Yvonne's Page

MY BLOG TO BE NAMED LATER....

Wednesday 17/1/2007 What were my thoughts when I opened my eyes first thing this morning at the early hour of 5.45? I had a place to go to, a promise that I made to my self, and have publicized my intentions. I could not back off; I would be dubbed “yalla” if I did. So I occupied myself with this and that, till the hour of leaving arrived. What excuse could I make so I don’t have to attend??? A flat tyre maybe or the arrival of unexpected guests!!! Yes, I was heading towards “yalla”. But I went, and it was not an execution that I was going to, but to a “Lawn Bowling Club”, that was all. Thinking that to drive there will take ten minutes I arrived in five. Parked the car and joined a couple of ladies who have also just arrived. We chatted while we walked towards the dining room where all congregate. I mentioned that I was to meet with the secretary as we have spoken on the phone. When we entered, they pointed her to me, and she came over shook my hand and made me feel welcomed. There must have been about thirty people sitting around chatting. It was a mixture of both sexes but the majority were women. The atmosphere was congenial that I felt good instantly. New arrivals were greeted with “Happy New Year”, and when a lady coach arrived she was called over and we were introduced. She explained a little bit more about the running of the club, then suggested I join her and another new member on Saturday morning coming for the first lesson. Today was the first gathering after the festive break. The acting president welcomed all, teams were announced, scoring sheets were handed out, and everyone headed to the greens. I watched for an hour or so, and now and then one of the players will come over introduce herself and shake my hand. So what was I afraid off??? A fallacy for long had been quoted that “Lawn Bowling” is played only by old people. Am I considered old at 65??? Some were old, one lady and her husband were 90, or so I understood, but was doing fine and mainly was having fun. So the adage of “You are as old as you feel”, hit the mark perfectly.

My Other Pages

My Poetry - click on the following - Poetry.htm

A Childhood Memory - Memory.htm

Wallaby Here - wallaby.htm

My best Pen Pal in the USA has a web site and had for some time been encouraging me to start my own. I was and still am apprehensive, but he assures me it will be fine. Both he and I were born in 1941 but I am two months and 23 days older than he is. Does he take note if I scold? Nah…. he does not…. and that is how it should be with best buddies……right?

Therefore, best buddy this special message.

Without your encouragement and faith in me I could not have taken the first step; consequently I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I sincerely hope that the rest of my venture of transposing my thoughts onto the pages will continue to be, of interest and an acceptable narration.

My eldest brother who also lives in the USA, is the kindest man I know. He left our homeland when I was eleven years old. With my fourteen year old daughter, I visited the USA in 1979, and when we met the 28 years apart just slipped by. Since both our parents died, he had taken his three sisters under his wing as it were. Writes and phones regularly. In September of this year, he and his wife will be celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary, I would love to go share this momentous occasion but I have 46 reasons why I cannot. These are my 46 homing pigeons. I can tolerate their noise and don’t mind cleaning after them. But I can’t see any body else taking over this task.

THE FIRST TWO!

Ask yourself why would any body have 46 pigeons? Is it possible so to enter some in shows? Or for racing may be! And the third unthinkable option for food. No, it is none of the above, as these are homing pigeons and are pets. In other words are free to fly away, but will always return, my home is their home.

Being retired and in my early sixties, I wanted to help in my community, to become a volunteer. I read about an organization called, “Bush Care”; that sounded good to me. I made enquiries and after induction I became a member of a large group who care for the Bush.

Once a month and on a Sunday, the members of one group would meet in the area allocated for their care. That could be a park or a reserve. The care consisted of uprooting noxious weeds, and planting Australian native shrubs that the council make available. Watering newly planted saplings if no rain had fallen. Also, removing discarded rubbish that thoughtless, uncaring individuals had thrown.

By now you will be wondering what has this to do with my pigeons! Bear with me and you will be enlightened. One Sunday we did not have to occupy ourselves with maintenance, instead to walk amongst the trees and bushes and be lectured about them. We gathered in the car park; on my arrival I found a black squab hanging around. It did not fly away when I approached. Leaving it there was no option, a predator would get it if not during the day then it would be when night falls. I picked the squab up and placed it in my back pack. After two hours of meandering amongst the trees and bushes while avidly listening to what was said, the lecture came to an end, we all trooped back to the car park. Cheerfully and enthusiastically we said goodbye to one another as the walk and talk were uplifting. Then each climbed into his or her car and headed in different directions, and so did I.

I did not know what sex the squab was but felt it to be a hen, so named her Alanna. When I first came across that name I liked it and found out that in Ireland it is the informal affectionate way of addressing a child.

From day one she bonded with me, where I ever I went she was to follow. Resting on my shoulder when ever I went out of doors to check my mail box. Even followed me into the bathroom and as I stepped under the shower she came in also to splash happily under the cascading water.

Probably a month later, I decided to take her back to the reserve where she came from and set her free to fend for herself. She was used to the outdoors; as daily I took her out for exercise. She would soar high and after few circuits return to land on earth once more.

At the reserve and for half an hour I watched her pecking off the ground at what ever took her fancy. She was strong; so could fly up if danger loomed. She was finding food and relishing it, I felt secure in her survival, so little down hearted I turned round and headed towards the car. The next thing I knew she was back on my shoulder. How could I reject her? So home again and for good this time.

Not many days would pass before Bobby entered our life. Oh yes he was male; I could see that at first glance. In size was bigger and had an arrogant strut. But that is all he could do then as he had a busted wing. He came via my neighbours, they found him in their back yard, and knowing I have Alanna brought him over. He had a tag on one leg; so I followed procedure and phoned the coordinator of the racing club and quoted the number on the tag. Not long after I received a phone call, a male voice assured me that I have one of his birds and could he come pick him up. He arrived within the hour, taking one look at the bird he rejected it, saying, “He’s got a busted wing no good to me, do you want to keep it”? Of course I said, “Yes”, and thus Bobby entered our life permanently.