Home From Work- Friday Fictioneers: 30th March, 2023.

Right from birth, Karen had never understood her creative, dreamy daughter, Matilda. A marine biologist, her entire world was classified into the natural order of things while Matilda didn’t fit into any category, and she couldn’t get a diagnosis!

“Matilda!” she screamed after stepping on a wet painting.

Battling long covid, now more than ever she questioned:“Why couldn’t I have a normal child?”

Karen fell into her chair, immediately leaping to her feet. The neck of Matilda’s violin had snapped like a dead man hanging from a noose, and Karen had become “The Scream”.  

That was it! No more violin.

….

100 words PHOTO PROMPT © Amanda Forestwood

I was delighted to see this week’s prompt as I play the violin, although I stop well short of calling myself a violinist these days. Practice had dropped off before my lessons stopped during covid, but I’ve been picking it up a bit again lately and am practicing Peter Allen’s hit: “I Still Call Australia Home”. My mother used to play it on the piano and I’m wanting to play it with her and I really do love the words of the song.

The Scream by Edvard Munch

When I was growing up, Mum would occasionally lose patience with the eccentricity of the rest of us and ask: “Why can’t this family be normal?” Mum played things pretty much by the book but the rest of us didn’t even know where to find it. As it turned out, in my mid-20’s I was diagnosed with hydrocephalus and had a shunt inserted to sort things out. Being creative, I wasn’t exactly “fixed” but I was a new improved version of myself and at least I wasn’t falling over all the time.

It wouldn’t surprise me if my husband had told me not to leave my violin on a chair in case someone sat on it; and I’m probably lucky my violin’s still in one piece.

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields at Addicted to Purple.

Best wishes,

Rowena

Violin Concert 2015.

Farewelling The Joker- Friday Fictioneers: 24th March, 2023.

“We always called him “The Joker”. Even back in boy scouts, he had us rolling around the campfire in stitches. My favourite was his legendary encounter with the jellyfish he meant to throw at me. That SQUID squirted him in the face and while he was screaming like a banshee, we almost died laughing.

Tragically, we now know there was another side to Mark. Yet after his shows, we’d have a few beers, more jokes. Never anything about his troubles. Mark was my best mate. Now…. I wonder if I knew him at all!

Hey, guys, we need to talk.”

…..

100 words. Photo prompt Lisa Fox.

This story was hard to reduce to the 100 words and I’m pretty stoked I got there in the end. Unlike the speaker in this story, I have long been aware of the clown with the tear. The anguish behind the smile. Yet, at the same time, if someone refuses to talk about their angst and won’t seek professional help, it’s a tough spot for a bystander. That said, sometimes just having someone sit alongside you and know they care or even love you can be enough.

I also wanted to mention actor Heath Ledger who wasn’t the inspiration behind my story, but at the same time clearly deserves a mention.

Here in Australia we have a suicide prevention program based on asking people: RUOK? We even have RUOK Day, which will be on the 14th September, 2023. They also have some resources to help you progress the conversation. Last year, I also did a suicide intervention course through Lifeline and found it incredibly useful unfortunately. Not every joker is always joking.

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields at Addicted to Purple.

Best wishes,

Rowena

Just A Little Girl…Friday Fictioneers – 15th March, 2023. –

“Mummy!’ Mirium beamed spotting her mother in the throng outside the kindergarten classroom. “Look! My tooth fell out.”

“How exciting, Sweetheart. Tooth fairy’s coming tonight.”

They only had a short walk home. It was meant to be safe, but their cover was blown and suddenly the wind had changed. Mum had spotted her ex and his thugs too late.

“Run, Mirry! Run!” Her mother shrieked.

Mirium didn’t see her mother’s terror stricken face, or her captors as they threw her into a waiting van. She just kept running, knowing she was on her own.

Such big shoulders for a little girl.

…

100 Words PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin (Me)

I often wonder where these photo prompts were taken and try to bring that into the story somehow. That said, I am often stumped. However, this week I have an advantage because I took the photo. It was taken in Rose Bay, on Sydney Harbour and there were a few alleyways of shops to explore and I think Rochelle would like it there as I spotted a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel and there’s an significant Jewish community there. Unfortunately, I was too late in the day for the bagel but I hope to head back soon. I am yet to post about my trip to Rose Bay. I lived there in a flat with my parents for the first couple of years of my life. If you feel like a virtual trip, click here: Rose Bay

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields at Addicted to Purple.

Best wishes,

Rowena

DIY- Friday Fictioneers 2nd March, 2023

Hugo recently moved out, and his flat mate Maddy was initiating him into the cruel hard world of the local laundromat.

“Why can’t you just upload your washing and download it when it’s done? You can do everything else online.”

“OMG, Hugo! You’re such a Neanderthal. Doing your own washing is all part of becoming a responsible adult. You’re 18. Time to embrace DIY! Besides, why do you think I come here? Or, didn’t you notice we have our own washing machine? Going to the laundromat is so much more than doing your laundry.

“Hi Hamish, fancy seeing you here.”

-….

100 words PHOTO PROMPT © Miles Rost

I wonder how many romances began at the local laundromat?

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields at Addicted to Purple. We’d love you to join us.

Best wishes,

Rowena

In His Own League…Friday Fictioneers 23rd February, 2023.

“Friggin’ heck,” Dad blasted. “Look at ya sister. She’s a star, and you can’t even kick the ball.”

Timmy just stood frozen on the spot and tried to let his father’s insults bounce off. Dad and his father before him had both played Rugby League for Australia. “How did I end up with this runt of the litter who loves maths?” He said. “Must’ve been switched at birth.”

The smokes had killed his dad before he’d become Dr Tim James – the first Australian in space.

None of his mates ever understood why he never watched the footy.

….

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields at Addicted to Purple.

Best wishes,

Rowena

Frozen: Friday Fictioneers: 16th February, 2023

More Cyrano de Bergerac than a handsome Romeo, Josph knew Jasmin would never love him back. still, he dreamed. A musical theatre obsessive, he’s pass by Jasmine’s flat singing: “Jasmine, I once met a girl called Jasmine!” at full blast in his head. No humble crush, Joseph was burning up.

Suddenly, Joseph stopped. A voice was mournfully singing: “Where Is Love?” from Oliver.

He knew he voice anywhere. They’d played Danny and Sandy together in Grease the Musical together.

As much as he yearned to sing: “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You,” Joseph was frozen.

What to do next?

……

100 words PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox

This is another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields from Addicted to Purple.

Best wishes,

Rowena

 

 

Reaching Out…Friday Fictioneers 8th February, 2023.

Dr Jane Harper usually refused to walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, but tonight she needed answers. After two years as San Francisco’s Assistant Medical Examiner, she was struggling to remain professionally detached and wanted to scream from the rooftops to save their troubled souls. Today she’d read a heartbreaking note by a young jumper: “‘I’m going to walk to the bridge. If one person smiles at me on the way, I will not jump.’” Clearly, no one did. She wanted to do so much more, but drew a large heart on a park bench.

When would the heartache end?

…..

100 words PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

I’ve never walked across the Golden Gate Bridge, or even been to America. So, I’m going to translate this scenario to somewhere I’m more familiar… Sydney’s The Gap. In particular I wanted to share the story of Don Ritchie who was known as “the watchman of The Gap”. A former life insurance salesman who in 45 years has officially rescued about 160 people intent on jumping from the cliffs at Watsons Bay, mostly from Gap Park, opposite his home high on Old South Head Road. Unofficially, that figure is closer to 400. Apparently, he would approach them with his palms facing up and he’d smile and say: “Is there something I could do to help you?” His willingness to help knew no bounds and he was known to invite them back to his place for a cup of tea and a chat.

Last year, a local Rotary group was paying for locals to attend a suicide intervention course, and I went along and am glad I did. On one hand, there can be dreadful despair, but on the other hand, there is hope and we just need a bit of a helping hand or a reminder to of that to keep going.

Sorry to hit you with such a tough topic but ignoring despair, sticking our heads in the sand and not knowing how to respond isn’t the answer either. If you are finding things a bit tough, might I suggest you look at my previous posts covering my ferry travels around Sydney. They’re much more upbeat.

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers kindly hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields.

Best wishes,

Rowena

References

https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/death-of-the-angel-of-the-gap-the-man-who-saved-the-suicidal-from-themselves-20120514-1ymle.html

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2003/10/13/jumpers

False Alarm…Friday Fictioneers 1st February 2023.

“Don’t come up, Joe” Sharon shouted with one leg swung over the balcony looking like she was about to jump. “Fried potatoes”. That was their code that her husband was home. Joe was disappointed. He was madly in love with Sharon, but she wouldn’t leave him on account of the kids, although he was starting to wonder. All his mates were saying the same thing: “She’s usin’ ya, mate”. Joe didn’t care. It was better than being alone. Suddenly, a blaze of sirens pulled up… Police, Ambulance and Fire. “Madam, please step back from the balcony!” Another false alarm. …. 100 words  PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas This is another contribution to Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields at Addicted to Purple. We write 100 words to a photo prompt and it’s rather inspirational. By the way, I’ve been away for the last three weeks house minding in Sydney at Cremorne Point on the harbour. I had an absolute ball ferry hopping and soaking it all in through my camera lens. If you’re wanting to embark on a virtual experience, please check out my previous and upcoming posts. Best wishes, Rowena

Home Is Where The Heart Is (an extended story)…Friday Fictioneers 7th December, 2022 .

Mum and Dad are still living in the family home. That’s what Dad keeps telling mum. “There’s your tree, Margaret”, he patiently repeats pointing to the towering gum tree in the neighbour’s garden. Or, he reminds her of the huge Steinway grand piano in their loungeroom. They’re anchor points in an otherwise surreal world fueled by vascular dementia, and I make a note to ask her what she sees when she looks out her window next time. Where on earth does she think she is?

At this stage of the dementia journey, I’m more curious than alarmed. She’s still intelligent. Knows who she is and who we are. It’s only Dad who transmogrifies into an incredible cast of characters, including her mother who she mostly knows is dead but keeps turning up then inexplicably disappearing into thin air.

Yet surprisingly, she has new-found serenity. “Darling, I was watching the clouds today and enjoying the sunshine. There are so many beautiful flowers I’d never noticed in our garden before.”

So much doesn’t matter anymore. I’m relieved she’s no longer persecuted by “the Jones’s”, although she keeps asking me if I’ve been practicing my singing. I can’t quite bring myself to tell her that my throat doesn’t work anymore and that’s why I play the violin. Yet, I don’t want to disappoint and I cherish every time she plays “Happy Birthday”, which she still plays with her unique flourish. This is when she’s most herself.

“Strange things are happening around here, darling,” she says. “But don’t worry. We’ll work it all out one day.”

I am not so sure, but I’m borrowing her new-found optimism, praying a miracle will stem the tide.

Goodness knows where those fractured neural pathways are taking her, but this home is where her heart is and she’s happy there. So although we’re no longer looking out through the same window, we’ll keep holding her hand and stay with her for the journey.

….

My apologies for significantly going over the word limit this week. Perhaps, I could plead dyscalculia. However, the photo this week with it’s mirrored reflections reminded me of some of the visual confusion my mother has been experiencing lately and her corresponding diagnosis of dementia. I felt it was more important for this story to be told than to stick to the word limit this week. So many of us have a loved one who is experiencing dementia, Alzheimer’s or has been there. People’s comments can be cruel and disrespectful and going down this path is no reflection of how intelligent or accomplished they might’ve been.

I’ve had two grandparents go through Alzheimer’s and that was very different to mum. My grandparents were always old, and just got older. Forgetting things just seemed par for the course until it took over. On the other hand, our parents ideally have always been our strength physically, emotionally and intellectually and then they’re not and we start trading places, it’s so much harder (at least, for me.)

Anyway, my apologies to Rochelle for exceeding the word limit, but I know she supports a good cause, although she keeps her efforts within the word limit.

Do you have any comments or insights into dementia or Alzheimer’s? Please share in the comments below.

This is another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Best wishes,

Rowena

Her Big Break…Friday Fictioneers 16th November, 2022.

Departing for the prestigious Prix de Lausanne, 16 year old ballerina and proud Ngemba woman, Stella Donovan was asked what inspired her to dance.

“When I was five, I found a jewellery box at the tip with a ballerina twirling around inside. She was deadly and I wanted to dance like her. All me friends and aunties were into netball, but ballet was my thing. I hope to encourage other Aboriginal girls to pursue their dreams.”

Then, the tragic news came through.

Stella had broken her foot moments before she went on, but she wouldn’t let it ground her dreams.

….

99 words PHOTO PROMPT thank you to © Starsinclayjars

I learn a lot writing these pithy 100 words of fiction. Many of you will know that our daughter is an aspiring ballerina and that things haven’t been easy over the last couple of years with covid and she recently snapped a ligament in her foot, but she’s back on deck again although not about to compete in Switzerland. She has the end of year concert coming up soon and next year will be onto auditions. To add a bit of a twist, I made this ballerina an Indigenous Australian a Ngemba woman from the outback town of Bourke where my Great Great Uncle, Herb Bruhn, was the head of the Bourke Dramatic and Musical Society and put on Cleopatra and Oklahoma under rather challenging circumstances and then had his pianist move away with no replacement. I admire his pluck! Anyway, I was delighted to find out that we have an Indigenous ballerina in the Australian Ballet, Ella Havelka, a Wiradjuri woman from Dubbo with a very encouraging story: What It’s Like To Be The First Indigenous Dancer in the Australian Ballet

This is another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields.

Best wishes,

Rowena 

PS Here’s my own boot story where I broken my foot just before going on stage to play my violin: My Christmas Boot.

My Christmas Boot.