Pat Ritter. Books

[patritter]

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Story 1:

Norah’s Mistake.

In last year’s Gold Coast Magic Million thoroughbred yearling sales, a filly was purchased for $60,000.00 and won this year’s race worth $1,000,000.00. This is what dreams are made of. How did this happen? Was it a twist of fate on behalf of the purchasers or was it meant to happen? Did God have anything to do with the win?
God has been blamed for many events which have occurred since time began. What about the recent floods in Queensland. Did God order the rain to flood Queensland to make people more resilient? Or was the flood caused by the weather?
According to Christianity, God instructed Norah to build an ark and bring into the ark two of all living creatures? At the time God decided to wipe out mankind from the face of the earth because of great wickedness caused by the people and he wanted to make a fresh start on humanity. Norah followed God’s instructions, built the ark and housed 45,000 animals.
It rain for 40 days and 40 nights. Every living thing on earth was wiped out. After the waters receded, the ark came to rest and waited eight months while the surface on earth dried out.
Finally after an entire year, God invited Noah to come out of the ark. He was pleased with what Noah accomplished and promised he would never again create a flood to destroy earth.
What was the moral of the story? Was Norah blameless and not sinless? Noah pleased God with his whole heart and as a result was an example to his entire generation.
What would have happened if Noah didn’t build the ark and didn’t house 45,000 animals? Do you think God would’ve still gone ahead to rid the earth of all mankind by letting it rain for 40 days and 40 nights? I don’t think so.
There is certainly a deep lesson to be learnt from what Noah did. We’re influenced by other people and particularly the people around us to do what they want? On the other hand do we control our own thoughts and do what we want? This is the lesson.
Now back to the purchase of a horse at the Magic Million Sales. If I had the money to purchase such a horse and race it in the Magic Million Race I think I would name it Noah’s Mistake.
Word count: 401
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'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 2:

Chameleon.

When we think about the word Chameleon – I think we all have a little in each of us. Take for example when I was a child. I remember my grandmother’s words of promise to give me my grandfather’s watch when I turned 21 years. Did I receive the watch – no – my elder cousin received it and come to think of it he deserved it because he was the first born. My grandmother needn’t have promised me the watch if she had no intentions of giving it to me in the first place. She certainly changed into a chameleon.
There are a thousand stories in the reservoir of my mind when people have promised me the world and came up with nothing. At the time it hurts to think something had been promised and not delivered. To trust the person on their word without results throws a childhood into disarray and effects the growth into adulthood. People can be cruel or are they changeable like the Chameleon?
When I was 6 years old, my mate Peter lived a couple of houses up the road and regularly visited our home to ride my parent’s pushbikes. There was a black one and a pink one. Peter always rode the black and never at anytime did I refuse him. Time went on and eventually he purchased the black bike from my parents.
One day I went to his house to ride the bikes and when I asked to ride the black one his reply was, ‘no – it’s mine now.’ At the time I didn’t understand or realise what he’d done; however thinking back on the experience I now realise he changed into a chameleon.
Fifty years later Peter contacted me. It was the first time I’d heard from him since our childhood. He wanted to know if I had a year one class photograph. In fact I had such a photograph. His reason for contacting me was because he wanted to know the name of each person in our class.
Over the following weeks I researched archives in Brisbane and discovered the name of each student and sent him the list. He lives in Adelaide.
Later that year I visited him in Adelaide to reacquaint ourselves and to catch up with 50 years. After matching each name to the student in the photograph I asked what his intentions were. I thought perhaps he may want to contact them or have a reunion. Instead his answer was he was going to do nothing more – all he wanted were the name of each student.
Nothing had changed over 50 years. He remained a chameleon and faded into oblivion.
Word count: 446
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'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 3:

Train Ride To Remember.

Many years later, as I again stood on the station’s platform with the departing train gathering speed behind me, the memory of that distant day of tears returned.
It was so long ago and to think back now it only seemed like yesterday when my grandmother and I boarded the train from Roma Railway Station to Charleville. It was Sunday evening, the football team Roma Wattles defeated Charleville at the local football grounds.
At 18 years of age Arthur Beetson, who was to go on and become one of the greatest Australian representatives in Rugby League’s history, captained the Roma Wattles side. His toughness and speed with the natural talent of a footballer won him the best and fairness player for the match.
Charleville footballers were made up from all walks of life; shearers, policemen, council workers, and any other young male wanting to represent their town. They were proud to be playing for Charleville.
In those days steam trains were the major form of transport between both country towns. Each railway carriage was separated from one another with every seat occupied. They seated up to one hundred and fifty passengers. In our carriage we sat nearest the aisle almost in the centre. Players celebrated their loss by drinking beer. There never appeared to be an end to it. My grandmother hated anyone who drank beer and I suppose it was her reason for not liking my father.
More the players drank beer, the more they shouted and sang, some happy others saddened by their loss. Their voices out doing one another until the only sound heard were a loud roar from drunken footballers.
A fight broke out between two of them, each punching at one another’s faces. They rolled into the aisle falling onto the floor beside where my grandmother and I sat. We couldn’t do anything but hold onto one another. I held my grandmother tight with both arms wrapped around her shoulders. She began to cry.
I looked into her eyes and saw fear, ‘what are we going to do?’ she whispered. Others began to fall into the aisle and punches thrown at bodies, war cries echoed through the carriage. It was bedlam and out of control.
‘I never wanted to come on this train. I told your father how terrible the footballers played up when drinking. Would he listen – no – he wanted you with me. What should we do?’ Her words forced me closer to her by the threat of bodies forcing their way nearer to us.
If I was superman, no doubt I would have used my powers to stop the fighting instead I hugged my grandmother. What else could a nine year old child do at the time with tears rolling down his face and his body twisted in fear?
Word count: 473.
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'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 4:

Matilda’s Waltz

The title Matilda’s Waltz reminded me of a book I’d read named Matilda’s Last Waltz written by Tamara McKinley.
Before I read this novel I must admit to not reading many novels. It instantly devoured my mind. I couldn’t put it down until I’d finished it. It was a true Australian story of intrigue and storytelling at its best.
The story began in Outback Australian with the major character named Jenny who inherited Churinga Sheep Station after the sudden death of her husband. Prior to his death she had no knowledge her husband owed the sheep station.
With nowhere else to turn she goes to Churinga Station to find a harsh, unforgiving place but with its own quiet beauty. It also had its secrets.
Jenny’s new neighbours seem reluctant to talk about Matilda Thomas, Churinga’s former owner. But the longer Jenny spent on the property, the more she became aware of her predecessor’s lingering presence.
Jenny discovers Matilda’s diaries and finds herself drawn into a tale more shocking than she could possibly have imagined. And the deeper she delved into the past, the more Jenny wondered whether inheriting Churinga was a blessing or a curse.
With twists and turns mixed in the storyline Jenny finally discovers the truth from the word of a dying priest. Father Ryan tells Jenny, Matilda was her mother and died giving birth to her. Her father placed Jenny into an orphanage and left her to be raised by the nuns. On her 26th birthday she inherited Churinga Sheep Station.
On hearing this news from the dying priest tears filled her eyes. Pain turned to rage, then sorrow. She lost all sense of time and place as she stared through the tears. Then the faint, distant chords of an orchestra drifted back to her and she thought she saw a woman in a green dress, waltzing with her handsome husband. They were smiling at each other, lost in happiness.
They turned towards her and Matilda whispered, ‘This is my last waltz, Darling - just for you.’
Word count: 345
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'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 5:

The One Reason Why I’m Not Rich.

In one word, gambling, I am a gambler. My parents gambled, their parents gambled and most of my relatives and friends gambled. If there were two flies crawling up a wall, a wager was laid to bet which fly would first leave the wall. I knew of no other way of life. It was exciting and the adrenalin rush was unbelievable. To win was the rush. To lose was disappointing.
I’ve never been a drug user, but I can imagine the comparison between the two. Endorphins in the brain must almost explode into ecstasy when a person is using drugs. My brain certainly went to dizzy heights seeing a horse win a race after I waged a bet. It wasn’t the money invested, but the thrill of winning when the feeling of excitement fluttered through my body. It was better than having sex. I couldn’t stop shaking with excitement and pleasure, and that Toyota feeling of stretching your arms wide and jumping in the air always took over.
I think it may have started when I was a child living in Roma. Around Christmas each year the Ambulance Service, QATB as they were known then, had what they called a chocolate wheel in the main street of Roma. The chocolate wheel stood on a stand – round in circumference displaying numbers on the outside of the board. Each number was divided by a wooden peg. On top of the board, apart from the wheel, a piece of leather strap stopped on the number after being spun by the operator.
People gathered in the hope to win the prize of either a leg of ham or a can of ham for Christmas. They purchased a ticket for a prize and waited for their number to be spun on the wheel.
Tickets sold for a shilling and I purchased one ticket. I remember it as if it happened yesterday. The ticket I purchased was number 56. This time it stopped on number 56. I won. The initial feeling of winning a prize was the best feeling I had ever felt in my ten year old body. It became a drug and I wanted to have that winning feeling again and again.
If it was possible to stop gambling at ten years of age and deposit the amount of money in a bank account I’ve wagered since then, I would no doubt be rich in wealth alone. Unfortunately, I continue to gamble and like the druggie am waiting for that adrenaline rush to have that affect not only on my mind but also on my body and you never know one day it may return.
Word count: 451
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'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 6:

A Story Centred On A Key.

All through my life I have been gravely concerned about something terrible that happened during my childhood. I’ve often wondered how quickly habits are copied by children from their parent’s behaviours.
For instance, my grandmother, my mother’s mother, was a wonderful person. She’d hug me when I needed comfort and told me wonderful stories to soothe my mind.
One habit she passed down to me was seeing things through rose coloured glasses. Everything was always better than it actually was. It wasn’t telling untruths but close enough to it, more exaggeration than telling the true story. My mother possessed a similar habit and therefore this habit passed onto me.
As I grew older this habit became strongly engrained into my mind, so much, that when I was in trouble for any misdemeanour, a defence mechanism popped up to protect myself from getting into further trouble. This defence mechanism at times was a blessing and at other times a hindrance. I had learned well from my mentors.
In my early twenties I joined the Queensland Police Force. Suddenly my thoughts were mangled to such a degree at times I couldn’t disseminate between what was fact and what was fiction. One important role of a police officer is to bring wrong doers to justice. Thereby arresting them and presenting them before a court of law.
Sometimes the person would plead ‘guilty’ and other times defend their innocence. Unless the police officer had a photographic memory or recorded each second of the arrest and circumstances, many questions were asked by defence counsel about the arrest. In my case I possessed this defence mechanism of protecting myself from ‘getting caught out’ as I’d done all through my life. Many times this habit was embarrassing.
I wanted to do something about it. The key I used to open this door was to learn always to tell the truth. At first, it was hard to break the habit, but as an instructor once told me if I was going to succeed, I needed to work at changing it and it would take three weeks to change any habit.
She told me each time I was about to exaggerate, if I didn’t tell the truth, then I should immediately stop and tell the person the information I told them was untrue and recorrect what I’d said. I worked hard to break this habit.
I am pleased to admit I no longer carry this habit in my mind and found the key to tell the truth at all times opened the door to make me realise it is always better to tell the truth than to exaggerate. I am a great believer in karma. If you do the wrong thing then expect it to come back and bite you on the bum.
Word count: 473
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'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 7:

The Last Word.

If ever you wanted to know anything in our family than Aunty Mickey was the ‘go to’ person. There wasn’t anything that Aunty Mickey didn’t know from the correct way to tie your shoe laces to the latest gossip.
She was my mother’s sister, bless her soul. She passed away only a couple of years ago and I bet she had the last word even when she met St Peter at the Golden Gate.
Memories instantly flow back at the sound of her name. Visions form in my mind remembering her features, thin face, brown mousey hair, trimmed short, blue eyes bulging from inside her eyelids when her temper rose above the normal level. She had a fiery temper and was a pocket rocket.
In my early teens she became my surrogate mother after my parents decided to abandon me and move interstate. I lived with Aunty Mickey and Uncle Vivian and their children, two girls and a boy, throughout the remainder of my teenage years. Their home was my home and the memories I hold will remain forever.
Many times I heeded her advice. She always told me I was stupid to do the thing I asked her about. Like the time I wanted to purchase a car. She was against the idea and put her two bobs worth in.
In those times I attended college at night and to return home I had to hitch hike a ride with whoever would pick me up from the side of the road. One night I received a ride with this fellow who told me after I was comfortably seated in the front seat of his car, ‘I’ve got a gun under the front seat and if you try anything funny I’ll use it.’ That was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. I wanted my own transport.
Without consulting Aunty Mickey I purchased a car suitable for my means at the time. She didn’t say a word and was pleased to ride in it whenever she wanted to go anywhere or for me to take her.
Three years ago she lost the love of her life, Uncle Vivian who passed away from a heart problem. When I visited the home to pay my last respects, her comments were, ‘he was going to die anyway. He had a bad heart.’ She even had the last word on her husband’s death bed.
It was difficult for her to cope without her long time friend and husband. She moved into a Nursing Home. For a reason I can’t explain I wanted to visit her and I was too late to tell her how I loved her dearly and to thank her for how she’d enriched my life. She’d passed away before I could tell her.
Unfortunately I couldn’t attend the funeral. When the clock chimed the time of her funeral, I developed a huge pain in my stomach and needed to visit the toilet. For four hours I sat on the throne and couldn’t move because of diarrhoea. Aunty Mickey had had the last word.
Word count: 519
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