By Madeleine Love

My father in law gave me some bulbs about 15 years ago not long after we bought our house at Marysville. The bulbs were called “hoop petticoats”. They promised bright yellow flowers – a favourite colour – full of happiness, and I eagerly planted them.

They didn’t flower. A year or so later my father in law asked me if they’d flowered. No. He said they’d never flowered for him either. Thanks for the dud bulbs Dad! But I had no call for complaint because he’d also given some to my sister in law and they’d flowered for her. Oh well.

Year after year the bulbs failed to flower but I never removed them because that was where they lived now.

We had a fire at Marysville. The house burned down. Except for the fact that there is more demolished bare earth at Marysville than anything else, the Spring is looking lovely. All the little bulbs that lived safe underground have popped up, and with no houses, fences or trees, Marysville looks like a pretty little sea of daffodils, jonquils and early cheers.

And strangely I noticed a new set of flowers at our house… flowers I’d never seen before… We have a little sea of bright yellow hoop petticoats gracing the front lawn.

There’s something special about this. I’m thinking latent beauty. It surrounds us, waiting to emerge at the right moment. So much waits hidden for the right moment. So much love has come forth at Marysville. Qualities one would never have seen nor shared were it not for the right moment.

Madeleine considers some defining moments

I’m a member of a book group.  We get nine books a year to read and discuss together.  The books are always supplied with study notes containing questions at the end for discussion.

Last night we came across the following question:  “If you were writing an autobiography what books would you include to define yourself, your course in life, or your pivotal moments?”

We went ‘around the circle’ with the question.  It was too narrow for some.  We included articles and movies because they had provided powerful defining moments as well.  This is what came out…

Reading, both as a skill and as an experience, emerged as a defining moment of life in itself. One spoke of the time when she first realised she could read.  In elevated response she declared to herself that she was going to read ‘every book in the world’.

Another remembered the first book that engrossed her, transporting her to another time and place.  She’d had the overwhelming experience of complete engagement.

Then there were the defining moments emerging from the content of the book.  I can’t remember many of the books.  I don’t know many of them.  But I remember the moments…

Some books seemed to arrive at the moment of change, like an announcement on a train “We are arriving at Rosemont Station”.  The Thornbirds announced sexual awakening.  The Women’s Room announced feminist awakening.

There were books that supported and uplifted us, providing a path for the future – someone described the Shawshank Redemption.  Apparently a man was held prisoner and subjected to the most horrifying experiences until he managed to escape, all the while never surrendering hope or optimism.

There were books that said who we were – echoes of our wishes, experiences, perfect worlds – Pride and Predjudice – yes, a woman offered that one.

And then there were the books that transported.  The bigger and more engrossing the book, the more transformed we were out the other side; War and Peace, Lord of the Rings, A Fine Balance. It seems the epic masterpieces take us into an entirely new life experience and create their own pivotal moments.

So we’re going round the circle and now it has come to my turn.  Eager to share but reluctant to be the centre of attention I look to the person on my left and say “next”, but you say “you skipped someone” and draw me back.

OK then …

I was about 9 years old (say 1970), and we were at a rented beach house for two weeks in the summer holidays.  My parents were teachers, and holidays were times to Not interact.  They would lie on couches and read or sleep, while we went back and forth to the beach.  It was warm, we were sunburnt, scratchy from the sand.  Fresh cobb loaves from the Bakery wrapped in tissue paper rested half-eaten on the dark wooden table.

I see myself lying on a couch beginning The Rat-A-Tat Mystery.  In the holiday street we’d bought an Enid Blyton book each.  They were books with covers, perhaps 2cm thick – real books.  On the same day I begin, I see myself finishing.  I could read a book in a day; a small step for one man, a giant leap for mankind.  I was accomplished.

And the next pivotal book was Lord of the Rings.  Again it was summer holidays, but this time in the ‘burbs with all the blinds down to keep the house cool.  Conveniently it came in three volumes.  Second in line, I waited for the first to be finished.  Day after day I strode through the threatening darkness in Middle Earth, finding rare refuge in the protected nature of the Elven domains.  So large, it created a new and permanent experience of life through which I could respond.  I have an Elven domain to look after.

There was Cat’s Eye, a book about girl bullying which gave me closure on the teenage years a decade after the experience.

Coming into self, “Women Who Run with the Wolves”.

Becoming a Masterchef: an unnamed recipe book on Muffins.  With dedication I had meticulously followed directions in other books and had so many failures.  I think people publish the ‘bad recipes’ so no-one steals the good ones.  But the raspberry and white chocolate muffin success said it wasn’t all me.

Defining the breastfeeding years:  The Very Hungry Caterpillar – a counting book with holes in the pages that each child in turn loved to read.

Digging out the deeper traumas:  The God of Small Things.  I’d encouraged the book group to read this one so I had some people to debrief with over it.

Movies – Towering Inferno for my first suspense horror (and how that moment was extended into reality years later!), and Gallipoli – I couldn’t leave the auditorium because I couldn’t stop crying.

Well, that’s some from me.  No doubt more will come in time.  But it’s your turn.

“Books, articles or movies you’d refer to in an autobiography, and why”.  Next.

Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett – gone in one fell swoop!  The passing of Farrah had obvious repercussions in the Pigs Legs Waxing and Beauty Salon – the death of a value-added hairstyle.

Glenda was troubled by her patron’s glee over the indignity of the anal cancer.  Early Monday morning, straight after turning on the sterilizer and the kettle, she pulled out a women’s mag to have another look at near-death Farrah.  She looked like a beautiful woman with a soul – where was the cause for glee in indignity?

Seeing an errant piece of wax she walked to the bin, and stood there pondering the crumpled poster of Farrah within.  She reached in and thoughtfully smoothed it.  Farrah gave her the Instant Flash, and as instantly Glenda Knew – those teeth, that hair.

Women saw Farrah’s Instant Flash and assumed her Instant Competition.  Men saw her Instant Flash and assumed her Instant Rejection.

If only her soul had received the opportunity for public appearance.  Ah well…

“As for Michael Jackson still alive on the next page of the mag” she thought, drinking her starter coffee “his picture says Instant Weird Tainted With Molestation Issues”.

Usually Glenda worked on her regulars but perm girl Loretta couldn’t make it in that morning – some difficulty about her childcare centre shutting down.

“Hi, I’ll be doing your perm today Robyn – Loretta’s off.  How’s your morning been?”

“Not good – childcare centre problems.”

“You too! ABC?”  Glenda asked.

“Yep.”

“So what was Loretta doing for you?”

“An afro.”

Glenda was taken aback, looking at Robyn’s gorgeous sleek hair.  Afro’s hadn’t been In since Michael Jackson went straight – and her client was instantly wary.

“You can do afro’s?” Robyn checked.

“Easy!” said Glenda quickly.   And from somewhere deep within a rhythm formed in her soul… she breathed in and suddenly the soul song slipped out on her breath “Easy as 1-2-3!”

A little giggle came from under the setting hood, and Glenda was embarrassed.

Daphne came out “Is Loretta OK?”  Glenda was grateful for Daphne’s deflection.

“Yes, she just got childcare problems – didn’t I tell you already?”

Daphne prompted “Which centre?”  And Glenda was trapped by a salon of laughter.

She grabbed a hairbrush.

“Watch your bottoms, girls!” Daphne shrieked, but the hairbrush rose to Glenda’s ruby red lips, her left arm rose, palm skyward …

“ABC!

Easy as 1-2-3!

[Mike swap]

Or simple as do re mi!”

[girls join in]

“ABC

1-2-3

Do re mi

Baby you and me girl!”

They laughed in their moment.

“Michael Jackson was so cute when he was little” said Robyn.  “Such a shame where it all went to.

“He gave us that lovely song” said Daphne.

“He should’ve kept the afro.  Look where it got Obama.”  Glenda knew it was all about the hair.

Daphne was thoughtful.  “You know what I think the problem was – he was black.  He had an afro.  He had a wide nose.  What did he do?  He went white, straight hair, little nose.”

“What about if he was sixteen now? – Obama! black, afro, nose.”

“Gorgeous!” said Daphne.

“Michael would be gorgeous” sighed Robyn.

“You were a fan?” asked Glenda

“He rocked me.  All night.  Danced me into day.”

[girls croon]  “Sunlight”

Finishing off, Glenda admired Robyn’s sleek pink silk pants with a glance.  “OK then, Rockin Robyn.  Perm’s in.  You’re free to tweet.  Would you like a tea or coffee?”

“Ha!  Now you’ve done it Glenda” shrieked Daphne as Robyn moved to centre salon.

“Get behind me girls – we’re doing this one together – give me the hairbrush – come in on the chorus.”

“He rocks in the tree tops all day long
Hoppin’ and a-boppin’ and singing his song
All the little birdies on Jaybird Street
Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet

Rockin’ robin, tweet tweet tweet
Rockin’ robin’ tweet tweetly-tweet
Blow rockin’ robin
‘Cause we’re really gonna rock tonight

“You know” said Glenda.  “You’re really very good Robyn – you could almost do a show.”

“I could do fifty shows” said Robyn.  “I love it.  I need a tan though – bit pale – have you got a solarium?”

“She does” said Daphne, “But she shouldn’t put you in there – they’re dangerous.”

“They’re not dangerous.  It’s the sun that’s the problem.”

“Oh sister…” said Robyn,

“Don’t blame it on the sunshine

Don’t blame it on the moonlight

Don’t blame it on the good times

Blame it on the boogie”

“WAAaaaoroh!”

Glenda saw Merv looking through the window.  He was just looking.  Glenda was so freed by the moment she gave him a full smile, but he didn’t notice her.  She thought about her teeth, and smiled again but with her lips shut.  He looked at her, sort of worried, and Glenda dashed out of the salon.  It only took an inquiring glance into Merv’s eyes.

“That’s Michael Jackson”

“What?”

“That’s Michael Jackson, in your salon.”

“What?”

“In the shiny pants”

Glenda got it.  “That’s Robyn.  She’s come in for a perm.”

Merv looked in again.  He didn’t look back at Glenda.  “I’ve gotta get back to the pub.”

Glenda left the singing to others, as she pondered Merv’s madness

“You went quiet Glenda” said Daphne at the end of the day.

“Did you notice anything about Robyn?”

“What?”

“You know when my curling wand accidentally flew at her crutch?  Did you see the way she grabbed it?”

“Strange moment” Daphne admitted.  “I’ve never had a curling wand accident like that before.”

“Well I’m off” she said, leaving Glenda alone.

Glenda rang her friend, Crystal Ball, clairvoyant to the Pigs Legs Salon. “Crystal?  Is Michael Jackson really dead?”

Crystal consulted the heavens.

“His soul lives” she replied.

Glenda knew what to do and scanned her walls.  She pulled down the poster of Brad Pitt and put it face down on the floor.  She sponged the white background with auburn henna tones, and penned with her ruby red lipstick, outlined in khol black eyeliner…

Michael Jackson seen in this Salon!

And on the back of the smoothed poster of Farrah she wrote

Confirmed by Clairvoyant.

She went outside and brought in the sandwich board.  With some wax she stuck on the posters.  She pulled on her coat, picked up her keys and took a last glance back at the board, satisfied with what she’d organized tomorrow to bring.  She heaved her end-of-work sigh and smiled, turned off the lights, shut the door, and turned left towards the Pigs Arms pub.

Walking through the door of the crowded bar she screamed across to Merv “You were absolutely right Merv, it was Michael Jackson in the Salon!”