Hot Aussie Theory

I know which show I'm going to on my next trip to Vegas.

This is a combo post of history & my own personal theory. Two in one, how about that.

People may know that between 1788 - 1868 Great Britain sent over 162,000 people who had committed crimes, to Australia. In 1833 alone, 7,000 people were transported on large prison ships of which only 5,000 survived. The ships were cramped, uncomfortable. 

Rats & other disease carrying pests tended to overpopulate on the long seafaring voyages.

Prisoners who were thought to be dangerous, violent, belligerent were shackled or otherwise immobilized for long stretches of time. Food was scarce, the quality of it was poor, much of it was spoiled or stale. The crew & prisoners ate it anyway. 

Many of these male criminals fit in with the extremely attractive bad boy look & personality. Way to go Great Britain. 

Unload thousands of hot looking criminals to one big continent. 

Let them seed & breed, battle it out with each other. Let them crank out insanely attractive progeny who may or may not turn to criminal behavior as they become adolescents, then, adults. Most children follow their parents' example as a way to conduct themselves. A handful will choose a different life whether for the better or the other.

Granted, many of the ones sent packing committed minor infractions, sending them away was a way to rid England of all levels of riff raff. From --->the teenager who had no food, was so hungry she or he grabbed something, ate it without paying for it.

To ---> the drunk person (male or female) who had caused a public ruckus over & over, causing malcontent amongst the other people.

Off to Aussieland with you and don't come back

As most of the non-indigenous people arrived, began to procreate. Many people, at least in attractiveness, hit the genetic jackpot so much so that the continent began to be populated with such good-looking people that the word began to spread. The tales of men going into a tavern where each serving wench was even more comely than the one before. Ladies who had been to Australia would trade titillating gossip away from where the menfolk could hear. 

Talk of very muscular men with no shirt also no fear. They were still mostly in possession of decent manners as well as a chivalrous attitude toward those of the fairer gender.

The last prison ship arrived in Australia in January 1867 in the Freemantle. 267 souls aboard. It marked the end of 80 years of shipping even the mildest of offenders to Australia still under the rule of Great Britain.

Let's attempt to flip the deporting of criminals to Australia on its butt.

There are those out there who believe that the criminals never made it to Australia. The claim is that the ships, laden with minor to serious offenders, were instructed to sail far from land. So that if the prisoners were dumped into the ocean, their chances of reaching land were most unlikely. Then, the prisoners were dumped into the ocean.

The conspiracy theory is that there were well concocted lies, forged documents by government officials. Furthermore, it's proposed that the Aussies who verify that their ancestors were shipped to Australia are well paid actors/actresses. More recently AI generated personas have been created to further attempt to support that the prisoners were deposited in Australia, not dumped into the ocean.

This is just a theory, albeit a terrible one, it has never been proved nor disproved.

Whatever the theory is, there have been a positive disproportionate number of hot hot Aussies. They were considered British subjects until 1984 after which the people of Australia were considered to be simply, Australian Citizens. Great Britain had colonized Australia in the past. Aussie government plus many citizens wanted to break free from being under British rule. It was time.

There are so many reasons as to why Australia & many people from there are so appealing. The weather tends to be very comfortable. The population of the continent as a whole is lower than other continents with the same land mass. Australians mostly enjoy a laid-back lifestyle. There are plenty of beaches along with perfect beach weather. This gives so many people who live there, a natural glow from the year round mostly sunny weather.

One aspect it seems mandatory to mention is the Australian accent or Australian English. Granted, not all people like the way it sounds. Some peeps don't like the way Aussies sound, oh, but most peeps do!

(see what I did?)

The sound is unmistakable. The terminology is also unique.

Here's an easy to remember one - Aussie! An Australian citizen.

Brolly - Umbrella\

Barbie - BBQ

Fair Dinkum - Straight Forward

Avo - Avocado

Legless - Someone who is very intoxicated

Pissed - Intoxicated or drunk

Stubby - A bottle of Beer

Clucky - Maternal

Coppers - Police Men

Drongo - A fool or someone acting like one

(Don't be a drongo, mate!)

Footy - Football

Root Rat - A nympho, especially a guy

Sheila - A woman

Up Yourself - Snobby or stuck up

Roos loose in the top paddock - Crazy or a bit wacky

Budgie Smugglers - Speedo swimsuit

Bruce - An Aussie guy

Some of these you may have heard before as so many have been adopted outside of Australia. Some of them make sense, some make no sense unless you're a bloke or a sheila.

The Cardigan

 

Quite often that which is passed down father to son or mother to daughter is done so without the successive owners knowing "the story". Oh, everyone, every place, everything has a story.

In my short life, there are plenty of stories. True stories.

Being the lowest rank in the USAF, fresh out of BMT, my first base was Hickam AB, Honolulu, Hawai'i. I know. Pua ting, you.

As having very much of my own money was new to me, it was a new discovering of what I liked, shaping my own personal style. 

As many people know, Hawai'i is a warm, humid, tropical climate.

With that said, I went into the Hickam AB, BX (Base Exchange) one day, I saw a small rack of hand crocheted cardigans. To me, they were elegant, light. Perfect as a light cardigan for evenings out on the town.

Alas, the price was more than I could afford.

Being the very lowest rank in the USAF had certain benefits. Benefits such as being given the benefit of the doubt for any faux pas due to my rank & inexperience. One of those benefits was not a higher salary. The cardigan had captured my attention. Trying it on felt so nice. It was a very lightweight elegant wrap. The softness of the lacy crocheted pattern against the backs of my arms was equally nice. Still, I didn't have enough $$ to justify spending so much on something that was more of a want, less of a need.

It's granted that my basic needs were provided for.

Housing (barracks life, ugh)

Meals (Chow hall!)

Uniforms (USAF baby!)

Utilities (AC can be pricy)

Still, I was only 19, had never been taught how to manage money. At that time, I would spend close to my entire salary in the first week of the month.

Oops!

Still had a lot to learn about impulse spending, money management. Skills that had been taught to many of my peers weren't taught to me as they ought to have been.

Every chance I got, I went into the BX to try the cardigan on, tried to talk myself into buying one in my size. There were several, maybe 20 of the cardigans in different sizes. It seemed that one in my size would be around for a while. What had escaped my notice was that someone was watching me. Every time I went in, to try the cardigan on, someone was watching me.

After a month & 1/2 or so, I went into the BX to try a cardigan on, possibly, finally, buy one. As I went to the rack where they were there before. They were all gone. Looking around, hoping they had only been moved, my heart sank. Please keep in mind, I was only 19. Also, it felt as if I was less mature than my peers. Looking without finding the cardigan was far from the end of the world.

For me, it was a deep let down.

As hard as I fought it, a couple tears slipped down my face. The person who had been watching me, approached, asked me if I needed to sit for a moment. He guided me to a place with a small table & 2 chairs, asked me to wait there for him to come back.

It was a bit perplexing, still, I had the time to sit for a few minutes.

After a short time, the guy reappeared, walked toward me. He had the cardigan that was just my size, in his hands. Unsure of what was happening, I asked him where he had found it. I told him that my rank was very low, that I had wanted the cardigan very much, couldn't afford it.

As it turned out, he was the manager of the BX.

He held the price tag up, turned it over, wrote $1.00 on it. A price I could easily afford. He smiled, I grinned great big, a couple of happy tears slipped down my face.

He accompanied me to the register where he told the cashier that he had okayed the discount.

I was so overjoyed, although I was just going to the beach that day, I wore the beautiful cardigan over my hot pink bikini. It was perfect, so versatile it could be worn just about anywhere. With a bikini, jeans & tee or an evening gown.

I was to go out with a guy I had been spending time with later in the day. The cardigan would be perfect.

When my guy picked me up, he handed a dozen white roses to me as he had every time we went out. He complimented me on how beautiful the cardigan looked on me. If it was possible it made me like him a bit more, even like the cardigan a bit more.

He was such a great guy, the times he and I spent together were fun, memorable. It seemed that the good feelings between us had somewhat transferred to how I felt about the cardigan.

Fast forward.

My eldest daughter saw the cardigan in my closet, one day, really liked it. Earlier I had loaned it to another girl who hadn't been very careful with it. Some of the threads in the back had been burned by a cigarette while she had it. I wanted it to be perfect for my daughter

After asking around a bit, a lady whom I knew to be a master at crochet, agreed to repair it for me. She did such a great job it looked just as pristine as it did the day that I bought it. 

My eldest daughter began wearing the cardigan a lot. As something that sometimes happens, she regarded it as hers. It was time for me to let go of the cardigan along with the memories I attached to it. Letting go of the cardigan, while still keeping the memories in my heart.

My daughter didn't know the circumstance of my longing for the cardigan or the kindness of the BX manager. She, also, never knew about the hot guy I had dated & that I wore the cardigan every time I went out with him. She and I are not on speaking terms, as sometimes happens when adult children no longer need nor care about their parents. It's more about her husbands disrespectful treatment of me than anything. I divorced her father, who was abusive, who had treated me that way, I won't accept it from a SIL.

If she reads my blogs, which I doubt she does, she will see the circumstances plus, what it was that made me feel such fondness for the beautiful, timeless cardigan.

Maybe, someday, she will eventually pass it on, as well.

Recently, while shopping online, on Etsy, I saw it!

An exact match of the beautiful cardigan I had bought so long ago. It's 100% certain that it isn't the one my daughter inherited from me.

Yes, I bought it.

Yes, it's just as beautiful though it was more than $1.00.

With bated breath, I waited for my treasured cardigan to arrive. After it was delivered to my front porch, I took it inside. 

With my heart pounding, carefully unwrapping it.

The seller had generously included 2 more pieces with it. This cardigan is just as beautiful as the one I had passed down. Maybe, this one was passed down or will be passed down to someone who fancies it as much as I do. Different reasons, it's also just as elegant, versatile, timeless as the first one was.

Monogamy From The Heart

 If you have been reading my blog (no obligation) you might see that I have started many projects. Specifically, needlework projects. When I hit a rough time in life, I start a new project. It gives me the same sensation as falling in love.

An aunt whom I dearly love has said that people don't fall in love, they fall in horse crap, just don't know the difference.

In my particular attitude I probably have fallen in love with a project so many times I could start my own stable.

As it's the case, later in my stitching time, I learned to stick to one project to completion. Currently, Gift of Peace by Marilyn Leavitt Imblum of Lavender & Lace Designs. I started this design so long ago, truly, I don't remember when. It was misplaced.

I love it so much. Though I hadn't finished the first one, I started it again. This time around I finished it, sent it off to a professional framers to celebrate my win. While going through possessions, I found it. The first one. This time around, I'm sticking to this one project until completion.

It's easier to be faithful in a relationship than it is for me to stick to one project at a time. So far, I'm sticking to it. The different shades of red, the similar shades of white & ecru. It was a bit monotonous as relationships can often become. It became a bit boring. Still, I am sticking with it.

Why?

Because I want to complete this. Want to finish what I started.

In this dishonorable, in this disposable world?

Methinks it is.

There is a phrase that comes to mind.

"Why is it that when half begun creative joys diminish. It's more exciting to begin again than it ever is to finish."

That's saying it all, that's the belief, anyway.

It's a saying, a belief that it's necessary for me to detach from.

The projects that I have started, I intend to finish. As I'm still young enough to finish these, one by one, then I can enjoy seeing them on the wall or wherever they are placed.

True to Your Heart

Ask yourself, if you woke up one warm sweet morning, found that you had zero prior memory of who you are, who & what would you be?

For my fellow lady hawks out there, who are peaking at night. Ditto except if you had let your creativity carry you all night then slept all day, awakened shortly after moonrise. If you only had knowledge from the moment you awakened, who would you suppose yourself to be?

Feel it or reach into your imagination down deep into your identity, follow it. 

Have courage, it can be or become a bit scary.

You have an absence of memory of any hurts, pains or unkindness that may have befallen you. Equally, what your job or career is, escapes you. There are photos of people who you suppose you know in that space you awakened in or have known yet you're drawing as many blanks as to who they are just as the unanswered details of who you are or were.

This is about something else if you think it's Alzheimer's.

Nice try.

As you fish around inside your heart, your mind, feel for what appeals to you. 

What would you suppose your passions are?

What do you feel your natural abilities are?

What knowledge do you have whether natural or educated in?

When something comes to you, a tickle in your brain.

Something that is so ASMR it feels to be as much a part of you as your arms, legs, eyes, ears or what you have.

Unless it's something hopefully not illegal, immoral or self-harming, that's you.

Think about it.

I'll wait.

10 

9

8

7

6

5

4

3

2

1

For many people their passion can be something artistic, creative, trendy or some other such that won't immediately pay the water bill.

The act of following a passion is often a long road of starving, suffering, ridicule, pressure from those who lack understanding. Sometimes it can even be disgust, ridicule, backstabbing, ostracization. The term "starving artist" is close to reality.

Albeit late in my life, a new lease came to me. Being truthful, it was a combo of prepped - worked - hoped for. Keeping myself ready to receive, waiting, even starving (limited nutrition or food), dreaming big, I kept going. A still small message played in a loop in my head. It told me to keep going, keep striving, that I would have all that I had lost that I still wanted, that I would receive it plus more. 

More spiritual, more healing, more encouraging than anything.

After the new lease on life happened, there was a bit of doubt, a bit of suffering, anxiety, depression, bulimia. The insomnia I thought I had conquered came back with vengeance.

Trauma from the past, which I had pushed down deep began to affect me. It had affected me for a few decades, it was necessary to put it to the side. It could no longer be ignored, had to be dealt with. After a counselor I went to, lied to me, betrayed me, the realization that it was completely up to me to work through it on my own. When even a trained, skilled counselor with a stellar reputation can violate the ethics of their practice it's a clear indication that you're on your own.

One day, I hit rock bottom, unfortunately it wasn't buns of steel.

At the lowest point I had ever been, this message came to me. 

From that point onward, it became a mantra. A message so powerful, so beautiful, so comforting. It became my mantra to repeat in my mind when the inevitable challenges arose. Clinging to it was all to be done to keep going.

By doing this, I felt multiple shifts starting at the core of my being.

All of the pains of biting criticisms, the unkind treatment from those who were supposed to love me, began melting away. The pain was replaced with peace, quiet confidence, love filled thoughts.

During this time, it was a wondrous rediscovery of who I was along with stepping into becoming someone new.

It would be a falsehood to say it was easy.

Peeps, it was a ton of work.

Along the way, many people whom I had known before dropped away, frightened by who I was becoming. People who wanted me to stay the same as I was when they met me. It was for their comfort in whom they perceived me to be.

Change was scary enough for me, adding the fear of others was unbearable. Those who truly cared about me were delighted to see the positive changes I was making, stuck by me. Even offered encouragement when it was needed.

In present day, as a continued exploration of this new identity, personal growth is continuing. Forward motion is less scary, more exciting than anything. Discovering, even gravitating toward whatever beneficial element it is that draws me to it. The nature of growth is to (within reason) change with the times or volunteer to be left behind. By staying stuck in prior ways, ideas, practices one truly is volunteering to be left behind. 

Some people derive comfort from that, that's also okay.

Being true to my heart causes me to push away a layer of the cocoon to feel the freshness of a butterfly. Until the feeling of a cocoon closing around me begins again, then, pushing through it, life is once more, fresh, new, with more forward movement.

It falls short of saying;

 "I wish I could" or "Doing the work is optional".

It's definitely required to do the work, totally worth it.