Travelling Friday–Road Trip to Sydney (2)

December 19, 2025 / lmkling / Leave a comment

Road Trip Adventure in the Charger (2)

No Headlights

The highway, so straight, never curving to the right nor the left, was hypnotic. Again, in the late afternoon, the burning sun on the back of my neck, now sinking in the West, and the rushing of air from the open window, lulled me into a state of semi-sleep.

By increments, as sunset turned to dusk, the air cooled. I trusted Rick to keep us safe on the highway to Sydney. I noted Cordelia resting her head on Mitch’s shoulder, and then I sank into a deep, satisfying sleep.

*[Photo 1: Sunset near Sale, Victoria © L.M. Kling 1989]*

‘Oh, no!’ Rick said.

‘What?’ Mitch cried.

‘We have no headlights.’

‘What do you mean, no headlights?’ I asked.

The car slowed to a stop by the side of the road, again. Groggy from sleep and the hypnotic effect of the endless highway, we piled out of the Charger and milled around the non-functioning headlights.

Mitch peered at the offending lights. ‘Are you able to fix them, Rick?’

Rick pulled up the hood and, in the dim light, examined the engine. He poked around in the dark nether regions of the Charger’s insides.

Mitch hovered over Rick’s back while he prodded and poked at the parts in the dimness. ‘Do you need a torch?’

‘Do you have one, Mitch?’

Mitch shrugged. ‘I don’t…didn’t think…would you have one in the glove box?’

‘Might have, but the battery’s gone flat,’ all mumbled to the engine.

Mitch had already left to torch-hunt in the Charger’s glove box. At this time, I watched Jack busy himself sorting through luggage at the rear of the vehicle.

Cordelia sat all hunched over on her duffel bag. ‘I still don’t feel well,’ she said.

‘Are you carsick?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s worse than that,’ she answered. ‘I think I need to see a doctor.’

I gazed around the silent, darkened landscape. ‘Maybe at the next town, we can try to find one.’

Jack called, ‘Hey, I’ve found another torch.’

The feeble light of Rick’s torch wandered over the car engine.

‘It’s the alternator, it’s cactus. Needs replacing,’ Rick said. ‘We’ll need to park here for the night, and in the morning, I’ll fix it at the next town.’

Cordelia, clutching her stomach, walked up to the lads. ‘I need to see a doctor; I’m not feeling at all well.’

Mitch glanced at the girl, his eyes wide and brow furrowed. ‘Perhaps we’d better push on and find a doctor—hospital—something.’

‘How can we?’ Jack said. ‘We have no headlights. It’d be dangerous.’

‘I’m not driving without headlights,’ Rick said.

‘How far to the nearest town?’ Mitch raised his voice. ‘The girl needs help.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘How far is it to Dubbo?’

Mitch grabbed the RAA strip map, Jack handed him the torch, and with the stronger light, Mitch flipped the pages and then studied the relevant page.

Cordelia sat down on her bag and was silent.

*[Photo 2: Sunset at Brachina © L.M. Kling 1999]*

‘Says here,’ Mitch began, and then continued, ‘we are twenty miles from Dubbo.’

‘I’m still not sure…’ Jack said.

‘Oh, come on,’ Mitch huffed, ‘only twenty miles. If we use the torches for our light, we can get there safely.’

‘What, waving the torches out the side of the windows?’ Rick said, ‘Are you mad?’

‘If we go slowly, we can make it,’ Mitch said. ‘Come on, give it a try. For Cordelia’s sake, we have to try.’

*[Photo 3: Rick will save the day…eventually © courtesy R.M. Trudinger 1983]*

At Mitch’s insistence to save this damsel in distress, we piled back in the car and crawled down the highway, torches flashing back and forth from the rear windows.

After a few minutes, Rick shook his head, his curls flopping about his damp forehead. ‘It’s not working.’

‘What about,’ Mitch sighed, ‘what about, if I sit in the front and you and I shine the torches from the front.’

‘If you think it’ll make a difference,’ Rick muttered.

Mitch changed places with Rick, who was driving, and Rick moved into the front passenger seat where Jack had been sitting. Jack then bumped Cordelia into the middle and sat behind Mitch.

The car crawled a few metres with Rick and Mitch waving torches from their front positions.

I looked behind me at the expanse of the dark landscape, and the sky was filled with the Milky Way.

‘I hope the cops don’t catch us,’ I murmured.

‘What cops?’ Jack said.

The Charger slowed and then stopped.

‘It’s not working,’ Rick said.

‘But we’ve hardly moved,’ Mitch said.

‘I think it’ll be better if we don’t use the torches and I drive by the starlight.’ Rick sniffed. ‘I think my eyes will adjust. And we’ll take it slowly.’

‘I can do that,’ Mitch said.

‘No, I’ll drive.’ Rick pushed open his door and marched over to the driver’s side. ‘It’s my car. I know how to handle it.’

Mitch breathed in and out with an emphasised sigh. ‘If you insist.’

Rick forged ahead on the highway to Dubbo at a leisurely twenty miles an hour. I know it was twenty miles (not kilometres) an hour as it took us an hour to reach the outskirts of Dubbo. Mitch couldn’t resist the urge to hang his arm out with Jack’s torch, offering slim beams of light to guide Rick as he drove. Fortunately, we met no police on patrol.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: The Tough and Rugged Front of one of Rick’s re-creations, a Chrysler Valiant Charger after “roughing it” in the Flinders Ranges. Friend Dancing at Port Germein © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1984

***

Summer in Australia is approaching, and so is the season for holidays and intrepid road trips …

Or for reading adventure …

Want more? Dreaming of travelling down under? Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on:

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Family History Friday–Kintsugi Kin

December 12, 2025 / lmkling / Leave a comment

[Heading up to Christmas, reminds me we all have them: the proverbial “black sheep” in our families. Or it might be the skeletons we want remain hidden.

As it was, in the past week, I didn’t intend to, but it happened. I made another discovery which I can’t wait to tell my mum. I tell my mum everything.

It all began when I did some research on backyard burning and the iconic Besser block incinerator from the 1960s. A fellow writer in our writers’ group was adamant that burning was banned during the summer months back then. However, I remember things differently, and so does Hubby. Anyway, as I was researching, I came across a map of Adelaide CBD during the 1920s. Don’t I just love incidental detective work! After a little more “digging,” I think I’ve found my great-uncle’s clothing shop location. Amazing!

Then, as I delved into the relatives from that branch, My Heritage offered some fascinating information which kept me burrowing down another rabbit hole. I will not bore you with the details, but I will be telling my mum.

So, on another note, here’s a refined re-blog from not so long ago.]

In the Steps of Sherlock Holmes

Some time ago, Hubby and I received our DNA results. Dear Hubby received his a few days before me.

So, over the last year, I have been familiarising myself with the process and slowly building our family trees. Early on, I discovered a truth, which could be said to be a “skeleton” in one of our ancestral lines. I added the details to see if anything further came up. My Heritage calls this a “smart match”. Nothing did, but I left it there.

*[Photo 1: Sherlock Holmes Hubby, Reichenbach Falls, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014]*

For certain family members, this truth appeared absurd and too difficult to comprehend. Surely, that ancestor wouldn’t. Didn’t. No one told us that. You have it all wrong, Lee-Anne.

Hence, Lee-Anne (me), being a good person, only wanting the best for the family, deleted the suspect members from that branch of the family.

Then, curiosity set in. Who was that ancestor’s mother? Father? My husband suggested we go down the line to the descendants and put in a particular name.

This I did.

You wouldn’t believe it, but the same results, only this time verified by the official birth and marriage records. My original hunch had been correct. Moreover, in the spirit of Sherlock Holmes, I managed to cross-match the added, yet odd, family members with DNA, and behold, a match.

Now, the reason I’m being so vague about the whole ancestral situation, which I might add, is responsible for our existence, is because out of respect for some people, the details of such conceptions are to remain private/personal; too personal to be published.

Isn’t it interesting that for people who want to protect their reputation, the unacceptable behaviour of other members of their family, ancestors, or close relatives must remain hidden, buried, and plainly, not discussed. Such individuals may even be ostracised from the family.

Yet, such flawed individuals can still be in other circles and be a valued and much-loved member of the community.

My dad’s cousin, Dr. Malcolm Trudinger, for instance. The story goes that he had a problem with alcohol. Legend has it that he couldn’t do surgery without a nip or two before the operation.

Malcolm’s alcohol addiction was too much for his immediate family, who, it would seem, distanced themselves from him. Maybe it was the other way around, and he felt not good enough for them. Whatever…

According to articles about Malcolm on Trove, he was regularly in trouble with the law. Infractions that in the 21^st century, we’d consider a nuisance, or minor, but in the 1940’s and 50’s were important. For example, his car making too much noise at night in town. Or even one time, merely driving his car late at night. Another time, he was charged with causing a scene at a function.

Despite these misdemeanours, as I see them (glad my brother and I didn’t live in those times—in his youth, my brother loved doing “donuts” and “burnouts” in his car like in Top Gear at night with his mates), the folk on the West Coast of South Australia loved Dr. Malcolm Trudinger. He was their hero. He once helped rescue people from a shipwreck off the coast during a storm. He cared and was always there for the sick and injured.

I remember my mother telling me the story of how a person, upon meeting my father, and learning his name was Trudinger, sang high praises for his cousin Malcolm. The sad thing was that although he was still alive when Mum and Dad were first married, Mum never got to meet Malcolm.

*[Photo 1: Dr. Malcolm Trudinger © photo courtesy of L.M. Kling circa 1930]*

Dr. Malcolm Trudinger was such a vital part of the West Coast community that they established a rose garden in his honour after he passed away in the early 1960s. We have heard that rose cultivation was his passion, and his roses were prize-winning. My niece discovered the garden when she and her partner were on a road trip passing through Elliston. She couldn’t have been more chuffed having found a Trudinger with a rose garden to his name. It showed Malcolm was a loved member of the community despite his demons.

This is what, I believe, grace is all about—valuing and loving people as they are. We are all flawed. Rather than hide the imperfections, celebrate the person, their life, and the goodness they brought to the community. It’s our pride and wanting to look good to others that makes us cover up our sins or those of our kin. But also, we may be protecting their reputation too.

The reality is, we are all fallen, and we all struggle. No one is perfect. We are all cracked pots. Yet, like in the Japanese art of Kintsugi (the repairing of broken pots), there is beauty that shines out through the cracks.

*[Photo 3 and feature: Kintsugi pot © courtesy of Freepik]*

And so, it is with our imperfect ancestors. When you think about it, it’s the ones whose stories are different and colourful that we find most interesting.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024; updated 2025

Feature Photo: Hubby as Sherlock Holmes, Reichenbach Falls, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014

***

Want more, but different?

Check out my Central Australian adventures.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Friday Postcards and a bit of Family History–Basel

October 31, 2025October 31, 2025 / lmkling / Leave a comment

Postcards: Basel, Switzerland

[This postcard of the Basel Minster (German: Basler Münster) was delivered to its recipient in 1899. Theodora Bellan, the recipient was the house maid of my Great-grandmother (Sophie Basedow nee Hiller). Imagine! Those were the days when ancestors had house maids. My grandfather (Sam Gross) who was my Great-grandma’s son-in-law, collected postcards and so, ended up with this one. I wonder if he considered, back then, 80 to 90 years ago, that, one of his descendants (me) with the K-Team would visit the birthplace of my husband’s mother? Would he have envisaged the changes to this city and the challenges the K-Team faced visiting this city of Switzerland?

I might add here, that as far as my family history goes, I have several and varied connections with Basel. A branch of my Trudinger relatives lived and worked in Basel; they owned a successful ribbon factory at the turn of the twentieth century. All went flat (pardon the pun, but my dad loved puns) with the stock market crash in 1929 and the subsequent depression. Still, I believe some relatives of mine may still live in Basel, even today. And on my mother’s side, my two-times Great Grandfather (Charles George Hiller) and my Great grandfather (Emil Basedow) studied for the ministry in Basel. No wonder, when I visited Basel, especially the Altstadt, I felt a connection to the place and it seemed so familiar to me.]

K-Team Adventures in Basel — August 2014

Not so early, for once, on this Saturday morning, P1, Granny K, Hubby and I headed for Basel. We regretted not rising early. Near Zurich, cars on the autobahn came to a virtual standstill and continued that way till Basel.

*[Photo 1: First impressions of Basel; Münster Fahre © L.M. Kling 1998]*

Having taken twice as long to get to Basel and then taking time to squeeze into a very narrow car park in the middle of the city, once released from the confines of the car, Granny went in search of toilet facilities. She found a toilet close by only to discover they took her Swiss Franc and failed to deliver relief as she couldn’t open the door. We hunted down the street in search of a toilet. Migros would surely facilitate the desperate. No, only if you patronise the establishment do you get the code to get into the room of relief. The Rathaus? No, joy there—closed for business. Ah, MacDonald’s! Off Granny and I ran. By this time, I was becoming a tad desperate for a wee break. I had a plan. Buy McChips and a McWrap and get the Mac-code and we’re in business. Had to line up, though. The men waited outside. We waited. They waited. Finally! Service and the sacred code of the Holy Mac-Grail, the toilet.

*[Photo 2: The Rathaus closed for a meeting © L.M. Kling 2014]*

When we eventually emerged, much relieved, Hubby said, ‘You took your time. We’ve been waiting 25 minutes.’

‘It’s not like Basel’s flush with them,’ I replied.

‘I guess that’s why I haven’t seen many people walking around with bottles of water,’ Hubby muttered.

*[Photo 3: The crowds through the Rathaus Gate © L.M. Kling 2014]*

We fought our way through the Saturday shoppers and holiday crowd over the bridge and to the Kleine Alstadt to find a bench to sit and eat our lunch. Ironically, free benches were the Holy Grail there, but toilets, now we didn’t need one, were in abundance, including open air urinals! Granny was horrified. What has her Basel come to?

We did find ratty old seats near a playground and youth nearby with a stereo booming out Spanish hip hop! Oh, well, it was a seat and I enjoyed watching the people and the happy ambience of the sunny Saturday afternoon.

*Photo 4: Altstadt (old town) © L.M. Kling 2014]*

But P1 slouched in his seat and pouted.

‘What’s wrong?’ Granny asked.

‘We haven’t seen anything,’ P1 mumbled. He meant missing seeing the Matterhorn, thanks to the “Matterhorn Rebellion”. But that’s another story you can read …

However soon enough we did see some sights. We saw the outside of the Rathaus with its mural artworks—the inside still closed for a meeting! Approaching the cathedral known as the Basel Minster, I exclaimed, ‘Ah, I’ve been wanting to see inside this cathedral with the tapestry roof for ages. Last time when we were here in 1998, we didn’t have time to look inside.’

*[Photo 5: Basel Minster © L.M. Kling 1998]*

‘It was Sunday, then and the Cathedral was closed for a service,’ Hubby said.

‘Oh.’

We entered the Basel Minster and marvelled at the simple beauty of the sanctuary. A service was starting in half an hour, so we had to be silent and not take photos.

*[Photo 6: Inside the Minster’s sanctuary © L.M. Kling 2014]*

After a while, Hubby found me and asked, ‘Have you seen P1?’

‘No.’

Granny came up to us. ‘Have you seen P1?’

‘No, he must’ve climbed the tower,’ I said.

Hubby texted P1 and he replied he’d been asked to leave as a service was about to take place. It just hasn’t been P1’s day.

*[Photo 7: The Cloisters—Basel Minster © L.M. Kling 2014]*

After meeting P1 in the square, we walked through the cloisters next door to the Basel Minster and then marvelled at the vista of the Rhine, the city and the mountains in the distance. Hubby pointed out the Blauen Hoch, the mountain we’d climbed while in Badenweiler.

*[Photo 8: Rhine vista © L.M. Kling 2014]*

*[Photo 9: Blauen Hoch in distance © L.M. Kling 2014]*

On our way back to the car, we walked through the Altstadt to the Kunst (Art) Museum. Too late by this time to explore but Hubby and I hoped we could return next weekend to see the museum. Never happened…Next time??? 2025, and still waiting …

*[Photo 10: Hubby and the Rodin sculpture in courtyard of Kunst Museum, Basel © L.M. Kling 2014]*

And finally, Granny asked Hubby to drive past the church where she was baptised. Unfortunately, it was only a drive-by, more road works and nowhere to park. At least the church bells started ringing as we crawled past to the delight of Granny.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2020; 2024; 2025

Feature photo: Postcard of Basel Minster Front (above) and Back (below) © 1899

***

And now, for something different…from Europe…

Dreaming of an Aussie Outback Adventure?

Click the links below:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981,

To download your Amazon Kindle copy of the story…

And escape in time and space to the Centre of Australia 1981…

Travelling on a Friday–Back to Hermannsburg (1)

October 10, 2025 / lmkling / Leave a comment

[In 2013, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

Over the next few weeks, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.

This time, the T-Team go their separate ways…]

Monday Morning

After a fitful sleep and then early rise, I looked forward to coffee with mum and the boys. With the sun peeping over the horizon, shining in the watery blue winter sky and reflecting golden on the gum trees surrounding the campground, the frigid desert air slowly began to thaw.

*[Photo 1: Sunrise in the Centre © C.D. Trudinger circa 1977]*

First, though, after a warming shower and filling breakfast, the tent had to be packed up. Hubby needed my help with that. Then, he spent an eternity repacking the station wagon. While waiting, I jogged on the spot and puffed out steam of my breath into the below ten-degrees air.

*[Photo 2: Packing up Tent, Mambray Creek, Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling 2018]*

As if a surgeon performing a delicate operation, he punctuated his packing with commands. ‘Bags!’ So, I passed over the bags which he grabbed and pushed into the boot of the car. Then, ‘Tent!’ I hauled over the packed tent to him. Then, ‘Esky!’ I lugged the cool box (esky) to him. Then, waving his hand while head stuck in the boot of the car, ‘Box!’

‘What box?’ I asked.

‘Kitchen box!’

‘Huh?’ I glanced at the piles of stuff still waiting a home in the Ford. Finding the green crate with breakfast cereals, bread and cans of beans, I passed that one to him.

‘No! No! No!’ he snapped and pointed at the red crate, same size but with cooking utensils. ‘That box!’

Apparently, the green crate must go under the back seat with a blanket covering it.

*[Photo 3: Challenges of packing are not new. Relocating in the Centre by camel © S.O. Gross circa 1940]*

Finally, with Hubby’s version of luggage-tetris complete, we drove the short distance in the caravan park to mum’s cabin.

Again, we found Mum T glued to the phone. On the small pine table, she had spread out a brochure opened to camel farms. In between phone calls she muttered, ‘Mrs. T has asked me to find a camel farm for them to visit.’ She was not having much luck finding a camel farm or someone from the camel farms advertised, to answer her calls.

*[Photo 4: In search of an open Camel Farm © L.M. Kling 2013]*

While Mum T remained occupied with the phone, Hubby and I popped next door to visit our boys. The first words out of their Dad’s mouth when he entered was, ‘Have you packed?’

Son 1 and 2 duly showed Dad their packed luggage waiting by the door.

Satisfied that the lads were ready to depart Alice Springs and not miss the flight, we sat down to enjoy a coffee with them.

*[Photo 5: Memories of my first flight over Alice Springs 1977 © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]*

Mum joined us. ‘Oh, by the way,’ she said over her much-needed coffee to wake up, ‘the park manager came over. They were most apologetic about the mix up yesterday. Apparently, whoever took my booking assumed the people were T’s, because when they asked them, the lady didn’t hear clearly and just nodded and said “Yes”.’

‘You mean the guy behind the counter assumed the lady was you?’ I asked to clarify.

‘Apparently, the guy asked the lady, ‘Are you Mrs. T?’ and she said, ‘Yes.’’

We shook our heads.

‘Maybe the lady who took our cabin had a hearing problem,’ I said.

‘Oh, well, it all worked out in the end,’ Mum T concluded.

*[Photo 6: Desert Park Sands © L.M. Kling 2021]*

After visiting the Strehlow Centre and its Art Gallery again, we travelled to the airport to see our sons safely, and in time, board the plane back to Adelaide. Then a brief stop at Woolworths for Hubby to buy some shorts, before commencing our return to Hermannsburg.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021; update 2025

Feature Photo: Mum’s Ghost Gum near Mt. Hermannsburg © courtesy M.E. Trudinger circa 1950

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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Click on the link and download your kindle copy of my travel memoir,

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari. (Australia)

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The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Time Travelling Friday–Future Message

October 3, 2025 / lmkling / Leave a comment

[So, if you could go back and talk with your 5-year-old self, what would you say? What would your 5-year-old self say to your future self? Here’s a story where I imagine just that.]

MESSAGE FROM MY FUTURE ME

“Grandma, can I excuse the table?” I asked.

Grandma chuckled. “You mean, be excused from the table, dear.”

I nodded and then pushed my chair from the old wooden table.

“Yes, you may, but don’t go too far,” Grandma said. “Go only to the end of the road and then you must turn back.”

“I will.”

*[Photo 1: Escapee from Grandma’s © C.D. Trudinger circa 1966]

I escaped out the back door and down the gravel driveway. The street spanned before me, begging adventure. Sunday lawns green, pungent with fresh Saturday clippings piled behind an assortment of fences.

“Go away, will you,” she said in her grimy blue dress. She leaned over the stone wall and pushed me.

I brushed off her greasy prints and walked on, leaving the willow tree and that girl snarling in the shade behind me. As I strolled into the sun, I ran my hand over cracked rendered walls, rattling cyclone fences and peering through the oleander bushes for signs of life in quiet houses.

“Don’t go over the road,” Grandma’s voice warned in my head.

*[Photo 2: Memories of Belair National Park © L.M. Kling]

No, I won’t. I rubbed my bottom in memory of the Belair Sunday school picnic adventure when my brother lost me. Promise! Careful not to step on the lines in the pavement. Bad luck. I tiptoed and danced along the pavement in my pink ballerina shoes.

A shadow wriggled over the pavers. Stobie pole to my right, plastered its stunted midday image on the asphalt. I halted. Casting my focus up, I spied this big girl. I squealed and clapped my hands over my mouth. This lady-girl was dressed all in lace and brown velvet as if in Grandma’s clothes.

“Hello, you must be Lee-lee.”

“Why did you know my name?” I pointed at her; rude, I know. “Ha, ha! Why are you wearing funny clothes?”

She blushed and rubbed her stubby fingers over the velvet. “They’re trendy where I come from.” She smiled and straightened her long dress that swept past her ankles. “Actually, where I come from, I know a lot about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I have the same name as you.”

“So? I know more than you do. You’re dumb. So there, ner!” I planted my hands on my hips and poked out my tongue.

“That’s no way to talk about yourself.”

“Huh?” I pulled at my pigtail and chewed the ends of my hair.

“Elementary girl.” She flicked her long blonde strands and smirked. “I am the future you. In fact, I know more than you do because I know what’s going to happen to you.”

“Future me?” I scratched my cheek and screwed up my nose. “What does future mean?”

“I am your grown-up self.”

*[Photo 3: Six-year-old self with missing tooth © C.D. Trudinger 1969]*

“Oh!” I wiggled a loose tooth. “Does that mean your teeth all fell out? Did you get grown-up teeth or did you get them all pulled out and get false teeth like Grandma’s?” I zoomed up to Future Me’s face and ogled at her mouth. “Come on, show me your false teeth.”

She bared her perfect row of pearly whites and nudged me back. “They are real. Orthodontically corrected, but real.”

“Arthur—what?”

“I had braces on my teeth.”

“Why? Were they crippled?”

“No, they were crooked.”

“Ugh! Crooked teeth.” I turned from her and poked stones with the point of my shoe. “I don’t think I like being you. Grandma clothes, crooked teeth that need Arthur’s braces. I’ll never be like you. You’re just pretending. ‘Sides, how could I be you?”

I squinted at this tall slim blonde who transferred her weight from one leg to the other. I noticed the worn back-pack groaning full of books, straps straining to pull the load from her waist. Future Me stroked her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Well, it’s hard to explain to someone as little as you. You’re in Prep, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m a big schoolgirl, now.” I thrust my chest forward and with hands each side of my tummy, swung my hips.

“Well, big schoolgirl, Lee-Lee, to put it simply, it’s called T.T.T—thought, time, transportation.”

“What then?” I watched my pink dress swish as I swayed.

“You just think and instead of thinking time as moving forward, you make it move backward for you.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, actually, it’s more complicated than that—a kind of scientific experiment that my big brother Warwick invented. He put electrodes on my head and well, something happens that I can’t fully explain.”

“Oh, did you have a brother, Warwick too? Does your Warwick snort when he laughs?” I cupped my hand over my mouth and tittered.

The lady-girl raised her lace sleeve to her mouth and giggled. “Yes, he does.”

“You must be me.” Repressing the urge to gnaw my fingernails before my future-self, I clasped my hands together and looked in her eyes. “So, me, what’s going to happen to me?”

She avoided my gaze. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.

“That’s not fair! Why can’t I?” I grabbed at her, but she slipped through my fingers and drifted from me. “Plee-ease!”

“I can’t!”

I watched her move further away and shimmer in the sunlight.

“But why not? Please! Just a little bit.” I chased her and swiped at her. “Just a tincy-wincy-little bit. I won’t tell! Promise!”

“Alright, if you insist.” She floated above the greying plaster fence. “But I must be leaving soon.”

*[Photo 4: Trampoline fun © L.M. Kling 1988]*

She faded, blending in with the oleander and honeysuckle bushes. I strained to see her. I attempted to touch her, but my hand passed through her.

The wind whistled through the bushes. “Have a good time with Jilly.”

“You didn’t tell me! You lied, me!” I cried.

I hunched over and plodded back towards Grandma’s house. Shouts and squeals from a yard on my left, caught the corner of my eye. A girl my age bounced on an old double-spring bed.

“Hello, my name’s Lee, what’s yours?”

“Hello, my name’s Jilly. Do you want to play on the trampoline with me?”

© Lee-Anne Kling 2009; updated 2023; 2025

Feature Painting: Somerton Beach Dreaming © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2011

^“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

***

Dreaming of being transported to another world?

Time for some weekend reading?

Take a break and journey to another world, another time to …

Diamonds in the Cave (New Release)

The Lost World of the Wends

Transport Yourself into Central Australia of old with my travel memoirs with the intrepid T-Team …

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

100-words or more on Friday

August 22, 2025August 22, 2025 / lmkling / Leave a comment

Water—Theft

Water and Theft are the prevailing themes this week. On Tuesday I was rudely awoken from my slumber by Hubby rampaging through the bedroom in search of his transport pass. With a sigh, I got up and helped in the search. After scouring the house, Hubby looked online and discovered someone had used his card the previous Sunday. Not him. The card had indeed been stolen. Hence the process of cancelling the card and transferring the funds to a new one. I’d like to see the disappointed expression on the face of whoever nicked the card when they try to use it next.

Meanwhile, Adelaide’s seawaters have been plagued by a nasty algal-bloom; the worst in the world—ever in all history, apparently. Dead sea creatures have been washing up on shore in apocalyptic proportions. Mum’s neighbour is putting in a swimming pool. No swimming in the beach waters this summer, or many to come. Mum and I lunched by the beach at Glenelg curious to see how discoloured the water would be and how many dead fish and other creatures we’d spot on the shore. We’re still alive. Didn’t notice any discolouration of the sea. Saw some birds skimming the water and diving for fish. Good luck to them, I say.

August is almost over, and Adelaide has been enjoying the SALA festival, I thought this cheeky little piece, a 100-word challenge might fit the bill, so to speak. The actual incident of imagined “water-theft” took place several years ago, but I believe the gallery involved still takes their rules very seriously.

100-word Challenge

Stolen…Almost

‘Where can we get some water?’ my friend asked.

I pointed at the casket of spring water languishing in the gallery. ‘There’s some just there.’ A glass wall confined the well-watered and wined gallery guests. We had been guests, but this gallery was devoid of seats. We wanted to sit. And eat.

‘Sign there bans wine not water.’

I stowed into gallery, collected cups of water and walked to the door.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ self-appointed wine-police snapped.

I placed the stolen water back on the table and left.

Transubstantiation. My first virtual miracle; turning water into wine.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019; updated 2023; 2025

Feature Photo: Taking their Chances Fishing; Sea birds at Glenelg Beach © L.M. Kling 2025

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