In 1934, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the Turkish commander at Gallipoli, wrote a moving tribute to Anzacs who died at Gallipoli.
”Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives … You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side now here in this country of ours … you, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land. They have become our sons as well.”
11 years ago today I was hanging out the washing at 7.45 in the morning, by eight I was in hospital. By 9.30 a specialist turned up the volume on my drip, and an hour later she broke my waters.
“In pain, give me drugs now,” I howled as they ramped up the oxytocin. This labour was a harsh, hot, fast hell.
In a few hours my second beautiful princess was born, a little blue. After a four-hour whoa-to-go rushed induced labour, my five year old had the little sister she’d ordered. She rushed into the room as I sat in a pool of blood on the bed. When the midwife handed my baby back to me after clearing her airways, her big sister held her like she was a doll and looked at me with cocker spaniel eyes. Of course the nurse took photos. I had blood on my hands, a bird’s nest hairdo and wore an old bra. I look like a dopey possum in our happy family shots. Happy birthday beautiful girl.
This woman was an incredible live performer who lived it large. She rocked a school uniform like no one before or since. I remember seeing her at the height of her powers onstage in 1985.
In honour of this passionate woman, check your boobs ladies, or get someone to do it for you.
RIP Chrissie Amphlett, thanks for being a part of my youth.
When I was 15 I used to sneak out late at night with my girlfriends to watch the midnight screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. We dressed up in tutus and high heels, we sang, we sweated, we laughed and we danced. And my mother never did find out. Until now. Years later I was working in London and the phone rang and I instantly recognised the voice on the other end of the phone. It was Tim Curry. I couldn’t speak so I passed the phone to a colleague who laughed when she realised who I should have been talking to. Thank you Mr Curry for the joy you brought to my teenage years. Rose tint my world, keep me safe from the trouble and pain.
Unlike Britney, I was a child star who didn’t live up to my initial promise. I did my first ad when I was six months old, a big fat roly poly baby lying nude in an underwear model’s arms. We were advertising ‘nursing’ bras and my job was to look cute and adorable (it was a stretch for me). Allegedly I peed all over her, I don’t think that is true, I can’t remember doing it. My mother swears it happened, but as she was once a young Liberal I’m not sure her testimony can be trusted.
One of my earliest and most favourite-est memories, (probably because my mum took a photo of me sitting on our lawn roller in our front garden) is of me singing Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head. My singing career started a couple of years after my modelling debut. I was wearing a cowboy hat that didn’t match my tutu. I used to sit on the grass roller looking fabulous between my shows. I preferred to play to intimate audiences rather than at larger venues. Singing was my thang, especially entertaining my mother’s friends as I stood on our dining room table in patent leather shoes, or warbling on our front fence. I also gave impromptu performances riding side saddle on my rocking horse on our front verandah, just to show my versatility as a ‘triple threat’ as they say in acting parlance. In the days before Autotune I was a magnificent singer. Who said all child stars grow up to become problem adults? Not me.
Yes this is child star Shirley Temple, she was WAY before my time but I didn’t copy her once in my stellar career appearing on book covers, in newspapers and magazines and live for a limited season on our front lawn.
Today we head for a family adventure, visiting my big brother and his elephant friends. My two youngest kids have never been overseas before so this is a scary and exciting day for them. Hopefully I can show them that travelling is one of the great joys of life.
“We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open” – Jawaharial Nehru
Perhaps travelling with three kids, one of whom likes eating the same sandwich every day, will test my limits as a mother and make me appreciate the dull routine and comforts of home. Maybe I’ll pretend they’re not with me when my youngest talks to everyone on the plane. Maybe when we come back to Australia I’ll be taken to a home for the bewildered. And maybe I’ll throw away some of my emotional baggage somewhere over the ocean.
“I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move” –
Robert Louis Stevenson
I love this post, especially the last paragraph.
I went to a party the other night, and we were all having a merry old time. One of the guests started playing the guitar, and someone asked if he knew any songs by Ricardo Arjona. No, not Arjona, I pleaded. ¡Es muy cursi! Judging by the immediate chorus of indignant gasps and protestations, I had touched a nerve. More than merely defensive of the singer, they took issue with my epithet of choice. ¿Y qué tiene de malo eso, ser cursi? I didn’t stop there. Es más, I said. I’ve found that Hispanics on the whole tend to be much more cursi than Americans. Well, that was it. Se armó la de Troya. The women were then up in arms. Oh, what does she know about love? She’s just a cold, heartless gringa. How could she ever understand the way we Latinos feel and express ourselves? No…
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