CHAPTER 1
THE IMPACT OF STERLINGS CROSSING
From 1955 to 1958, our family of eight (referred to as the Bland Tribe by many), lived in a small hut at the Sterlings Crossing Forestry Camp, which is about thirty-four kilometres west of Gympie, Queesland. The hut consisted of half-timber walls, and the rest was canvas. My Dad learnt carpentry when he was released from the army, so he was able to build another room on the side to accommodate us all. We previously lived on a farm at Calico Creek. That ended badly, but the upside was Dad getting a full-time job grafting pine trees in the Imbil Forestry, seven kilometres from where we lived. To earn extra money, he also picked pineapples on a farm when he could.
It was whooping cough season during this time. From memory, at least three of the children contracted it. So you can imagine the household was under a lot of pressure, and my Mum really didn't cope well, particularly with Dad working away every day. The amount of stress certainly contributed to her debilitating migraines.
It's interesting to note that although I missed out on having whooping cough then, I managed to have my turn in 2010 and a second, lesser case in 2011. Not very pleasant as an adult.
There was a lovely little creek at Sterlings Crossing where everyone went for a swim. My fear of water began then. At about six years old, my Dad left me in the middle of this creek, where my feet couldn't touch the bottom, and said, "Swim!" Now that may work for some, but it certainly didn't work for me. My fear was enormous.
I do remember fondly that there were many bottle brush trees lining this creek, and I fell in love with their soft, red-bristled flowers. Now, we live next to a nature reserve, so I've planted some miniature bottle brush trees to attract the birds.
Our home wasn't a palace to be sure. There was the outside shower, cold of course, so warm baths for the smaller children were in the outside concrete wash-tubs, and there was also the "thunderbox" dunny down the back yard. Both were often infested with red back spiders, which Dad used to kill or chase away by using burning newspaper. So you can imagine any trip to the shower or toilet was very short. To this day I still go cold all over when I see a red back spider, whether real or in a picture, although I think they are very beautiful.
We had no electricity, so kerosene lanterns provided the lighting, which meant early nights for all. The cooking took place on a wood stove that also provided any heating. Most hot water, which was used for the adults' baths, was generated by the outside copper boiler. This was also used to do all the washing, which was hung on rope lines strung between two posts. Just think about the changing/washing of sheets on all our beds and the towels everyone used as well as all the clothing. Mind-boggling!
We eventually had a chook run that provided eggs and a tasty roast chicken dinner from time to time, and we used to make butter from the milk of our resident cow. Dad milked her twice a day. And, of course, vege gardens were all "the rage", or may I say "survival", in those days. There was always plenty to do, and each of us had assigned duties before and after school.
My schooling started in 1956 with a seven kilometre bus ride to and from Imbil State School. This is when the bullying started and continued until I decided to take this matter into my own hands, literally. But this occurred when I was older, as you will read later.
For me, one of the highlights of living at Sterlings Crossing was going out very early in the morning, while there was still dew on the grass, and being with nature. Sometimes I was lucky enough to catch a frilly lizard and take it home with me to feed it flies while it lazed on our canna plants. Not to mention, fishing in the local stream. As a young child, these activities were just great and transported me away from all the "not so pleasant" happenings in my life.
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Some twenty years ago, in the late 1990's, my good friend Linda Christa-Clay and I made a nostalgic journey back to Sterlings Crossing, Imbil, and around the Forestry. The most noticeable thing was that all the huts were gone, so it was hard to imagine my life there. I also realised my perception of distances, and so on, seemed different now, not to say it wasn't real for me at the time.
CHAPTER 2
A PIVOTAL MOMENT IN TIME
It was so amazing! I looked in the mirror, and my right eye was straight for the first time in over twenty-five years. A faint stirring of excitement and confidence seeped into my being that contributed to some very welcome changes in my life. This was 1976.
I was born in 1950, the third child of six, five girls and one boy. At about four months of age, my right eye turned in quite badly. Mum thought it might have resulted from me falling off the bed. My parents sought help with it. In those days, a patch was used to cover each eye, alternating daily, to hopefully strengthen the weak one. It didn't seem to work. It just made me very frustrated and difficult to get along with.
At about age four, I got my first pair of glasses, which didn't really help either. They just cost Mum and Dad lots of money with breakages and me losing them. But I continued to wear them because they were supposed to help strengthen and possibly straighten my eye. My specialist wouldn't do an operation on "the squint". He felt the chances of my eye turning outward were too great, and that would look worse than being turned in. Family members referred to me as "You Poor Little Thing", so I grew up with a victim mentality. I felt very unlovable and unworthy.
We moved fifteen times up until I was eighteen (refer to The Bland Family's Journey). I found it hard to make friends as it seemed I was always the "new kid on the block" and that attracted sometimes-unwanted attention. My sister Janet was my best friend, and we did most things together until we both got married. Moving all the time wasn't enjoyable for me, but others may have seen it as an exciting adventure.
In my childhood, times were tough in many ways. My parents found it hard to cope with their life's challenges. Dad was a very hard worker but quite an angry man. He belittled my mother, calling her names, yelling, and sometimes getting physical. So there was lots of crying followed by silence, and then everything seemed to be OK again. Until the next time. This took its' toll on me, and I became very fearful. Somehow it seemed my responsibility to try "to fix" the problem. But, of course, that wasn't possible. My life seemed like a rollercoaster ride, and it felt like I was walking on eggshells a lot, never knowing what mood would be in the house at any time.
During my school years, my self-esteem was pretty low because of the bullying and name-calling by children who found it entertaining and fun. About the age of twelve, a boy from a nearby farm continually called me "four eyes" and made fun of me. One day I finally had enough. Pushing him to the ground and sitting on his belly, I gave him a pounding he would always remember. After that, he never called me names again. It may not have been the right way to handle the situation, but it sure felt empowering! The boy's father even went to talk to my Dad about the events, but Dad didn't punish me for it. He may have been just a little proud of me for standing up for myself.
Many years later we saw each other at a function. Even though I remembered his name, neither of us seemed to have a need to say hi and have a trip down memory lane.
Developing some extrovert behaviours, and never looking straight at anyone, became my way to cover for my insecurities as my turned eye was very off-putting. No one knew where to look at me.
I got married in Port Moresby in 1971. We worked there for three years before Bill and I moved back to Bundaberg in 1974, where we started our taxation and accountancy practice.
A newly qualified eye specialist came to town and happened to move into an office next to our business. Very convenient.
At my usual check-up, he asked me if I had considered having surgery for my right eye "squint". When I told him my original specialist wouldn't do it, he said he would be happy to give it a shot, but he still only gave me a fifty/fifty chance of improvement. That was enough for me. I was in and prepared to take the chance.
Hope and happiness filled me when I awoke from the surgery to see that my eye was straight. Looking directly at people was normal now, and there was no reason to be embarrassed anymore. My eye specialist suggested contact lenses were even a possibility.
Unfortunately, over the next year, my eye started to turn back, and contact lenses would have only accentuated the turn in my eye. So a second surgery was performed. The muscle was tightened from my good eye, which could help keep my right eye straighter. This helped, and to this day, my eye is much improved and looks straight most of the time. However, there was no change in the percentage of sight in that eye. But as they say, "You don't miss what you've never had." I have made necessary adjustments throughout my life to accommodate this, and I am always grateful for the ten percent long-range vision that I do have.
Since reading and exploring healing, metaphysics (looking into the mental and emotional causes of issues), and understanding the laws of the Universe, I realized that it wasn't the fall off the bed that caused my eye to turn. That was only one part of it.
Seeing how my Mum and Dad interacted with each other had a huge effect on me mentally and emotionally. This gave me a distorted view of how relationships work. How could two people who loved each other act the way they did towards each other. Impressions of what "love" meant were very confusing to me.
Below is an explanation from the material I have read:
Being the right eye - my physical side.
Long sightedness - there is a fear of the present.
The affirmation used to help heal and reverse this fear was "I am safe in this moment. I see that clearly".
But at the end of the day, seeing my eye straight now is the focus as the whole situation has been forgiven and healed.
With the knowledge and awareness gained through reading "self-help" books, I believe that my Mum and Dad were doing the best they knew how under the circumstances. This helped me forgive them and heal my negative beliefs about it all. It is understood now that my Dad was most likely suffering from "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder" as a result of serving as a field ambulance officer in the second World War. On returning home, there was no medical treatment available to help him, or others, come to terms with what happened in the war. These days, I just feel great compassion for what he had endured.
CHAPTER 3
PRECIOUS WATER
Water is a precious commodity, but is even more so when living on a farm, there's crops to grow and cattle to sustain so every drop is important. We milked about seventy head of cows all year round.
Now as an eleven year old, I learnt a very dear lesson. My younger sister Janet and I were in charge of cleaning up the cow bales after the morning milking. There was the separator to clean and the floors needed to be washed. It was important that all utensils would be ready for the afternoon milking.
Dad had only re-cemented the handle on our water tank at the cow bales the day before. The concrete was still not set properly. Of course we didn't really know that, we were just kids. Our help was very much needed and at times I felt we were given too much responsibility.
The time came to get water for the washing up. We were unsure if it was safe to turn the handle. Janet said it should be OK to do it, so I did. Can you imagine our disbelief when the whole handle and concrete came away from the tank. All the precious water was just pouring out. We got a milk can and frantically saved what we could. Sadly only one milk can was filled. I felt sick but accepted the responsibility for what happened because I was the one who had pulled the handle.
Panic set in and we didn't know what to do. Mum was so upset because she didn't know what Dad would do when he realised what we had done. We were terrified and hid behind the door in our bedroom, holding our breath waiting for him to come home. When Dad came home, he was so devastated by the loss of water that he didn't do anything to us. The belting we anticipated never happened. He did say that we would have to carry water from the dam as there was a bad drought at the time, but he never enforced this. To this day, I still get upset when I see water being wasted.
Our worst fear wasn't realised after all. So much energy was wasted worrying about what my Dad would say and do. Fear is a crippling emotion. Understandable though.
But there is an even more important lesson here I feel and that is, don't do something if you're not sure that it is the right thing to do. Learn to trust and follow your own gut instincts/intuition and not do what someone else says.
CHAPTER 4
QUITTING THE CIGARETTE HABIT
This particular Tuesday in July, 1993 was going to be different from every other Tuesday because I didn't go for the first cigarette of the day. Could this be the day?
As a young teenager growing up on a farm at Kia Ora which is twenty-six kilometres outside of Gympie, Queensland, I started smoking cigarettes. My eldest sister taught me how to do the "draw back", but to be fair, I did ask her to show me. Peter Styvesant was my favourite, although menthol ones were enjoyed as well. It seemed to be the "in" thing to do and I would do anything to fit in with the crowd. Picking beans and peas at nearby farms on weekends was my way of earning money. The pay was three pence a pound of produce (this was before decimal currency came in on 14.2.1966 - maybe two cents per 500 grams today - which was normal in those days). This is how the cigarettes were paid for. Dad would confiscate any cigarettes he found, even though they were cleverly hidden. It seems parents know more than we give them credit for. Leaving home at sixteen and going to work in Gympie, Dad couldn't stop me then from buying and smoking cigarettes.
It seemed everyone used to smoke in those days and we could smoke anywhere. There were no restrictions really. Thinking about it now, I cringe as there had been no thought for any non-smoker who was around me. It was very selfish and inconsiderate of me.
Some forty-five years ago when having a check-up for my first pregnancy, my doctor never asked me if I was a smoker. It was something that wasn't even discussed back then. Smoking was a part of my life and I continued this habit during all of my three pregnancies. Even cutting back on the cigarettes during these times, I was oblivious to the damage that could have been caused.
Over the years cigarettes had become my crutch. They were my best friend when coping with stressful and challenging life situations. Reaching for a cigarette fix at those times was normal as I felt I couldn't cope without them. The temporary relief was very much enjoyed.
Some family members pressured me regularly to give up cigarettes but the timing/my timing had to be right, mentally and emotionally. There's a great saying, "When you know better, you do better". Forgiving myself for my ignorance and selfish attitude was a start, but it couldn't change what had already happened.
After being attuned to Reiki (Universal life force energy – refer to Chapter 5 for more information) in February 1993, the decision was made to give up my thirty year addiction to twenty plus cigarettes a day. My focus now was conducting healing treatments on others. The smell of cigarettes on my breath, hands, and clothes wouldn't have been pleasant for my clients. This became my incentive to get serious about ditching the cigarettes once and for all.
At this time, Louise L. Hay's philosophies in You Can Heal Your Life had been introduced to me and her theories sounded exciting and workable. This helped me change my negative thoughts and behaviours to a new way of positive thinking. Here were two powerful tools at my disposal. Little did I know just what would be revealed as I started to look into why certain things were happening in my life.
The following affirmation was made up to use, "I lovingly and willingly release the need for nicotine", as nicotine is what we get addicted to. Studies have proven that nicotine is in the same category as heroin addiction. Well this affirmation was said in my mind and out loud every day, many times, but still smoking of course. Using Reiki healing on myself whenever possible helped the process as well. Finally after five months of continually saying the affirmation, I just stopped. Yes, it was that Tuesday morning back in July when I didn't light up that first cigarette of the day like I normally would.
