 
ENERGIZING STORIES

OMR

(One Minute Reads)

By

Pat Ritter

© Copyright Pat Ritter \- 2016

Published by Pat Ritter.

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Each week in 2015 I attended the Pomona Writers Group. The facilitator asked us to write a story about a topic he chose. These stories less than 500 words are OMR (One Minute Read). I hope you enjoy reading each one.

I want to express my gratitude to Melissa Smith. Thank you for doing a great job of the cover. If you want Melissa to create your next cover, I highly recommend you do.

If you have enjoyed reading this book, or if you haven't enjoyed it, still let me know. I would love to receive your feedback. You can contact me on my e-mail: I'd love to receive your feedback.

Pat Ritter - Author/Self Publisher

A Change Of Plans After I Missed The Bus

Often through my life, I missed the bus, unfortunately I couldn't change my plans. At aged twelve my father told me I was so dumb to understand life, I was on the wrong train whilst others my age were on the right train. Beginning to believe his taunts imbedded into my mind. Whether his negative sayings were supposed to make me a better person or to think smarter. I doubt it.

Maturity develops in a person at different stages of their lives. Because of my low self-esteem, uncertainty to do the right or wrong thing, I missed the bus many times. To change my plans an opportunity lost forever.

In my mind I always thought to do the right thing, trust others as you would want them to trust you, be polite and considerate and help out when needed. An opportunity arose at fourteen years of age. My English teacher, Mr Imoff told me I had a gift for writing in that I wrote the way I spoke which was unique. I certainly missed the bus at this opportunity and couldn't change any plans of understanding Mr Imoff's meaning.

Onward I trudged through life missing other opportunities until twenty years later Mr Bob O'Sullivan, a lecturer at college told me exactly the same words Mr Imoff told me at fourteen years old. Reflecting back to this time I'd matured to an adult, succeeded with life and at this point being told my writing was unique almost blew my mind with wonderment.

From these humble words spoken by these two teachers, unbeknown to one another, threw me into the deep end of my writing career. My bus arrived with a change of plans to board and travel to my destination as an author. My self-esteem grew to a level of unbelievable belief in myself. I can do this, kept running through my mind. I needed to believe in myself to write the way I wanted to write no matter what circumstances arose.

Although I missed the bus on many occasions, this time I had a change of plans. Bob and I co-authored my first book 'Closing The Gap' a book to help parents of teenagers improve their communication with their teenage children. This opportunity gave way to a journey which continues today with the forthcoming publication of my 17th novel.

Deep down in my conscious I wanted to be an author. I often think back to when Mr Imoff spoke those profound words, ' _you have a gift for writing. You write the way you speak which is unique'._ If I'd taken these words home to tell my father, I can picture his reply, 'you, a writer. Who's the silly fool told you that nonsense.' His words echoed in my mind. I didn't tell him.

Word count: 475

A Day At The Office

Have you ever had a dream come true? Honestly come true. I have! Living along my life-line my dream to one day become a published author. I can honestly admit to achieving this dream and now working on my 17th novel.

A day at the office starts at 6.30am daily. After switching on the computer, first to check how many books sold overnight, check two sites. Once I calculate the sales start by promoting my books to the world clicking onto Facebook.

Facebook is a social media programme with millions of members across the globe. Within Facebook I have my own group 'keeping up with my writing' a membership close to 4000 members. Daily I post a page from a book I've written onto the group for all members to read and comment. If I haven't posted this page by seven o'clock daily, I receive messages to ask 'where is the page'.

To promote my writing, I post the same page onto my author page which goes to all friends I have on Facebook. Closing down Facebook I click onto another website in England and post the same page under my post which allows more than one thousand members to read the daily post. I check how many readers are actually read the post to find 92% which is great.

Clicking back to Facebook I start by accepting friends who requested to be a friend and register them into my group. Reply to all messages, answer all requests and finalise by reading posts from other members on different groups at times adding my books onto their post.

Switching from Facebook I click onto my e-mails to read all messages received overnight. This is important because if I won a prize in lotto a message is sent to show the amount I won. After checking e-mails, I click onto the lotto site and pick numbers for the games I play hoping to pick the correct ones.

When I've finalised these small tasks the hard work commences. Write the story for Pomona Writer's Group. Break for morning tea. Write the present novel or in this case re-read; re-read and re-read until no mistakes are found.

Lunchtime. Break for lunch.

After lunch start research on writing. Daily I try and read something about writing through the various writing associations which I'm a member. All are different and to keep up with the latest principles in writing I need to have everything at my fingertips.

At times this information sends me off on a tangent to discover a variety of information authors use to write their stories. Over the years this part of my day has helped me separate the wheat from the chaff in writing.

Finally, for the closure of the day I check Facebook to answer any query, check e-mails to answer any messages and finally close down my computer and have a smile on my face to show I did everything I wanted for the day. Next day do the same again.

Word count: 509

A Million Dollars Is Not How This Story Ends.

When you wish upon a star, no matter who you are, your wish will come true eventually. These words keep running through my mind. My wish to win $1,000,000.00 playing lotto. Numbers I play are drawn in my mind with absolute exhilaration knowing the prize is won and the money in the bank.

By chance should these numbers play out, $1,000,000.00 is mine; how will this story end? First win the money and think about the consequences. I've read books about seeking universal help to focus on winning lotto or anything else one desires by persistently dreaming of having the prize in your hands.

At first I disbelieved this universal help thing as hocus pocus rubbish until recently. I thought of a friend I hadn't visited for over twenty years. At first I brushed this notion aside when out-of-the-blue I read about my friend's recent health problems. I set out in search for him. His vision remained in my mind thinking of various ways to make contact.

Finally failing to find a way through social media I used an old method – telephone book. His name wasn't recorded however his surname recorded. I rang the number. By chance the caller provided me with his telephone number. I telephoned my friend and spoke with his wife. So this universal thing does work.

Back to winning lotto and $1,000,000.00. This universal thing is the same way I used to find my friend after twenty years? To make this universal thing work, one needs to visualise already having in their possession $1,000,000.00. Now to explain my method to win this money. Each Monday and Wednesday night lotto is played to win $1,000,000.00. Up to four winners can claim first prize on each night.

Each time I play lotto on a Monday and Wednesday night I play the same numbers for both nights. At the beginning of this year my partner and I chose two numbers between us. She chose numbers 3 and 25 and not knowing her numbers beforehand I chose 4 and 26. I play twelve games each night using these four numbers and throwing in two other numbers to complete each game.

Playing Monday and Wednesday games will pay $1,000,000.00 unless more than four winners which is highly unlikely. I realise the odds are stacked against my winning but the old saying _if you're not in the game – you can't win!_ My mind tells me I will win first prize. The money is in the bank.

Now back to my friend. The last time I spoke with him is fifteen years ago. Hearing his voice sent me further back than those times. We shared many stories and catch-ups. His health is not good. His illness cancer and in the process of treatment. My heart goes out to him to totally recover with support from his friends will make his days much happier.

With $1,000,000.00 already in the bank from winning lotto is not how this story ends. Money doesn't mean as much to me as for others. I have all I need to live a good and happy life. Naturally I'd put aside sufficient money from the winnings to support myself leaving the rest to share between my family and partner.

I will WIN!

Word count: 557

After You're Gone

What happens after you've gone? Do we ascend to heaven, or do we go to hell if we've been bad? This is the million-dollar question. When you're gone – you're gone.

I remember hearing the words Kerry Packer said after he survived a massive heart attack and clinically died for eight minutes, 'nothing on the other side I can tell you.'

After my wife died she visited me in my dreams for some years thereafter. Apart from my mother shortly after she passed away who also visited me I only received a visit from one other person who died, my partner's deceased husband. He visited me on five separate occasions and yet never visited any other person including his wife.

Honestly I can't explain why these three people contacted me after their passing. I suppose I can relate to my mother visiting me. I'll share with you what happened. One night I awoke to find my mother sitting on my bed six months after she passed. Sighting her shocked me because honestly she looked as if she was alive.

'What are you doing here?' I asked. I couldn't believe how my mother appeared real. She smiled and left. I never forgot her visit and miss her so much. She passed away at forty-five years old.

After my wife passed away she visited me each night climbing into my bed and we cuddled. This wasn't a dream for we spoke about the family. Her warmth and understanding real. I told her how much I missed her. Grief has a strange way of creating different thoughts in one's mind. Again I honestly thought my wife visited me.

A couple of years after my wife passed I met my present partner whose husband suddenly died only ten weeks after my wife passed away. Actually the property I live now belonged to my partner's parents where she grew up. I can't explain how or what brought us together. In my dreams my wife continued to visit me. She'd stay for a short time and told me to return to my partner. She was pleased I'd found someone to share my life. I'd get out of bed, walk through an adjoining door to join my partner. This event occurred many times.

My partner and I have been together a decade this year. We stay at her home one week and my place the following week. One night whilst staying at her home I awoke a man lying in bed where my partner slept. From photographs I recognised him to be my partner's deceased husband.

'How're you going?' He said in a jovial voice and smiled. His blonde wavy hair and blue eyes took my attention. His friendly voice calmed my nerves. He wore a blue coloured tee shirt with a biro and notebook in the pocket of his shirt, shorts, socks and work boots. I worried he'd put dirt on the sheets. He thanked me for looking after my partner and spoke her nickname. A scar on his right leg between his ankle and knee. He beckoned me outside and showed me where he worked and his parting words, 'tell everyone I'm still working hard', and vanished.

Honestly I can't explain these strange phenomena's only witnessing these loved ones return after death gave me food for thought about after you're gone. When I quizzed my partner about her past husband's conversation and his appearance, she agreed he always carried a pen and notebook in his pocket also the scar on his leg was caused twenty-five years before when he suffered the injury. The nickname he gave was the same name he always called her. The clothes I described were the same clothes he was buried in.

I suppose with this evidence after you're gone may not mean actually you are gone because these loved ones returned to speak with me. A mystery.

Word count: 654

All Night Awake

Checking my e-mails, I discovered one from an unknown source asking if I established Crimestoppers for Queensland Police. A telephone number and name to contact if I was the right person. Waiting for the telephone to connect to this caller my mind floated to 1989 when I established this project. Excitement filled my mind thinking back to this specific period. I smiled.

All night awake for three whole weeks working toward establishing this community project raced through my mind. A female answered. I introduced myself, her reply, 'you're a difficult person to contact,' her reply. I reminded her to google my name. She eventually did google my name and found me through my website.

Her reason for contacting me to invite me to a dinner and celebrate twenty-fifth year Crimestoppers. My baby reached twenty-five years and continued to grow strong. She'd contacted everyone else. I became the final person. She wanted my story. Twenty-five years is a long time ago however my mind flicked back to the day when I started the programme.

Late on a Friday afternoon my boss tapped me on the shoulder and said, 'you worked as a detective. Didn't you?'

'Yes, I thought you knew.'

'Go and see the Inspector at Neighbourhood Watch. He's got a new project for you. I recommended you.'

Entering the Neighbourhood Watch Inspector's office, he handed me a video tape, 'look at this and start here Monday morning,' and pointed to the door.

After watching the video at home my heart almost burst from my chest. My mind filled with exhilaration to think after twenty years of service I was given this project. Monday morning couldn't arrive quickly enough.

Crimestoppers to be my 'baby' from conception to birth for Queensland Police. The Inspector had more good news, 'at ten o'clock tomorrow morning you're to present a proposal for the Police Minister on how long this programme will take to establish.' His words filled me with wonderment.

Thinking on my feet, not following the usual guidelines, I made up contents of the proposal as I went along. Finally, at ten o'clock the following morning I presented the Police Minister ten copies of the proposal at his office. Victoria Police were the first to establish Crimestoppers in Australia followed by New South Wales and now Queensland had their turn.

Whilst Victoria took two years and New South Wales eighteen months I thought six months to be a good lead time. The Police Minister approved the proposal however his words, 'I haven't got six months. I want this done in three weeks.'

My jaw almost dropped to the floor. Picking it up I replied, 'if you cut the red tape and allow me to do my job without interference, I'll do it in three weeks!' Fancy speaking to a Minister of the Crown this way I thought afterwards. I must say he kept his word and I was given a free rein to establish Crimestoppers in three weeks.

Hard work began with all night awake working to select staff, train, write computer programmes, co-ordinate office space, vehicles, focus on establishing this programme in three weeks. Luck played a huge part many times. Whilst I wrote each computer programme, my off-sider trained four staff in telephone communication; recording information; and patience. Each member of the team needed to set their own ambitions equal to my personal drive and purpose for success.

After three weeks whatever we did worked when Crimestoppers launched to the public at Queensland Police Headquarters. We worked like a well-oiled machine combining skills from each individual to make this project work.

Many times throughout this project we were all night awake and now my baby is twenty-five years old and we are celebrating its birthday.

Word count: 630

All Our Yesterdays

Actually I thought all our yesterdays came together in one moment when my grandson Jackson asked to drive him to the bus to attend school. We were late and needed to catch up at the next stop to board the bus. Sounded a simply plan. Not with a fifteen-year-old who displays difficulty in opening his mouth to speak and give directions. Daily he rides the same bus from Imbil to Gympie to attend school.

'Which way now Jackson?' I asked, his head focused on his tablet on his lap. Nothing. No sound. Nothing. 'Which way!' I shouted. Lifting his head pointed to a sign showing a small town.

Entering the town, 'turn left.' He said in a soft voice not much louder than a whisper.

'Can't go - no road.' I threw back at him, my blood pressure rapidly rising.

'Right! I meant – turn right'. I turned right.

'Where to from here,' I calmly asked, his head still buried in the tablet.

'Keep going'. We drove for fifteen minutes around bending roads, my mind questioned the direction. His head continued buried in the tablet on his lap.

'Are you certain you go this way?' I questioned.

'Yes, Pop, we go this way each day.' Still his head buried in the tablet. We drove around bends until the bitumen road finished to form gravel. 'Hang on, I think we're lost,' his words shattered my mind. I braked, turned around and almost lost my cool.

'I should've driven you directly to school.' Eventually we returned to the highway leading to Gympie. Returning home, I wondered how young people today survive, especially Jackson. He's intelligent, however, discipline is not one of his best choices. At his age I began work continuing on for the following forty years. At fifteen he couldn't possible get a job because first he lacks self-discipline and discipline. What choices will he have without these two important life tools?

From a young child we were taught discipline; the razor strap on the back of our legs if you didn't do as you were told. Self-discipline however became a different matter. Unfortunately, in our time of growing from childhood to adulthood we respected our elders and would never speak back or contradict anything they said.

Self-discipline arrived many years later at the time of our freedom to eventually think for ourselves. Unfortunately, self-discipline became a little late in my life. I had a lot of catching up to do. Memories still haunt me of my father's words of 'putting me down'. I never understood why.

Today's society with social media and technology provides a broader platform to spread-the-word about your achievements to others across the globe. Today's society live in a bubble of self-importance. Narcissism has grown at such a rapid pace almost like a bushfire out of control.

People of my generation never spoke about themselves. If we did, immediately we were bought back to mother earth with a thump. Honestly I am concerned about our present generation and looking back to all our yesterdays I suppose our grandparents thought a similar thought about our future.

Word count: 526

Am I Wrong Or Am I Wrong

Detective Bundy Quicksilver gathered with other detectives in the conference room to discuss their latest investigation. His thoughts fixed on pieces of evidence discovered at the scene of a hit and run. Chatter filled the room some filtered through to Bundy's subconscious mind to separate wheat from the chaff.

His third hit and run fatal road accident he'd investigated over the past five years. Laid out before him small pieces of shattered glass, some colour some clear. A small portion of a vehicle Queensland registration sticker and photographs of the deceased.

'Looks like the car came from the west.' One investigator admonished indicating from a photograph of the roadway where the accident occurred. All agreed except Bundy. Silence fell across the room, 'what do you think Bundy?' One investigator asked.

Bundy thought for a couple of seconds before he spoke. His fingers formed a steeple in front of him, his thoughts trying to form a direct link to his opinion of how the accident happened, 'I don't think so.'

'Okay, tell us your version of what happened.' Asked the same officer looking directly at Bundy.

'The victim walked east. The vehicle struck him on the left side of the road so therefore the vehicle must have been travelling west toward the deceased. This portion of the registration sticker I found on the left hand side of the roadway.' Everyone in the room nodded. 'Am I wrong or am I wrong?' Bundy asked the gathering.

'No!' Came the reply in unison.

Three o'clock in the morning the telephone in Bundy's home rang to alert him a body discovered on the Warrego Highway five kilometres from town. With his trusted off-sider Detective Greg they visited the scene. A male aged between thirty to thirty-five years lay deceased.

Searching nearby Bundy found fragments of a vehicle registration sticker partially numbered 736. No other evidence found only shattered windscreen glass.

'Time for the post mortem gentlemen. Greg and I will attend the post mortem. In the meantime, make telephone calls to each smash repair and let the local radio station and television know of the road accident. Until we notify the next of kin we can't let the community know the details of his name.' Bundy addressed the group.

'Onto it, let you know when we're finished.' One investigator replied.

At the post mortem Bundy placed the deceased clothing into an evidence bag to take to his forensic scientist mate Quincy Simpson. Together they solved many crimes gathering evidence to determine the cause of various crimes. The deceased left leg scattered providing Bundy with sufficience evidence to show the deceased walked along the right hand side of the roadway walking east.

A picture of the accident developed in Bundy's mind. He shared his thoughts with his fellow detective and the doctor, 'looks as if he walked close to the edge of the highway on the right hand side walking east.' He shared.

'Why do you say that?' The doctor asked.

'A small fragment of registration sticker with other fragments of the windscreen were found on the left hand side of the highway indicating the vehicle travelled from east to west. His left leg shattered. The registration sticker is on the left side of the windscreen.' Bundy explained. 'Am I wrong or am I wrong?'

'No, I can see what you mean.' Both agreed to Bundy's theory.

Bundy discovered the deceased walked home from town late at night a number of times. His name disclosed when relatives contacted Police to ask about the accident. The motor vehicle which struck and killed the victim never found. After lengthy inquiries the case closed. Unsolved.

Word count:618

An Offer I Can't Refuse

Writing this story bought back many offers in my life I couldn't refuse. From an early age I learned to become what is named a 'people pleaser'. A person who always couldn't refuse anyone. Many years into my life after studying this perplexed behaviour I finally understood why my behaviour or how I obtained this habit to almost destroy my life.

During our life we're creatures of habit learning from others different traits in our being. As I've explained my behaviour or habit to please others at all times. How did this habit seep into my soul? Most habits begin when we are between birth and six years old. Mine commenced at the time I held my father on a tall pedestal always looking up to him for acknowledgement of being his son to tell me I'm a worthy person and he loved me.

Unfortunately, this never happened. Never once in my life has he acknowledged me as his loving son nor told me he loves me. This sounds childish you may think but during my years of adolescent growth, my habit grew stronger and stronger. I remember on a Saturday night after he returned home from the hotel, drunk, asking to have a coffee.

I immediately made the hottest coffee and handed to him. He slurped the coffee holding the cup in one hand and in the other held a cold stubby bottle of beer. After slurping the coffee, he took a swig of the cold bottle of beer. At the time I thought his action most unusual.

Time proceeded and eventually I left the family home to discover I took this 'people pleaser' behaviour with me. Instead of pleasing my father now I ventured out into the huge world to please others. The number of others I couldn't refuse were many when abuse followed. The more I helped others the more I received abuse by their behaviour. I couldn't stop this happening.

This habit almost grew into an obsession to always please others until one day later in my life I hit rock bottom and needed help to overcome this 'people pleaser' habit. Ernie Larson, an educationalist from America produced videos to help others overcome these habits which weren't a personality trait but a learned behaviour.

For twelve months I studied his tapes and eventually broke the shell of being a 'people pleaser'. The bottom line I discovered throughout my life I couldn't refuse any offer to help another. Breaking this behaviour was a Godsend. I needed to learn to say 'No!' To do this change to my life each time my thoughts went to an offer I can't refuse something happened in my mind to block the message 'Yes' travel to my tongue.

Now I can refuse any offer if I need to and live a normal life. Incidentally I continue to help others whenever I can on my terms which I control.

Word count: 494

An Unforgettable Trip

Have you ever taken a journey down memory lane? Last week I joined a bus tour named 'Outback Station Tour'. Over seven days we journeyed to places I worked and lived throughout my life. Certainly for me became an unforgettable trip down memory lane.

Departing the Sunshine Coast our driver guided us through towns Kilcoy, Blackbutt, Yarraman onto Dalby on the Darling Downs. Memories flooded back to when I lived at Dalby in the 1970's. My role at the time a detective with Queensland Police Service. When we entered a township my memory immediately returned to an investigation I did.

We passed Moonie and Westmar finally arriving at St George for the evening. We travelled six hundred kilometres. Once the other passengers found out my role when I worked in these areas questions flowed to explain what happened to such and such. Like the disappearance of the kangaroo works owner who after leaving his Toyota parked on the banks of the Balonne River disappeared. Conjecture from the town public he met with foul play to end up as mince in his own kangaroo works.

Bollon became our next stop. This small town I remembered enjoying my honeymoon parked on the banks of the local creek. Nothing had changed since the time I spent the first night with my wife parked in a caravan. Onward to Cunnamulla where my parents and grandparents were born. Stories I write all contain history of Cunnamulla.

In 1969 I worked on a sheep and cattle property and I remember the mail truck driver telling me after we crossed the Warrego River, 'once you've crossed the Warrego River, you'll cross the river again and again.' His words rung true for I've crossed the Warrego River many times since Stan offered this bush theory.

Eulo a small town between Cunnamulla and Thargomindah held many memories pushing my mind back over the years when I worked in the area. I remembered the first time I entered the town at aged twenty-one years. This town is an oasis in the desert. Onward we journeyed to Thargomindah where we stayed two nights on 'Kilcowera Station' in the shearing quarters. This property 200,000 acres.

After a two night stay we departed for Innamincka. On our way we visited Thargomindah to witness an old hydro plant to power the town being the first town in Australia to do so. A short visit to Leahy Historic House built in 1885 by John Leahy using local mud bricks.

Lunch we enjoyed at Noccundra Hotel established in 1882 still remains the same. Memories flashed in my mind visiting the hotel since 1980 nothing had changed. Onward to Innamincka to visit the Dig Tree where early explorers Burke and Wills perished.

Returning via Thargomindah travelling via Toompine, Quilpie, Charleville and finally an overnight stay at Roma. Our accommodation opposite from where I lived at 8 Bowen Street Roma during my childhood. An unforgettable trip indeed.

Word count: 495

Big Mouth: Small Words: The Truth May Vary:

Before I started to write this story nothing jumped out. My mind went blank on the topic. Google showed me little to enhance the words toward a story. Without thinking further about the topic or the meaning, my mind travelled back in time to a period when aged ten years old I became a boy cub with Roma Scout Group.

Probably this topic has nothing to do with my being a boy cub when I was ten years old however thinking about this time in my life raised the question. Dressed in my boy cub uniform of a cap, uniform shirt, shorts, long socks and black shoes each Saturday I attended a den to learn how to become a boy cub with many others boys my age.

Our leader attempted to show us different life skills to learn. Each of us were placed into small groups. Being so long ago I fail to remember the name of my group. Apart from being in a group; to receive stars on our caps, we needed to undertake a series of duties such as _cleaning your shoes._

One afternoon I paraded before our Cub Leader to show her I fulfilled this duty to the best of my ability. Unfortunately, after her examination she failed me when I didn't remove my shoe laces before polishing my shoes. One duty down, one hundred to go. Next duty, to light a fire which should be successful. Again I failed because I didn't read the boy cub manual on 'how to light a fire'. Instead of piling the sticks in tent shaped, I lay them crisscrossed.

Taken back by failure I almost told my parents my days of boy cubing were coming to a close when I became elected leader of my group. Our group needed to prepare with other boy clubs from the surrounding district to attend a Jamboree

Decisions needed to be made on how our group were to succeed. Being the leader I couldn't arrive at any decision beyond using my big mouth to try and raise motivation within this group of six boy cubs. I failed to use small words of encouragement with the truth varying from speaking my mind to almost walking out. A lesson I learned early in my life. My mind too slow to connect the dots in becoming a leader.

Eventually I graduated from boy cubs with one star instead of two. Later I joined another group as a boy scout and didn't fare much better. Memories from those days instilled in my mind for many years. Looking back on this period of my life now much older and mature this wasn't a good time to enjoy what I did.

In those times our family was dysfunctional. My father drank alcohol, abused his family without cause. My mother being the dutiful wife allowed him to 'get away with his behaviour' thus me being the eldest in the family failed to use my big mouth, small words, thus vary the truth about what should happen and failed also.

Word count: 520

Can An Ole Dog Turn Over A New Leaf

Certainly if an ole dog wants to. Habits form through our life by either copying some other person or continuous repeating an action to cause consequences. Like for instance, I am an alcoholic. Have been since I first experienced alcohol aged twelve years old.

For sixteen years my life revolved around alcohol either at home with my parents or together with friends. Even after I married, life never changed, in fact if anything my habit in drinking alcohol increased until my wife after five years of marriage gave me an ultimatum to either do something about my drinking or she would leave and take our children.

This became an important milestone in my life the moment she declared this ultimatum. 'Is something wrong with our marriage?' I hadn't a clue if anything was wrong.

Screaming, here words still echo in my ears, 'You come home drunk every night. Enough is enough!'

Without hesitation I replied, 'I promise from this moment onward, I will never drink again.' I remember the time and date as if this event happened yesterday - 13th January 1977 at 7.30am. Alcohol has not passed by my lips since I made this promise.

Just because this ole dog turned over a new leaf by not drinking alcohol time passed by until twenty years in the future when this ole dog totally understood 'why' this habit of drinking alcohol caused so many issues with his family, work mates and social life.

When this ole dog drank alcohol his mind relaxed. With the constant drinking this habit increased causing this ole dog to drink more alcohol until drunkenness. Aged twenty-eight years old his promise to his wife stopped the consumption of alcohol.

At first going to the hotel with his mates appeared strange to drink Clayton's Tonic mixed with soda water instead of drinking good ole beer. As time went on this ole dog didn't want for alcohol eventually weaning himself from the devil's drink. Drinking Clayton's Tonic mixed with soda water saved his marriage and life.

This event happened thirty-seven years ago. To have a strong minded wife who understood what she wanted proved many times how powerful this marriage built from those humble days of ultimatums to a deep love for one another.

Turning over a new leaf is character building and if this ole dog hadn't done so many years before; his life now wouldn't be as refreshing as at present. Looking back on his life to turn over a new leaf at twenty-eight years of age, to re-build his marriage, love his children, only goes to prove how powerful love works in any marriage. To say this ole dog is pleased he turned over a new leaf when he did, he wouldn't be where he is today without doing so.

Word count: 477

Community Spirit At It's Best

I am an International published author of sixteen books ranging from self-help to fiction. Storytelling. I'm a member of Pomona Writers Group since 2010. Without this group I wouldn't be where I am today with my writing and publishing career.

Join me in sharing my personal experiences of how I became involved with Pomona Writers Group. Prior to joining this group of dedicated writers my ambition to climb the next step in the ladder of success diminished to almost zero. At this time, I honestly thought my writing career struck a brick wall. My interest in writing became a low point until I read an article in a local magazine requesting new membership of Pomona Writers Group.

Previously I'd been a member of another group however this group dissolved. My break came the moment I walked through the door to meet strangers who became fellow writers and friends. A humble person named Jim facilitated who explains the group rules: _To live a creative life, we must lose our fears of being wrong. Creative Writing – have no other objective than to put your words down on paper._

This first meeting instilled a new beginning. If a model to use for any writing group in the universe this model used by Pomona Writers Group should be applied to all. Each member writes five hundred words on a topic chosen by the facilitator. Among fifteen members no two stories are familiar in content only the topic.

Each member reads their own story aloud with no judgement by other members. If a member decides not to read nor write their story, again no judgement. Creative writing is about writing ideas, stories, information, from the right side of our brain, our creative side, this allows the writer to express their own thoughts in whichever way they wish without condemnation from any other member.

My writing career rebooted from this first meeting to reach the next ladder of success in writing and publishing. A whole new writing experience. The words I wrote and repeated to other members became more comfortable. My writing confidence rose to heights I never believed possible.

Writing is a journey. I've been writing since 1988 when I published my first book. Throughout this time, I've experienced many upps and downs along the road of being a published author. More downs than upps. Now with support from Pomona Writers Group members the sky is the limit for my success as a published author.

As far as Community Spirit At It's Best, Pomona Writers Group shines like a beacon in the community for anyone to become what they want to be in writing and publishing. If I can succeed than anyone can succeed with support from Pomona Writers Group members. Many others can succeed at being an accomplished author and publisher. The world is their oyster.

Word count: 481

Does It Run In The Family

This topic is fascinating because after many years of research I do think a link from our DNA to connect behaviours, habits, or similar actions by family members to prove 'does it run in the family'.

For instance, a behaviour 'poor me syndrome' my father exhibited and still does when times became tough. Constantly he complained about everything surrounding his life feeling sorry for himself. When life gets tough my daughter exhibits a similar behaviour which I tend to ignore because nothing will fix the problem. My niece exhibits a similar issue when under pressure.

Many years ago I wrote a story about my grandmother's life; posted the story onto my website. In this story my grandmother when ten years old lost her mother through child birth. Nellie her youngest sister survived the ordeal. A relative raised Nellie instead of my great grandfather. My grandmother never seen her sister Nellie again.

Out-of-the-blue a couple of years ago I received an e-mail from a person explaining she was Nellie's eldest daughter and been searching for her extended family over forty years. Ninety-nine years passed since Nellie's birth. After reading my grandmother's story she contacted me. To verify her identity, she sent me sufficient evidence to substitute the link between our families.

This person is a published author which makes her my second cousin. Being a published author myself my mind went in all directions to figure out if this trait does run in the family. My grandmother when aged ten years old won a writing competition at school. After joining the dots of the journey of writing travelled through my family's DNA obviously the gift of writing either originated from my great grandparents, either one of them or their families.

Proof of evidence I can muster is: two of my family are published authors. We are the same age. Speaking for myself I've always loved writing a story. My mind clicks into place with pictures to illustrate the characters, names, what they're doing and actions.

Some other evidence to confirm 'does it run in the family' theory: most of my family work hard at their life ambitions until life steps in and fails to drive imagination of each relative to the next step.

I've witnessed this behaviour on many fronts. I have little knowledge of my ancestors only word-of-mouth handed down from generation to generation. Tall poppy syndrome arose and next most of these family members berated any success of a relative.

Knowing this knowledge, I keep my business in my own back yard to raid off any negatives from relatives. Only tell them what they need them to. Whether this family trait is expressed in other families I have no knowledge but in my family no tall poppies because each time they're shaved clearer than a baby's bum.

Word count: 479

Don't Ask – Imagine

What would you do to change the world – don't ask, imagine. Here is my story of wanting to change the world, a personal goal to help parents of teenagers improve communication with their teenage child.

This personal goal commenced in 1986 after personally experiencing teenage behaviour and parents not having the skills to improve communication with their teenager. At the time I never had a clue how to change the world with this issue until one night at college \- the penny dropped.

For the previous couple of years, I'd battled this issue failing to find an answer until my lecturer Bob O'Sullivan explained in his subject 'Behaviour' the importance of communication. I studied this subject to improve my work leadership skills when suddenly I thought, 'these same principles to help parents overcome their issues of teenage behaviour,' with a smile of delight.

My imagination went into overdrive. In my mind's eye scenes showed parents and their teenager hug, cry with joy after they solved their differences. Don't ask – imagine. My mind returned to when I ploughed through those adolescent years unable to converse with my father for fear of retribution.

Nothing changed until 1986 when the world of adolescent behaviour opened the door to my mind. Imagination flowed through with ideas to help all parents along this pathway. How did this huge event take place?

Instead of attending college at night Bob required his students to participate in a weekend workshop comprised of exercises delivered by him and a psychologist friend. Although this workshop only operated for one weekend, at the end of this time my mind filled with answered to solve this issue of parents and teenagers.

Whether fate or destiny intervened, I'm not certain but when I returned to work after the workshop a lady telephoned to ask about her daughter's behaviour. For the next hour and a half, I shared with this caller information I learned from the weekend workshop.

The following day I received a telephone call from the same caller who told me she and her daughter overcome their differences and worked out a plan for success. Power exploded inside. I wanted to jump for joy. Instantly, I placed into action a plan to work with parents and teenagers to spread-the-word about this latest discovery.

I informed Bob of this new discovery and how his subject gave me the tools to help parents with their teenage child. On hearing this news his excitement bubbled like froth from a bubble bath. 'This is a dry subject and for you to gain something from the material is a miracle', his reply filled with excitement, 'let's write a book about your discovery.'

Never in my wildest imagination did I expect this reply from a lecturer. 'Okay.' I remarked showing a blank look on my face. Neither Bob nor I had written a book before. Three years we worked together and produced a manuscript named 'Closing The Gap'. Now to publish the book.

Don't ask – imagine! Our manuscript became a published book within two years through 'The Australian Lions Drug Awareness Foundation' and distributed through Lions Clubs throughout Australia and Papua New Guinea.

My personal goal achieved. 'Don't ask – imagine'.

Word count: 543

Even Better Than The Real Thing

Last week I enjoyed a holiday reading books. Before venturing on holiday I downloaded a number of books to read on my kindle. First and foremost, book I read titled 'How To Win Lotto'. This became even better than the real thing.

Actually I thought by reading this book I asked myself a question, 'if the author had this information on winning lotto, why then would he share this valuable information with his readers.' Unfortunately, this book related to lotto played in another country. I plunged through the book trying to connect the dots with our lotto however these dots didn't join nor come close. The author did comment winning lotto was all about luck and chance. I agreed with the author. Without hesitation I deleted this book from my reader and clicked onto the next one.

Many, many years ago after recovering from depression, I needed help to 'get on with my life'. A neighbour came to visit and handed me a book 'Think and Grow Rich' written by Napoleon Hill. His comments before he left, 'tell me if you can get anything out of this book because I couldn't.' After reading the book once no bells and whistles went off in my head.

Up until this point I'd allowed life to float along like a leaf in the breeze allowing whatever happened to take in my stride. I decided to change direction with life and studied this book from cover to cover. To be precise I wrote notes in a small notebook to better understand the philosophy. After many months of recording, reading and re-reading I still didn't understand this philosophy of thinking to grow rich.

One of the books I downloaded on my kindle related to this same philosophy. The author mentioned 'Think and Grow Rich' and other books. I kept reading, reading and reading until the final page. Without going into details of the contents of this book a spark ignited in my mind to finally grasp the understanding of both novels. To break down the meaning in this philosophy of 'Think and Grow Rich' amounted to understanding the human spirit.

By thinking 'Even Better Than The Real Thing'; we can have all what our desires want to achieve by developing a thought of what we want to achieve. Beginning by a thought next is a burning desire to achieve this desire more than any other thing you've ever wanted. From this white hot burning desire self-belief is the next step to achieve.

When I read this section I baulked because I've never had sufficient self-belief to achieve the things I've wanted. Not that I've given up but at times found the going so tough my mind opened to negative instead of positive outcomes to continue my journey for success.

From my readings in this book I found a way to progress past this self-belief stage by believing in the TRUTH! If I believed in my TRUTH; I have no reason to stop from reaching what I want to achieve. I've discover this TRUTH is even better than the real thing.

Word count: 525

I Haven't Been There For Awhile

Death unfortunately surrounds us daily. Forty-four years ago my mother passed away. Her ashes fixed into a wall at Albany Creek Crematorium. Her memory fixed in my mind and heart. I haven't been there for a while to speak with her. To be honest, I've only been there a couple of times since her passing.

I don't handle death of loved ones too easily because it's difficult to know they're gone to heaven or some other place. My mother I'm certain went directly to heaven. What I find strange to understand is when I served as a police officer death became almost a daily occurrence. I dealt with death as I did any other part of my role.

I couldn't help myself but break down and cry at my mother's passing. At the time I thought, _why don't I have a problem dealing with death of another person but when it came to my mother. I broke down like a cry baby._

Something I want to share with you. On the afternoon before my mother passed away my aunt (her sister) telephoned me to tell me to get to Brisbane as fast as possible because my mother didn't have long to live. At the time I was stationed at Cunnamulla and left immediately on an eight-hour drive to Brisbane.

On approaching Toowoomba, a strong feeling came over me to stop. My mother had gone. Time one-thirty in the morning. I stopped my vehicle and slept until dawn and continued my journey to the hospital. On arrival I entered the ward to see my mother's bed empty. I asked the nurse at what time she passed and she told me one-thirty earlier that morning. I've never forgotten.

Travel forward thirty-two years, I'm seated beside a hospital bed. My wife is dying. Within moments she was gone. At least this time I had a chance to say good-bye to the woman I loved. I never had the chance to say good-bye to my mother but somehow she knew I was doing my best to be with her before she passed away.

Knowing I hadn't visited my mother for a while, my decision to cremate my wife and place her ashes at the front of my home so I never had any excuse not to speak with her daily. When I open the front door of a morning I always say, 'hello dear', and ask her to help me win lotto. She hasn't said hello back and I haven't to date won lotto.

A couple of other events which I find difficult to explain are: six months after my mother passed away she visited my bedside and asked how I was going? At the time I couldn't understand her returning to speak with me. This became the first and only time she visited.

Soon after my wife passed away I constantly received visits from her and we spoke about the family and how everything was going. A fortnight before she passed away she told me to find someone else. My reply, I would never or ever think anyone would replace her.

When I met my present partner Gwen, my wife continued to visit and speak with me and each time told me to return to Gwen and enjoy life. At the time I felt this event to be bazaar, but then when Gwen's husband who'd passed away near the time my wife passed, visited me to thank me for looking after Gwen. I started to believe in the unknown.

Honestly I can't explain how or why these events happened but I haven't been there for a while.

Word count: 611

I Will Never Give Up

I've said this many times before – I Will Never Give Up! My reason for believing this title is because in my heart and soul I will succeed with both my writing and winning lotto.

Yes, you say, 'here he goes again, winning lotto and writing books.' I've got a message for all of you when I repeat - one day I _will_ win lotto and one day will _sell_ more books than any other author. How's that for a statement.

How am I going to succeed you may ask? First if I don't have a ticket in each lotto game, I will never win, so each lotto I play twelve games. All I need are the right numbers to be drawn at the time.

As far as my writing goes, I'll write more books. For instance, I write and publish one book per year plus a book of stories written each week from Pomona Writer's Group. So far I have sixteen books written and published. In November of this year I'll have another and next year another until I can't write any longer because of ill health. I don't think lack of stories because I have many stories in my mind to write.

Marketing is the key to selling books. Daily I market on Facebook by posting a page from a book I've written to a group of almost four thousand members. Also this page is posted on another website which contains another one thousand members from Great Britain. In affect the major reason for promoting my writing daily is to spread-the-word about my brand: Pat Ritter – Author.

I'm fascinated with Facebook which touches every corner of the globe. With Facebook friends across the globe each time I post a page from the book this reaches almost four thousand members daily. According to feedback many like the page and if I haven't posted the page by a certain time a reminder is sent to my page 'where is the page for today'.

My mission to continue this marketing strategy and to write and publish one book annually to build up my present number of books so the reader has a better selection. One of my book 'The Drover' consistently sells daily, imagine if all sixteen books sold daily and hopefully with my mission clear in my mind this will eventuate.

Now for winning lotto. Hopefully the lotto Gods are looking down on my numbers. To win lotto is a game of chance however each week someone wins and this week will be my time. My friend and I have been taking the same numbers on a Saturday night lotto game since 1982 which is thirty-three years without winning a huge prize. Allan always tells me, 'we're getting closer each week'. And so we are.

I've made my mind up to continue writing books and playing lotto and focus on winning. Constantly my mind is filled with joy of seeing my winning numbers on lotto also viewing the number of sales from my books.

All I need to do now is to wait. I Will Never Give Up!

Word count: 550

I'll Go Along With Anything

My mother never committed herself to anything. Her words, 'I'll go along with anything' always came as her final answer. Growing up in a dysfunctional family, being the eldest placed me in a position to make quick decisions. Instead of living a normal teenage existence, my life became one as an early adult forced to make tough decisions in my life for survival.

For instance, at aged fifteen years old I awoke to a heated argument between my parents. Saturday, my father always arrived home drunk, abused my mother and because 'she went along with anything' her bruised eye next morning showed evidence from the night before. Her excuse, 'I ran into a door knob.'

This particular night I sprung out of bed and raced toward the noise at the front of the house. My father stood in the doorway shouting to my mother to come inside and not to wake the neighbours. I forced my way past him to seek out my mother. My father's Austin utility parked on the footpath, keys in the ignition.

After opening the driver's side door, I climbed in behind the steering wheel. Up until this time I'd never driven a vehicle or no idea of how to start the car. My father stood beside me in his drunken state and slurred, 'put your foot on the clutch, turn the key, select first gear, and drive. Find your mother.' I followed his instructions. To my surprise the vehicle came alive. I kangaroo jumped down the road.

After changing gears using the clutch and shifting the gear lever, I soon thought I had the vehicle under my control when I sighted my mother walking along the road in front of me. I stopped beside her. She opened the passenger's door and climbed into the vehicle. 'Where did you learn to drive?' Her words anxious.

'This is my first time,' I answered by pushing in the clutch, shift the gear stick and accelerated the vehicle. Suddenly for no reason the vehicle stopped. Perched on an incline the vehicle commenced to roll backward. I'd previously seen my father clutch start the ute. I pushed the clutch flat to the floor, placed the vehicle into reverse gear, withdrew the clutch and pressed the accelerator. With a jerk the back of the ute struck a small scrub after mounting the footpath. I turned the wheel towards the road until at last the vehicle came under my control.

'Stop! Let me out.' My mother shouted, 'I'd be safer at home with your father.'

With a little more practice finally the vehicle came under my control. We drove around the neighbouring streets until my mother wanted to return home to face my father. I parked the vehicle in front of the house which by this time showed no lights. We entered the house, no noise only snoring from my father in bed. I retired to bed.

Next morning my mother's words repeated in my mind, 'I'll go along with anything'.

Word count: 507

I'm Sorry Your Number's Up

Worried about when your number's up always concerns me. I have no control over when my number's up. Is someone counting the population of the world adding with a new born, subtracting when a person's number's up. This time in my life I enjoy every second of each day. How would you react if a voice echoed in your ear, 'I'm sorry, your number's up?' Would you reply to this voice, 'You'd better recount and try someone else? I'm a gambler and my number isn't up.'

I've got too much living to do and write many more books. At this stage of my life I do admit to being lucky to be alive and enjoy life. Early in my life I almost drowned whilst swimming. At twenty-one years old dodged a bullet after escaping a truck fire. Years later literary dodged another bullet when a crazed gunman pointed a M1 Carbine Rifle at my forehead and demanded I leave the premises. In the prime of my life at forty-two years of age underwent an operation to have a pacemaker implantation. Obviously my number wasn't up.

Death is final. After dealing with death many times during my career as a police officer. After Kerry Packer almost decided his number's up returned after being deceased for eight minutes told us, 'nothing's on the other side. My number couldn't have been up.'

My personal views on death. No one defines when we die. I've done the figures. My mother passed away at forty-five years old, a very young person. My wife passed away at fifty years of age, too young to die. Other relatives reached eighty. My partner's father lived until one hundred and two years and a half. We have no idea when our number is up. When your number's up, that's the end of the matter and nothing we can do to avoid death.

Take for instance my father. Next month he will turn eight-nine years of age and looks to live on forever. He abused his body through smoking, drinking plus no exercise yet he lives on to a ripe old age. Certainly in the near future his number is not up. My aunt reaches eight-seven this year. According to her she's in the prime of her life. Constantly exercising. I doubt whether her number is up in the near future.

My age is sixty-seven years old, so taking into account my father's age on my male side of the family also taking into account my aunt's age on my female side of the family, I doubt if my number will be up for many years to come. Like I mentioned in the beginning of this story, I've got to many things to do and to many books to write and publish.

Anyway I've got to witness my grandchildren grow up to adults. I remember my grandmother telling me when I was a boy, 'I live because of you.' I remember her words as if she told me them recently. Now I'm a grandparent I want to do the same and stay alive to witness my grandchildren grow up and will not listen to anyone whispering in my ear, 'I'm sorry your number's up'.

Word count: 542

It's A Dying Art

Communication. When did you sit with a friend or family member to share life experiences or have a chat over a cup of tea? Yes, communication it's a dying art. Try sharing your thoughts with a teenager. Try sharing a complete sentence with your daughter or son. What's wrong with sitting and enjoying a nice cup-of-tea and having a chat without embarrassment or intimidated.

Communication in today's society is through social media. Daily I communicate with people from across the world through Facebook. Actually, I'm amazed when communicating with these people, no faces or expressions, only read their words. Face to face we probably wouldn't share our thoughts and secrets as we do on Facebook.

Harking back to communication of teenagers. I love sharing information with my teenage grandson. We've always been able to speak to one another without abuse. Last year he came to visit wanting my advice. He didn't have a clue what his future with education held. I listened. You could've knocked me over with a feather duster with his reply of wanting to be a personal trainer.

Instead of criticising or being judgemental, I listened to his story. My mind flooded to when I was his age and the moment I told my father I wanted to become a police cadet. Foam splattered from my father's mouth spitting blubber all over me shouting, 'no son of mine is going to be a copper. They've got to swear to arrest their own mother and father.'

Returning to the present I focused on my grandson's wish to become a personal trainer offering advise on how to achieve his dream. I didn't want to repeat my father's advice more than fifty years before. I became surprised how my grandson reacted to my suggestion he needed to attend a private school to complete his studies. We left with an agreement of trust to go ahead and achieve his dreams. Wonderful to help him in this way.

Communication is a dying art for a number of reasons. When television first entered our homes in 1956 communication died in families across the world. I remember watching television whilst eating our dinner. Not a word spread among our family. In the end communication died because of television. A school teacher at the time told us television would be the ruin nature of communication in the family. How true her words became later in life?

Try to have a conversation with anyone at a restaurant when most people are texting on their telephones to each other seated across or next to them. I laugh when the different expressions on their faces, their thumbs and fingers doing the talking instead of their lips. Yes, communication is a dying art.

Word count: 461

It's A Scary Story

Nathan Patrick Ritter born at Nambour Hospital on Tuesday 28th April 2015 became my fourth grandchild. It's a scary story to imagine how his life will unfold. Lucky he has a loving family to support his every need. Soon after his birth, photographs posted on Facebook, welcomed Nathan to his new world.

Being his grandfather my mind boggled of what lay ahead for him. A totally different life than I lived. Today technology has come so far forward to when I came into this world more than sixty-six years ago. Many things have changed. Let's paint a picture of how Nathan may face the world in 2081. It's a scary story.

With fossil fuel no longer available all energy is directed by the sun. Most of the planet is relying on solar power to produce sufficient energy. Ice has melted, seasons are different, instead of four seasons, only two: summer and winter. Computerised motor vehicles drive their selves with voice activated, GPS systems to navigate their way through traffic. No longer are there service stations only depots to plug into electricity.

Mention is made to invent the space car presently being manufactured by Toyota which are the only surviving vehicle manufacturers left. Most motor vehicle are shaped similar with only three types of paint, red, white and blue. If you need a vehicle all one needs to do is to think the vehicle and presto within moments a vehicle is sent to where you are. Mental telepathy has replaced all means of communication.

Food is taken by a pill, only when the need arises. No over-weight people on earth because each government introduced diet pills for every human being thus saving millions on cost of health. Pink ones to lose a kilogram; red to increase a kilogram; purple to balance the weight.

People are living past two hundred years which gives Nathan another one hundred and thirty-four years to live. Because he studied hard in his youth his role in life is comfortable and looks forward to working another one hundred years before his retirement. He also has four grandchildren. Lucky his grandfather purchased sufficient land at Brooloo many years before to have his family live near him. Sadly, his grandfather passed on but will always be present in his heart.

Back to the present. Yes, it's a scary story to not know the future for my grandchild. I suppose my own grandfather thought a similar story when I came into the world. In those times the local baker delivered bread door to door with a horse and cart depositing the horse's manure on the road.

No such thing as a computer or television. Most families didn't own a motor vehicle. Tough times but they survived. In this day and age how would've our grandparents reacted to our modern world? It's a scary story even for them.

Word count: 483

It's All In The Mind

On Wednesday I attended my usual visit to the doctor to have a six monthly medical check-up. With our records computerised the doctor took my blood-pressure commenting to be normal. His demeanour calm. We spoke about my pacemaker and the forthcoming appointment next month to visit my cardiologist. Everything appeared normal with little difference to any other six monthly visit.

After my visit I waited for a blood test which I have each six months to _keep an eye_ on my body. I left the clinic only knowing if any issues to discuss from the blood test the doctor would recall me for consultation. Early the following morning I received a telephone call from the receptionist at the clinic advising the doctor wanted to speak with me at eleven o'clock on Friday morning.

It's all in the mind, I thought after replacing the telephone receiver. No use worrying about what the doctor needed to tell me. Probably they wanted another consultation fee. Actually I'm quite well for my age and condition. It's all in the mind raced through my thoughts. Why worry about what the doctor has to tell me, probably lacking vitamin E again. I remember the last visit when he told me I needed to sit in the sun longer daily and to take tablets to increase my vitamin E levels.

As a matter of interest I'll take you through step by step my thoughts after I received the telephone call. First I needed to relax and not worry about the visit tomorrow. Our mind reacts differently to any issue, either fight or flight. This time my thoughts exploded. I remember in 1990 I visited a doctor because my ankles swelled. Within three days I had an operation to have a pacemaker implanted.

My heart rate at the time being 17 beats per minute instead of a normal rate of 70 beats per minute. Apart from swelled ankles and a little tied, I thought everything was good. Instead I almost died. If I hadn't visited the doctor when I did I would've passed away in my sleep that same night. Lucky I visited the doctor when I did. I'm a most lucky person to live for another twenty-five years.

Yes, it's all in the mind when anytime medical is mentioned. Being through a medical condition once places one on alert when a doctor summons you to re-appear at his clinic to mention the results of a blood test. His advice may be nothing more than explaining the different test results or he may tell me something more serious. Hopefully not the latter. Whatever will be will be.

In previous years each piece of advice I have taken seriously when given by a doctor and this will not change. It's all in the mind what he can't tell me over the telephone or if not serious tell me on my next three-month appointment. Why do they hold one at ransom waiting to find these results?

Until tomorrow when I find exactly what the doctor needs to speak to me about my mind is filled with intrigue and worst of all _the unknown._ Without doubt _it's all in the mind._

Word count: 539

Just A Little White Lie

At the beginning of this year I asked my partner to select two numbers to play Monday and Wednesday lotto in hope to win $1,000,000,00. She selected number 3 and 25. I selected number 4 and 26. Each Monday and Wednesday I play lotto to win with these numbers. I use the same four numbers in the twelve game coupon. In two games use our other favourite numbers 12 and 18. Therefore if the winning numbers 3-4-12-18-25-26 appear we win lotto twice.

My partner has no knowledge of these numbers only the four numbers we selected. Say for instance these numbers are drawn to include 12 & 18. We win $2,000,000,00. Would I pay her $1,000,000,00 or $500,000.00 as she has no idea of the two games being played? Just a little white lie. What would you do?

At the beginning of our relationship we decided if either of us won lotto we'd share the winnings between us. If for instance these numbers did win $2 million dollars, the question is, would I share the whole amount or share only one prize of $1 million? This thought turns over and over in my mind constantly. In the end if this actually occurred, I would share the winnings between each of us receiving $1 million each. I couldn't live with myself if I chose the other alternative for fear of karma returning to bite me on the bum.

Life was never like this when I grew up with my mother and grandmother. They each told 'just a little white lie' many times to calm the seas of arguments between family members. Before I joined Queensland Police Service I also began to fall into the habit of telling 'just a little white lie' to protect myself.

A couple of times early in my career this habit became embedded into my mind, a bulb went off to change my manner of thinking to always tell the truth. The TRUTH is always the correct way to find any answer to any problem. Just a little white lie throws discredit onto the person telling the lie and if discovered embarrassment and non-trust issues occur.

Investigating a crime takes great skills of observation, cunning, leading to the truth of what occurred. In 1975 my life turned one hundred and eighty degrees. At the time my boss, we'll call him _Chief_ showed me how to become a detective and investigate any crime. _Chief_ didn't need to 'just tell a little white lie' to find the TRUTH about how the crime occurred. Learning from _Chief_ began my career as a true investigator to seek out the truth of any investigation.

Through his teachings I learned the correct way to become a detective and investigate many crimes with not always the right conviction but each time walk away with my head held high with the knowledge I didn't just tell a little white lie.

Word count: 494

Life Is An Open Road

Circumstances in life either make or break us. Perhaps if we look into a crystal ball to see our future could help plot our open road to life. Or, take one step at a time with each event in our future's pathway of life and wish for the best.

I reminisce on various events in my life and wonder how I actually survived to get to where I am today. Do I have a guardian angel guide me to this point in my life? Or, is my life an open road already plotted to form my destiny? Let me share some stories of who I am.

One of my personal beliefs are: our behaviours (or habits) have been passed down from our ancestors through DNA. Why I believe this theory is because regularly I identify various habits I've seen exhibited by relatives either by my children or other relatives.

My father suffers from 'poor me' syndrome. Each time life became tough, his words, 'poor me – why does this always happen to me'. My daughter exhibits a similar behaviour each time life becomes tough, reminding me of my father's actions when he exhibited 'poor me' syndrome. There is nothing I can do about changing this behaviour or helping the person.

Self-confidence drives me from within. I've achieved everything I've ever wanted in my life. From humble beginnings fighting through stages of negativity and low self-worth, somehow, I don't know how, I've climbed the ladder of success to what I want in my life.

Committing my mind to writing, publishing and selling my books; plus, living a healthy lifestyle. What else is there to achieve you may ask? I decided to retire at fifty-three years old, commit myself to writing. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think at the time this dream became a reality. I'm pleased to say life is an open road.

How did this journey begin and where will this journey go? Hopefully, onward forever until I have nothing else to give. At sixty-six years old I find my mind filled with wisdom rather than questions. To process various thoughts, my mind fills with stories ready to write for future books. Projecting my writing future at this time of my life, I've commenced book number eighteen. I write and publish one book annually thus thinking I have at least another twenty books still to write.

Life is an open road because whatever you want to achieve – YOU CAN DO IT!

Word count: 423

Meet Me In The City

My friend Allan and I have been playing Saturday night lotto since 1982. Each week we play eight numbers selected between ourselves and our children. His family consists of four whilst mine also four. Our eight numbers are: 3,10,13,21,23,26,29 & 34.

This year will mark thirty-three years since we started playing these numbers. Along the way the most we've ever won is no more than three and a supplementary which equates to about $220.00. We play for ten weeks each time costing $10.50c weekly each. When we first commenced playing these games cost only $5.00 per week. Cost has doubled and we've gone backward.

Allan is most optimistic in his quote, 'We're always one week closer to a win'. I believe him. You may think this has been a waste of money for playing the same numbers each week for many years without receiving a decent prize. In my mind Allan and my numbers appear as winners on a Saturday night lotto and the result being $550,000.00. Similar numbers have won and shown this amount or near enough.

Obviously when this major event happens I'll say to Allan, 'Meet me in the city', being Golden Casket Office at Woolloongabba to collect our prizemoney. We meet in the city, smiling, hugging, overjoyed being introduced to an official and collect our individual cheques, half each of the winnings.

What would we do then? Perhaps go for a coffee to unload our happiness at the win, or go our separate ways because he lives in Stanthorpe and I live at Brooloo. Actually, I only dream about what we'd do to celebrate our winnings. This is going to happen one day and hopefully sooner rather than in another thirty-three years.

When we initially agreed to play Saturday night lotto with these eight numbers, we worked together at Warwick. Something about us clicked to show immediate friendship and trust. To measure this trust between us neither have reneged on any payment since we started in 1982 nor given up playing our numbers.

We could've easily agreed to invest the money into shares. Allan at the time played the share market but never gained much wealth. What we've done is invest in our own ability of self-belief to win Saturday night lotto playing our eight numbers. This is our personal belief. WE WILL WIN!

Each Sunday morning after I've clicked onto the lotto website my eyes can't wait for the numbers drawn the night before. I'm so confident in winning with Allan I've used the same numbers in another lotto game 'Set for Life' in which I play our numbers. 'Set for Life' is different to playing the normal lotto game because with 'Set for Life' your selected numbers are in continuous seven daily draws with a win of $20,000.00 per month for 20 years. So you have a chance each night for seven nights for your numbers to be drawn.

This game has only been playing since 7th August this year and one person has already won first prize. Imagine when my numbers appear. I can't wait. However, until then I'll continue to play the Saturday night lotto with my friend Allan and when and not if, we win he'll be more than pleased to meet me in the city to collect our prizemoney.

Word count: 557

My Holiday Home

Built soon after World War 1 in 1919 a home at Bryon Bay faced the beach had seen better days. Rusty roof, paint peeling from the exterior, no electricity. Our family poor. Dad worked on the railway as a fettler, mother worked whenever she obtained work.

In 1960 my father asked my sisters and I if we wanted to holiday at Byron Bay in our own holiday home. Our minds filled with delight when he told us. During one of his drunken nights at the hotel he'd wagered a bet with a person for the chance to holiday at Byron Bay in a holiday home by the ocean and won the bet.

Excited to leave our home town Roma and travel to another place to live for six weeks became a dream. After showing us a photograph displaying our holiday home my mind exploded into visions of visiting a new place especially close to the ocean. We lived in the bush and never before seen the ocean.

Visions flooded through my mind on viewing this photograph of an aged house. Built shortly after World War 1 _if only the walls talked they'd have much to tell_. My imagination went wild with visions at the time this house built would've been one of the modern day homes in the area. Instead now through neglect would probably be one of the worst holiday homes.

Often our father promised to take us children on school holidays and never kept his side of the bargain. Was he playing with our minds again? We wished more than anything this time he carried out his promise. I wanted to find more about where we were spending our vocation and visited the library. I read how far Byron Bay was from our home plus the journey would be by rail, first travelling on The Westlander to Brisbane and change over to New South Wales line to travel south to Byron Bay.

Days went into weeks with time becoming closer to our holiday. Over the previous weeks my mind filled with ideas to what my sisters and I would do when we arrived at the holiday home. Our holiday due to commence in the second week of December which came and went. Nothing my father told us made sense only he let us down again.

Instead of fulfilling our dreams of our holiday at Byron Bay he waited until the final moment to tell us not going to be a holiday and we would remain home and enjoy our surroundings. We didn't get to visit Byron Bay or any other place apart from the town we lived. This wasn't to be the last time our father promised us something he couldn't deliver.

Word count: 460

My Last Confession

Alas I'm sorry to admit I've never given a confession in my life. If for a reason, I did confess my sins I'm afraid to admit I've been no saint. When do we need to confess our sins?

While growing through childhood I attended church when the Minister drilled into our tiny minds the importance of 'doing the right thing'. If we didn't, instead of ascending to heaven, we went directly to the fires of 'hell' after we die. I continue to believe this to be so. Therefore, I try and do the 'right thing' whenever I can.

This hasn't always been the case. At twelve years old I experienced my first beer. I became hooked. Aged twenty-eight years old I drank my last drink of alcohol. Why stop you may ask. At the time drinking alcohol affected my marriage and family. My wife threatened to leave me and take our two children if I didn't do something about my drinking. I promised her I would never again drink alcohol and I kept this promise. This date is drilled into my mind, 13th January 1977.

Some may say this act showed love toward my wife and family. Too right. We'd been married five years and through those years I depended on alcohol to 'get through the day'. Something needed to give and I'm pleased my wife gave me this ultimatum to 'make me wake up to myself'. At the time I never realised my problem with alcohol.

Although I stopped drinking alcohol my habits never changed. I tried hard to understand **why** I drank alcohol; lost control, not only of your mind but your blander. Yes, many times I wet myself, ashamed to admit to these acts of disgust. My mind told me because I had no control over alcohol; alcohol had control over me.

Life deals us a handful of cards when we're born and to play each card depends on when we decide to play them. This card of a promise to 'never drink alcohol again' became my trump card. Instead, my behaviour never changed only the non-drinking became only part of the problem.

When I drank I made a pig of myself by drinking until the alcohol flowed from my ears and nose. By not drinking alcohol I needed to find another way of filling in the gap and time when I drank. This became my mission in life.

Throughout school my grades were never anything to write home about. I decided to put my mind to study. Study replaced my obsession to drinking alcohol. I studied and studied until the cows came home. In fact, I reached a point to discover I wanted to learn as much as possible. In other words, I switched addictions.

Life tumbled along a steady stream until one day I almost visited the pearly gates or the fires of hell. My heart stopped and a pacemaker implanted. For the following couple of years, I fell into a BIG BLACK HOLE which proved because of the crazy life I lived I became locked away until I escaped to again be useful to society.

How life changes. Out of the blue I became an alcohol and drug counsellor to help those 'when the penny dropped'. I studied everything about alcoholism and other drugs to help those who couldn't help themselves.

The light came on in my mind after twenty years since I swallowed my last alcoholic drink to discover, 'to thyself be true'. This message late in life became an anthem. For twelve months I worked harder on my recovery then I'd ever worked on anything in my life. I learned to be true to myself as well as others.

This discovery threw off all of 'life's shackles' which previously held me from doing what I wanted in life. From these discoveries of my new life I began to write and publish my work with confidence and zeal in a hope to help others who've experienced similar events in their life. Finally, I discovered my true destiny.

Word count: 680

My Night With The Stars

Once in a lifetime something happens which stays in our memories forever. At the time I turned eighteen years old when St George football team consisting of mainly current Australian players came to Brisbane to play our local Brothers team.

My cousin partnered a St George player and invited me to attend a function at Waterloo Hotel in Fortitude Valley to meet the players. I couldn't wait. Being in a room speaking with Ken Irvine, one of the greatest wingers of all time, almost blew my mind into wonderment to realise this dream. His demeanour, a credit to influence me onward with my career in football. A true gentleman.

Billy Smith, Australian half-back and most courageous player ever to play the game. I reminded him of the game Australia against the old foe England when he suffered a compound fracture of his right leg. A bone sticking out covered in blood when he continued to play on to win the test. Total courage.

Next Reg Gasnier, a centre who I studied and placed my position on playing similar to his game. Unfortunately, my standards were way below his standards. John Raper, the best cover defender of all time tested me with his drunken behaviour whilst Graeme Langlands, the Australia fullback also displayed behaviour I thought outlandish.

Friday night St George played our Brothers team which Brothers won. I couldn't believe the score. This became the final time of my night with the stars. I followed their progress for some time but each time my memory reflected on my night with the stars I swore I didn't want to be like them and to be myself. To each their own.

Over the years I followed with keenness the course of these famous rugby league players often thinking if I'd attained their level of competence in playing for Australia would I carry on like some of them did on my night with the stars. I never found out because this never happened. I soon stopped playing rugby league to continue on with my life.

Rugby league is the greatest game of all however from watching the players thump into one another weekly has lost the shine of skill and ability for players to play rugby league compared to the game played in the sixties when the likes of Langlands, Raper, Gasnier, Irvine and Billy Smith graced our footy field with skill far beyond those players displayed today.

Although my night with the stars occurred many years ago the memories still remain as if this event took place last night. I can still listen to Ken Irvine inviting me to try out for St George to make the grade, unfortunately my memory reflects on the behaviour of Raper and Langlands to show me I never wanted to be a part of this era of immortals to the game of rugby league.

Word count: 491

Mysterious Ways

What happens when everything you try to do doesn't turn out the way you want. In some form of mysterious ways something happens to stop you realising your dream. Is fate or some other intervention stopping you from growing to reach your true status?

All through my life when I've reached this point – I believe now to be self-belief, I tended to stop and go into a different direction to allow the Gods of fate direct my destiny. Self-belief is something I've found difficult to climb over to reach the next section of success. Honestly, I didn't believe in myself sufficient enough and regrated later I never finished the task.

Self-belief is believing in your own ability in whatever you do. Henry Ford wanted to build a motor vehicle and to use his words, _to belt the world._ Henry fulfilled his dream by believing in his own ability, being consistent and persistent until he achieved his goal.

Recently I published my seventeenth book world-wide. This book has taken me seven years to complete which in itself is a long time because I normally write and publish one book each year. This book is the story of a person who fought against all odds in his life starting with being an orphan aged seven years old.

Aged twenty-eight years old he became a Prisoner of War in Changi imprisoned by the Japanese during World War 11 for three and a half years building Burma Railway Line. After the war he returned to Australia to his wife and lived on successfully until one hundred and two and a half years old. For any human being to live his life is nothing short of mysterious ways of survival.

In 2007 he shared his life story with me. I wanted to write and publish his life story immediately. He agreed. After the second draft completed his eldest daughter caused so much riff in the family because her father told me his life story which she had no knowledge of her father's life until she read the second draft. The book stopped from being published to save face with the family especially his daughter.

Move on eight years through these mysterious ways after the death of this person I made up my mind to complete his book and publish world-wide. Instead of gaining approval from the family I went ahead and completed the manuscript for publication. The date I decided to publish his book Remembrance Day 2015: 11/11/2015.

How do these mysterious ways work I wondered? Now the published book became live to the world I happened to retrace my journey with the subject because before I commenced this book we signed an agreement to use his intellectual property to be published in the book. When I looked at the date on this agreement signed on 11/11/2007 exactly eight years from when we first made the agreement. Life does work in mysterious ways.

Word count: 494

Out Of Sight

_Out of sight – out of mind_. _Children should be seen and not heard._ How often did my grandmother say these words? She shouted these words to us children when adults spoke at the kitchen table. We cringed in fear. Now I think back to those times she taught us much about good manners. I can never thank her enough.

Unfortunately, in today's society children are seen when adults are speaking. Each time I hear a four-year-old speak their mind, with their parents' permission, I shudder to think how society has changed from hidden children to outlandish children who can do no wrong. And the adults listen to their child's advice.

Is this new age better for society? With Facebook and other social media everyone speaks their mind. How times have changed. When I was a boy we didn't have any power to speak in front of adults. If you happened to utter a word, instantly you were told to be out of sight, adults are talking.

In our modern society social rules are different. I'm puzzled how modern parents allow their children to participate in adult conversation. Has the child suddenly developed a maturity to understand life as an adult? Being in this position casts a shadow on my younger life.

I began learning the difference between adult talk and child talk early in my life. Having a stern grandmother helped to understand _children should be seen and not heard_. Did this protect us from learning from an early age? I doubt what my grandmother did would've changed anything in today's society.

Raising my own children, I used a similar method as taught by my grandmother _children should be seen and not heard._ Whether this out of sight method helped my children grow is evidenced by not exhibiting the same in their own children. My three years old grandson wanted to be in a conversation between his father and me. I tried to tell him to 'get out of sight'. He wanted to stay and started crying. His father placed him on his lap and nurtured him until he got his own way. My blood boiled and not a thing changed these circumstances.

Being a grandparent allows me to hand back my grandchildren whenever I want to. I'm afraid if I kept them to teach discipline and good manners they would be instantly out of sight and never return. I enjoy their voice calling, 'Poppy. I'm here Poppy.' So to keep the peace and be part of my family I swallow my tongue and place in my mind out of sight - out of mind.

Word count: 444

Paris, April 4. It's Raining.......

Water poured over my shoes causing dampness through to my bones. Cold seeped through my clothing. I carried a pillow. You may ask why I carried a pillow. On April 4 in Paris each year the world comes together for a pillow fight. This became my tenth year of competition.

In years gone by I've celebrated many wins to become the champion of 'pillow fight' competition. Hundreds of competitor's register for this event from across the world. I'm the champion 'pillow fighter' and need to defend my title each time I win. This year is no different.

Range of competitors from America, Russia, Australia, England and most other countries in the world meet on April 4 annually in their cities and towns to fight their way through the various levels of competition. Last year my biggest competitor a Russian, huge as a house with self-determination I fought to the end thus becoming the Champion Pillow Fighter of the world.

Because I won the competition in Paris my return to defend the title I travelled from Australia to France. You may think a pillow fight, a simple game amongst adults is not taken serious. The person who initially came up with the idea to save other human beings from death.

In today's society many people sit behind a computer, thus doing no exercise to improve their health. I must admit to becoming one of those people. Out-of-the-blue I decided to compete for this acclaimed title of being 'The Greatest Pillow Fighter In The World'. To accomplish this dream I needed to 'get fit' and fight my way as a contender to become fit enough to win the title.

In my defence my weight being an issue to lose more weight each year. Over the past decade my weight fell off by the kilogram each February when training for this 'pillow fight' started only to return to the original weight after this event in April. Training should be a continuum throughout the year only I returned to my lazy habits after each fight.

This year is different. I'm taking this 'pillow fight' more serious. Strategies to beat the hell out of my opponent. Make certain my pillow is full and solid so when striking the opponent, they've been hit. Self-belief standing on the dais at the end of the fight and being handed the championship trophy.

'Wake up, wake up. You're hitting me with your pillow.' My partner shouted. 'Stop!'

My eyes opened my partner holding her arms in front of her face shouting at me to stop hitting her with my pillow. I stopped to realise this had been a dream. I never left my bed. How did I ever dream about 'pillow fights'? Must have been a relapse from my childhood. How did this dream happen?

Word count: 474

Slow Train To Nowhere

Thinking of this topic bought my mind returned to a time much younger than I am now. At twenty-one years of age I gained employment on a property west of Cunnamulla in south-west Queensland. Boarding the Westlander at Roma Street Brisbane the train took twenty-four hours to reach the end of the line at Cunnamulla.

I boarded the mail truck to journey the remainder of the distance. Excitement filled my mind with the adventure I was about to embark upon. Train travel in those times stopped at almost every station along the line. Travelling from Charleville to Cunnamulla on the final leg of the journey took longer than the time from Roma to Charleville. In other words, I travelled a slow train to nowhere.

Wide open spaces, sightings of kangaroos, emus and an abundant of birdlife captivated my soul. Escape from the city to work in the bush with no idea of what I would experience. Speaking with other passengers similar in age to myself they also escaped the city to try their luck working on a cattle or sheep property to enhance their skills. My work different to them; I worked with machinery.

Not only this being my first employment on finalising my apprenticeship of a fitter and turner but never before worked in the bush. I laugh at the memories of the mail truck driver who when we crossed the Warrego River said, 'once you cross the Warrego, you'll cross the river many times'. His gaff almost told me he was kidding. His words truth, for many years afterwards I crossed the Warrego River more times than I care to remember.

Arriving at the property being one million acres in size, to my surprise I became the only station mechanic for the whole property. Shock overtook me when told by the manager's wife, 'welcome, you are our new mechanic, hope you stay longer than the last one.' A comforting thought.

Little did I realise at the time many years before my arrival my grandfather worked on the same property and installed the overhead shearing equipment in the shearing shed. This became evident on seeing his name branded on a beam. The year 1926 the same year my father was born.

Six months I worked on this property to find everything worked well as long as I did my job correctly which I made certain I did. Luck became my partner because many times I called upon my partner to help me with issues I found difficult. Like one time when the shearing season commenced, the motor attached to the shearing shed stopped when the shearers had their smoko break.

Ten minutes became like ten hours to restart the motor. After checking everything, I closed my eyes and prayed for the motor to start. If not, the shearers would walk out on strike and I'd be to blame. Prayer enclosed my mind to the almighty when I pulled on the rope to start the motor. After a splutter, smoke billowed from the exhaust and erupted into action.

No matter how regularly I travelled in the Westlander from Brisbane to Cunnamulla was always a slow train to nowhere.

Word count: 535

So We Beat On, Boats Against The Current, Borne Back, Ceaselessly Into The Past.

More than two years ago my daughter with her teenage son left the city to live in the country on my property. Across from my home they live in a huge shed which I converted into living quarters. Living in the country is totally different to living in the city. Another life. I should know for I've lived in the country more than a decade.

Looking back to the first time I moved from the city to live where I am now, every day has been a blessing in disguise. Shortly after moving to my home, my son decided to move here also. He lives with his family nearby. In fact, I couldn't be happier than have my family around me. This wasn't always the case.

Family are more important than anything else in the world. Love is most important when it comes to family. Decisions to have my family live nearby never a dream I had when they were children. Actually the thought never crossed my mind. What is strange to understand and accept is both my children live within shouting distance. I have access to my grandchildren.

When they visit I hear 'Poppy' echoed through the breeze to know Taylor and Cooper calling to visit for their biscuit or lollies. I meet them at the back door with the biscuit tin in one hand and the lollies bottle in the other. They choose whichever they want. Cooper normally takes one of each and leave with their goodies. How many grandparents have the delight of carrying out this deed for their grandchildren?

I also drive my teenage grandson to the bus stop at a nearby town for him to attend school. In the afternoon I pick him up to return home. His mother works afternoon shifts. What does it matter if I carry out these grandparent tasks daily? At times I prepare his lunch when his mother sleeps in after a hard night at work. Another chore ticked off to Pop!

So we beat on with our lives most times rowing our boats against the current. I'm delighted to borne back to my parent's life after we left home never to return. As if time stood still my thoughts ceaselessly sink into the past to recognise the fortitude my parents had by allowing us to leave the nest and venture on our own to independence.

Am I wrong to want my children and grandchildren around me to keep an eye of their progress through life? They do live their own individual lives and I share with you delight when my son visits, his words, 'got time for a coffee'. Or my daughter who hasn't changed since her childhood always wanting to share her life with her father.

Life is too short not to enjoy these wonderful moments with love and trust. Although my grandson is fifteen years old whilst the other grandchildren are three and two, I often revert to when I was a teenager (without the latest technology) how my parents and grandparents accepted many of my mannerisms. Children today are totally different to when we were a child battling each day to know what our future held. We turned out right so there is no reason for our children and grandchildren not to be the same.

So we beat on through our lives, rowing boats against the current, borne back to see where we originated from, ceaselessly into the past hoping our future will bring joy and happiness we so richly deserve.

Word count: 602

Swansong

Speaking of swansong, recently on television broadcasted our tennis great Lleyton Hewitt will be playing his swansong in the up and coming Australian Open in January 2016. When Lleyton began his tennis career, a fresh faced youth from Adelaide, I would never had imagined he would go on to be one of the best tennis players Australia has ever produced. His guts and determination showed through more times than I care to remember.

Looking back on the first time he played, comments about his leaving school to turn professional in the world of tennis almost unbelievable. Aged fifteen years and eleven months he qualified for Australian Open. Within five years he rose to be number one in the world of tennis, a huge achievement. Remember those five set matches which played until early hours of the morning. His toughness to never give up playing against high class players.

With his marriage to Bec Cartright, an actress from the popular television programme Home and Away together with his family they toured the world supporting Lleyton wherever he played. Prior to his marriage to Bec his parents travelled with him in support to reach heights never believed possible.

After his swansong; what lies ahead for Lleyton Hewitt? Replacing Pat Rafter as Davis Cup Captain to encourage the up and coming Australian Tennis Players to better represent their country. Lleyton always stated to represent your country is a higher honour than being number one in tennis. Hopefully he can instil some of his work ethics in those young Australians presently playing the tennis circuit to represent their country with pride as he has done so over the past years.

Lleyton is a champion tennis player who unfortunately in my opinion has gone past his _used by date._ A little like the boxer who couldn't put away the gloves and wanted that last bout before he finished. Lleyton is that ole boxer who wants this last bout at 2016 Australian Open. Honestly he doesn't need to prove anything more because he's already proven all he needs to show to be an Australian champion.

Something for the future in the next few years would be Lleyton's ability to transfer his skills onto our younger Australian players and point them in a similar direction to which he's already travelled in the hope Australian tennis will flourish under his leadership.

Word count: 397

TAKEN FROM A DREAM

Forty-two years old, career, ambitious, keen to learn more, my world crashed. Rushed to hospital with little time to live. Within three days a pacemaker implanted. My world fell into darkness.

Three days I sat on a lounge chair not knowing future direction to my life. A dark cloud enveloped my mind. I couldn't awaken from this nightmare. My only thoughts, 'my heart almost stopped. What will I do?'

To escape this big black hole, I needed to 'get a grip' on my situation. Pleased to be alive. I couldn't return to work for six weeks. Finally, after three days I rose from the chair made my way to the bathroom, looked in the mirror not recognizing the person.

I was alive which is a good thing however to live with a pacemaker pushed my mind over the edge of reality. Gathering my thoughts, I shaved, showered and tried to 'get a grip' on life. 'I can get through this'. I pushed my mind to understand 'must be life after a heart problem'.

Six weeks later I returned to work which wasn't the same before I left. My workload decreased. When I asked my Boss about work his comment, 'I don't want you to do too much, because of your heart.' Unbeknown to my Boss his words a knife through my heart. A decision needed to be made about my future.

My career finished. Twenty years down the drain. I retired on medical grounds. What would I do for the rest of my life? Job security became the most important issue to keep my sanity. I needed to work and have secure employment to support my family.

By chance a position for an alcohol and drug counsellor appeared in the newspaper. I applied for the position and commenced a new career totally opposite to the one I worked for the previous twenty years. After a couple of years working in this field the dark cloud of depression vanished and I was me again full of ambition and zeal to learn more about this craft of counselling.

This took me into study mode once again. One area which always puzzled me 'how do others succeed'?

My dream to become successful. I read books ranging from self-help to true life stories. One particular story took my fancy, The Life of Mahatma Gandhi. My fascination with this person became apparent reading his book. I hoped some magical words popped out to influence **my** life. One person spreading-his-word through twenty million people? I wanted the same.

On the final page of his book these words made sense, 'truth is GOD! Whatever your TRUTH is - that is GOD!' These words had a profound bearing on my life from then on. I couldn't release them from my mind. My truth is GOD! What I believe is the truth is GOD!

To this day I always treasure these words written by Mahatma Gandhi to influence my world in always looking at the TRUTH in everything I do. To treat others as I want to be treated myself with honesty and trustworthiness. I recently discovered a quote which I display on my wall in the office:

Respect is Earned

Honesty is Appreciated

Trust is Gained

Loyalty is Returned.

Word count: 548

Terror At The Supermarket

Growing up in a country town a corner store known as the general store became the forerunner to the modern supermarket. Aged twelve years old I worked on Saturday behind the counter serving customers. In those days' customers handed an order which you filled and wrote the order in a book. At the end of each month the store owner mailed out these orders to be paid.

Today the shopper walks behind a trolley, select their goods, walks to a checkout counter, the goods buzzed through a scanner and tallied immediately. Payment made before taking delivery of the purchased goods. How times have changed. Children accompanying their parents at the General Store were always kept under control by their parents and if they behaved themselves the shop owner more than likely gave each a gift of an all-day sucker.

In today's world of supermarket shopping with children, terror at the supermarket, reigns supreme. For instance, customers select their groceries from shelves, place them into a trolley. With two young children by their side the parent uses patience and at times discipline to stop their child from taking control of the shopping, 'look mummy, can I have this?' calls the child taking the item from the shelve and placing it into the trolley.

At the counter their mother finds more than she wanted and needs to make a decision to either place the items chosen by the child back onto the selves, or in most times pay for the extra items. If they try and return the item, screams from the child erupt as if they're being murdered, stamping of feet, crying, sobbing, and temper explodes from the child. To stop the terror at the supermarket the item is purchased.

Rules in today's society stop parents disciplining their child in public. With mobile phones active at all times, a concerned shopper videos any disciplinary action taken by the parent against their child and immediately post the video on YouTube for the world to see. We live in a different world today than ever before.

Terror at the supermarket will never abate because children today have no discipline or control by their parents. Walk into any supermarket where children are with their parents and witness _terror in the supermarket._

Word count: 385

The Day The Pension Died

With Anzac Day approaching I wonder what our soldiers would think the present Federal Treasurer decided to stop paying the pension? More than likely they'd turn over in their graves. One hundred years ago on 25th April they fought for Australia so their children and grandchildren would benefit.

Along came World War 11 with more fighting by Australians to make future citizens free from invasion. At the end of the war Baby Boomers counted for more Australians born after the war than at any other time in history. Now seventy years after this war these Baby Boomers have retired from the workforce with a majority relying on the government pension to survive.

A saying amongst these Baby Boomers, 'I've worked most of my life, paid my taxes and now in my retirement need something in return'. Perhaps this may be true for many pensioners of today. With interest rates the lowest in history, unemployment at an all-time low, revenue increased by companies across the country, you'd think our Federal Treasurer had knowledge of the daily cost of living to support each Australian above the age of sixty-five years old.

Joe Hockey may need a lesson on how to live on the pension, then his opinion may change and instead of the government throwing more money to overseas countries increase the aged pension to have their citizens live a more enriched life. Honestly, I don't think this would eventuate.

A couple of decades ago I witnessed my uncle retire from the workforce when he turned sixty years old. He started work at fifteen years old. He couldn't receive the aged pension for another five years. At the time interest rates gave him sufficient money to support his wife until interest rates dropped and found life a struggle to live day to day.

At the time he spoke to me about planning for my retirement which I thought perhaps a good idea. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever consider retirement at that time and didn't think too far ahead. I'd had the same employment for over twenty years and think nothing would change.

Finally, he arrived at sixty-five years and obtained the aged pension. His lifestyle changed dramatically from living on a wage to collecting his pension. Instead of travelling which they did continuously they remained at home and dug a hole of despair. I couldn't do anything about their lifestyle or finances.

I did take his advice twenty years ago and placed plans into place to live comfortable in my retirement which I do. Before I retired I worked out my needs and not wants, decided to live within my means. I'm one of the lucky ones.

My aunt who is eight-seven years old relies on her aged pension to survive. If for some reason this pension was stopped, honestly. What would happen to her. She would be cared for by her family.

Let us pray Joe Hockey never kills the pension for many Australian rely on not only the money each fortnight also the benefits of free travel, medical, and other benefits. Perhaps he should reduce other funding hand-outs instead of attacking the individual who kept this country financially viable whilst the Baby Boomers were in the workforce.

Word count: 549

The Gold Top

Allow me to share a story which happened in my younger days working as a detective in the Queensland Police Service. At the time my position being with the Stock Investigation Squad. Our role to investigate all reported stolen stock in South-East Queensland.

Stationed in Brisbane we drove a Toyota Utility. This particular time a brown coloured mare reported stolen from the owner's property at the rear of Inala, a Brisbane western suburb.

With my trusted off-sider we drove through the back blocks of Inala. Being in 1974 the outer Brisbane suburbs mainly bush. Searching through the various properties we drove upon two young fellows picking mushrooms. At first I thought they picked them to take home for their mother to cook. The thought never crossed my mind they broke the law.

My astute off-sider wanted me to stop and speak to these young gentlemen to ask them about picking mushrooms. I looked at him in astonishment and asked, 'why do we need to speak with them? They're only picking mushrooms probably to take home for their mother to cook.'

He laughed and replied, 'they're picking mushrooms. Gold Top mushrooms. They're Illegal.'

We stopped and at the same time they stopped picking mushrooms, each held a couple of bags filled to the top with mushrooms. My off-sider walked up to where they stood and said, 'we're from the police. What have you got in the bags?'

First fellow replied with a sheepish look on his face, 'mushrooms'.

After further conversation each admitted to picking 'Gold Top' mushrooms for their own use. They mixed them with coffee to hallucinate. Both returned with us to Oxley Police Station. We took turns in interviewing one person at a time and I must admit each answered our questions honestly both admitting to picking the mushrooms for their own use. Neither my off-sider nor I understood what charges to lay against these two fellows for we didn't identify mushrooms, particularly Gold Tops or the appropriate charge.

After having the mushrooms examination by a Government Botanist who declared them 'Gold Top' variety scientific name 'psilocybe cubensis' we promptly asked another detective what to do. He explained we charge them with possession of a prohibited substance namely 'mushrooms'.

After anyone is arrested on an offence they are taken to a watch-house and charged, fingerprinted and photographed. These two young people were charged with the offence. Before they appeared in court to answer the charge they obtained legal advice to which they pleaded 'not guilty'.

Our day in court finally arrived when the case was set for hearing before a Magistrate. Finally, after giving evidence of finding these two young fellows in possession of ' psilocybe cubensis' they each were found guilty by the Magistrate.

This became my first and final case I experienced with mushrooms or more their scientific name ' psilocybe cubensis'. I'll never forgot the day we drove upon these two young fellows picking mushrooms or more to their correct name 'The Gold Top' mushrooms.

Word count: 507

The Island

Sir Richard Branson owner of Makepeace Island near Noosa recently visited Australia and in an interview he told the reporter he purchased this island for his wife. Monique Wright asked him how he became a wealthy person. Richard explained as a child when attending school, he couldn't understand writing on the blackboard.

His comment, 'I failed at school because I couldn't understand anything I needed to learn.'

'How have you become a wealthy businessperson?' Monique asked.

'What I did know I worked hard to understand how to become successful.' He went on to explain his thoughts focused on what he was good at and gave the things he wasn't good at to ones who knew how to make it work. His passion in life to 'love' people. His smile exploded across the television screen displaying a set of clean pearly white sparkling teeth.

Monique recalled a number of years before she interviewed him on a boat in London when Richard picked her up bodily and threw her over the side into the water. He soon followed. After reboarding the craft, they continued their interview. Monique reminded him of the incident which he clearly remembered.

'I love adventure.' His comment.

Monique challenged him to sing a song after handing him a song sheet. Richard clearly sung the words of 'like a virgin'. Her comments after the song, 'is your airline Virgin?' His brand smile answered in the affirmative.

Makepeace Island is a sanctuary of seclusion upstream from Noosa. This heart shaped island resort can hold up to twenty castaways offering a unique fusion of luxury together with peace and tranquillity beyond ones dreams as long as one can pay the expenses.

Word count: 284

The Lone Diner

Each night for the past twenty years a man sat at the same table in the local restaurant to enjoy his meal. Staff referred to him as **The Lone Diner.** What became a local joke no one understood this lone diner except his presence nightly at the restaurant.

Gossip among the staff members described him as a recluse. Nightly he ate the same meal – steak and vegetables followed by strong black coffee. Gloria, a regular waitress began a conversation with **The Lone Diner** to find out where he lived. All she received _local._

After each meal he left to return the following night repeating this habit night after night. His dress code, shirt and trousers worn each time he entered and paid his account with cash. **The Lone Diner** became a mystery. Gloria wanted to find more out about this mysterious person but how?

One night after **The Lone Diner** finished his meal and left the restaurant Gloria followed him. She stealth behind him hiding behind buildings watching and waiting following this mysterious person to where he lived. A row of shops along the main street **The Lone Diner** walked within Gloria's sight when suddenly he disappeared.

Where did he go? Thought Gloria. She's followed him along the row of shops and within a blink of an eye he was gone. She walked and looked in through each window in hope to find **The Lone Diner** but to no avail. She returned to the restaurant told her fellow waitresses, she'd lost him.

Without giving up, Gloria followed **The Lone Diner** each night afterwards and each time lost him near where she did the previous nights. Her determination to find where he disappeared became an obsession. Many times during his meal Gloria tried to speak with **The Lone Diner** and each time ignored. Her frustration built to a degree of not knowing what to do next in her bid to understand more about this individual.

Gloria continued her obsession to follow **The Lone Diner** after he left the restaurant until one evening she walked past a shop window suddenly her heart almost pumped from her chest when a hand covered her mouth, 'why are you following me?' Came a guff sound.

'Who you are?' She attempted to force the words.

'Why?'

'I want to understand.'

He released his hold, turned and disappeared. Gloria stood still wondering where **The Lone Diner** had gone. Her mystery continued unsolved.

Word count: 412

The Man Nobody Knows

'Happy birthday daughter.'

'Thank you Dad.' She kissed me on the cheek and gave me a hug.

'What have you planned for your birthday?' My thoughts travelled back in time forty-two years to her birth at Stanthorpe hospital. Apart from marrying her mother, birth of my daughter became the greatest accomplishment in my life.

'Since my birthday lies on 'Homeless Week' I thought to help homeless people and camp with others to show how easy our life is. Their lives are tough Dad.' She told me.

My chest swelled with pride to think my daughter thought of helping the homeless. The huge number of homeless trying to survive one moment at a time in their lives. 'I'm proud of you for thinking of the homeless on your birthday.'

Only last evening on television the man nobody knows spoke of his issue being homeless. If Saint Vincent DePaul with other organisations didn't help the man nobody knows where would people end up. Huge numbers of homeless sleep in their vehicles; others take refuge on anyone's couch whilst many sleep under bridges or wherever they find a place to lay their head for the night.

Closest I'd ever witnessed homeless people whilst working at Biala, an alcohol and drug clinic. Daily homeless people walked through the front door to be assessed for admission. Many the man nobody knows entered this clinic for refuge and three daily meals, warm bed for seven days and return to living on the streets.

Initial shock took over my thoughts thinking how many the man nobody knows walked Brisbane streets without a home to return many separated from their families, unemployed and living on social security. Changes within seven days of withdrawal made the man nobody knows as an identity someone should know. Alas, after six weeks this same man nobody knows returned for another week of detoxification. The cycle continued unless the man nobody knows took control of his life on the road to recovery. Some did succeed whilst many others continued on their road to destruction.

I'll share my experience of the man nobody knows who entered the clinic on a Friday afternoon dressed in a tailored suit, wearing a tie and looked to be a prominent business man. His family left him and had nowhere to live.

The man nobody knows successfully recovered from detoxification on the first week, however, one month later he returned for a second detoxification. T _he penny never dropped_ in all my attempts to help this person. After six months his health deteriorated to such a degree his attempt at recovery would never happen. Before entering detoxification for the first time his occupation an engineer to a large city company.

The man nobody knows finally discovered his health would never recover and his visits to the clinic stopped forever. How many others in our society find themselves in a similar position to The Man Nobody Knows?

Word count: 494

The Pagan Plot

Something has concerned me for some time which I find difficult to truly understand. We all believe Baby Jesus born in a manger on Christmas Day on 25th December two thousand and fifteen years ago. Seven days from this event is 1st January to celebrate the beginning of a New Year. The question is: if our baby Jesus born on 25th December two thousand and fifteen years ago became the beginning of time. Then why do we celebrate 1st January as New Year? Was this the Pagan Plot?

We live our lives by date and time. Has this time and date been a Pagan Plot to fool the world into thinking two thousand and fifteen years ago this 25th December everything changed from the norm? Actually I haven't an answer to this issue. Daily I look at the calendar for the correct day and date. Then follow my day by checking the time.

This Pagan Plot is huge to imagine for the past two thousand and fifteen years we have been fooled into thinking each date and time is accurate to each of us. Time changes from country to country because the earth takes three hundred and sixty-five days to travel around the sun. Time is also of essence because earth rotates every twenty-four hours showing night and day. These are true facts.

Our aboriginal peoples have been on this earth for over four and a half thousand years as proven by their paintings found in Australia. Did GOD create human beings or did we evolve after the BIG BANG? Is this The Pagan Plot?

Growing from a child I learned about the birth of Jesus and three wise men. Great story told by many storytellers since HIS birth. Having this story drilled into my mind since childhood has only been a couple of years ago I thought about the evolution of time and how human beings live on earth.

In the total scheme of events only two theories exist. One which we've been taught from a young age to believe GOD created earth and man. Actually HE took seven days to create earth and rested on the Sabbath. Now our scientific people have discovered evidence of man being ancient beyond years they can't explain.

Take the story of the chicken or the egg. Which came first. My birth proves I became a human being after my parents conceived me. We read about GOD creating Adam and Eve. Is Pagan Plot solved how we got here on earth?

Another way to deal in solving this issue. Allow everything to happen and let's not worry about The Pagan Plot direct us into a different direction. We are here to enjoy life, to love our neighbours, to love one another and if this became The Pagan Plot nothing we can do. Let's live our lives in harmony and enjoy each moment of everyday. Whatever happens happens. We have no control over The Pagan Plot.

Word count: 497

The Trouble Maker

My wife always told me wherever we lived she'd present me with a huge wooden spoon for constantly becoming a trouble maker. Thinking back to when I completed school to start work at a factory a fellow worker abused me for reasons unknown. Apparently I upset him by something I said.

This _upsetting others_ followed me wherever I went throughout my life. Apparently somewhere along my life I learned to be a _trouble maker_ for reasons unknown. Many times now I review my past places I lived and people I befriended. Memories return to when after befriending these people, after a couple of months our friendship dissolved because of something I said.

Life continued and wherever I journeyed throughout life similar events happened to cause me to be a trouble maker. Obviously something inside of my mind triggered thoughts to cause trouble. Did I cause this trouble intentionally? Apparently so because too many times caused the other person to react to something I said.

To share some personal experiences which should provide you with sufficient evidence to show how _The Trouble Maker_ works. I've always wanted to be better than I showed on the exterior. For instance, my mind didn't click into action before the spark ignited the flame. The house became fully ablaze before my brain engaged.

In other words, _I'm a slow thinker_. After thoughts flood my mind, I break down these thoughts into elements so I understand their meaning. In between taking action and working out these elements a ping goes off in my mind to tell me the action I should take. Although only a millisecond, the difference between doing the right thing or stirring trouble lengthens pending my listening skills.

Thinking over these experiences of being a _trouble maker_ the only explanation tells me my self-esteem is bruised and subsequently words flow from my mouth to _fight or flight_. I've never been one to _keep my mouth shut_ or to back down from an argument if I am in the right or think I am.

With aging I consider my tolerance level with others has improved to such a degree I now laugh off any criticism others may direct toward me thus affording me the dignity of _not playing their game._ Don't worry I've been told many times about over talking the other person to _get my point across_ instead of listening to the other person's opinion. Patience is a virtue. I need to practise patience in order not to be _The Trouble Maker._

Word count: 425

Then The Taxi Sped Away

Our destination Adelaide, stay overnight board the Ghan journey north to Darwin. Our plans in place until we arrived at Adelaide Airport. Leaving the terminal, we hailed a taxi to deliver us to our motel. After trying to explain to the driver our destination, one of the latest immigrants to our country from India, we set off to our stop-over for the night.

In the distance the name of our motel stood out like a beacon flashing lights indicated the place we wanted to go. Naturally my instincts told me the driver either hadn't a clue where he was going or he wanted us to pay for a longer fare. Instead of driving directly toward the motel the taxi turned left instead of right and travelled in the opposite direction.

'Where are you going?' I asked in a quiet voice and looked across at the driver. Silence. He continued to drive away from the direction to our motel. Fear struck me thinking he may be abducting us. This time I shouted, 'where are you taking us?'

His look toward me showed he didn't have a clue where to go to our accommodation. Stopping the taxi, he pulled out a refidex and flicked through the pages mumbling words I couldn't understand. 'Look, our accommodation is in that direction,' pointing my finger in the other direction.

Re-starting the taxi he drove toward our accommodation to finally arrive. I couldn't get out the taxi quickly enough. After paying the driver then the taxi sped away. This event obviously was embarrassing for us to experience. I'm a fair dinkum Aussie and want to give everyone a fair goes, but honestly, the personal experience we encountered frightened me.

September 11 happened five years before this incident and I must admit to thinking about whether we were going to arrive safe at our destination. Was I paranoid or over cautious, perhaps both.

Not a good start to our holiday. After sometime we settled down and went for a walk around the streets of inner Adelaide. Our first visit to the city of churches. A quaint hotel drew our attention so we entered. After a couple of drinks and a fine meal I settled and thought about our first impressions of Adelaide. Who could I contact to inform them of my concerns to report the taxi driver?

Something told me to forget the experience and to get on with our journey to northern Australia. So we did and had one of the best holidays we ever experienced. Although since this holiday time has passed, my thoughts return to the taxi driver who after being paid the fare then sped away.

Word count: 452

Things Fall Apart

Recently I attended the 25th Crimestoppers Anniversary Dinner. Twenty-five years ago I established Crimestoppers for Queensland Police Service during a time of political unrest. Instead of establishing the programme in six months the Minister for Police instructed this programme be established in three weeks. He didn't have six months, his comment.

To follow this strict time red tape needed to be cut to allow the creation of Crimestoppers to be established in such a short period. The Minister agreed and advised the Commissioner of Police to allow the programme to go ahead with no restrictions. In my twenty years' service power went beyond my wildest dreams to rely on my own ability to succeed when given this project. In my mind the ideals to establish Crimestoppers within the time allotted were clear.

With only one fellow officer to assist me plus our Inspector, we commenced a journey which ultimately became a highlight to this celebratory dinner twenty-five year into the future. During the evening a request made for myself and my assistant to tell our story of 'how Crimestoppers became established in 1989'.

Over five hundred people from various businesses, walks of life assembled to listen to our story presented by a news reader from Channel 7 who conducted the interview. Also in attendance the present Officer-in-Charge of Crimestoppers representing the Queensland Police Service.

My mind drifted to the time I took control to establish Crimestoppers explaining to the audience we had no resources whatsoever. No office, no staff, no telephone and no computers. A loud gasp rushed across the room on hearing this information. With the assistance of many others we scrounged equipment, took over the Commissioner's Dining Room as an office, selected staff, four police officers who were motivated and keen to work in an autonomous manner.

The audience listened how in three weeks we worked like a well-oiled machine creating computer programmes, learning to listen to callers, promote the programme to Queensland. After three weeks we succeeded! Visions of the official launch displayed on a huge screen showed the Minister officially launch Crimestoppers.

My interview completed I returned to the table to complete dinner. My daughter and son sat beside me. My daughter leaned across and whispered in my ear, 'I'm so proud of you Dad.' Memory flashed back to the time when I remembered not being home too often when my children were only teenagers. I apologised for my absence. She understood.

Things fall apart at the least time you expect. After completing the programme my Inspector summoned me to his office. On my way to his office an Assistant Commissioner passed me in the hallway and congratulated me on doing a great job establishing the programme in the required time. When I entered the Inspector's office he asked me to sit which I did. He told me my services were no longer required and he would be taking control and I return to the Computer Branch from whence I came.

On the night of the celebration after the interview this same Inspector walked to my table, put his hand out, looked directly into my eyes. His demeanour humble, not saying a word he shook my hand and left. After twenty-five years to receive this acclamation from this Inspector showed me when things fall apart they can be put back together again. My mind filled with relief of my exoneration to think I failed initially instead succeed to establish Crimestoppers.

Word count: 581

Under The Boardwalk

A couple of weeks ago seated in the lounge at Kings Beach Tavern, Caloundra playing keno minding my own business, the song _'Under The Boardwalk'_ echoed through the hotel speakers. My mind left the present and journeyed back to the 60's aged 16 years old dancing to this music at Sandgate Town Hall on a Saturday night.

Sandgate is a seaside suburb of Brisbane with a pier similar to the boardwalk mentioned in the song. Many nights after the dance our group walked along this pier never thinking on entering the water or walking underneath. Love in the 60's, especially teenage love left one on cloud nine for hours. This began a time of change when teenagers rebelled against authority.

Artists in those times Elvis Presley 'The King Of Rock & Roll' followed by Chuck Berry and many others including The Drifters which group sang the song _'Under The Boardwalk_ '. These memories I never want to fade away. Another group 'The Beatles' took over the music world. This period was the best music era ever to experience.

If one would afford the price of a record and a player this song played over and over until the record wore out. Not many families owned a record player so Saturday nights the major place to be seen Sandgate Town Hall to dance, gather with friends and listen to the music. Friends from school gathered and danced to the latest rock and roll craze introduced mainly by American entertainers. Otherwise we put a coin in the jukebox at the local cafe to listen to the latest music and slurped on our milkshake gazing into the eyes of the girl seated across.

Life back then began a revolution of change. We teenagers were a term used later in life 'baby boomers' meaning born within a couple of years after World War 11. This became a time for teenagers to take their turn at thinking for themselves, a revolution about to begin. Free love, drugs and music found their soul.

This revolution spread across the globe, teenagers gathered to the latest dance craze 'The Jive' when female partners exposed their underwear when physically thrown over the shoulder of their partner to land safely on the dance floor without injury. Dance halls filled to capacity to entertain these young patrons with the latest dance craze and hypnotic music to send them crazy.

A beginning to which would not end for another couple of decades until music changed. Older generations called this music 'jungle music' stirring each teenager into a savage.

_'Under The Boardwalk'_ became an anthem for young people with several artists recording the song. After fifty years since _'The Drifters'_ first released the song has stood the test of time and at the moment this song echoed through the speakers at the Tavern, I smiled and thought how fortunate my life has been to experience this period in my life.

Word count: 495

Washed Up On The Shore

I always loved watching the television sitcom 'I dream of Jeannie'. Major Anthony Nelson, an astronaut found a bottle washed up on the shore. After he opened the bottle a puff of blue smoke escaped to release a genie. She promised to serve Major Nelson. Dreams do come true when a genie escaped from my bottle I found to be life.

Like Major Anthony Nelson I found my genie when I was born. From the moment I opened my eyes to see the world I've had a genie to guide me through the various pathways of my life. My grandmother became a person to guide my life. She never allowed anything to happen to me. I was the apple of her eye. Our huge family, each with their own families often gathered at my grandparents' home. I can't remember because at two years old nothing registered. I vaguely remember my grandfather who passed away at this period.

One event I do remember aged five years my parents taking me to the hospital. My breathing shallow, chest tight. A doctor placed a small white tablet under my tongue to relieve the pressure on my chest to make me breathe freely. To overcome this illness my parents left the city to live in a country town so I could overcome this illness with the dry atmosphere.

After my family moved to this country town most of the remainder of the family joined them including my grandmother. This became the joy time of my life around family and getting on with my life. Alas at twelve years old my father returned to the city. My life changed.

Changing schools, meeting new friends, working through adolescence became tough going. This was a period I needed a genie to pop from a bottle and help me through this time. There didn't appear to be any light at the end of the tunnel.

Most of my relatives lived on the seaside. In my final year at high school my parents sold their home and purchased a home near my relatives lived. My grandmother became my genie in the bottle. She lived with her new husband nearby. Life became wonderful!

At fifteen years old my genie appeared before me one morning at school. A school friend told me about a company wanting to hire apprentices for a trade. Instantly I rode my bicycle from school to this company and applied for an apprenticeship. I got it! My life for the next five years bound in concrete.

Turning twenty-one years old became a milestone in everyone's life. I wanted to escape the city to return to the country, free and easy life rather than the hustle and bustle of the city dwellers. I gained work on a sheep and cattle property. Again my genie escaped from the bottle to find me work on this property to my satisfaction and delight.

Growing through life certain signs show us different directions to travel to this next sign. Looking above the horizon, one evening in a country town near to this property I spoke with the local constable. Whatever he told me threw a spanner in the works because he wanted to know if I would join the police. I can't tell you if my genie worked overtime that evening because in the next five months I joined the police.

Taking me from civilian life to one semi-military style drove a desire to achieve things I'd never dreamed would happen. Over the next twenty years I progressed through the ranks. Many a time I called on my genie for help which she did. How she did it I'll never know.

Another milestone arrived when suddenly I needed a pacemaker to keep me alive. Although this was a sad awaking in my life, if I hadn't had the pacemaking implant I would've joined my grandmother in heaven. My life in limbo, my genie led me on another pathway and career. Along this journey I dabbled in writing.

When I examine my life as an author this is the only career I ever wanted. I enjoyed serving the community as a police officer and my other career but writing is now my career and all I can thank is my genie from the bottle which washed up on the shore.

Word count: 725

Whatever Happened To Germolene

School holidays were in full swing during a visit with my grandmother. Stephen, my cousin and I loved holidaying with our grandmother. She allowed us freedom as long as we didn't misbehave. She owned a country post office. Her time attending to her duties as Post Mistress thus giving Stephen and I plenty of playtime. Steven 9 years old myself 11 years old.

What mischief would two young boys think of. We discovered many bush trails searching for bushrangers and hidden treasures. All day we played imaginary games of cowboys and indians. Myself playing Buffalo Bill whilst Steven Big Chief Sitting Bull. In late afternoon we returned to our grandmother totally exhausted and dirty.

In those times no bathrooms and the toilet being a good hundred metres walk down the back yard. A galvanised bathtub placed in the lounge room to use for bathing. Because being the elder of the two my job to fire up the copper at the back of the house and fill with water bucketed in from the nearby creek.

Once the water boiled in the copper I dipped a four-gallon kerosene tin into the copper to fill with water, then carry the bucket into the ungroom to tip into the galvanised bathtub. Steven and I stripped off our clothes and jumped into the bathtub naked. On one edge of the galvanised bathtub a sharp piece of tin broke away and struck out like a weapon.

When I jumped into the bathtub this jagged piece of metal caught my skin below my left knee. Blood spurted everywhere. Steven screamed to my grandmother. I was bleeding to death. Within second she left her office and ran to where we were. Her instincts to wrap a towel around the wound to stop the bleeding.

I fainted. Blood eventually stopped flowing from the wound and by this time my grandmother stopped the bleeding by applying direct pressure to the wound. 'Whatever happened to germolene?' she screamed aloud to my grandfather.

Waking from my fainting spell I found myself lying on grandmother's bed with my left leg resting on a pillow. 'Where's the germolene. Whatever happened to germolene?' She screamed keeping hold of a cloth on the wound. Eventually my grandfather returned to the bedroom holding a glass bottle and handed the bottle to my grandmother.

Without worrying about my pain she cleaned the wound and poured pink coloured liquid from the bottle handed to her by my grandfather. 'You'll be right now. Germolene'll do the job. This should stop you jumping into the bathtub.'

In a couple of weeks my wound healed and when I look at the scar left below my left knee my grandmother's voice, 'whatever happened to germoline' echo in my mind. Whatever substance contained in germoline certainly saved my life.

Word count: 472

Who Do You Think You Are

Television reaches all corners of the globe. Advertising products reaches many viewers. One commercial showing at present is the scene to show a young man with a telephone to his ear sitting behind a desk. At first glance your mind tells you he is an executive.

Leaning back in the chair he places his feet upon the desk continuing to speak into the telephone. Comfortable as the scene may be, a woman, most probably his mother or employer enters the office, stops, sights his position and says in an authoritative voice, 'who do you think you are?'

This commercial is smart marketing because this person obviously wants a position as an executive instead of working as a cleaner. Focus is placed to working toward higher education. In this day and age education is the most important element to gain the job you want.

What is interesting when I look back over my life, I didn't like school, or more to the point school never liked me. Things may have been different if I learned to study or understood the important points of learning. My life became more practical, doing instead of studying. Don't worry I picked up a few clues over time however never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would achieve anything like what I've accomplished.

One person changed my direction. His name Bob O'Sullivan, a lecturer at TAFE. At thirty-five years old I decided to enrol at college to study a programme to improve my skills at work. Instead Bob showed me a whole new direction to my life.

Before Bob, I stumbled along trying to learn, however I found my learning came from 'doing the job' by flying on the seat of my pants. At times success, however, other times disappointment. Like an old Boss of mine always said, 'bullshit will only take you so far. You can't fool everyone'.

When Bob intervened, his concern became apparent most of his students, unless they applied themselves, wouldn't pass by the end of the final examination. I being one of this number. I still remember the night he expressed his concern. His words continue to echo in my mind. 'Anyone here understand 'mind mapping?' Silence.

Over the remainder of the night Bob showed his skills in teaching and taught us his understanding of 'mind mapping'. 'Open your book at chapter 1', he instructed. We each opened to chapter one. 'On a clear sheet of paper write the heading'. We followed his instructions to the letter. Bob explained to note headings, which we did and below each heading draw a cloud. Inside each cloud write the IMPORTANT WORDS from these headings for chapter one.

A blub went on in my mind. For the very first time in my life someone had shown me a way to understand how to study. This new information began as a trickle in a creek suddenly bursting into a raging flood. By the end of the night on eight sheets of paper I discovered 'mind mapping' of the whole book and committed each page to memory. In the final examination I received 96% which I never before achieved in my life.

Thinking back to this young person sitting behind a desk speaking confidently into a telephone wanting to be in a similar position made me realise nothing is impossible and if others say, 'who do you think you are', you can safely answer in a positive way, 'success'.

Word count: 585
