Speaker: Dancing with Dingoes, Part I
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I'm sorry, but I have to get this out of the way before commenting on middlers, Cowellas and Awestruckandfailures.
Turkey. 3:20 in is the....um....moment.
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See, this was a lovely post but with a title like that I could have sworn it would be about our filming industry and the Aussie unions.
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I opened PA hoping to see some sort of comment on the awful actors or the greedy teachers who sent the Hobbit overseas and the third formers home.
Never mind. I enjoyed your story a lot. Keep us posted.
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Ah, a Turkey, Greece, Crete connection then...
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Ross? Has it anything to do with penises?
giovanni: Dingoes can be anything you want.
Tim: no connection. I wouldn't be that mean to turkeys
Cecelia: Thanks. There is a bit on hobbits.
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A very welcome piece of entertainment, Sally -- many thanks.
I'm currently stuck at home with a partially toilet-trained 3-year-old, sheltering from the intermittent rain, and being forced to read "The Castle of Adventure". I fear I have exceeded the overdose point for Enid Blyton, or to put it another way: "Gosh! How queer I feel!!!"
Anyway, a witty diversion into your Australian childhood has been a great blessing.
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breathe without the aide of suppositories
I think that's called farting. Breathing happens at the other end.
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This was lovely, Sally, I really enjoyed it.
Though also, suppositories for asthma? What is this, France?
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Ha! Cheers Emma. I believe my childhood to have occurred in a kind of Twilight Zone of surrealism. France is indeed approximate.
Thanks Dude. Why you stay up so late?
Kyle: You would know
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Loved this, Sally.
As lucky first (the trial model) in my family, I had a similarly "forced-by-circumstances" entry into dance. I broke my ankle aged 2/3, and when it mended it was turned in. A dancing teacher began lessons across the road in the small town we lived in - she taught tap, ballet and Highland & Irish dancing. Oh! Tap! Ah! Ballet!! Be still my beating heart! It was decided that learning dancing would correct the wonky foot. Yay! Ballet! Tap!
But no. Parents went for the others.
But, but, Highland dancers don't wear spangly costumes! They don't do tappity-tapping in spangly shoes!
But my parents refused my entreaties, and National Dancing it was, and I have to say, as a child prone to bronchitis, it was truly wonderful to aid breathing and strengthen bones and muscles, but they never did the Highland Fling in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, and Marge and Gower Champion never did the Irish Jig either.!! I had a residue of resentment for many years over that.
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I had a residue of resentment for many years over that.
I am still slightly bitter that my Mum wouldn't let me do marching with my friend Andrea.
Really, it was about the boots, but life could have been so different. Sigh...
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What is this, France?
The catholic church..
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Hmmm...Sacha, let's not go there.
Jacqui: Cheers muchly. Yes, I suppose I was lucky ballet was the only dance option given. Though if I get round to writing about the later years you will see that ballet is not as spangly and glamorous as it sometimes appears. Did someone mention suppositories and vomit...?
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ballet is not as spangly and glamorous as it sometimes appears
Having worked with a woman who had to give up professional ballet through injuring herself all the time, I'm sure you're right.
I look forward to those later years. If it's anything like your reminiscing about sex in foreign lands, it'll be a doozy! :))
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Funny, Sally, and a very joyful depiction of a neglected childhood. I suspect anyone brought up before the 80's was probably exposed to a bit of this. Myself, I was the 7th of nine children - my dad's youngest daughter and my mother's eldest child. (yes, yes, long story). Dad was 48 when I was born so I guess that makes him an older father, but we never really noticed, and Mum was 23 when I was born, so a very young inexperienced mum she was. In between Dad's belief that kids should be seen and not heard (fat chance in my house), and harden the fuck up, and my mum's youth and inexperience, we spent a lot of time in the bush out back, only coming home when the bell was rung. I loved it. And I never, ever broke a bone (except my chin). My injuries were all about being surrounded by brothers, both older and younger than me. I sought refuge with friends and books. Other kids were not good at spending a night away from home. Me? I was always the last to leave a party and had to be dragged away from the relative normality and sanity of others' abodes.
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I was middle child too. It seemed pretty good to me - had one older one to make all the painful mistakes first, and a younger one to beat up. But I would definitely have felt different if I'd been forced into ballet, I'm sure.
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I did ballet for a year. I wanted spangles and tutus but what I got were plain black leotards. For our annual recital I got to be a mouse in a costume made from a size 8 singlet dyed grey. At the end of the year I was told I was too shite to do sit the exam and quit in defeat and humiliation shortly afterwards. I'm not bitter. Honest.
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at least ballet keeps you on your toes...
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Cheers Jackie. Well it wasn't totally neglected. The ballet kind of saved me there and, as you say, some have it worse. A friend of mine is youngest of ten children and I still tell her she had it easy being youngest. But obviously it all depends on the kid too. I never broke a bone either though it is nothing short of a miracle I wasn't killed by a spider or a snake. We spent so much time in the Aussie bush and saw plenty of reptile life.
I can't imagine having a young mum. I think whatever I learnt from my mum I learnt because of her years (42 years older). The fact that she came from such a different time - born in the 20s.
My dad was a bit too old when I knew him in his 50s-70s. I would have liked to have known him for longer. But I think about him a lot, which is a way of knowing a person.Glad to see you've overcome that reluctance to go home :)
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Isabel, don't be bitter. I am so sorry to hear of your unhappy experience with ballet. I do empathise. A grey singlet is definitely not sufficient bling for an end of year ballet recital. And no one should have to be a mouse two years running. My first costume at least involved a beak, though I was full of resentment that I was a brown bird and my friend got to be a blue bird with blue glitter. Who ever heard of brown glitter?
If it's any consolation, those who told you you were crap may well have been crap themselves and no better at predicting ballet potential than the prime minister would be (I don't know anyone else so reliably bad at predicting the future).
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I can't imagine having a young mum. I think whatever I learnt from my mum I learnt because of her years (42 years older). The fact that she came from such a different time - born in the 20s.
Me too - Mum was born in 1928, and in her mid-forties when I was born. Though she was always extraordinarily active and vital when I was living at home, so I don't think I ever really thought of her as old. I'm still working on that now.
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While I can't imagine "One day you'll look back at all this this and laugh" can be accurate or anyone attempting "One day you'll look back at all this and write a witty, thought provoking piece awakening memories in your audience , leaving them urging for more" to your face I am glad you did look back and write. And yes, more please.
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Tim :)
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Ross? Has it anything to do with penises?
Fair suck of the sav Sal. No.
Your mention of the "non forest" suggests that you came to this particular forest from a more lush one?
After parenting 3 girls, I think I can vouch for the "leave the middle one to fend for herself" mentality. After the first you know it all so what's the deal? But interesting the bits about your health. Our mid had bad hearing problems that were finally tracked after having her sit of the bed facing away from us and not responding when we spoke to her. Guilt guilt guilt. But fixed.
She is also the one who is the most outgoing of the three and willing to have a crack at anything outdoorsy.
No asthma but.
Interesting that your late developing parents found each other. THAT would be a good story. Even more fascinating that both seemed quite happy to procreate so readily after all those years alone (?). Unrequited desire to have a family prior to meeting? Previous "engagements" fell through?
Wagga Wagga. What a great name! We got lost in Sydney trying to find Tooraamoora. Well thats what we said. But what we meant was Taramara - spelt Turramurra. Heh. Bit like folk who say they came through Leaven - or Livin as the locals might say. (Levin, Horowhenua).
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I never really twigged that my parents were "older late-developers" until on my 40th I noticed my dad was 80 that year - and I did the math...
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