SUMMER MEANT EXCITEMENT...

             

           My favourite, summer holiday-spot in Queensland has been Caloundra on the Sunshine Coast, for as long as I can remember.  More particularly, Golden Beach, where my grandparents owned a beach shack.

          Every Christmas we would pack up, along with various aunts, uncles and cousins, not forgetting of course grandad and grandma, meet up with more aunts, uncles and cousins and proceed to have a whale of a time.  At least, we kids had a whale of a time.  Apparently, that’s not quite how the adults remember it. Sometimes we’d go at Easter time but Christmas and those hot summers, complete with Christmas beetles and the buzz of cicadas, are the memories I recall most fondly.

          It seems it was only we children who thoroughly enjoyed sleeping on the floor or camping downstairs; trooping off for another glorious day at the beach; counting the hours till Santa (or the Easter Bunny) delivered the goods; thinking up some new trick on play on the adults or just generally having a great time. Isn't that what kids are supposed to do?  Today, I might think kids like we were, a tiny bit.... well, feral, not to put too fine a point on it.

          To our parents it was just another hectic time and hardly a holiday for them. No doubt, they dreaded the bath time hysteria and bedtime scramble; feared the times it was their turn to watch the brats at the beach; slaved away in a hot kitchen feeding the hungry hoards; counted the hours till said brats finally went to sleep before falling into their own beds, girding their loins to get ready to do it all over again the next day.  I don’t remember the Mothers having any fun but surely they must have. Why else would they turn up year after year? The Dads got to go fishing and escape the rabble. I believe one year the record was set at 19 adults and 23 children – not bad for a two bedroom, high-set house with sleep-out, wood chip hot water heater and one outside toilet! 

          Fifty years on, the house was long ago sold and our holidays at dear old Golden Beach are just memories. Whenever I am over that way though, I am almost overcome by those memories - whether it was trying to stay awake to surprise Santa; building huge sandcastles; hiding from the designated adult behind moored dinghies waiting for their hysterical calls when they realised they couldn't see us; planning how to booby trap our sandcastles to stop other kids kicking them down or happily walking into town, if we were very lucky, to see a movie.  Summer meant excitement.

          Two things I'm aware of as an adult is that despite our lack of technology or even transport while we were there, none of us ever said, “I'm bored” and, nowadays, Queensland summers are to be endured.

Condensed version originally published in Sunshine Coast Daily 1/2/92 © SMG

PUTTING A GOOD FACE ON IT....

I am under siege! Every day I come under a constant barrage of complaints from my 13 year old daughter: "It's not fair. All my friends are doing/wearing/having/getting it."

Last year “it” was getting a signet ring (heart-shaped, preferably with a red stone, not silver).  I daresay next year “it” will be something equally as earth-shattering to a girl of her age.

At the moment, “it” refers to the wearing of make-up.  I might add that after watching her friends closely, I have found no evidence to support her claim that they’re all doing anything, except gang up on me.  One signet ring does not a sorority make.

I intend to go down fighting, though.  I vow I will not succumb to the endless sniping.  It may be paltry ammunition but the tried and true “when I was your age...." will hold her off for a while and then I can trot out my favourite, “I’ll think about it”.  Recycling is the key to resistance.

It has occurred to me that I can’t hold out forever.  In the meantime, I have decided to write down all those little grooming tricks only experience can teach you so as to give her a head-start when she finally get the go-ahead.

Nearly thirty years of slapping on foundation and the like has taught me a lot and who better to benefit from my painful lessons than my own daughter?

The first tip that springs to mind concerns lipstick.  I will tell her never, never put on lipstick in a moving car, especially if she is driving. Apart from the safety aspect, one good bump and she’ll look like Ronald McDonald in drag.

Hairspray is another tricky part of a woman’s routine.  I’ll make sure she knows never to keep her spray deodorant near the hairspray.  The reason for this is twofold.  Should she pick up the wrong can, deodorant will not keep her hair in pace very well. Secondly, she could give herself a nasty rash in the armpit area, and if she has neglected to shave in that spot for a while, severe scrathing.

Similarly, I must remember to tell her about the pitfalls of keeping her toothpaste anywhere near her father’s tub of shaving soap.  Mixing up the two takes mouth hygiene to new heights, although I can’t comment on how well toothpaste would lather up a rough, manly beard. Which leads neatly to my next hint...

She should always make sure to shave her legs before going to any doctor, especially the gynaecologist.  It is not a nice experience to realise, belatedly, that your legs look and feel like large pin cushions.  I was caught out once at the cardiologists’s because I had not realised he would be sticking little sensors to my ankles.

I will warn her to be alert when she has just bought a new eyeliner pencil. After using an every-reducing stub of pencil for a few months, there’ll be no need to stand so close to the mirror. A poke in the eye with a new, longer pencil just before a big date will do nothing for her confidence (or appearance).  Still on the eye area, I’d better tell her not to sneeze just after applying the mascara or she’ll look like the victim of a practical joke.

Finally, I’ll give her the benefit of my eye-popping experience in the acrylic nail arena.  For the first few days after those fabulous, long nails have been applied, she should be very, very careful when she blows her nose.

For now, I’ll put these personal grooming hints away in a safe place until that long-awaited day when I say: “Ye gods, girl! Okay, okay! Just stop your damned whining!”

Originally published in The Courier Mail 18.4.95 © SMG