Balls of Wool and Other Bits of Rubbish

By Magi Fowler

Collection of short stories, poems and musings of a crazy old witch living in the Aussie bush. Gathered over a lifetime of scribbling down the odd word here and there. Finally put them together, some to make you smile, some to make you think and maybe some even to raise a giggle or two. Enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magi Fowler
• Release date: Feb 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301602049

Magi Fowler

Magi was born in London a couple of weeks after the start of WW11. No she didn’t start it! She has been writing, and never finishing, stories since she was eight years old. During her working life, both in the UK and in Australia, she has written training manuals and promotional and advertising booklets, as well as tenders and applications for Government grants. Now living in retirement in a virtual paradise on fifty acres of bushland in northern NSW, she has finally got her act together and completed this, her first book, a collection of her some of her short stories and musings. At present she is working on her autobiography (aren’t we all?) called The Child’s Journey, and also putting together another book in the same vein as Balls of Wool.

Book preview

What others are saying about Balls of Wool and Other Bits of Rubbish.

‘Always expect the unexpected in Magi’s stories. There’s a great sense of mischief in her writing.’

—Dr Maria Simms, novelist and lecturer in creative and academic writing. NSW, Aust.

‘From the start I knew Magi had an original and unusual talent. This collection shows it off admirably.’

—Ian Searle, Chairman of the Third Age Trust, UK.

‘Magi’s witticisms are like chocolate, you always want more.’

—Sandra Grimes, Sydney, Aust.

BALLS OF WOOL

AND OTHER

BITS OF RUBBISH

Magi Fowler

Illustrations by

Sally Goldstein

Balls of Wool and Other Bits of Rubbish

By Magi Fowler

Copyright 2013 Magi Fowler

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to:

Ian

who told me I could write.

CONTENTS

Balls of Wool

Conversation with a Huntsman

Death of a Huntsman

Tooth Power

Posing Nude

He Hadn’t Changed at All

In The Doughnut

Goodbye Sister Emanuel

Warning – Boredom

Conserving Wildlife

A Boyfriend

Thingy

Jack-of- all-Trades

The Appointment

A Thank You Letter

Doing It

Brad’s Story

The Letter

The Big Cover Up

Platitudes

A Bit about Me

BALLS OF WOOL

First published in The Write Angle Magazine June 2007

Sitting on the back porch one day sorting out a big bag of tangled tapestry wool, I felt peaceful and contented. The birds were singing, the sun shining and all was well with the world. The thought came to me, ‘When I am old and locked away in some nursing home unable to care for myself, this could be a pleasant occupation.’ And so this story grew.

Today I untangled and wound my five balls of blue wool, three into skeins and two into balls. My arms were too tired to do more than three skeins. Last time I wound my balls of blue wool, I managed to do all five of them into skeins. That was last Monday. Monday is my day for winding my blue balls. Wednesday’s I tangle them up again.

They watch me tangling and winding my wool and I pretend that I am doing it without them seeing me. Sometimes I put the wool under the covers of my bed and tangle it in there with my hands, but that looks as though I am doing what Mr Fitzpatrick does. He doesn’t care who knows he does it, but then I suppose he doesn’t have any balls to play with, well not woollen ones anyway.

It bothers them that I tangle and wind my balls of wool. They want to analyse and understand my reasons and get into the depths of my mind. One day I got some sticks from the garden and bound them together to make a frame. I wove a nice little pink scarf on it but when I saw how pleased they all were, I stripped it down again. Now I just wind and tangle my balls of wool.

I shall do some Tai Chi today to strengthen my arms. That will worry them. The last time I did Tai Chi in the garden, I took all my clothes off to do it. Sister Barrie in particular was horrified.

Sister Barrie is a sad lady, full of worries and apprehensions, never keeping still. Everything must be done by the book. All her patients should be in straight lines in neat and tidy beds ready for inspection. When the doctors make their rounds she is almost frantic. She runs ahead tidying beds, side tables and patients. Some of us take great pleasure in untidying everything before the doctor reaches our beds and even getting out of bed and wandering away somewhere else. That is fun. Poor Sister Barrie, she doesn’t have time to smell the roses on her journey. A long time ago, before I gave up speaking, I did try to talk to her about enjoying life while she is young enough. But she just went on making and smoothing my bed and not listening. I see her husband when he comes to pick her up from work. He is an unsmiling, dour looking man who frets if she keeps him waiting. Life must be a barrel of laughs in their household.

I gave up speaking to almost everyone, mainly because they would persist in asking me inane questions. Do they really care how I am feeling today or whether I have emptied my bowels? Or what do I want for lunch? Just put it there, if I like it I will eat it, if not I won’t.

There is one person I do speak to and that is Clara. They call her the ward assistant but really she is the general dogsbody. She is enormous and very black. Her wrists are bigger than both my legs together. She is a cheerful soul and wanders around chuckling and laughing with everybody. She is even pleasant to Sister Barrie who is never pleasant in return. One reason I choose to speak to Clara is to annoy the hell out of Sister Barrie, but also because she will buy things for me and bring them in. Although after the nail polish episode she has been expressly forbidden to buy me anything before clearing it with Matron.

The episode with the nail polish was such fun. Just to see the look on Mr High-and-Mighty-Know-it-All Consultant’s face when I gave him my best beaming smile was worth all the hullabaloo. I thought my gnashers painted pearly pink and leaf green were most becoming, even Matron could hardly hide her smile. But him! He ranted and raved about lack of supervision, danger to ourselves, health hazards and goodness knows what. The only downside was that Sister Barrie was not on duty. I would really have enjoyed watching her face.

Mind you this was just after the episode with Mrs Krokaski. She killed herself one night with a pair of nail scissors. I watched her do it. She held her finger