I checked out some other blogs recommended by an American bloke who has a site devoted to this. Check it out to get an insight into the lives of others and some of the great writing talent that is out there. There is also a great one called “Slice of Life”. -
Go check it out!!
I came home from work to an empty, cold, dark house – my first night at my new abode in Tullamarine. A cheery lady by the name of Jeanette is renting out three rooms in a house she bought about six months ago. She gets home well after Ido.
I cooked Tuna casserolle and rice. I sat at the table by myself and stared into my sloppy tuna dish. A pang of lonliness hit me and I wondered, ‘What the hell am I doing here? Where the hell is my family?
I’ll be without the internet at my new abode for about a week, so I’ll be having a short break. the next step is coming. It won’t be easy on the emotions, but i’ll just have to hang in. Back to my little ones at work tomorrow.
I was all packed and ready to go to my new accomodation when there was a shocking howl from the front door. It was my daughter’s cat, Nezi. She staggered inside and tried to jump on my bed, but fell off. Something was seriously wrong. We rushed her to the vet who said that her condition was critical. She had seriously low blood pressure – possibly in shock with internal bleeding from a car strike or suffering from aneamia. The testing and care could have cost thousands. Charlotte rang her husband and it was decided that Nezi should be euthanased. The vet said this was the best decision. The poor cat was obviously suffering. We were given a few minutes alone with her – poor Charlotte cried her eyes out. The vet then came in and gave Nezi the injection. She went to sleep straight away. We waited a few minutes and then they brought her out wrapped in a special shroud with a kind of ribbon decoration on top. We then took her home to bury her.
My wife called and asked me to meet her today. We met in a coffee shop. She looked, stern and cold. I asked, “how are you”?, and immediatly realised it was a stupid question. She just looked at me hard. She said she would never interfere in my life again. She also said I was cowardly, making the final break in an e-mail like that. She’s right. I should have had the guts to tell her directly. We talked about the kids and she told me what a mess they were and I felt the guilt knives turning in my back. “No, no, no’, I kept telling myself, “this is not just my fault”, but another voice tried to pop up saying, ‘yes,yes,yes” I met my 17 year old daughter K after. It was so nice to see her. We wrapped our arms around each other and hugged with great meaning. We had lunch in a pizza restaurant and we talked about, home, family feelings etc. She’s always a bit remote and I really need to to get to know her properly in our new situation. We’re going to go to Thailand together to see her brother who is a Buddhist Monk. (another story). I’m really hoping we can get to know each other on a whole new level. She dropped hints about wanting to buy clothes and I immediatly caved in. We caught a tram into the city together. She looked pretty in funky clothes, but a bit tense, looking out the window, a bit absent. She has a marijuana and tobacco problem and I was wondering if it was getting to her. Or maybe the situation with her mum and I. We went clothes shopping in a warm, little shop in a cold, dark lane. I used to hate this kind of thing, but now these were precious moments. She bought a pretty jacket and a nice warm top. I paid and felt good. I’ll probably hear something about how she doesn’t deserve this and I’m contributing to her “problems” by spoiling her. Will I give a fuck? NO. We kissed goodbye and I watched her walk away and melt into the crowd.
I rode home along a path under the grey, concrete ceiling of a freeway, a cold breeze stinging my nose. A dirty creek ran alongside. I saw an old lady, rugged up in woolies, standing on the edge in the wet grass. Wirey, grey hair stuck out from under a knitted cap. She was looking at two black swans and their little grey baby swimming in the murkey water. She was very still, with a calm, contented smile on her face. Nice.
I sent an E-mail to my wife today – no more reconciliation stuff – I’m heading off in my own direction. I rang up four credit card companies and told them to cancel my cards. I had paid them off, so I happily snapped them and threw them in in the bin. A lady in Manila said ‘Oh Mr. Williams, you’re a valued customer and I can approve an increase in your credit limit to $39,000″. “Actually, no” I said. “I’ve rung up to do just the opposite”. A young man in Delhi said “Actually you still owe us six dollars – but I’ll wipe it off the system for you’. Nice guy. Just when you’re expecting people to be bastards, they can be nice to you. I asked him what the weather was like in Delhi and whether he likes his job. “Hot and wet and, actually, yes Mr. Williams, I do like my job”. It’s nice to be able to briefly touch the lives of people on the other side of the world.
Could this be true? Am I actually grasping hold of the wheel and heading off to a place I want to go! At least it’s a start. Just stick at it and don’t let the obstacles knock you off course, young man.
Another morning in deepest Footscray. It’s dark outside, cold and and I can hear drips from somewhere. I can vaguely hear Arabic music coming from the next room, where a Saudi Arabian Student is co-bording with me at my Daughter’s house. I’ve been here for about 5 weeks with her, my son-in-law and my beautiful grand -son. They’ve put me up since I seperated from my wife and family. Difficult times. I’ll be moving from here soon – not sure where yet. I need to read something inspirational -i’ll go to my journal where I keep a record of good quotes. What about this -
We are what we think-
All that we are arises
With our thoughts.
We make our world. (The Buddha)
Another one that I like — Take control and design your destiny. (Not sure who).
This is what I’ve got to do. I’ve been drifting along for too long without thinking about where I’m going. Wake up and take control.
Why have I called my blog “Bugleboy”? Well there’s a bit of a story behind this. Something happened to me when I was a teenager at school which taught me a lesson. Unfortunately I failed to apply what I learnt to my life. I’m now 55 years old and not quite where I want to be. I’m at a point where I have to do some rebuilding in my life and i’m going to call upon that lesson, learnt forty years ago, to help me on my way.
The story goes like this. i was the trumpeter in my School’s army band. At the end of the year the band was called upon to perform for an important end of year parade in front of parents, teachers and dignitaries. We had a rehearsal a few days before the actual event and my bandmaster surprised me by coming up to me just before the rehearsal and telling me that I would be playing the ‘Last Post’, solo. ‘But Sir’ I said, ‘I haven’t had time to practice’. He replied, ‘You’ve done it before, you’ll be OK’. ‘Oh shit’, I thought.
The whole school was lined up at the rehearsal and the stage was reached where I had to march out by myself. I lifted my trumpet nervously and put it to my lips. I did my best but many of the notes which came out sounded as though they were coming from a fight between a chicken and a cat, with perhaps a drunken ferret thrown in. The embarrased looks from teachers and the stiffled laughter and guffaws from my fellow students and ‘friends’told the story. I marched back to my place, my face red from a mixture of embarrasment and rage. The portly Vice Principal rolled his eyes and said to the teacher next to him “Oh my God, What will we say to him?” My music master came up to me later and said, ‘Well, Wiliams, let’s face it, it wasn’t exactly your best performance was it?. Do you want to go ahead with this or will I find someone else?’ One side of me said “Go on, give this up and save any further embarrasment”. But another side said, “No, teach these bastards a lesson, practice this thing and blow it right up their arse”. I resolved to do the latter.
I practiced furiously over the next couple of days – I must have played it over a hundred times. Sometimes i would play it perfectly, the next time it would be a complete mess. Voices of doubt rose within me saying “You can practice it as much as you want, you’ll still screw it up on the day”. Somehow I pushed those doubtfull voices aside. I wanted to deprive my fellow students and teachers of the light entertainment they were expecting on the day. More than this I really wanted to prove something to my self.
The day arrived and I put on my uniform and packed my trumpet. Just as I was going out the door, my father said,’ Hang on, wait for me”. ‘You’re coming?’, I asked nervously. ‘I certainly am, I want to be the proud father you know”. Oh God.
I stood in line with the rest of the band, playing along and listening to interminable speeches. The sweat ran off my hands and my heart thumped harder as my time drew near. Finally it arrived and I found myself walking out to the microphone. I looked at the sea of faces. My better friends looked sympathetic and encouraging. The Vice Principal looked ahead, stoney faced. My not so good friends looked expctantly, hoping for a complete screw up. My shaking hands brought the trumpet to my trembling lips and I blew………..
It was as though somebody had pushed the nervous, trembling me aside and had gently taken over. The notes slid out smoothly and sweetly. The pauses were just right and the last long note tapered off perfectly into the crisp autumn air. I walked back to my spot amidst the stunned silence.
My music master walked over to me after the parade and said “Williams, was that you, was that really you! That was perfect! It was as though it was a different person playing from the one on Friday”
Oh I felt good. I felt sooooooo good - I’d really blown it up them.
So I learnt something from that – have faith in yourself and blow it up the doubters.
If anybody has a story about something that had a major impact on their lives, i’d love to hear it, and i’m sure others would too. See ya later. Bugleboy.
