessons from the past. Was he willing to leave his wife? Her reply came through almost immediately. She hadn’t had time to read it properly so I knew she skipped over things she didn’t want to know about and focused on those she did. I was to tell Tamara how good she was.

On Wednesday, I met Heather for coffee. It was really nice to be where we once were. We had a real connection. I was positive we were sisters in another life. She shared my sister, Anne’s, birthday but was more sister to me than Anne ever would or could be. That evening, Kristen rang to give me feedback on a reading I had given her some time ago. She said everything came to pass, even to the day. I was “spooky”, she said. On December 15^th, I took Tamara to Heather’s place for a reading night where she learned a valuable lesson, one I was still struggling to master. The agreed readings were to be for thirty minutes at a cost of $20. The first lady’s reading dragged on for over an hour, but she only paid only $20. As a result, Tamara felt she had to take the same from the others, regardless of how long she read for. Heather made her night by giving her $40. But she shouldn’t have had to.

The following Tuesday, I got a Christmas card from Glenda, who I worked with in the laundry. She told me Roslyn, one of the cleaners we worked with, had died. She had apparently been suffering from cancer for years, only it wasn’t discovered until it was too late. Glenda told me she had met up with Vonnie, one of the nursing aides, at a reunion for past staff at another house they both worked at. Roslyn was one of the reasons I got so angry with Sandra. She treated her with absolute contempt. Once, poor Roslyn was at one end of the corridor and Sandra was at the other. Instead of walking to her or asking Roslyn to come down, she hurled abuse at her for all to hear. One of the nurses told me she lodged a complaint about it, but nothing was done. However, Roslyn was not without fault, either. She was one of the worst whingers. Whenever she had the chance to speak up, she wouldn’t. No wonder she was riddled with cancer. It ate her up from the inside out. I found the timing of this interesting from another perspective. The following day I ran into Vonnie at Chermside library. She told me Barbara or Sandra couldn’t even spare half an hour to represent the staff at Roslyn’s funeral. When I got home I rang Jo. She said it was all true. Roslyn had left work shortly before her death. She was in denial until the end. It was so sad.

On Sunday December 23^rd, after attending meditation at the Self-Realization Fellowship, Shelley and I sat in the armchairs chatting away when I kept seeing a hand in front of me. There was a hand in the room, a lone alabaster bookend Petula had found with the load one day. She said she heard my name when she touched it so I bought it and used it to hold up books in my small bookcase. When I had enough books to fill the shelf, I placed it, palm facing the room, on top of the bookcase as a decorative feature. Because of that hand, I decided it must be important so I went with it. I asked Spirit what I was to do with the image of the hand in my mind. The answer came immediately. I was to do a painting for Shelley as a gift, that she would know what it represented.

We had our usual family Christmas and Boxing Day celebrations on a scorching hot summer day. Long ago, in the lead-up to another scorching hot Christmas Day, I put my foot down when Steve searched butcher shops seeking the perfect leg of veal for his Christmas Roast. When most everyone else was having seafood platters or barbecues with salad, I had to toil away in the kitchen. I can’t remember when it was I refused to swelter through one more Christmas lunch, but I won, and without much drama. Perhaps, common sense prevailed. I am sure it must have been an intrinsic longing for something traditional, a time when families gather and are civil to each other. Poor Steve, he never had many of those.

On New Year’s Eve, Steve won $100 on an Instant Scratch-It ticket, the most he had ever won. Although we needed the money, we donated a quarter of it to the New South Wales bush-fire appeal. Queenslanders may have sweltered through one of the worst heat waves in years, but parts of New South Wales burned. At the same time parts of Victoria were dealing with freezing rains. Dorothea Mackellar[1] got it right when she wrote her poem, My Country.

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[1] Dorothea Mackellar is best known for her poem “My Country”.  http://www.dorotheamackellar.com.au

Book: Redemption - Part XXXIV - Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Onwards and Upwards

October 2001

The first week of October was so hectic I had little time to think about what was coming. On Monday morning at the library, I printed off several pages about the so-called “Spanish Inquisition” because I felt it had something to do with the castle fire. When I came across a picture of churchmen wearing wide-brimmed hats, I thought back to the seminarian who came to see Adrian. He wore a wide-brimmed hat. I next wondered if medieval churchmen wore capes. If they did, I wondered if one had the tendency to dramatically flick his off whenever he wanted to make a point. It was such an impressive image, a silhouetted man in a wide-brimmed hat throwing off his cape-like coat to a backdrop of thunder and lightning. In the 1980s, when I asked my brother about our father’s family, he told me about the earlier incident. I had forgotten about it, probably because it was so traumatic. According to John, I screamed like a banshee when our great uncle, a true swagman in every sense of the word, came visiting in a storm. When I opened the door, John said Uncle Job threw off his raincoat to shake off the water.

On Monday afternoon, with Tamara having completed her Reiki I degree, I went to her place with Petula and her girls so she could do her “prac”. She said my painfully swollen ankle was the result of emotional rather than physical issues. She also detected blockages in my throat and solar plexus chakras. When she detected a problem with Petula’s kidneys and knees, Petula told her the knees are the last line of defence when her kidneys start playing up, which she knew they were. It was a timely warning. The girls just thought it was great. Raywen had every reason to be proud her student.

On Tuesday, Leigh rang to arrange for Tamara and me to come over for a Reading-Reiki day on the 14^th. I had barely put the phone down when Petula rang to tell me how impressed she was with Tamara. She had the best night’s sleep in weeks. Her eldest daughter even rose early to feed the cats. After breakfast, she washed up and cleaned her room! The next call I received was from Roberta, home safely from her trip. To top off an amazing day, Tamara told me she’s registering a business name as she is thinking of working from home. It was so exciting she even had me toying with the idea. I didn’t follow through because of the rigmarole involved. On Wednesday, Petula told me she got a part-time job at a Northgate snack bar, and on Thursday, Tamara rang to say she bought a massage table. On Friday, I got my ticket on the Sunlander: Carriage 7, Berth 19, the middle bunk. No going back now.

After attending the Self-Realization Fellowship on Sunday morning I spent several hours talking with Shelley. In the afternoon, I worked on Glenys’ painting, as I did for most of the following days. It was coming along nicely, and although happy with it for the most part, I re-did some sections because I didn’t feel they were quite right. It still bothered me that she wouldn’t tell me what she wanted. How was I supposed to know? That farm clearly meant a lot to her.

On Saturday October 13th, I got a happy email from Liz, now madly in love with Andrew. The next day, I woke to the heaviest rain in a long time. What a terrible day to drive to Narangba! Nonetheless, it turned out to be a great day for everyone concerned and Tamara made some valuable contacts. She has proven herself to be an exceptional healer, clairvoyant and palmist. On Wednesday, Steve and I drove to Millmerran where he had a job interview scheduled for 10.30am. The weather was horrendous. Not only did it rain all the way to Toowoomba, it took us ninety minutes to get out of Brisbane due to traffic accidents. On the way back, a shocking fatal truck accident ensured I wouldn’t be home in time to accompany Petula to her mediation session that afternoon. She had been terrified because of Neville’s obnoxious behaviour and said she needed me for moral support. As it turned out, she didn’t need me after all. His intransience ensured the case will be heard in the magistrate’s court. That he did not expect.

Steve didn’t get the Millmerran job. He was told he would be required to return for a welding test on the following Monday, but on Friday he got a letter, dated the day of the interview, informing him he wasn’t successful. On Monday morning, a woman rang to inform him the welding test had to be postponed. She had no knowledge of the letter. It was an abysmal example of the left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing. It was such a shame too, for it seemed the perfect job for him with me away, and we desperately needed the money. The same day Leigh rang to say her son had a shocking accident on his motorbike. Also a boilermaker, Eden was on his way home from Millmerran, where he was working on the same project Steve was interviewed for, the construction of a power station. I came to think there was a reason Steve didn’t get that job. The last major construction job he had was at Tarong, another power station. Being out of the construction field for so long proved to be a major impediment, but he surrendered the type of work he loved because of the kids. In the early 1980s, they were still so young for him to be away so much, and Che was a handful. He did manage to score a few smaller jobs in the interim, the most notable of which were the construction of the Yatula Brewery, Brisbane’s Myer Centre and the International Airport.

On Tuesday morning, Steve drove to Northgate railway station. From there, we got a train to Roma Street where the Sunlander was scheduled to leave just before 9am. We were sitting on a bench holding hands when three women walked past. The oldest of the three looked directly at me and smiled. In that instant, I knew she would be travelling with me. She was. Her name was Vi, short for Viola. She was deaf, but lip read exceptionally well. When I asked her why she smiled at me she said it was because the man with me and I were so in love. It was the first revelation of my trip and it had not even begun. As the train lurched away from the platform Steve and I frantically waved to each other. Anyone watching would have thought I was going on a holiday, not taking time out from my marriage.

Vi was a lovely lady in her late sixties. While we were talking she motioned to the door where I found the conductor waiting patiently to check our tickets. Before he left he told us another lady would be joining us at Nambour. I discovered to my pleasure that Vi was a spiritually-minded lady with many inspiring stories to tell. She studied reflexology late in life so she could help her husband. Sadly, he lost his battle with cancer and she was on her way to Cairns to spend time with her son. When the lady from Nambour boarded the train I knew Spirit had determined the best date for my trip north. Her name was Jane. She was a Reiki Master and qualified nursing sister who believed the holistic approach was the best approach. She also was into all things spiritual. She told me she “knew” I came from a Celtic background, and that I had “Second Sight” like my grandfather before me. I found that fascinating. Which grandfather? I asked, but she didn’t say. I decided it had to be Tom Casey.

Jane and Vi discovered to their amazement that they been born in the same town, had moved to the same towns around the same time, and despite being similar in age, had never met until that trip. Leaving them to talk, I went to lunch by myself, and because I was by myself, the young woman on duty ushered me to a table with three other people: two women and a man. Their names were Sybil, Fran, and Ray. None of us had met beforehand. Sybil was a Bowen resident who came to Brisbane for a writers’ convention. She told us she is writing a part fictional, part historical novel about the Vietnam War. She was a remarkable woman, the adventurous kind one reads about in romantic fiction. Her most recent job had been as private secretary in a publishing house, but she was a Jill of all trades. It was a welding job that took her to work for a family she is basing the book on. The husband was a fitter and turner by trade, but due to his horrific experiences in Vietnam, which he ultimately confided in Sybil, he was unable to continue. On top of all that, she is also an artist. With that, we learned Fran paints, too. I thought it interesting that all four women I connected with on that trip shared a profound fascination with Egypt and the Celtic lands. They loved my cupboard paintings and agreed with Shelley. There was something about Isis’ eyes.

Ray remained silent for most of the conversation, but spoke up when Sybil mentioned Vietnam. He was a Vietnam veteran who knew only too well the horrors experienced by the man she spoke of. He told us he was married to a Thai woman and has two children with her. He said he spends his time travelling between Australia and Thailand because of work commitments. The “Changi railroad[1]”, he said, built on the blood and sweat of Australian prisoners-of-war during World War II, is still the only access through much of the country.

When I returned to my berth, I told Jane and Vi about my lunch companions, which opened up many more delightful hours of conversation. What could have been a long and lonely trip north was anything but. The hours literally flew by and we were in Townsville before we knew it. Between fascinating conversations, Jane gave Vi and me Reiki treatments, Vi gave Jane and me foot and leg massages, and I read the Tarot for both of them. It was so perfectly perfect, but we had to part company in Townsville. Everyone heading north of Townsville had to disembark there and be bussed the rest of the way. Jane was going to Innisfail and Vi and I to Cairns, but we were all allocated separate buses. We met up again briefly at Cardwell, where all three buses pulled in for their passengers to have lunch. The reason for this inconvenience was the need to upgrade the tracks from Townsville to Cairns to accommodate the tilt train, said to cut the journey north by several hours. At the time, the tilt train went no further north than Rockhampton.

In Cairns, I managed one last glimpse of Vi before getting into Peter’s car. As she had studied psychology, she told me what Steve and I were going through was not unusual. We had an opportunity to turn things around, but he needs to understand what life will be like without me. I, on the other hand, need to connect with my inner self. Angels do exist, and I travelled with two of them.

By the time I arrived at Peter’s place I was very tired. He was the best person I could have stayed with, intuitively knowing when to speak and when to be silent. I woke on Thursday feeling well rested. The last thing Steve had said to me was that he would not call me. I could call him if I wanted too, though. This was my time and I deserved to spend it without worrying about him bothering me. The trouble was, I was already missing him on Wednesday night so I called him before falling asleep. Peter shared his old house on the hill with his two children, Kylie and Matt. They lived downstairs in the modern part he had built for them. I was quite happy upstairs. I spent a quiet day on Thursday for everyone was at work. Peter refused to accept my money so I told him I would clean the house, prepare the evening meals, and do whatever else he needed done.

After dinner on Thursday night, Peter and I talked about our childhoods. I had forgotten so much. He was two and a half years my junior, yet he remembered more. How could that be? How much of my childhood had I blocked out? When John told me about the incident with Uncle Job, I asked him how old I was. He said I was six or so. Whole blocks of my life were missing. I knew I could retrieve them if I wanted to run the risk of also remembering the abuse. I wasn’t ready for that. On Friday, I did some ironing and mending, which meant I had to figure out how to thread Peter’s sewing machine. Matt was a boilermaker, as was John’s son, Michael, so his work clothes, like Steve’s, were torn, burnt, and grease-stained. Peter worked as a building inspector with Mareeba Shire Council. Kylie was a dental nurse.

On Saturday, I had a long chat with Kylie and gave her a reading. She’s lovely, and like most Aquarians, very spiritual. I also developed a good relationship with Peter’s best friend and soul mate, Kay, also an Aquarian. She was with him when he came to see me many years earlier. Just as I was about to tell him how much I approved of his new lady something stopped me. I was glad because Peter and Kay’s friendship was purely platonic. She was sister to his best friend and former workmate, Gary. When driving to Atherton in the ‘70s to visit Gary, he stopped the car in the middle of the highway to gaze in wonder at the beauty surrounding him. “God’s Country” he called the far north. He knew then where he would spend the rest of his days.

Kay and Peter may have ended up together if not for Roslyn, Peter’s ex-wife. Tall, dark and handsome, Peter and his panel van attracted the attention of eligible Atherton girls, each wondering what was concealed within its battered exterior. Most believed it was a “love nest.” It wasn’t, Kay said with a twinkle in her eye, “Just tools, clothes and a mattress.” In her determination to snare the fetching young man from Brisbane, Roslyn pulled out all stops. She succeeded only to break his heart years later. It was a sad story, and to his credit, Peter never stooped to her level. My first memory of Roslyn was a good one. She brought me some small crocheted booties for Kristen as she had such tiny feet. My next memory of her was in the late '80s, when the family came down for Expo 88. She had suffered many miscarriages, as had Kay, but she also lost a son. Anthony, who was born with a heart defect, lived for about a day. Many years later, when Matthew arrived on the same day, I told Peter he was Anthony reincarnated. All he said was: “We won’t go there.”

Peter became the best father-mother to those kids, for that’s what he was. Kay helped out when she could, but she had her own family. She told me about a reading she had years before when she was told she would care for three extra people. She never knew what that meant until Roslyn left. Kylie and I were talking one afternoon when the subject of her mother came up. She was very bitter. A great deal of harm was done, but thanks to Peter’s love, it didn’t destroy his children. When talking about the Wilston house, she told me she was glad Uncle Pat denied Peter the right to buy it. “She would have made sure she got it, just to twist the knife.” Kylie said through clenched teeth. “Pete would never have recovered from that.” It also galled her that she inherited her mother’s blonde good looks while Matt took after his dark-haired father.

On Saturday afternoon, Peter left to “get something” and Matt told me he wouldn’t be staying for tea. He was going to Cairns for there was “no nightlife in Mareeba”. Kylie wouldn’t be home either.  She was heading into town to “hit the piss.” When Peter returned, I was shocked to find what the “something” was. Battery hens. Stressed out, ex-battery hens. He heard they were going to be destroyed. He couldn’t have that. If he noticed what my face must have looked like, he never commented. I went to bed early that night, but woke up when Peter and Kay arrived. They had been to a Little A’s (Little Athletics Association) meeting. They were both heavily involved with Little Athletics and had been for years. We talked until after midnight. I told them Che had booked my return trip and Kay suggested I fly back as it would be a much shorter trip. In the morning I called Che and he agreed. She booked the flight for me and on Monday, he cancelled my train ticket. I was to return on November 24^th.

From that Sunday, and every morning for the remainder of my stay, I took Peter’s bucket of scraps to the chook pen. On Sunday, the hens were too afraid to show themselves. On Monday, two braver ones came out to see what I brought them. On Tuesday, I was enthusiastically greeted by them all as I opened the gate. It was surreal to think about what Sarina said and equate that with the way the chickens behaved, but something was definitely happening. Every day I spoke to them as if they were people, and I swear they understood what I was saying. When I wasn’t doing anything else, I was on Peter’s computer. Liz had asked me to connect with her on Yahoo Instant Messenger, so there I sat, chatting with her for hours a day, in between running to hang up another load of washing or doing something else. Andrew or Andy, as she then called him, was married, not that it made one iota of difference to either of them. 

On the last day of October, I tried drawing something in preparation for a painting but found myself blocked. I had brought with me two canvas boards, pencils, acrylic paints, and some brushes. When I told Steve about my plight he suggested I paint Peter’s house. I thought he was joking. Peter had been trying to paint his house since 1998, and as far as I could see, the frame work hadn’t moved much from where it was then. It wasn’t until he said it again, and this time emphasising the word “paint”, that I understood. It was a brilliant idea!  I knew there was a reason I decided to keep him around.

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 1 In 1942, nearly 13,000 Australian soldiers from the Changi POW camp toiled away on 420 kilometre Thai-Burma railroad, known as the Railway of Death. 2,646 never returned. Suffering disease, malnutrition, and other afflictions, they were forced to work by day with minimum tools and rations, and at night, were crammed into steel freight cars with little ventilation. Survivors were returned to Changi until the end of the war.