The Small Thing refers to the next-door neighbours as 'the neighbourhoods'. After she'd ripped open and discarded the birthday present I'd given her she informed me the neighbourhoods would be over shortly to cough up with more birthday goodies.
The thing is, these so-called neighbourhoods are just a couple of sweet old ladies who've only ever drunk iced tea and have no idea what moves can be busted to his music. Unless, of course, in the ways typical of the very young, Small Thing sees their inner gangsta.
Or else she's confusing them with that other, genuinely terrifying old lady: Don Mary.
A 90-year-old in black, wrap-around shades is a force to be reckoned with. She has a ready supply of horses at her disposal.
Showing posts with label Don Mary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Don Mary. Show all posts
02 March 2010
03 November 2008
Pray tell, hazelblackberry, why 'twelve hours of country driving'?
I say unto you that, yea verily, I did look upon the careworn and tired countenance of one Bezley von Bezcat and did think unto myself, "Truly, what the old bird needs is some quality, one-on-one, not-quite-mother/not-quite-daughter time."
So I shoved her into the Subi and we tootled down south for the day to wander through some open gardens. We checked out six gardens in Bridgetown, Nannup and Balingup, plus we stopped for a nice spot of morning tea and lunch, and I didn't think that was bad going in twelve hours. Also, lest we forget, Bezley is a 62-year-old woman who whelped several pups in days of yore and her bladder control is not what it used to be, so several pit stops were required there, Penelope.
The Nannup-Balingup trail is a beautiful drive, with many bends that the sign at the start describes as 'dangerous'. I realised that Bezley was maybe not appreciating the sights as much as she could have, was perhaps a little tense at my driving style, when after a period of silence and reflection she said, "I wonder if many people have died on this road?"
It's a wonderful thing to set off early in the morning for a little trip somewhere; the day is fresh, the road is empty. Unfortunately it also tends to remind Bezley of all the trips she and Ern took over their years together and this makes her teary. [My memory of these trips is Ern ripping the bedcovers off me at 3am, telling me, "Raus, Baby Girl, there's fish to catch," before spending three hours bumping through the darkness and wilderness to some obscure watering hole. That tends to bring tears to mine eye; tears of gratitude that nowadays an early start means nothing more than 6am.] So, I patted the Bez's hand, feeling completely useless, and waited for her to feel better.
As it happens, Nannup is the dreaded Don Mary's ancestral homeland, growing up as she did on a farm at Ellis Creek, and two or three times a year one of her craven minions is expected to take her back there so that she may cast a macularly degenerated eye about and see (somewhat) that It Is Good. This obviously occurred to Bezley and it perked her up no end.
"Oooh, a Sunday drive to Nannup to look at gardens. We might bump into Don Mary!"
"Yeah, already thought of that. I've packed a club."
And on that much happier note, we were off.
So I shoved her into the Subi and we tootled down south for the day to wander through some open gardens. We checked out six gardens in Bridgetown, Nannup and Balingup, plus we stopped for a nice spot of morning tea and lunch, and I didn't think that was bad going in twelve hours. Also, lest we forget, Bezley is a 62-year-old woman who whelped several pups in days of yore and her bladder control is not what it used to be, so several pit stops were required there, Penelope.
The Nannup-Balingup trail is a beautiful drive, with many bends that the sign at the start describes as 'dangerous'. I realised that Bezley was maybe not appreciating the sights as much as she could have, was perhaps a little tense at my driving style, when after a period of silence and reflection she said, "I wonder if many people have died on this road?"
------------------------------
It's a wonderful thing to set off early in the morning for a little trip somewhere; the day is fresh, the road is empty. Unfortunately it also tends to remind Bezley of all the trips she and Ern took over their years together and this makes her teary. [My memory of these trips is Ern ripping the bedcovers off me at 3am, telling me, "Raus, Baby Girl, there's fish to catch," before spending three hours bumping through the darkness and wilderness to some obscure watering hole. That tends to bring tears to mine eye; tears of gratitude that nowadays an early start means nothing more than 6am.] So, I patted the Bez's hand, feeling completely useless, and waited for her to feel better.
As it happens, Nannup is the dreaded Don Mary's ancestral homeland, growing up as she did on a farm at Ellis Creek, and two or three times a year one of her craven minions is expected to take her back there so that she may cast a macularly degenerated eye about and see (somewhat) that It Is Good. This obviously occurred to Bezley and it perked her up no end.
"Oooh, a Sunday drive to Nannup to look at gardens. We might bump into Don Mary!"
"Yeah, already thought of that. I've packed a club."
And on that much happier note, we were off.
28 October 2007
Upwards and Onwards
A while ago, Bezley and I took in the Egyptian Antiquities from The Louvre exhibition at the WA Art Gallery. We enjoyed it very much and afterwards we had a browse in the gift shop where I bought this postcard which now resides on our fridge door. Although it tempted me sorely I maturely resisted the urge to send the picture to Don Mary, accompanied with the simple message, "Thinking of you."
19 December 2005
Inside sit the butterflies for the butterfly ball.
It was my thirty-sixth birthday on Saturday and Grumpy went out of his way to make it a special day, saying things like, "Happy birthday, old bag" and, "Hoo! On the downhill slide to forty now." Also, although we had promised no birthday or Christmas presents this year, he couldn't help going out and buying me a kit full of accessories for my drill, which I spent the afternoon cooing over. Because that's the kind of girl I am. That is, I like to coo.
Anyway, this birthday marked a most momentous and solemn occasion in my life. It was the first year that I did not get a phone call from my grandmother on the 16th of December with the following conversation ensuing:
Don Mary: "Happy birthday, darling."
HB: "Thank you, Don Mary, but my birthday is tomorrow."
Don Mary: "Oh, damn it all! The 17th! But you were due on the 16th! Oh, I remember it. There we were all packed up to leave Kalgoorlie and come to Adelaide to see your mother and father and we hadn't had any word yet. I was pacing around getting all het up and Joyce Martin* said to me, 'Now, Don Mary, how many babies have you had? You know they never come on time.' And I said, 'Yes, but this one is different**.' And then just as we were about to leave the telegram arrived to tell us you were here."
HB: "So I'll talk to you tomorrow?"
Don Mary: "Of course, sweetheart."
Of course, every year on the 17th she never has bothered ringing. This year she rang on the 15th to tell me she knew my birthday was on the 17th. Very tricky.
*Not her real name, naturally.
** And how.
Anyway, this birthday marked a most momentous and solemn occasion in my life. It was the first year that I did not get a phone call from my grandmother on the 16th of December with the following conversation ensuing:
Don Mary: "Happy birthday, darling."
HB: "Thank you, Don Mary, but my birthday is tomorrow."
Don Mary: "Oh, damn it all! The 17th! But you were due on the 16th! Oh, I remember it. There we were all packed up to leave Kalgoorlie and come to Adelaide to see your mother and father and we hadn't had any word yet. I was pacing around getting all het up and Joyce Martin* said to me, 'Now, Don Mary, how many babies have you had? You know they never come on time.' And I said, 'Yes, but this one is different**.' And then just as we were about to leave the telegram arrived to tell us you were here."
HB: "So I'll talk to you tomorrow?"
Don Mary: "Of course, sweetheart."
Of course, every year on the 17th she never has bothered ringing. This year she rang on the 15th to tell me she knew my birthday was on the 17th. Very tricky.
*Not her real name, naturally.
** And how.
18 November 2005
Travelling to Padua (III)
I forgot I was supposed to be continuing on with that list.
(11) Ever since we've been married Grumpy and I have been on the lookout for a cat to adopt. And yet after nearly twelve years together we're still a little shy about making that final commitment. We like bad tempered cats and, as it happens, The Burp and The Rooster have a delightfully cranky cat called Gypsy. Neither of them seem particularly enamoured of her. She bites! One evening we were round at their place and The Burp offered to let us have Gypsy. After we'd gone, Gypsy-less as it happens, The Rooster turned to The Burp and said, "You can't give away Gypsy! We've got history with that cat!"
(12) Don Mary's parents owned a faithful old farm dog. One day they got a new dog, a spritely little fizzy thing that would leap in the air and turn somersaults and all that. How the hell would I know? This all took place, like, 200 years ago. Anyway, the old faithful farm dog didn't like the new fizzy dog and would snarl and snap at him. Fizzy never gave up trying to make friends with Old Faithful, constantly snuffling around and panting with delight in OF's presence.
Oh I hope you can see where this heartwarming tale is going.
One day Old Faithful had a change of heart and started to play with Fizzy. Can you imagine Fizzy's joy? I'm sure his bouncy little heart nearly flew right out of his chest with delight when OF then suggested they go looking for some adventure together. Don Mary's father watched them toddle off into the forest behind the farm. Forests can be big and dark and lonely. When OF returned that evening, alone - as he would be for the rest of his years, he was never again anything but the mild and placid dog he'd always been.
(13) When he was a boy Grumpy called his three pet fish Burke, Wills and Camel. He always wanted a fourth that he could call Initials in the Tree.
(14) QEII who won't eat pig. However, she would like to have a pet pig. She sees no irony in the name she's already picked out for him: "Mr Crackles".
(15) My uncle, Raffles, had a cat called Ginge. Ginge only had one testicle. My grandparents eventually took custody of Ginge as Raffles proved to be an affectionate but somewhat careless owner. The Fuehrer and Ginge never really got along. The Fuehrer was always kicking at him (with his good leg) if Ginge came within range. One day Grumpy and I were visiting and we looked outside to see The Fuehrer sitting in the sun and Ginge reclining next to him; not touching, but the distance between them was companionable. To this day we like to think that after years of unspoken animosity, these two battle-scarred veterans had developed a mutual respect. Also, maybe they liked to compare war stories.
(11) Ever since we've been married Grumpy and I have been on the lookout for a cat to adopt. And yet after nearly twelve years together we're still a little shy about making that final commitment. We like bad tempered cats and, as it happens, The Burp and The Rooster have a delightfully cranky cat called Gypsy. Neither of them seem particularly enamoured of her. She bites! One evening we were round at their place and The Burp offered to let us have Gypsy. After we'd gone, Gypsy-less as it happens, The Rooster turned to The Burp and said, "You can't give away Gypsy! We've got history with that cat!"
(12) Don Mary's parents owned a faithful old farm dog. One day they got a new dog, a spritely little fizzy thing that would leap in the air and turn somersaults and all that. How the hell would I know? This all took place, like, 200 years ago. Anyway, the old faithful farm dog didn't like the new fizzy dog and would snarl and snap at him. Fizzy never gave up trying to make friends with Old Faithful, constantly snuffling around and panting with delight in OF's presence.
Oh I hope you can see where this heartwarming tale is going.
One day Old Faithful had a change of heart and started to play with Fizzy. Can you imagine Fizzy's joy? I'm sure his bouncy little heart nearly flew right out of his chest with delight when OF then suggested they go looking for some adventure together. Don Mary's father watched them toddle off into the forest behind the farm. Forests can be big and dark and lonely. When OF returned that evening, alone - as he would be for the rest of his years, he was never again anything but the mild and placid dog he'd always been.
(13) When he was a boy Grumpy called his three pet fish Burke, Wills and Camel. He always wanted a fourth that he could call Initials in the Tree.
(14) QEII who won't eat pig. However, she would like to have a pet pig. She sees no irony in the name she's already picked out for him: "Mr Crackles".
(15) My uncle, Raffles, had a cat called Ginge. Ginge only had one testicle. My grandparents eventually took custody of Ginge as Raffles proved to be an affectionate but somewhat careless owner. The Fuehrer and Ginge never really got along. The Fuehrer was always kicking at him (with his good leg) if Ginge came within range. One day Grumpy and I were visiting and we looked outside to see The Fuehrer sitting in the sun and Ginge reclining next to him; not touching, but the distance between them was companionable. To this day we like to think that after years of unspoken animosity, these two battle-scarred veterans had developed a mutual respect. Also, maybe they liked to compare war stories.
10 November 2005
Ugly Kid Joe (I)
Quirkie tagged me. I'm supposed to tell you 20 items of trivia about myself but since there's so much of me on this blog, I think I'd rather tell you some things about people I know. I'll do it in stages. Here's the first five:
(1) My grandfather, The Fuehrer, served in the army during WWII in Borneo. A family legend has persisted that underneath the moustache he wore all his adult life lay a map to hidden treasure, lost somewhere deep in the Borneo forests. When he died, I was standing at his coffin at the viewing and I had a small chuckle to myself at the thought that we should all swoop - now! - and settle the matter once and for all, before the secret was lost forever to the flames, the flames.
(2) My other grandfather, Old School, made himself an accordian and a violin and taught himself to play. He also built his own lathe and arc welder - he was quite the craftsman, but his shed was an occupational health and safety nightmare. Some of his handiwork is in the State Library of Tasmania's collection.
(3) Don Mary once sat in the middle of a road and nursed a bull to its death. But that's a story for another place, another time.
(4) Grumpy's marvellous Nan ran a shop in Sydney for many years. She sold meat rolls and cool drinks and had a large and loyal clientele. A few years ago someone, a former customer, wrote to the Sydney Morning Herald reminiscing about the wonderful rolls and the old bird who had made them. Was she still alive? Did anyone have the recipe? Grumpy's cousin showed Nan the letter, thinking she'd be thrilled. Nan just snorted (there may also have been pawing at the ground) and made it clear she would take that recipe to the grave. Whenever that might be; she just turned 91, you know.
(5) Everyone needs a kind-hearted Nanna. Don Mary has her moments, but my other Nanna, Blue Rinse, was my sweetheart Nanna. She always had a bag of peppermints in the house and when I visited I'd get raspberries with cream and icing sugar for dessert. She and Old School would sit in their armchairs and hold hands while they watched TV. I miss them.
(1) My grandfather, The Fuehrer, served in the army during WWII in Borneo. A family legend has persisted that underneath the moustache he wore all his adult life lay a map to hidden treasure, lost somewhere deep in the Borneo forests. When he died, I was standing at his coffin at the viewing and I had a small chuckle to myself at the thought that we should all swoop - now! - and settle the matter once and for all, before the secret was lost forever to the flames, the flames.
(2) My other grandfather, Old School, made himself an accordian and a violin and taught himself to play. He also built his own lathe and arc welder - he was quite the craftsman, but his shed was an occupational health and safety nightmare. Some of his handiwork is in the State Library of Tasmania's collection.
(3) Don Mary once sat in the middle of a road and nursed a bull to its death. But that's a story for another place, another time.
(4) Grumpy's marvellous Nan ran a shop in Sydney for many years. She sold meat rolls and cool drinks and had a large and loyal clientele. A few years ago someone, a former customer, wrote to the Sydney Morning Herald reminiscing about the wonderful rolls and the old bird who had made them. Was she still alive? Did anyone have the recipe? Grumpy's cousin showed Nan the letter, thinking she'd be thrilled. Nan just snorted (there may also have been pawing at the ground) and made it clear she would take that recipe to the grave. Whenever that might be; she just turned 91, you know.
(5) Everyone needs a kind-hearted Nanna. Don Mary has her moments, but my other Nanna, Blue Rinse, was my sweetheart Nanna. She always had a bag of peppermints in the house and when I visited I'd get raspberries with cream and icing sugar for dessert. She and Old School would sit in their armchairs and hold hands while they watched TV. I miss them.
27 September 2005
The Prince of Orange
I popped in on Don Mary yesterday. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dark I was pleased to see she'd opened the windows (slightly) and didn't even have the heater going. She was, however, decked out in a thick, woollen jumper.
She'd had vertigo the day before. This had prevented her from heading down to the Ponderosa to partake in Bezley's scones with jam & cream. You know things are serious when a person can't struggle out of their sick bed for a taste of Bezley's scones (Grumpy and I were on hand, fortunately, to take up the old girl's slack). I inquired after her health. What had caused the vertigo, did she think? "Well, I'm pretty sure I got some sorbolene in my eyes yesterday." You'll forgive me when I tell you I didn't ask for a scientific explanation as to how a bit of cream in the eyes caused vomitous, dizzying vertigo.
But this is my grandmother all over. She swears by yeast. Yeast will cure everything. Though I don't think it will cure what's happening to Bloody Ern right now, and I note she hasn't suggested he take any. I think that's called good taste. And her yeast theory seems to hold water: then she'll go and undermine it all by claiming that sorbolene causes vertigo.
Mind you, she also refused to pat the cat after finding out he had feline AIDS, lest the virus be sitting on his glossy coat and transfer itself on to her hands. Old Ginge got his revenge though: one evening Don Mary was taking her time getting his dinner so he jumped up and sank his fangs into her thigh. She ran around the house screaming and babbling something about a serpent's tooth. And ever after, you could set your watch by Ginge's supper time.
She'd had vertigo the day before. This had prevented her from heading down to the Ponderosa to partake in Bezley's scones with jam & cream. You know things are serious when a person can't struggle out of their sick bed for a taste of Bezley's scones (Grumpy and I were on hand, fortunately, to take up the old girl's slack). I inquired after her health. What had caused the vertigo, did she think? "Well, I'm pretty sure I got some sorbolene in my eyes yesterday." You'll forgive me when I tell you I didn't ask for a scientific explanation as to how a bit of cream in the eyes caused vomitous, dizzying vertigo.
But this is my grandmother all over. She swears by yeast. Yeast will cure everything. Though I don't think it will cure what's happening to Bloody Ern right now, and I note she hasn't suggested he take any. I think that's called good taste. And her yeast theory seems to hold water: then she'll go and undermine it all by claiming that sorbolene causes vertigo.
Mind you, she also refused to pat the cat after finding out he had feline AIDS, lest the virus be sitting on his glossy coat and transfer itself on to her hands. Old Ginge got his revenge though: one evening Don Mary was taking her time getting his dinner so he jumped up and sank his fangs into her thigh. She ran around the house screaming and babbling something about a serpent's tooth. And ever after, you could set your watch by Ginge's supper time.
14 September 2005
Forgotten
Anyway, what I meant to say was that I think the personality and demeanour of Don Mary would be much better suited to an ear horn.
She's a sweet, delicate petal, my grandmother. She should have been among the English country nobility, spending her days meddling in the affairs of the local villagers and landholders, and forever trying to marry off her plain only daughter and child to a handsome, wealthy man. Everyone, except the handsome, wealthy man who was secretly in love with a worthy woman of low birth and slender means, would have quaked when Lady Frobisher entered the room.
The room probably would have quaked too.
She's a sweet, delicate petal, my grandmother. She should have been among the English country nobility, spending her days meddling in the affairs of the local villagers and landholders, and forever trying to marry off her plain only daughter and child to a handsome, wealthy man. Everyone, except the handsome, wealthy man who was secretly in love with a worthy woman of low birth and slender means, would have quaked when Lady Frobisher entered the room.
The room probably would have quaked too.
Five, Ten Minutes
Last night I went out with a few family members for my cousin's birthday. We had Chinese ("Let me guess," said Grumpy, who gave the little shindig a miss, "You had sweet and sour pork." "How did you know; how did you know??"). Today I have the runs. This is most excellent. Mintox, even.
Anyway, when the cake came out blazing with candles and we all sang happy birthday, my grandmother, Don Mary, temporarily took leave of her senses and thundered out someone else's name. She and I were in hysterics, because we laugh at things like that. My cousin laughed too. But she was drunk.
Don Mary now has a hearing aid fitted. She's resisted this for some time. Bad hearing has afflicted her & all her sisters. Some vexingly earlier than others. But where they would all insist on everyone around them using genteel terms such as, "(I beg your) pardon?" - particularly as it relates to the gifting of rose gardens - or, "Would you mind repeating that?", they have all, to a woman, expressed the fact that they've missed what you said by loudly inquiring, "Ay???!"
These women all speak - or spoke - with polite voices. But when they say "Ay???!" they are the embodiment of my grandfather's advice: "You've got a nose, talk through it."
Even worse, Don Mary has taken to using the pre-emptive "Ay???!" As in:
"Good morni-"
"Ay???!"
"How a-"
"Ay???!"
But if she's vacuuming three rooms away and you lie face down in a pillow and whisper, "Don Mary, would you like a cup of tea?" she will surely bellow back, "Yes please, darling!"
How 'bout that, ay???!
Anyway, when the cake came out blazing with candles and we all sang happy birthday, my grandmother, Don Mary, temporarily took leave of her senses and thundered out someone else's name. She and I were in hysterics, because we laugh at things like that. My cousin laughed too. But she was drunk.
Don Mary now has a hearing aid fitted. She's resisted this for some time. Bad hearing has afflicted her & all her sisters. Some vexingly earlier than others. But where they would all insist on everyone around them using genteel terms such as, "(I beg your) pardon?" - particularly as it relates to the gifting of rose gardens - or, "Would you mind repeating that?", they have all, to a woman, expressed the fact that they've missed what you said by loudly inquiring, "Ay???!"
These women all speak - or spoke - with polite voices. But when they say "Ay???!" they are the embodiment of my grandfather's advice: "You've got a nose, talk through it."
Even worse, Don Mary has taken to using the pre-emptive "Ay???!" As in:
"Good morni-"
"Ay???!"
"How a-"
"Ay???!"
But if she's vacuuming three rooms away and you lie face down in a pillow and whisper, "Don Mary, would you like a cup of tea?" she will surely bellow back, "Yes please, darling!"
How 'bout that, ay???!
31 January 2005
Everybody Hates a Tourist
(I would not want anyone to think the following blog entry implies that the blackberry clan enjoys anything even approximating an intellectual conversation. God no. We get enough of that when the eastern states* cousins visit. Bloody poonces.)
Don Mary is a dyed-in-the-wool Liberal voter. Just show her where to mark "1" on the sheet with a trusty hb pencil next to the Liberal candidate and she's happy. She doesn't need to know his name, of course. You can tell he's a decent, upstanding chap because he's a Liberal.
Today at lunch there was a discussion about Shakespeare (please refer opening disclaimer above) and Richard III. Don Mary thinks Shakespeare did the dirty on Richard III ("Treated him quite shabbily," she sniffed) and thank goodness for that lovely Josephine Tey and her attempts to even up the ledger. Besides, Richard couldn't have been all bad: he was so beloved of the common people.
(Yes, my grandmother uses the term common people. Despite having been one of them herself.)
There was general choking at the table - not least from Don Mary's seat - when I leant over and said, "But, Don Mary, didn't the common people also love Bob Hawke?"
(*'Eastern states' used here to irritate Grumpy. Grumpy hails from Brisbane and boggles at the WA mind-set that lumps everything east of Eucla in together as the eastern states.)
Don Mary is a dyed-in-the-wool Liberal voter. Just show her where to mark "1" on the sheet with a trusty hb pencil next to the Liberal candidate and she's happy. She doesn't need to know his name, of course. You can tell he's a decent, upstanding chap because he's a Liberal.
Today at lunch there was a discussion about Shakespeare (please refer opening disclaimer above) and Richard III. Don Mary thinks Shakespeare did the dirty on Richard III ("Treated him quite shabbily," she sniffed) and thank goodness for that lovely Josephine Tey and her attempts to even up the ledger. Besides, Richard couldn't have been all bad: he was so beloved of the common people.
(Yes, my grandmother uses the term common people. Despite having been one of them herself.)
There was general choking at the table - not least from Don Mary's seat - when I leant over and said, "But, Don Mary, didn't the common people also love Bob Hawke?"
(*'Eastern states' used here to irritate Grumpy. Grumpy hails from Brisbane and boggles at the WA mind-set that lumps everything east of Eucla in together as the eastern states.)
18 January 2005
Timeline: The Family Disease
Thursday, 13 January, 6.30pm
Me to Grumpy: "I'm feeling a bit restless."
Friday, 14 January, 8.00am
Bloody Ern to Grumpy & Bezley: "I'm feeling a bit restless."
Monday, 17 January, 2pm
Don Mary to hazelblackberry: "I'm feeling a bit restless."*
Grumpy: "Jesus Christ! What is it with this family?!"
*Don Mary generally feels either restless or bilious. Some people just can't win.
Me to Grumpy: "I'm feeling a bit restless."
Friday, 14 January, 8.00am
Bloody Ern to Grumpy & Bezley: "I'm feeling a bit restless."
Monday, 17 January, 2pm
Don Mary to hazelblackberry: "I'm feeling a bit restless."*
Grumpy: "Jesus Christ! What is it with this family?!"
*Don Mary generally feels either restless or bilious. Some people just can't win.
05 November 2004
Fair Warning
Jessie Mo has kindly informed me that The Booper threw their potato masher into the toilet the other day. Hey, everyone! Don't forget to pass on the potatoes at Jessie Mo's!
Anyway, this reminds me of the time there was a 50c coin at the bottom of the toilet bowl at Don Mary's. It lingered there for quite some time, rusting away. One day I got some change that happened to include a 50c coin in a similar state of disrepair to the toilet coin. I went back to Don Mary's where I found her in the kitchen cooking...well, something.
"Look, Don Mary, "I said, "I got the 50 cents out of the toilet."
Don Mary is a woman of high propriety, at times.
"Oh, how revolting!" she cried. "I hope you've washed your hands thoroughly."
"No, I didn't put my hands in the toilet." I pointed at the tongs with which she was flipping steaks. "I used those."
I seem to recall I went to bed without any dinner that night.
Anyway, this reminds me of the time there was a 50c coin at the bottom of the toilet bowl at Don Mary's. It lingered there for quite some time, rusting away. One day I got some change that happened to include a 50c coin in a similar state of disrepair to the toilet coin. I went back to Don Mary's where I found her in the kitchen cooking...well, something.
"Look, Don Mary, "I said, "I got the 50 cents out of the toilet."
Don Mary is a woman of high propriety, at times.
"Oh, how revolting!" she cried. "I hope you've washed your hands thoroughly."
"No, I didn't put my hands in the toilet." I pointed at the tongs with which she was flipping steaks. "I used those."
I seem to recall I went to bed without any dinner that night.
01 October 2004
Curtseying Deeply
When I was a young girl I thought my grandmother, Don Mary, knew Britain's Royal Family. It was the way she spoke so confidentially about their personal affairs, innermost turmoils and their reasons for behaving the way they did.
Perhaps they popped in for tea and cucumber sandwiches on their way to another, only slightly more glamorous destination.
So I was very well-versed in royal etiquette. I was never allowed in Don Mary's presence to refer to Diana as Princess Diana. It was Lady Diana or the Princess of Wales or Diana, Princess of Wales.
This knowledge has come in most handy during my long & distinguished career as confidant to the royals. (Never the Royals: for that is a most delectable biscuit made by Arnott's.)
Perhaps they popped in for tea and cucumber sandwiches on their way to another, only slightly more glamorous destination.
So I was very well-versed in royal etiquette. I was never allowed in Don Mary's presence to refer to Diana as Princess Diana. It was Lady Diana or the Princess of Wales or Diana, Princess of Wales.
This knowledge has come in most handy during my long & distinguished career as confidant to the royals. (Never the Royals: for that is a most delectable biscuit made by Arnott's.)
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