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MY BLOG: Every day for a year.


Day 112 ‘The one-armed bandit with magic muffins’Arriving by the skin of my teeth to my next show, I was in somewhat of a hurry to unload my gear and get set up. Carrying more than I could handle, I blocked my vision and subsequently bowled headlong into a gentleman standing in the doorway. A sturdy gent, he withstood the collision better than I, and the ensuing clatter of musical accessories went sprawling everywhere. As I peered up from the floor, a big grin split his face and he chortled, “whoops.” Feeling very embarrassed, I apologised profusely for my ungainly entry, “I am so sorry, I didn’t see you.” He stood there smiling, steadying his beer from toppling out. “I’d give you a hand up, but I don’t have one.” I glanced at his t-shirt, and at the space where his right arm should be. Taking my cue from him, I responded, “Yeah well, I’ve got two but it’s still me on my arse, not you.” He gave a big belly laugh, placed the beer down and proceed to help me reassemble. I introduced myself to him and told him I was doing the show today. “Yes I know”, he replied. I’m Bud Moore. I know my eyes got bigger, and I quickly bit my bottom lip, hoping my incredulous face kept its thoughts to itself. “Bud Moore, the bass player?” Beaming from ear to ear, “yes ma’am, that’s me.” His infectious warmth and smile oozed likeability. Ten minutes in his company and he was already an old friend. I nodded at him and returned his smile, “okay then, let’s get set up.” Another voice soon joined us, his face popping up from behind a large speaker. “Hello, you must be Stevie” he enthused. “Michael Hinchliffe I presume?” “I am indeed, but just call me Mick.” The familiar sight of a drum kit being put together was reassuring as I started to gather my thoughts for the show. Chatting away as we crafted our stage, Mick stopped mid-sentence. “Stevie, is that your stomach I hear growling?”
I’d hoped the clang and clatter of stage preparation had me covered, but alas it did not. I shifted a little awkwardly, and replied, “starving actually”. Three hours of sleep and a six-hour drive hadn’t left much time for niceties like food. “Bud” Mick started, “the lady is hungry.” Bud quickly made his way to another room, returning with a large plate of muffins. “Bud’s muffins are quite famous here in Mackay”, Mick smiled. I was all kinds of tired, fatigued and famished as Bud presented me with the plate. “You’ve had these before, he queried?” There was a word before muffins, that I didn’t quite catch but assumed he said blueberry. “Oh yes, I’m a ‘live on a knife’s edge’ kinda girl.” I laughed. Chomping down enthusiastically, my empty stomach was grateful to fill the void. Clearly delighted I was enjoying the muffin tucker, Bud kept filling my plate, and I happily obliged until I was stuffed. Mick grinned at me, “that’s some tolerance you’ve got there, Stevie.” I grinned back, “yeah, I’m not normally such a guts on the first date.” As the lights hit our faces, we roared into life, entertaining the full house who’d come from miles around. I was feeling good, if a touch light-headed, but I’d put it down to little sleep. Halfway through the first track, I found myself staring at Bud. I was in awe of just how good he was at slapping that bass with just the use of his left hand. Rather than keep that to myself, I blurted into the microphone, “holy cow, are you guys hearing this? One hand over here is leaving most two hands for dead!!” A massive cheer for their local hero went up, but the pro part of my brain was telling me to hush! I wasn’t having it though. The table looked like a great platform to entertain from, and just because I’d never been that uninhibited before, didn’t mean I couldn’t try something new. Bud anxiously signalled to my other half, Chris, who was making his way towards the stage. ” Are you sure Stevie has had marijuana before?” “Marijuana!” he exclaimed. She’s never even smoked a cigarette! There was a collective, “oh dear,” from Bud, Mick, and Chris as my table exploits were thwarted by concerned, but amused patrons. I don’t remember a lot of detail about the rest of that night, but I remember having the best gig of my life. πŸ™‚ . The next morning the smiling venue manager asked me if he could book another show on my homeward trip. A little sheepish, but mostly relieved it must have been okay, I gave a definite “yes.” Bud and Mick had made their way over to help with the loadout. Mick was guffawing the whole time, whilst Bud was a little awkward but laughing in spite of himself. For many years after this, every time I arrived at the venue, there was always a single muffin with my name on it waiting for me on stage.
Thank you both for your friendship, adventures, and memories. I’ll miss you, as will all who knew you. RIP Bud Moore and Michael Hinchcliffe.

β€œWe’re all stories, in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?”

Thank you for listening.
Stevie. x

MY BLOG: Every day for a year.
Day 110 ‘Nearly there :-)’

Almost back, had a little cliff tumble (not literally). Think I’ve got some good things brewing…I think πŸ™‚ . Stay with me, tree people!

Until tomorrow!
Stevie. x

MY BLOG: Every day for a year.
Day 108 ‘Tin Man and Scarecrow’

Nicknames my friend and I gave each other. He had open heart surgery about the same time I had noggin surgery. He likes to remind who is who from time to time. Not sure I got the best end of it really.


Until tomorrow!
Thank you for listening.
Stevie. x

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MY BLOG: Every day for a year.
Day 105 ‘Chaz’

A guess on my part really, but he looked biggish so I went with ‘he’s a chap.’ Taking out the rubbish one night, I got an absolute face full of Chaz’s house, and in between my ‘ewww‘ and ‘arggg I brandished my phone’s torch so I could see what lurked in the dark. There he was, in what remained of his shattered masterpiece. Front legs flapping indignantly in high dudgeon, “you great galloping clumsy ape, look what you did!!!!” Once I got past my, ‘ holy cow you’re huge, and I’m glad my face didn’t collide with yours,’ I did indeed, ‘awww look what I did.’ After flipping me a few more rude gestures, he began the clearly onerous task of putting his house back in order. I tried to get some better pics, but he worked at such a furious pace, probably spurred on by temper, it was impossible to get a still. I know it’s a commonplace thing, but sometimes when you pause to watch nature in action it is truly extraordinary. Every morning he packs it all up and retreats to the little house he’s made in the tree. This has been going on for a couple of weeks now, so I guess I have been forgiven. As the sun starts to set in the evenings, I get a kick out of watching him web dance, he’s mostly unperturbed by my presence, bar a few feet flicks signaling me to ‘back up a bit bub.’ If he decides to move on, I think I’ll actually miss him πŸ™‚

Until tomorrow!
Thank you for listening.
Stevie. x

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MY BLOG: Every day for a year.
Day 104 ‘Chuckle’

A deadline this weekend for project work hasn’t left any time for a waffle, so I stole this from someone else. it made me laugh. Hope you’re having a wonderful Saturday, or Friday for my over the water friends.

Until tomorrow!
Thank you for listening.
Stevie. x

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MY BLOG: Every day for a year.
Day 103 ‘Groundhog blog’

Sitting attentively at the dinner table, my friend stares bessechingly into my face. He inhales an enormous amount of oxygen as if preparing for battle, then slumps forward signaling a restless discontent. Taking my cue I respond as always, “what’s up?” Confident in my audience stature, he leans back in the chair and begins. The story unfolds, again, of how aggrieved he is over an incident that happened many (many many many) years ago. The fifth re-telling of this ‘adventure’ is delivered with such passion to my apparently virgin ears, that I feel embarrassed my ‘surprised face’ skills might be showing the strain. Making the sympathetic noises expected of me, his agitated fingers drum roll the table. My attempts at resolution are met with a degree of irritation, as I have interrupted the flow of angst. A solution is never the goal, it’s just the chance to vent the poison from old wounds. With declining energy levels on my part, I employ my skills of misdirection and distraction but I am failing!
Torn between my own sanity and not crushing my tormentor with the brutal truth, I nod my head earnestly in perceived empathy whilst I imagine drowning him in the kitchen sink. πŸ™‚ I’m not a bad person, not really. But this not uncommon occurrence in my life has got me thinking. This groundhog experience happens enough that it sparks a blog entry, so I want to know if this happens to you? Do you find yourself a receptacle to the same story over and over and over? And if so, how do you handle it?

Day 103 ‘Groundhog blog’

Sitting attentively at the dinner table, my friend stares beseechingly into my face. He inhales an enormous amount of oxygen as if preparing for battle, then slumps forward signaling a restless discontent. Taking my cue I respond as always, “what’s up?” Confident in my audience stature, he leans back in the chair and begins. The story unfolds, again, of how aggrieved he is over an incident that happened many (many many many) years ago. The fifth re-telling of this ‘adventure’ is delivered with such passion to my apparently virgin ears, that I feel embarrassed my ‘surprised face’ skills might be showing the strain. Making the sympathetic noises expected of me, his agitated fingers drum roll the table. My attempts at resolution are met with a degree of irritation, as I have interrupted the flow of angst. A solution is never the goal, it’s just the chance to vent the poison from old wounds. With declining energy levels on my part, I employ my skills of misdirection and distraction but I am failing!
Torn between my own sanity and not crushing my tormentor with the brutal truth, I nod my head earnestly in perceived empathy whilst I imagine drowning him in the kitchen sink. πŸ™‚ I’m not a bad person, not really. But this not uncommon occurrence in my life has got me thinking. This groundhog experience happens enough that it sparks a blog entry, so I want to know if this happens to you? Do you find yourself a receptacle to the same story over and over and over? And if so, how do you handle it?

Until tomorrow!
Thank you for listening.
Stevie. x

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MY BLOG: Every day for a year.
Day 101. ‘The slaying of B1 and B2’

Each morning I like to gather my thoughts and serenity at the bottom of a swimming pool. There’s nothing quite like it for filtering out the world and getting inside your own noggin. A shimmery figure of yellow hovers over the top of me. The good ol’ lifeguard checking I am just imitating Buddha on the floor and not in fact drowning. Rising from the bottom to top up my oxygen supply, my moment of ‘oom’ is severely interrupted by the beast know as ‘Obnoxious Bullius Buttheadius.’ (See Paigepedia for word definition and authenticity). Inhaling the after flow from the monster body slam, I’m left gasping and choking for air, as I blindly feel my way to the edge and safety. Attacking him with the mightiest death stare I could muster he continued on his merry way, oblivious to my very existence. There were many other souls taking their morning stress relief alongside me in the water, but no one so much as blinked at tornado Tom’s rudeness. Despite my imaginary foot pinning his head to the pool floor for ten imaginary minutes, I did, in fact, opt for the path of least resistance and moved over a few lanes. More bodies were making their way to the watery sanctuary, giving me my cue it was time to leave. Hanging on the ropes a few moments and contemplating the days’ activities, I spied the much larger version of the previously aforementioned, ‘Obnoxious Bullius Butthead.’ Making his way to the lane occupied by his ‘mini me’ he launched forth with uninhibited abandon, terrifying the very water intended to save him. The small Tsnumai caught many folks off guard, as their bodies toppled and gurgled in the disturbance. A few expletives escaped the herd as righteous indignation swept over them, but like his predecessor, awareness of those around him was not a priority. Listening to his arms hit the water was akin to hearing bullwhips crack on dry dusty roads, a disturbing and ominous warning not to ignored……I would have thought πŸ™‚ Butthead 1 and Butthead 2 were set on a course of glorious collision, and like all impending train wrecks, it was hard not to watch. A fellow swimmer joined me on the spectator rope, pulling up alongside he turned to me and smiled. I raised my eyebrows at him in acknowledgment and smiled back. We watched the two juggernauts flounder ungainly through the water until the wince moment came. If you’ve ever been witness to a dog crashing into a glass door and being totally gobsmacked and stunned, that wide-eyed total look of shock? That was B1 and B2. Recoiling back from each other, and standing bolt upright, it didn’t take long for dazed bewilderment to become a raging rooster dance. Angry wings flapping the water, as raised voices bounced off the echoing dome walls. Their attention was soon drawn to my companion and I laughing til we cried. Apparently, humour is not a tension breaker when you are being laughed at and not with. Feather throwing in our general direction was met with a sharp stern warning from the yellow shimmer who had kept watch over me earlier that morning. Hauling myself from the pond and still smiling, I nodded at my compadre speaking my first words to him. “Cya.” Grinning from ear to ear, he replied, ” Cya.” Pretty sure he’s having a good day too. πŸ™‚

Until tomorrow!
Thank you for listening.
Stevie. x