(This is one for the oldies... you know who you are!)
Where were you when Louis Armstrong walked on the moon?
Where were you when Louis Armstrong walked on the moon?
Okay… I know it was Neil, but most of the people who read my blog are so young that even their parents were probably too young to remember the lunar landing. There are a few of you reading however, that have managed to cling to the remnants of life, bravely beating off senility and even worse, the grim reaper.
You’d have to be at least fifty years old to possess a living memory of the moon landing, and even my husband, Scotto, was still three years away from becoming an embryo when it occurred.
Little Pinky was a tender eight years old and sitting with the entire school watching a tiny black and white telly in the play shed when the ‘great step for mankind’ took place. I recall one of the girls in my class, Beryl Stuart, telling everyone how her Auntie Phyllis knew for a fact, that as soon as that astronaut bloke stepped on to the lunar surface, the world was going to explode.
Little Pinky was a tender eight years old and sitting with the entire school watching a tiny black and white telly in the play shed when the ‘great step for mankind’ took place. I recall one of the girls in my class, Beryl Stuart, telling everyone how her Auntie Phyllis knew for a fact, that as soon as that astronaut bloke stepped on to the lunar surface, the world was going to explode.
Even at eight years of age I knew this was a load of codswallop, but her dark prophesy still unnerved the entire class a bit. Either Auntie Phyllis had a fantastic imagination or she was on LSD, is all I can think.
I was only two when JFK was assassinated so I don’t remember it, but I do recollect my mother crying at the news on television when Robert Kennedy was shot. At the time I couldn’t understand why she would be so upset about a man she’d never known but then I remembered her sobbing at the drive-in when Elsa the lion died in ‘Born Free’ and deduced that Senator Robert must have been a nice person.
Mum and I were on a holiday in Sydney in 1980 when we walked past the newspaper headlines heralding the death of John Lennon. We both cried in the street as I recall.
Cutting up and spray painting foam mattresses in order to create giant banana costumes for a kid's play is what I was focussed on when my mother rang me in shock in 1997 to tell me that Princess Diana had been killed in a car crash. I didn’t believe her at the time; it was such an implausible scenario.
Three months later, sitting stunned in my lounge I listened to the news that Michael Hutchence had been found dead in his hotel room. When I heard the news of Michael Jackson’s passing on my car radio I had the same sense of loss.
I was only two when JFK was assassinated so I don’t remember it, but I do recollect my mother crying at the news on television when Robert Kennedy was shot. At the time I couldn’t understand why she would be so upset about a man she’d never known but then I remembered her sobbing at the drive-in when Elsa the lion died in ‘Born Free’ and deduced that Senator Robert must have been a nice person.
Mum and I were on a holiday in Sydney in 1980 when we walked past the newspaper headlines heralding the death of John Lennon. We both cried in the street as I recall.
Cutting up and spray painting foam mattresses in order to create giant banana costumes for a kid's play is what I was focussed on when my mother rang me in shock in 1997 to tell me that Princess Diana had been killed in a car crash. I didn’t believe her at the time; it was such an implausible scenario.
Three months later, sitting stunned in my lounge I listened to the news that Michael Hutchence had been found dead in his hotel room. When I heard the news of Michael Jackson’s passing on my car radio I had the same sense of loss.
All three; Diana, Hutchence and Michael Jackson were of the same vintage as myself and I felt somehow connected to them. Although of course I didn’t know these people, they had helped to shape my identity, fashion sense and attitudes; they were in a sense, my peers. It’s sort of like losing a part of yourself; or a significant part of your life.
Why am writing about such a depressing subject on a Friday night, I hear you bleat plaintively.
Probably because I’m sitting at home with my dogs lying all over me watching ‘Better Homes and Gardens’ and contemplating my mortality.
Why am writing about such a depressing subject on a Friday night, I hear you bleat plaintively.
Probably because I’m sitting at home with my dogs lying all over me watching ‘Better Homes and Gardens’ and contemplating my mortality.
I’m getting old and I’ve only just realised it. I’ve been waking up lately in a cold sweat, mentally calculating how many ‘good’ years I have left... and it ain’t many.
So I’ve made a few resolutions that will ensure I enjoy the final decades of my life.
Firstly, I am not going to worry about getting fat anymore. I’m going to just buy larger sized clothing and I won’t give a pig’s a#se. I’ve had enough of salads, cans of tuna and crackers. It’s time to chow down.
Secondly, if I feel like being a grumpy old b#tch, then I’ll be one. When that twelve year old at the chemist asks me if I’ve ever taken Panadol before I’ll give him a piece of my Pinky mind.
Thirdly, I’m going to start doing old lady things like going on cruises, talking to myself, squinting over my glasses, groaning when I get out of a chair, declaring loudly that Rap and Hip Hop music is a load of sh#t , asking strangers in the shopping aisle to read labels for me and farting at will.
Look out peeps… Granny Poinker is heading your way!
PS: Please leave a comment if you remember where you were at any of those times mentioned above. I’d love to reminisce.
So I’ve made a few resolutions that will ensure I enjoy the final decades of my life.
Firstly, I am not going to worry about getting fat anymore. I’m going to just buy larger sized clothing and I won’t give a pig’s a#se. I’ve had enough of salads, cans of tuna and crackers. It’s time to chow down.
Secondly, if I feel like being a grumpy old b#tch, then I’ll be one. When that twelve year old at the chemist asks me if I’ve ever taken Panadol before I’ll give him a piece of my Pinky mind.
Thirdly, I’m going to start doing old lady things like going on cruises, talking to myself, squinting over my glasses, groaning when I get out of a chair, declaring loudly that Rap and Hip Hop music is a load of sh#t , asking strangers in the shopping aisle to read labels for me and farting at will.
Look out peeps… Granny Poinker is heading your way!
PS: Please leave a comment if you remember where you were at any of those times mentioned above. I’d love to reminisce.
