Pat Ritter. Books

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A Most Curious Affair

I’m a writer. Throughout my career expanding twenty-five years I’ve written many articles, stories, about my own life experiences. A change happened when I wrote two person’s life stories. I want to share this experience as I find the curious affair interesting.
In 2001 I approached a celebrity of harness racing in Queensland and asked him if I could write his life story. Initially I wanted to write about someone else’s life experiences rather than my own.
This person agreed and within sixteen weeks the book completed and ready for publication. A curious affair happened soon after I commenced listening to this person’s story. First information overload, then the story settled into this person’s life.
From the beginning his excitement to share his story overwhelmed me. What intrigued me may have been his ego or expression to share his story with someone else. Everything went fine until the final chapter. I hit a roadblock and came to an immediate halt.
After sharing his whole story, he didn’t want to the book finished – reasons I didn’t know at the time. Perhaps frightened his life now read by the public. Finally I completed his novel of his life and publication went ahead.
After the publication of the novel, he constantly keeps in touch and expresses how delighted he is to have his life story written and published.
After completing this book I had another opportunity to write another book, with the permission from the person, whose life story of being a prisoner-of-war in Changi during World War 11. Again when we commenced the novel, I experienced information overload until we came to the point of almost completion.
Without either person knowing one another, or what I personally experienced between the two candidates, both expressed at the end of their novels, an attempt to not go ahead with the publication.
What I found to be a most curious affair; the first novel published and has had many sales, the second novel never published and remains in manuscript form.
To experiment further, I decided to write my memoirs. Strange as it is, I also nearing the end of the novel did experience apprehension to publish this book of my life. I went ahead and published to see many sales.
My personal experience of these three writings, I made a decision to never write or publish another person’s life story.
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'Captivitating OMR Stories' - Page 4:

Absent Friends

When I think of ‘Absent Friends’ my mind immediately turns to my late wife who lost her fight with cancer a decade ago this year. I miss her so much.
We were not only friends, but husband and wife for thirty-one years. Early in our marriage she put up with my alcoholic behaviour far beyond the call of duty as a wife. After drinking at the hotel for hours after work, staggering home, my dinner still warm in the oven, eatable and delicious, in those times, I took her for granted.
Lucky she displayed the conviction and courage to give me an ultimatum to do something about my drinking. Never did I at any stage believe I had a drinking problem, however, when she threatened to leave me and take my two children, it was the straw which broke the camels back. I took my last drink on the 13th January 1977 and alcohol hasn’t passed my lips since.
If I hadn’t taken action at this point I dread to imagine how my life would’ve turned out. Throughout the following years, although I didn’t drink alcohol my behaviour displayed many times of ‘being a dry drunk’.
Twenty years after I took my last drink of alcohol, with my wife’s help, I discovered I needed to solve this issue of ‘alcoholism’ once and for all. Over a twelve month period, my wife helped me re-discover myself and moreso, drilled into my subconscious mind the importance of being honest and straight forward with people, instead of manipulation with other people’s lives.
She was by my side when I suffered a heart condition and needed to have a pacemaker operation. She was by my side when important decisions needed to be made about family issues.
I was by her side when she discovered her fight with cancer was overbearing and future unknown. In fact, I never left her side throughout the total period she suffered. I felt her pain with her resilience and courage, she fought this disease which fight she finally lost.
My belief now is she protects me from myself of falling back to those old habits I once endured. She continues to walk beside me and many times I talk with her in my dreams.
At times I wish I could’ve had a magic wand to help her through the pain and suffering she endured; I didn’t have a magic wand only being there for her until the final moment. Like I said – I miss her but know she doesn’t suffer any longer.
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'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 5:

Agenda 21

‘Aren’t you aware of Agenda 21?’ The Prime Minister asked his Foreign Minister.
‘No! I don’t – we only got into government the last couple of months I’ve no time to scratch myself. What with the boat people and other issues we promise to change.’ He replied.
‘I’ll tell you a little about Agenda 21.’The Prime Minister said with a strange look on his face.
‘Can’t wait for this one,’ he smirked.
‘In 1992, in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, at the United Nations Conference, Agenda 21 became an action plan with regard to sustainable development.’ The Prime Minister explained.
‘So what – what’s this got to do with us?’
‘You aware of the Earth Summit Agenda 21 report – 21 refer to the 21st century?’ The Prime Minister further explained. Why this fellow doesn’t understand Agenda 21, I’ll never know. Everyone in government should have knowledge about Agenda 21 particularly my ministers, he thought.
‘Okay – where do I find this report?’ The Minister asked showing his interest at last.
‘I’ll arrange the document to be in your office, contains three hundred pages. This report contains everything. Read the report before tomorrow afternoon when you fly to their annual conference in Rio de Janeiro.’ The Prime Minister explained.
‘Can’t one of my staff read the report?’ He asked.
‘No – you’re representing our country at the conference and I want your words to come from your mouth, not some bureaucrat thinking what’s right for this country. Do you understand?’ The Prime Minister expressed in a stern command.
‘Okay – I’ll read this three hundred page report and represent our country as if you were attending. Why aren’t you attending may I ask?’ The Minister replied.
‘Too many things to take care of here at home, like cycling, swimming, saving lives, everything else I do to keep our country going, and now my Treasurer wants to increase our debt to half a trillion dollars. We’ll end up like the yanks and can’t repay our bills. Can I leave Agenda 21 safely in your hands to handle?’ The Prime Minister asked in a soft and reassuring voice.
‘Yes Mr Prime Minister. I will do my best to represent you at this conference. Thank you for having faith in me.’ The Minister replied in a solemn and honest voice.
‘Don’t let our country down, please. Your country depends on you to deliver your knowledge of Agenda 21.’The Prime Minister said and walked away.
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'Captiviting OMR Stories' - Page 6:

Aussie Outback

Last Saturday the television programme ‘Queenslander’ viewed on channel 7. Their topic for the show ‘Birdsville Races’ held at remote country town Birdsville near the borders of Queensland and South Australia.
In 1996 I attended this great race travelled by coach from Brisbane to Birdsville, then onto Longreach via Roma, Toowoomba and home. Once we departed Brisbane our first night a camp ground at Charleville. I remember the cold night air; we camped in a two person tent with sleeping bags on a thin mattress provided by the travel company.
Next morning after a hearty breakfast, we journeyed onto Quilpie. This town is in the heart of opal country. Our departure from Quilpie to Birdsville took the remainder of the day arriving near sundown.
Three days of celebration at Birdsville where we camped in the only caravan park with almost two thousand other racing enthusiasts. Birdsville normally has a population of sixty people when over the racing period the town swells to six thousand with people travelling from all parts of our country.
Again after a hearty breakfast our tour bus driver took us to ‘Big Red’ the highest sand hill in Australia. Many others from Birdsville joined us to witness this enormous icon.
After our time at ‘Big Red’ we visited the local cemetery. Why do tourists love visiting cemeteries in country towns? Probably to identify what I wanted of the town’s history. You can learn much about a town from their cemetery.
Next day we went to the races. About ten kilometres east of Birdsville a racetrack and once a year ‘The Birdsville Cup’ raced and won by the best horse in the field. This particular year was no different to any other year. I fortunately knew a trainer naturally I wagered his horse and won.
After celebrating ‘Birdsville Races Ball’ on the night when each male wore a tie. Next morning we packed up our tour bus and headed to Longreach stopping along the way at Boulia reaching Longreach later that evening.
Longreach has the Stockman’s Hall Of Fame which we visited the following morning. Country people are the salt of the earth when it comes to their giving. A bush poet entertained us on the evening we reached Longreach where we camped at the local caravan park.
On our return to Brisbane we travelled through country towns like Roma, Dalby, and Toowoomba returning to Brisbane on our tenth day. Although it’s been seventeen years since we did this tour each memory is encased in my mind of witnessing our Aussie Outback.
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Thank you Nevis. Here is the page for today: 'Captivitating OMR Stories' - Page 7:

Bad Hair Day

‘What’d mean – you’re having a bad hair day?’ Jack asked Melinda the office girl he employed twelve months before, ‘what’s a bad hair day. What’s the matter with your hair?’ He questioned. Her hair appeared no different to any other day, he thought.
Melinda worked hard at doing her job as a dog’s body to her boss. She admired him for his business acumen and aptitude on being a successful business person. She was extremely pleased working with Jack or moreso Mr Robinson, she called him by, but today was her ‘bad hair day’ and wanted her hair fixed.
‘Melinda, how can I help you overcome your ‘bad hair day’. Your hair appears fine to me, how I can help you.’ He expressed in a kind and compassionate voice.
‘I need a couple of hours off to visit my hairdresser so my hair can be fixed.’ She asked in a low whisper.
‘What – you want time off to fix your hair?’ Jack exploded. What’s the world coming to if we to give employees time off to get their hair fixed because they’re having a ‘bad hair day’ – they want a day off each month when their times comes to feeling ill because of some woman problem and now their hair – what next, time off for shopping. He thought.
‘I’ll only be gone for a couple of hours, Mr Robinson, please.’ She pleaded.
‘I’m sorry you’re having a ‘bad hair day’ – you’re not having time off because of your hair. Do you have any other problem I can help you with?’ His answer tipped sarcasm.
‘No Sir, I’ll get back to my work.’ Melinda wanted to tell him the truth about her boyfriend of eight years dumped her the previous night because he’d found another female to warm his bed. She wanted to cry on his shoulder, pour out her grievances of how her boyfriend cheated on her with another woman.
If she was allowed to go to the hairdresser, Diana would listen to her story and counsel her with advise to ‘get her through’ this ordeal. No – she needed to pull herself together and work through her feelings of betrayal and get on with her life. She can have another ‘bad hair day’ some other time but until then she needs to concentrate on her work. Mr Robinson was right – a ‘bad hair day’ indeed.
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Black & White

‘Was television invented when you were my age?’ Sam, 13 year old grandson asked his grandfather.
‘Yes, I would’ve been around your age when we purchased our first television. I remember a small black and white screen. We were fascinated, because it was new and watched this amazing invention from early morning until the test screen at the end of the viewing at night.’ His grandfather remarked.
‘How many channels did you have?’ Sam asked.
‘Only three – if my memory serves me correct, channel two – ABC; channel nine and channel seven, channels nine and seven showed commercials; ABC didn’t show any.’ His grandfather pondered and thought of how different television is today with more channels than possible been able to be seen.
‘What year did colour come in?’ Sam wanted to know.
‘Colour didn’t eventuate until your uncle’s birth in 1975. I still remember buying the coloured television. The red cricket ball stood out better when the Poms played Australia in the cricket.’
‘My mother was only two years old then.’ Sam queried.
‘Yes, many changes have happened since.’
‘Was your life tougher than mine Pop?’ Sam expressed.
‘No – with all of the gadgets you compete with. Like those games you play on your computer. I’d never be able to play them. For a start I don’t understand; my brain is a little slow to keep up with how they play.’
‘I could show you how to play; I suppose they’d be too fast for you. Tell me about the black & white television, please.’ Sam pleaded holding onto each word as his grandfather shared his story.
‘Until television, families used to speak to one another. I remember my teacher at the time; she told us television would be the ruin nation of families.’ He shared with his grandson.
‘What do you mean, Pop – a ruin nation of families.’ Sam pestered.
‘Before television came into our home we shared our life with each other. Then the monster box came along and Dad sat watching it all night. We never shared anything any longer.’ His Pop explained.
‘It’d be worse now with coloured television instead of in your day with black and white.’ Sam questioned.
‘Sure is.’ The Grandfather’s thoughts reminisced to those words spoken by his teacher so many years before and agreed with them, ‘television will be a ruin nation of families’.
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'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 9:

Chortle – Motel – Smog

Cheryl drove her brand new Holden Commodore along the Warrego Highway. Her mind fixed on escape. She’d rather forget the past twenty-four hours.
Tears welled in her eyes, her face bruised and swollen, and memory of the events unclear in her mind. Should she stop and clean up before driving on? She decided to get as far away from the smog of the city before it chocked her.
How did this happen? Her thoughts returned to the night before when she celebrated her twenty-first birthday with work colleagues. This celebration turned into a nightmare.
Had she known then, what happened, things would’ve been different. Everyone was ing, drinking and joking in celebration to her attaining age of consent. Her parents purchased a brand new Holden Commodore in her favourite colour as their present.
Sometime during these celebrations a stranger came up to her. He chortled about knowing her and wanted to kiss her to celebrate her turning twenty-one years old. She allowed him to peck her on the cheek.
Hours later she left the function to walk to her vehicle in the carpark. With a click of the button, the car lights came on and the vehicle unlocked.
She opened the driver’s door to step into the vehicle a cloth covered her mouth. A strange smell entered her nostrils. An arm wrapped around her waist and another under her arms. She fell into unconsciousness.
She awoke in a motel room, naked, alone. Her clothes scattered across the floor. Her face and lips swollen. She grabbed the side of the bed, rose and staggered to the bathroom. When she looked in the mirror shock overtook her to see both eyes almost closed; her cheeks and lips swollen and bleeding. How did this happen? She couldn’t remember.
She tried to wash away the blood, brushed her fingers through her hair, returned to the room, gathered her clothes and quickly dressed. Her car keys lay on top of a nearby table.
How would she explain her injuries to her parents?
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'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 10:

Don’t Make Me Laugh

Aged twelve years old I visited, my uncle, aunt and cousins with my parents and sisters. My cousin asked if I wanted to ride his pushbike. Twelve years old and full of ‘nothing can hurt me’ attitude, I took up his offer.
This pushbike, twenty-eight inch gent’s bike with curved handle bars. A brake attached to the handlebars. Their neighbourhood consisted of hills and valleys. I rode the pushbike to the top of a hill, and turned around to ride back down to my cousin’s house. Before I started to climb onto the bike I decided to turn the handlebars down to suit a racing bike.
With courage of a lion I sprung onto the seat of the bike, started to peddle as fast as I could go. With the handlebars turned down I thought this looked smart. About to reach the intersection before my cousin’s house, the handbrake slipped from the handlebars.
My heart almost beat from my chest – fright took over my body. I lost control of the bike unable to stop. Level with my cousin’s home the brake pedal swinging in midair caught in the spokes of the front wheel. With a jolt the bike stopped striking the curve in front of my cousin’s home.
I flew through the air and landed face first on the concrete footpath. A neighbour, Mrs King raced to my side calling out to my parents and family for help.
Later at the hospital medical staff stitched a wound on my upper lip. Teeth broken, I was hospitalised for one week to recover.
Apart from myself as a patient at the hospital there were a number of others. One with half his head missing when thrown from his motorcycle, seeing what happened to this fellow, I didn’t feel as bad.
Arnold, another patient was the clown of the group. He’d tell the most outrageous stories to cheer up everyone. One story he told I shouted for him to stop, ‘don’t make me ’ I cried, not wanting to because of my injuries. Inside, my stomach ached with pain to hold myself from ing.
Although it’s a half-a-century ago I still see Arnold sharing his stories and myself not trying to . I have the scar on my lip to remind me of the time I went flying from my cousin’s pushbike with the memory of Arnold trying to make me .
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'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 11:

Driving A Hard Bargain

I must admit I’ve never driven a hard bargain in my life. I’m far too soft; my belief always threat people how you want to be treated by being fair and just.
In 1988 my wife wanted to train harness racing horses to fulfil her dream. I remember the day, I turned forty years old. Redcliffe harness racing being the focus of the industry; I attended an auction to purchase a harness racing complex.
Prior to the auction I spoke with the real estate agent to show my interest in the property but first needed to sell the present property I was living which I had on the market. Before I left for the auction a prospective buyer offered me $108,000.00 for my present property which I wanted $120,000.00.
The real estate agent thought the harness racing complex would sell for $180,000.00. The auctioneer commenced his call - no one opened the biding. I called out $60,000.00, he accepted, another call for $70,000.00; I raised it to $80,000.00 hoping the bidding stopped.
Prior agreement with the agent - if I’m the underbidder of the property and it didn’t reach the reserve price; it would be open to negotiation. Another bid of $90,000.00 called by the other bidder, I called $92,000.00 in the hope the owner would not place the property on the market. To my astonishment, the owner nodded to acknowledge the property for sale.
The other bidder called out $93,000.00; I hung my head in shame. The property sold to the other bidder. If I’d taken the price asked for my present property that morning I would’ve bid higher to obtain the property.
Something I have believed in all of my life: things are meant to happen for particular reasons.
Three months later I received a telephone call from the real estate agent who sold the harness racing complex to ask me if I still wanted the property at Redcliffe to which I admitted I did.
A twist of fate intervened on my behalf when at the time of settlement the deeds destroyed thereby allowing the person who purchased the property to ‘get out of the deal’.
I purchased the property and within a week my present property sold for $108,000.00, the same price when the person offered me the day of the auction.
I don’t know about driving a hard bargain however I did learn a valuable lesson of life – NEVER GIVE UP!
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'Captivating OMR Stories' - Page 12:

Flatulence

How I remember when a child watching my grandmother walk away and a funny squeaky noise eject from her bottom, at times loud, other times soft. The after smell made you hold your nose.
To my knowledge at the time I never knew what this strange squeaky noise from my grandmother’s bottom meant. This noise occurred regularly even if she walked at anytime and anywhere. I thought perhaps there must be something not right with her to express a sound and horrible odour.
I dared to ask. At the time ‘children were seen and not heard’. This noise happened often, I got used to the noise coming from my grandmother’s bottom. I never got used to the fowl odour.
I do remember when a student at school, must have been in grade three. Probably about seven years old. Our school uniform, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I remember after morning break I had a pain in my tummy, without realising what happened next my tummy fill with wind.
To get rid of the wind, I forced my stomach to push the wind out from my bottom. Out came brown slime, running down my legs which smelt horrible.
Feeling embarrassed I ran from the classroom to the bike racks, jumped on my bike and pedalled home. My mother explained I’d had an accident.
After a warm bath, change of clothes, I didn’t return to school until the following day.
Much to my demise because of my accident with brown stuff running down my leg, others teased me. This teasing continued until something else happened in the school grounds to take the attention away from what happened to me.
Flatulence is common. Everyone does it from time to time. I continue to this day to have flatulence a craft handed down by my grandmother who used to say, ‘where ever you are – where ever you be, let your wind blow free.’
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