Mothers Day

What does it mean to you?

I get so very upset when I see the bombardment of advertisements spruiking their sales pitch, aimed at instilling a feeling of guilt to those that don’t buy their Mum the biggest or best and of course most expensive gift, or the flipside being those that bemoan it’s just far too commercial now.

          The truth of the matter is most Mums don’t want or expect expensive gifts, that’s not what Mother’s day is supposed be about. The words I love you Mum from any offspring of any age outclasses any other Mother’s day gift on earth.

          I for one thank god I was blessed with the gift of our children, who by just being themselves have given me more riches than money could ever buy, commercialism has nothing to do with my idea of Mother’s day I need no extra gifts, I have had a life time full of them every day, and to all Mums out there, I know deep down it is the same, we are a very privileged band of people.  

          As I look into the faces of my adult children on this special day, I find myself slipping back in time, to a much younger Mum’s place.

          The diamond earrings that were purchased at the flea market with saved pocket money and given with such love and excitement you were wrong Mummy, diamonds don’t cost a lot of money at the market, putting up with the green rings that formed from wearing them.

          A plastic string of love hearts, given with such majesty as if they were pearls. Being confided to by the mother that sold our daughter the metal soap shaker, that when she tried to persuade this first grader to buy something “pretty” for Mum from the stall, she was told in no uncertain way, Mummy doesn’t like them she needs a new shaker, that shaker, well used and now rusty, resides in my treasure box along with the things that were bought with more love than money.

          It is remembering the cold bread, butter and Vegemite sandwich served with tea made with cold water, because you know I am not allowed to use the toaster or kettle till I am seven.

          While chopping wood for the fire and overhearing our young son tell his friend, when I grow up I want to have muscles like Mummy…. Or all those cuddles that were needed NOW.

          These are a fraction of the priceless memories that are sealed with love and bound to my heart that make up Mother’s day for me, to be revisited at any given time, not only on the second Sunday in May.

Every Mum has a treasure trove like this hidden away, so to all out there that are Mums, will one day be Mums or to those that take on a Mum’s role, you have got the best gift of all,  cherish it, it’s a very important one …  Happy Mother’s Day

G’day All

I do hope you all had a very Merry Christmas.

I am thrilled to be able to post again I have missed blogging, but priorities are a hard task master, I without a doubt try to be obedient to the cause.

It is of no importance as to why I dropped out of WordPress circulation, ‘twas just life, and that alone is explanation enough.

This posting is to thank all you good people who have continued to visit my page in my absence; I will of course now be able to return the favour, albeit it may take a little time to get around to every one of you.

Looking into the distance of an unknown future, I do once again see short absences from blogging from time to time, thankfully being forewarned is paramount to being forearmed.

With that being said let me take this opportunity to wish you all a Happy and healthy New Year .



Day 21

Saturday … 23rd … A beautiful warm sunny day greeted me as I pulled the drapes open his morning.

Getting over yesterday is something that will take a day or two for those, who find themselves feeling both  physically and emotionally battered and bruised, an understandable result of the harrowing past few weeks, with this eventually in mind nothing too strenuous was planned.

I get the feeling that Norma and I may be alike in the thought that a sunny day and a half-full washing basket should not share the same day, so naturally on goes her washing machine, the only trouble with that being, she didn’t hear me say I’ll just grab mine to add to the load, I’m beginning to see a pattern emerging here ;-).

Just as we were finishing off Brekkie, a knock on the door and in walks, Ian, Lindsay and  Gemma,  soon to be followed by Susan, and John, all whom have returned to collect their cars that had been left here overnight.

After a family chat over warm drinks and cakes left from yesterday Ian and John headed home, whilst the ladies of the family decided to go and photograph the funeral floral arraignments that are left out on display at the Crematorium, they each then took a bloom home to press and keep as a memento, I took the time to myself to take a shower and to do my washing by hand, seeing I missed the washing `machine call.

The sun continued to shine all afternoon, so Norma headed out into the hot house and transplanted the seventy tiny seedlings that had arrived in the post into small plant pots Pat and I sat on chairs outside enjoying the sunshine until it was time for diner, consisting of salad and gamin or salad and salmon, all being left over from yesterday,

It was then time to bring in the cloths off the line, clean up the kitchen and head off into the lounge with a warm drink of our choice and an ice-cream, watch some TV and head off to bed.

Day … 18


Wednesday … 20th … The world through my window is again grey and bleak looking, has been raining all night.

Even though it’s raining again Norma has decided it’s laundry day because it will be a few days before things slow down enough for us to do it, so we ended up with two airers full of wet washing in the lounge room, I of course hand washed my jeans again as the blue dye still runs. It had stopped raining  and although it was overcast it was windy, so I took a chance and hung them on the line, much to my amusement they actually dried.

Norma ducked down to the shops as she wanted to get a copy of the local paper to check if it contained the family’s death and funeral notice, and we needed some nutmeg and bread.

‘iwas my turn to cook dinner for tonight, so  had offered to make us an Aussie meat pie, I cooked the mince this morning,  leaving it to cool, while we all had some lunch after which I made the pastry, and cleaned up the kitchen, I do tend to spread a mess  when I cook

While Norma was visiting her friend next door, I ran the vacuum over the dining room carpet and Patricia polished the buffet and arranged all the sympathy cards in a manner that allowed the family easier access to read them.

After Norma returned bearing a gift of three delicious looking homemade thanks to that wonderful lady next door mince tarts, she decided as she isn’t too keen on mashed potato she’d prepare some tiny ones to boil, and Pat cooked up her root-veggie mash.    Norma then had to go out and collect Harry from school, he didn’t get a bacon snack today but chose to have an ice-cream instead, Ian called to collect him, he stayed chatting to everyone for a while before they both set off for home.

We three sat down to dinner, and I’m pleased to say Norma did enjoy her Aussie pie but she wouldn’t eat it with sauce as we do. Again finishing the day by doing the usual kitchen cleanup routine before hitting the lounge room for a bit of TV before bed.


Day 6 … My Choice for Poetry Potlucking 201:



Share with us a poem that you love (by someone who isn’t you, please). Quote a particularly striking line (or two) in a new message or drop a link to the whole piece. Most importantly: tell us, in a sentence or two, what about it moves you.


Once again I had posted it in the wrong place you would think I would have learned by now, I am honestly a work in progress, error now corrected apologies all round 🙂


As a 10-11year old pupil in a little bush school this poem captured my imagination

From that day, I have spent many years trying to emulate Banjo Paterson’s unique Bush Ballard genre.
If I had to select the section that spoke to me the loudest, it would be this

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wond’rous glory of the everlasting stars.

Those four lines describe the first twelve years of my life, this is why I have made it my business to return to my farm families every chance I get.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Easy Fix.”

A team mate of mine had agreed to represent our Marching club in a local “Miss Henley on the Patterson “ contest, as registration day got closer she became more hesitant … being that I can usually talk the leg off a wooden horse, I was elected to convince her to go through with it. After telling her what an honour it was to be asked in the first place, she should do it for the club, She replied “would you do it if they asked?” replying “I would, but you were the one they asked, not I.” With that she called the chaperone, told her she couldn’t go through with it, but that I had said I would if asked!

 Now what could I do? I had shot my mouth off and was stuck with it.

As appearances didn’t count at registration, our chaperone and I left straight after practice. We walked into a room full of what I thought were Vogue models, while I, looking hot and dishevelled following two solid hours of marching practice in the heat cut a dashing figure in my old shorts, a man’s shirt, dirty marching boots, . At twenty I have very little self confidence to start with,  so understandably I just wanted to faint, even dying seemed a good idea.

Two hours of registration, afternoon tea, chat and mingle, carried off with all the aplomb of a professional contestant, until safely in the car to go home. Collapsing into tears, sobbing apologies to the Chaperone, whom I felt I had let down. She of course thought it was a scream, explaining that the girls were explicitly told not to dress up for registration  … they wouldn’t win points for doing so … “The look on your face when you walked in that room was priceless”, she continued to giggle all the way home. I was not convinced, seven had, and 1 had not, who would you pick?

Judging was held on Australia Day as part of the town’s celebration. Our teams (being the reigning Victorian Champions) were scheduled to do a serious March Past in front of the Frankston Town Hall. The Mayor would take the salute and officiate at the flag raising ceremony, ending forty five minutes before we were expected to meet the judges for the Henley parade and results (a 15 minute bus ride away)

My hair in plastic curlers prior to the Henley Judging wouldn’t fit under the marching cap (all long hair had to be tucked up under caps), so they were removed and pins inserted. (This all took place in the main street as we waited for the parade to start.

Oh boy!!!!

Okay, ceremony over, all 30 girls scrambled into the bus, the only males being the driver and the instructor who sat behind him. I am bundled to the very back seats and stripped out of uniform. While trying to protect my modesty, many hands dress me, ever tried to put on suspenders (this was 1963) and stockings in the back of a moving bus? A very harrowing thirty minutes (for me) later we pull up at Carrum.

Exiting the bus dressed to the nines, full make up, hat, gloves, seams straight in stockings, and white stiletto heeled shoes, the chaperone precariously walks me  to, of all places the river, where I am introduced to the most gorgeous looking young Naval Captain, who in turn gallantly escorts me to a nifty looking speed boat. (They actually expect me to get into his boat … to travel on water along the river!!!). I had no idea that “Henley on the Patterson” meant the Patterson River. I’ve always been scared stiff of water as I couldn’t swim. But when Handsome smiled at me and took my hand saying “Come on Wendy you are safe with me,” I am lost, into his death trap I get quite happily. Like some star struck teenager nervously waving to the crowd that lined the river, I am taken to a pier where Handsome helps me up the ladder, then roars off for the next pick up.

Being so relieved to be back on dry land (albeit at the time he could have sailed me of into the future, I was so smitten) I missed the name of the woman waiting to greet me. While awaiting the arrival of other girls I regale the complete tragic story to her, from being tricked into entering this contest, embarrassing myself at the registration, the hair in curlers under the cap, being stripped and traumatized in the back of the bus, and then meeting the handsome Captain. She was in stitches through my tale of woe. It wasn’t until the whole thing was over, that I find out she isn’t a chaperone as I thought, but the Lady Mayoress and the head judge waiting to greet the contestants. Luckily, by this time, I was past worrying “And all was right in the world.”

Henley on The Patterson

Blogging 101: Say Your Name


I remember looking out my kitchen window one morning at dawn, having recently moved out of suburbia into the foothills of the Yarra Valley, nestled within the Dandenong Rangers and being captivated by the vision spread out before me. Misty far off mountain tops peeping through wispy almost translucent cloud that slowly wafted up the valley, the first golden sun-ray shards piercing through the fading night shadows, transforming the windows of the many farm homes scattered intermittently throughout these beautiful mountains into glittering gems.

            It’s not long before the crowing of my roosters is heralding the dawn, geese in the pen are noisily sorting out partnerships, a warble of a magpie and a Kookaburra laughing as the bird world trills and twitters awake.

            Natures tranquillity is suddenly disturbed by a faint whooshing sound almost ebbing and flowing, albeit getting louder with each new whoosh, until over the tree tops appear the first of four brightly coloured hot air balloons, each with the basket carrying a full load of tourists.

Rushing out side and looking up I could clearly see the people smiling and waving at me. This became a regular Sunday morning event in the summer time; unbeknown to us our home was directly under the sightseeing balloon flight path.

            I have spent many years now looking out that window and noting down what I see on any particular day, be it in prose or poetry genre, so when I decided to start blogging it seemed only natural to give my blog the title … Wendy’s Window to the World.

Who I am and why I’m here”


As most people do I also wear many hats in my everyday life, each with a different role to play in making up the person known to different people as wife, mother, grandmother, and a sometimes poet with a love for words that rhyme. Living in retirement on a small property in the Yarra Valley with husband Peter, and an assortment of animal friends that inspire many of my stories and poems.                                                                                                                                                           It was while attending a small sixteen pupil school in the Aussie bush that I discovered a love for the ballad poetry of Banjo Patterson, CJ Dennis and many other Australian rhyming poets, this being an integral part of the school curriculum in those days.
I started writing at about the age of sixteen and had kept a secret diary for many years, containing written thoughts that I could never actually say aloud, for no other reason than I didn’t think anyone would be interested.
It was discovering the anonymity of writing light hearted fun poems on the internet that gave me the courage to show a close friend my attempts; his encouragement prompted me to join a creative writing course. The pleasure and support I derived from this talented writing group was remarkable. I’m only sorry I never thought to do it years ago as it expanded my enjoyment in writing no end.
To be surrounded by such friendly likeminded talented people who take pleasure in seeing every one improve their skills has catapulted my solitary hidden hobby into an overt natural addition to my public character.
After three most enjoyable years I have since left the group, being the only dedicated rhymer in the team, I felt my work to them was more an oddity, don’t misunderstand they enjoyed my style of writing, and some even attempted it, none of which was beneficial to honing my skills in this particular chosen genre.
I now find myself here on WordPress, where I have so many opportunities available to improve while being surrounded by copious variation that I no longer feel the odd one out, and can just be myself and enjoy the craft.

An explanaion

G’day all,

I feel it only fair to assure you that I am still among the living, albeit not having as much free time to relax and write that I had been enjoying previously.

Residing in a somewhat bush-fire prone area,this small hobby farm becomes a hard task master in the spring and summer, Hubby not being a gardener the task of maintaining  the vegie patch, fruit trees and any flower garden along with the usual house wifely indoor duties being my department, lawns,  animals and fire proofing our few acres are his.

I will try to catch up on back reading and contacts as time permits, in the mean time I just wanted to touch base with you all.


It’s Too Quiet

Its quiet, too quiet, could be that everyone had gone back to sleep, albeit highly unlikely at ten am on a Saturday morning.
A choice to make; do I take advantage of this bonus, with four kids under six it doesn’t happen very often, but no … would be different if Tom was home, his early morning starts still have two more to go.
What the! that’s not normal, the dogs! … I can hear them barking from their pen!! They’re never penned unless we’re going out. Where are those kids – TJ, Sarah, Junior, Wendy, where are you? Come on kids Mummy wants you please … nothing … into TJ’s bedroom … no one under the bed, shoot have to remember to vacuum there later, through each bedroom, no one there either. TJ, Sarah, Junior, Wendy, stop it, this isn’t funny, Mummy’s not joking, answer me please. Playroom empty, breakfast dishes on the table so they have eaten … outside TJ, Sarah, Junior, Wendy where are you?
The silence is frightening, Oh hell surely not in the garage it’s supposed to be locked … it is, no kids here. The chook shed, maybe they’re collecting (and dropping) the eggs. Not there damn! TJ, Sarah, Junior, Wendy answer me NOW, dead silence.
Please god! … Police … call the police don’t wait, things happen, time is crucial, rushing past the dog pen wishing they could talk, wait they may know … open pen, find the kids, Rover, find TJ, both dogs are off in a flash down the block over the fence barking like fury.
Oh my god NO, they’re running around atop the dam bank, racing in the wake of the charging dogs, trying not to panic while struggling with the gate latch that has jammed again, how many times have I asked for this to be fixed? No time … climb over, nearing the dam my vision is being partially blocked but I can hear excited voices and see waving arms behind the bank, Oh dear god, climbing the bank I hear Rover, Spot get out, go home … TJ, Sarah, Junior, Wendy? … rounding the dam I see they are behind the opposite bank. What the hell is going on, why are you here, laying on the ground?, TJ’s yelling and waving his arms, Mummy Mummy come quick, but keep Rover and Spot away … I was worried sick TJ, speak to me young man.
        Mummy, Mummy look, Mrs Woolly is making babies she made one and is making another one, look Mum we can see it’s feet and nose, you said she wouldn’t have a baby till daddy was home to help her, she did it all by herself and she made two look.
Oh Dear lord thank you.