What do I write about?

I have absolutely no idea – talk about ‘can’t think, brain dumb, inspiration won’t come’

Think – think - think – where has inspiration gone? – lots of stories out there, but none that are suitable will settle in this old brain. Maybe I should write my memoirs and put them all to sleep.

Could write about my kids and grandkids, but not enough paper to print out all the stories I could tell about their childhood misadventures.

Could write about my childhood pet, but a little blue-roan brumby pony, while he was the four-legged love of my life, doesn’t really have many stories to tell. He was just always there, giving his all every time it was asked of him. We had many adventures, from all of which we somehow emerged unscathed – Divine Intervention in many cases I think. Even in those days of childhood invincibility, a 20 foot leap at full gallop into a flooded creek was a bit foolhardy considering I never learned to swim, but it was heaps of fun. Good thing my father never found out - I would have been grounded for life. Because I never used a saddle though, there was no tell-tale soaking evidence for him to find except Velvet and me..

Maybe I could write about the time the electricity came through the district – I remember my mother climbing through the kitchen window because she didn’t want to step into the puddle of electricity that had somehow leaked in the kitchen doorway when I left the electric jug cord hanging down instead of hooking it up over the nail.

Or maybe I could write about the ‘proper’ phone lines coming through when all the farms got our own phone lines instead of having to share the party line. It was quite a change being able to sit down to talk instead of having to stand on a chair and screech into the mouthpiece of the box on the wall – all right for people who were tall enough, which I wasn’t! Miss the chats we all used to have on the party line though!

I could possibly write about the first time I drove the old army blitz that was our farm truck. At 10 I was very short and had to stand up so I could see over the dash. This made it very difficult to control the floor pedals which were very touchy anyway. I only had that one go at driving it because caroming through the barbed wire fence and mowing down 20 yards of a ready-to-harvest milo crop was not a good thing to do – especially since my brother was supposed to be driving, but had given in to the pathetic begging of his nagging little sister. No, I don’t think I will go there. The ‘end’ result was quite painful, as was sitting down for the next day or two.

Guess I could write about having nothing to write about, but that would be a bit pointless.

I’ll just have to pass on this one and hope that everyone else has written something. Maybe inspiration will come visit next month.