AGES AND STAGES

by Mocco Wollert

WHEN I was young, I was too busy to make a bucket list. Life itself was a list that had to be experienced, lived through, explored.

Yes, we had a thousand wishes; yes, we wanted those wishes to become reality. We wanted success in love, a good job, success in our working life, that improved position, that raise in salary. It was all going to happen in those never-ending years lying before us.

Of course, the phrase says it all. “Bucket list” – a list of all the things to do before we kick the bucket, depart this earth or, in plain words, die.

As I grew into old age, I too started to think about a list of all the things I still wanted to do. Life was still full of unending opportunities. One of my biggest desires had been to have a book published. I did better than that, several of my efforts went into print.

In comparison, some of my other wishes were pretty frivolous: a ride on a Harley Davidson motorbike while holding on to an alpha male and his taut muscles; a ride on a camel clinging to a dangerously swaying saddle a thousand miles above safe ground, Queen of the Desert.

Ok, I did not look like the Queen of the Desert, more like a sack of potatoes, ready to fall off. A ride on an elephant, swathed in fine silks, the mahout looking like Sabu from The Jungle Book. I managed all three, apart from Sabu.

Being an actress was also high on my list. I saw myself treading the boards applauded by an enthusiastic crowd or much better, shining on the big silver screen with all the men falling in love with me.

I took acting lessons as a young woman and took the first exam. I failed dismally. That should have been the end of that wish but somehow, it stayed at the back of my mind.

So, when I composed my bucket list, a role in a movie was right at the top, together with the published book, the Harley, the camel and the elephant. It is now the only item sitting there unfulfilled.

The saying goes “one lives in hope” but to get a role in a movie now I would have to be Dame Maggie Smith or Judy Dench. I have enough wrinkles for both of them.

Discussing all this with a grandson over lunch, he informed me that he had an anti-bucket list. On it were all the things he definitely did not, underlined, want to do or have happen to him before he died.

“There are things I really do not want to do under any circumstances,” he told me. Surely at age 27 he would want to experience everything?

Maybe our generation was more naive, more trusting that life was full of good things while our young people seem frightened of life and what the future might bring.

May you live long enough to experience all the items on your bucket list.

by Cheryl Lockwood

ON work days, my husband rises before the sun and creeps out of the bedroom. He tries not to wake me. I snuggle under the quilt, hoping for a few extra minutes of sleep.

This was the routine until one morning, the squeak of the bathroom door seemed rather loud.

Like many early morning noises, the more I tried to ignore it, the louder it sounded. What was he doing out there? How many bathroom trips did he need?

Eventually, I got up and investigated. Perhaps the cool night air was to blame, but every door down the hallway appeared to be affected. The hinges created

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a creaking symphony like the sound track of a spooky movie.

Hubby left for work, and I went into handywoman mode. This is not unusual for me. I like to think of myself as a “Mrs Fix it”.

It may be hereditary. My father worked a lot, so it was often Mum who attended to small maintenance jobs around our house. These days, the internet is full of “how to” videos, leading me to believe I am capable of anything from unblocking a drain to rebuilding my house.

My repair work varies from problem solved to oops, let’s just buy a new one.

It was way too early to head for the shed, so I armed myself with sewing machine oil. I wandered the house, squeezing oil onto hinges. Liberal amounts to the bottom hinges and as much as I could reach at the top without a stepladder.

My daughter, the ED nurse, tells me people my age should not be up ladders at all. As a small child, I was not allowed to climb the ladder up to the roof with my older brothers. If there’s a right age for ladder climbing, I may have missed it.

The next morning, hubby crept out of bed with the stealth of a cat burglar. I anticipated the whisper quiet result of my efforts. The door did not squeak … it groaned, like a cow in labour!

Knowing of my maintenance attempt, the husband burst out laughing and swung the door back and forth a few more times, as if the extra swings would fix the problem. Most likely, it was in sheer disbelief at the volume of the new noise.

The hinges had swallowed the oil and were crying out for more.

“Did you hear that?” he yelled.

Was he kidding? The whole street could have heard it and probably thought a passenger liner had docked nearby. “Wow,” he exclaimed, “I didn’t know you could de-oil a door.”

He poked his head back into the bedroom and in his best radio announcer voice, boomed, “Unwanted guests … use door de-oiler. Visiting relatives you dislike … be sure to pack door de-oiler!”

I buried my head in the pillow. It was no use. My fit of predawn giggles put an end to ideas of a sleep-in. Obviously, my squeak-eliminating adventure was not over.

On the bright side, it can’t hurt to start the day laughing. Surely laughter is better than creaking and groaning, unless I start to sound unhinged! 60 Kuran Street, Chermside QLD Phone. (07) 3624 2121 | www.burniebrae.org.au