On October 15 I arrive in Columbus, Ohio for a couple of weeks before going to New York until my return to Columbus Shortly after New Years Eve. ( I return to Sydney on 15 January) 

It's been two years since I have posted, as I have literally had so little to add to previous blogs. Many friends have faithfully prayed for my family as the result of events with one of my sons. Events that took over, and well ... it's two years later.

The Wealthy Speaker Show Host Paul Lawrence Vann has invited me to catch up with my friends in a heart to heart radio interview Wednesday April 15, 7:00 pm, Eastern Standard Time. (9.00 am Thursday 16 April in Australia)

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/paullawrencevann/2009/04/15/Australias-Divine-Miss-Catherine-White-Discusses-Social-Networking-Overcoming-Adversity
The details are on his Wealthy Speaker Show Blogtalk radio page with a number to call in.

I would love to hear from you, and willing to open up and tell it like it is.

Hope to see you there - much love to friends near and dear who've stayed the distance.
Catherine XXX

If these walls could speak (for my friends)

If these old halls,
If hallowed halls could talk,
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin’ down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
from floor to rafter,
If these halls could speak.

They would tell you that I’m sorry
For bein’ cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that it’s only
That I have a stubborn streak,
If these walls could speak.
If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
I guess they would have seen it all--
Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,
If these walls could speak.

They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Here’s someone who really loves you;
Don’t ever go away.
That’s what these walls would say.

They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Here’s someone who really loves you;
Don’t ever go away.
That’s what these walls would say.
Amy Grant

My last blog "He's the mother of all eagles" generated a flood of emails with questions about fasting. With over twenty five years of experience from either one day, to three days, fourteen, twenty one or forty day fasts, I have experienced some good, bad and ughhh-ly fasts.

Questions ranging from:

*time span,

*the difference between liquid, partial and total fasts,

*what to do when a healing crisis erupts, and

*how to break a fast,
while basic to me; can be daunting to an inexperienced faster.

Since a few of my friends are discovering the benefits of fasting for the first time, I feel it's only sensible to put forward a few antidotal cautions and practical support along the way.

My fasts are rarely without spiritual self awareness; however I have also fasted for health reasons alone. In fact, one of my primary references is "FASTING and EATING for HEALTH - A Medical Doctor's Program for Conquering Disease" - Joel Fuhrman, M.D.

I don't have all the answers; neither am I a Medical Practioner, however I do have a number of reliable resources at my fingertips. With this in mind I am setting up a preferred readers list for anyone who wants more information or support on their fast. Added to that, I am open to chatting for a subscribed period of time to help get beyond the mystique surrounding fasting.

Chatrooms and chatting has no appeal for me ordinarily. Despite a willingness to open my life in print for the world to read I am an a true introvert, and not given to socialising online. A conundrum I know; but true.

That said, it's important enough for me to straighten up with another fast and help my friends fly right in a safe and private forum.

This week I have been preparing my body for a water fast, so by all means if you want to experiment with a day or two and would like support... I am already at the starting gate, so let's do it.

If you want to be included on the preferred readers list or find support with others in a chat environment, send me an email with either 'Fasting" or "Preferred readers" in the subject. (allow approx 24 hours for me to get back to you, as I now need to figure out how to set up the preferred readers list ... LOL........!!!!!!)

It's safe to assume this blog will not be everyone's cuppa tea ... :-O

------------------------------
NB Please refer to Wikipedia online dictionary http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fasting for a concise definition of fasting.
------------------------------

I AM NOT A LICENSED MEDICAL PRACTIONER OR DIETICIAN - FASTING IS NOT FOR PREGNANT WOMEN. AS WELL TERMINALLY ILL PATIENTS SHOULD FIRST CONSULT WITH A DOCTOR OR LICENSED NATUROPATH WHO BELIEVES IN THE TENETS OF FASTING.

PS - Thank you once again to all my friends for your support after the recent incident with my son. A number of questions were raised in respect to the incident, to which I have replied with a lengthy comment on Pg 4 of the blog page for those who are still sending prayers and love. THANK YOU

One of my parents favorite artists' Dame Shirley Bassey's song "This is my Life" reflects my attitude to turning 99 today.

"This is my Life" (adaptation my own)

Funny how a lonely day, can make a person say:
What good is myspace?

Funny how a breaking heart, can make me start to say:
What good is myspace?

Funny how I often seem, to think I'll find never another friend
on myspace
Till I look around and see, this great myspace is part of Me
And My space

This is My space
Today, tomorrow, another friend 'll come and find me
But that's the way that I was born to Be
This is Me
This is Me

This is My space
And I don't give a damn for lost emoticons
I've such a lot of friends I've got to add
Let me add
Let me add

Sometime when I feel afraid, I think of what a mess I've made
Of My space

Crying over my mistakes, forgetting all the breaks I've had
in My space

I was put on earth to be, a part of this great myspace it's Me
And My space

Guess I'll just add up the score, and count the friends I'm grateful for
in My space

This Is My space
Today, tomorrow, another friend 'll come and find me
" Cause that's the way that I was born to be
THIS IS ME
THIS IS ME "

This is My space
And I don't give a damn for lost emoticons
I've such a lot of friends I'v got to add
Let me add
Let me add

This is MY Space
This is MY Space
This is MY Space

Take a bow Dame Shirely Bassey

The crisis is all but passed, and the operation now feels like nothing more than a procedure. With the infection under control and the cat scan remarkably clear, we enjoy a few moments of morning air before Chris is prepared for surgery.

We laugh that it took a medical house arrest and a mothers laryngitis to affect a renewed connection, and family renewal. The middle child, with a sensitive and artistic temprement, Christopher hasn't always found open communication with his parents easy. And in all honesty, my understanding of him and his finer qualities has been less than what it could have been.

We agree these last four days of delays have been a timely opportunity for Chris to unburden his heart and open up areas of hurt to which I have never been privy. Surprised as I was with a number of points raised, I was happy to be asked pointed questions about matters close to his heart; for which I could, openly and honestly, set the record straight.

While a medical team can mend a broken jaw, it's often only a mother who has the key to unlock the storehouse of healing in the heart of a son.

Back in the ward, with a glow in my cheeks from the morning air, I look up from my journal, and like a new mother, unable to take her eyes of her new born, I watch him watch television. For the tiniest measure of time, I felt the closest feeling one could experience of heaven, this side of heaven. That moment, when without cue, mother and son, make eye contact and speak: without a word spoken.

---------
NB: Christopher's surgery was expected to be at least four hours, however he was back in his ward in under three hours. His jaw has a titanium plate with four screws, and the Cat Scan is completely clear. There are no abnormalities or skull fractures; which is remarkable since he suffered a blow with a metal hammer to the base of the skull.

The infection is under control, however he is still on antibiotics and morphine for pain. For all that he is is very good spirits and should be discharged either Monday or Tuesday.

Christopher sends a deep and sincere thanks to everyone who sent their prayers and support. He has a message he has asked me to send to one and all, and it's this: thanks for comments. ( yeah... his jaw bone is connected to his funy bone)

Much love; in fact my heart is overflowing. And with that I am off to get some zzzzzzzz
Catherine

My son Christopher has been admitted to hospital. He has suffered a major break to the jaw as a result of blows to the face, and was also hit over the head with a hammer. He was held down by two guys while another assaulted him. Christopher is 27 years of age.

He will undergo an operation to insert a titanium plate and screws will be attached to his jaw, as well his wisdom tooth removed. We are waiting on the results from the Cat Scan.

The operation is scheduled for Friday morning (Sydney Time)

The major concern is the infection in the gum under the wisdom tooth which had opportunity to rage, as it was a few days before we knew of this altercation. I took him to emergency after he told me of the incident. He is receiving intravenous antibiotics to get the infection under control, as it's imperative it doesn't enter the blood stream.

Many of my myspace friends know of the death of my youngest son from my blog Chicken's Done a Runner, so dear Christopher who is one year older than Trevor, is not in a good frame of mind. To say he freaketh out, is an understatement.

As for me, believe it or not, I am as steady as a rock and believing we will receive a good report. That said, I believe in the power of prayer and will be sending a prayer request to my church today.

To my praying friends I am asking if you kindly keep my son Christopher (and my family) in your prayers.

Thank you beautiful people... this is not at all the blog I had planned!

A grateful and Divine Muaaaaaa from your friend
Catherine

PS - Don't forget to leave a comment ....LOL.... couldn't help myself :-D

The song Breathe me by Sia from the closing sequence, in the final episode of SIX FEET UNDER, has been loaded on my page.

For effect listen to this song in a separate window while reading the blog.

nuevo mexico
the land of enchantment
never let me
down,
as albuquerque
unveiled its
glowing eyes
that night.
old mesilla
whispered it's
secrets
(and i told her mine, too)
as i walked
down
the old stone
road.
i saw
the places
that your past
haunted,
and now
i am haunted
by all the places
that haunted you...
in my past.

Now you wonder what the future holds. You want to forget your wrongs, to say you've changed. Am I to pretend the ghosts are gone? The blood has dried and flaked away, but the wounds have not healed. Do you imagine the pain is just a memory? You want to look ahead because you know what's behind you. I can't turn away from this past you made. There is no road leading upward from the place of misery you created. Nothing here has changed.

One thousand years pass, and my kind is gone. Not even our spirits remain to trouble those who came after you. Everything has been forgotten, just as you hoped. Only your greatness is known. All bow so deeply before you they cannot see the lies hanging in the air. But you have not banished the recollection of your deeds from my mind. I am still here, carried away by the current of time. Here I slumber and dream of the wave that will one day engulf your shores.

The new millennium of destruction dawns and sends an urgent ripple to awaken me. I hear the screams of the millions of your descendants, and each one calms an age-old voice of pain. I will bathe in the crimson tide washing out to sea and be cleansed of this ancient agony. If only you could be wading among the bones, crushed under their weight, dragged to the bottom and drowned in the icy waters of your destiny fulfilled.

It was then that I decided to believe the thought that I was the master of my own destiny. I mean, really . . . who wants to drown in an icy pit? Icy?? You know how it feels when you submerge your hand in a cooler of ice water for just a few seconds to fish out the last diet Coke, right? If you don't pull it out the first or second time, you have to give your hand a break by shaking it wildly, grasping it tightly with the other hand, change hands all together, or better yet, find somebody else who won't mind sticking their hand in that ice water. Maybe I could deal with drowning in warm water, but Icy? No; icy hurts.

Then drowning? Hmmm. I tried to test what I thought it would feel like to drown by laying on my bed, flailing my limbs like crazy and holding my breath for as long as I could. That was until I remembered what it felt like when I accidentally inhaled water at the pool or beach. Simply holding my breath did not compare. Water filling my nostrils was also painful. I just can't deal with pain. I was convinced that there had to be an easier way.

If my destiny was ever going to come into fruition, I realized the first thing I had to do was get out of bed . . . but spending the day at the pool didn't sound quite as inviting anymore.

I just prayed there was a doc in the house.

Bill Adams was sleeping as I rung on the bell; I could just see his feet on his desk through the small window of the mortuary office. "Come on come on bill" I whispered under my breath its cold out here. Finally the door opened, but not by bill. Her smiling eyes met mine, " "Come in John and I will get you a nice hot drink, " she said calmly leading me through to the small kitchen area. "Tea", "Yes please no sugar". It was a strong tea, just how I liked it, and the company was pleasant too, however I simply had to go to the men's room. "Excuse me I will be right back" I smiled at her and left the room.
On returning I could hear the whistling kettle, I remember thinking surely she cant want another tea already. On my return, I was surprised to find Adams was sitting at the table replacing the beautiful woman who I had left. "Hello John" It's been quiet tonight, just two stiffs," he said laughing as he took a sip of tea. " How did you get in?" "The new girl let me in" "What new girl, are you drunk man"? I pulled the sheets from the corpses lying on the mortuary slabs. I was horrified to find that my answer lay there, I felt scared, confused, the tightness in my chest, a mirrored image of myself and the exquisite corpse.

The pool didn't sound quite as inviting anymore.

The breeze picked up, sending a myriad of scents around the couple. She hooked her pinky around a lock of her hair, that had gotten loose to play in the wind and tucked it back behind her ear. He smiled a deep rich smile. He liked it when she did that. Sure it was just a small character habit that made her look even more ravishing, as if that were even possible. He was so enamored with her. She lifted her nose to breathe in the night, not looking at him directly, but noticed his admiring gaze. "Pay attention to the matters at hand." she softly chided in a barely audible whisper, "We have a mission to complete." She loved how he looked at her and usually returned the gaze in kind. This just happened to be her turn to get them back in focus. She coyly looked at him with a side-ward glance. She let a thin broad smile wrap around her thoughts; she knew that he fancied this habit of hers…and tended to play with her hair all the more, as she enjoyed his devotion as much.
The partners instinctively snapped out of their romantic interlude as they both instantaneously picked up the scent of the quarry.

He gloried in it momentarily, the scent of his prey, her blood pumping, her emotions rising in proportion to his distance to her. She had no idea yet what it was that followed her. No idea what stalked her in the night.

She slowed for a moment, allowing him to close on her. She increased the pace of her breathing, allowing him to think her afraid and the silver blades slid from the sheaths at her wrists into her waiting hands. A flick, and she allowed a slow flow of blood from her wrist, knowing it would only increase the hunger of what followed.

He smelled blood, the copper sweetness tightening his gut, but he also smelled the silver as it touched the night. He shifted without sound, suddenly four paws where two feet had run before. The ghostly white of his coat shining with the full moon above him.
She stilled, stopping fully, and turned to the great white cat in front of her. The heat of her longing, the silken reaction between her legs instantaneous. For that change in gait, that change in smell meant one possibility only....

She shifted, and the golden cat waited on a reaction.

It was an excruciating wait.

Corners started settling in for the long haul. Water almost gave up. But patience is feline. And fierce.

Two hours later, a figure emerged from the loft. It was larger than he remembered - and laughing.

How alienating a misplaced laugh can be.

He almost turned. His heels were burning. She was bending at the waist and petting something.

He should have been a dog.

He coughed suddenly.

"What the - - " her voice started up, then stopped. He remembered loving the sound. the interruption.

She was coming toward him. It was too late now.

The field seemed to come ablaze.

"Luke?" Her voice was shaking. She was out of breath from running. From the five years.

"Yes." He met her eyes. Then found the ground.

"What are you - I mean, how did you find me?"

She was standing so close he could smell her. She smelled different. The same. He wanted to paw at her. Slap her. Squeeze her.

"You can't run forever." He sounded like a cliche. Like a novel he had dog-eared once.

"No, I suppose you cannot."

She was still standing there. He stared at her shoes. Mud. Pieces of grass. Moss.

The world was so miniscule and massive in that moment.

Mind you, that depended on whether your vantage point was mine or the dwarf's I'd just accidentally elbowed in the head as I juggled three schooners back from the bar.

"You friggin' big people are all the same … pushing us little guys around!" His ferocity was in inverse proportion to his height. He simply wouldn't let up. "Sorry mate, I told you it was an accident. How many times can I apologise?"

Eventually I realised I wouldn't stand for this rubbish from anyone vertically UNchallenged, so I told him to put a bloody sock in it and shove off.

The rest of evening was a laughter-filled blur of anecdotes, punctuated sporadically by the realisation that my diminutive adversary sat alone glaring at me from the other side of the room until, as last drinks were called, he hopped off his chair and scurried out.

At closing time, feeling fine, I made my way to the car, fumbling around for my keys. Then from out of nowhere the angry dwarf appeared, this time accompanied by six other dwarfs, all in costume. It suddenly dawned on me they were the cast of the local performance of Snow White. 'That's him!" yelled the ringleader. And before I knew it, I found myself in the thoroughly surreal position of having the crap beaten out of me in a car park by The Seven Dwarfs. Only this time, they were ALL Grumpy!

I just prayed there was a Doc in the house.

Tightness in my chest
a mirrored image of my
self and the exquisite
corpse lay like a Shelley
novel unopened under fires
spit from stars.

Rib cage wrapped in gas
lamps of Joyce's cobble
stoned Dublin under blood
red skies under
cover under
stand?

The heart of the
beast blasts low decibls
dragging prey to the
center of the earth
center of blue center
lights in Kerouacs post
war America.

He had nothing
to do with extracting two
legged venom out of
the hearts of
cities and concentrating on
camps rushing
blood rushing fire through
arteries of grey
faced victims looking for
material wealth.

Bukowski bet on horses you
bet his chalice was the cunt
the pearl that lay
stricken between young
legs and cheap cans
of beer washed down.

While the sun
will drench us
outside
but inside
the rib cage
the heart
the venom
will take its toll
on every one
of us
one
at a time.

Sparks of shock
Will travel through the spine
Causing visions to blur
And words to slur.
Heartbeats rapidly
Changing pace.
Fear spreading across
Each and every face.
Only the strong willed
Shall survive,
The ones with the
Internal will to stay alive.

Some will easily give in
As soon as such catastrophes begin,
Refusing to even put up a fight,
The ones that haven't seen the light.
They'll let the poison take full control
Wanting to end the pain and be consoled.
But some will continue pushing on
Facing these challenges and growing strong.
Nothing will stand in their way because
They will live to fight another day.

Admitting defeat had always been out of the question. But after witnessing the aesthetic horrors of his so-called art, I just knew it best we break up. I'd met him twelve months earlier through a friend of a friend of a friend of someone who knew Allen Ginsberg – or was it William Burroughs, I can't recall. That whole Beat poetry connotation of the nomadic drifter trailblazing through the American heartland really stirred up my reproductive system. And because he was an artist – a connoisseur of meaning making – I just had to have him. While the sex was creative, he held out on showing me his art. All I knew was that he "painted with light" as it was written on his business card. So I go to his art show held at a converted factory used for the occasional exhibition, happening or yoga class. A few people I recognize are mingling with red cask wine in plastic cups. I don't see any art. Meg, whose claim to fame is that she's related somehow to Sharon Tate – or was it Roman Polanski, I can't recall – tells me his art "negotiates fault-lines in everyday visuallity". Meg is studying sociology and can sometimes be such a cunt. When she realizes my frustration at not grasping her university babble, her eyes drift heavenward, prompting me to look up and behold the elusive art. All I see is a skylight upon which a light-switch was crudely painted.

This piano in my head plays my dreams.

It plays both the worst and the greatest moments of my life like the notes to a great symphony which has yet to be written. It carries, enmeshed in its melancholic chords, the sounds of memories gone by, and it reverberates with the distant echoes of tomorrow's melodies. This sonata strums the very heartbeat of all the silent harmonies my lips dare not reveal. No words ever to admit, no events to uncomfortably confess; only the enigmatic song of the complex and wordly spirit that lies within. Such is the masterpiece, which has yet to be penned.

Was this mans logical categories and prescribed principles of reasoning in his life. "how rude to sit uninvited, rude, rude rude". To be exact the faith was gone which in early childhood was reputed immutable and accepted truth. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?" The conclusions of his physical experiences he now held as working hypothesis. How could she hope to guess?. Personalities appeared to have forsaken the search for reality and now rarely spoke of any absolutes. More tea.

History conceded the validity of a diversity of subjective interpretations.
"Say what you mean child". Visually he also tended to discard form as an expression of aesthetic truth. "No, no, no, no, because, for example, seeing what one eats is not the same thing as eating what one sees". Like contemplations of void or thoughts of suicide... or this god for that matter. Forces act, gray matter is acted upon, repeatedly rang through his mind. Silly child makes no sense at all. How to start?

"In an effort of a constructive pursuit ... I have obtained my permission to write you in advance of our official letter so that we can be prepared for his arrival in Head before your schedule becomes too crowded". "Myself and I talk often of you on our morning walks, and in this way I hear of your just dealings and of some of your comments on the current scene. "What day of the month is it" "two days slow, two days slow" Bloody stupid march hare fancy using butter to fix my clock.

"My watch is perfectly normal, because neither this watch nor the watches you use tell what year it is"..
It will be a great joy to scrutinize me next autumn and resume our long interupted talk. I join me in the warmest greetings and good wishes to us both."

Wishes to us both, big and small,
surround the room like a pile of bones.
Let's flesh this one out tomorrow,
for a man walks in his skin
even as his soul fills with jelly,
and his eyes, red and white bobbers,
upon the Dead Sea, look no more.

THANK YOU to the following bloggers. Contributions are in the following order:

His Mary Magdalene
http://blog.myspace.com/metagirlnamednikk
=====================
Napoleon B
http://blog.myspace.com/emperor_in_exile
======================
Kimberly T Matthews
http://blog.myspace.com/perfectshoe
======================
BRI's OM SWEET OM
http://blog.myspace.com/valinor11
======================
BECK
http://blog.myspace.com/dragonfyres
======================
lunachik
http://blog.myspace.com/lunachik4
======================
LUCIA
http://myspace.om/shirtygirl
=======================
JOCK STRAP
http://blog.myspace.com/noliquer
=======================
Juice
http://blog.myspace.com/juice73
========================
Ashley
http://blog.myspace.com/mvpashley1
========================
Artswipe
http://artswipe.blogspot.com
========================
Poem Williams
http://blog.myspace.com/oceanopera
========================
Mercurychyld
http://blog.myspace.com/mercurychyld1
========================
That bloke Len
http://blog.myspace.com/xfrsphinx
========================
The Fabulous Mrs Cunningham
http://blog.myspace.com/fabulousmrsc
========================

Every Sunday (Sydney time) for the next four weeks I will announce bloggers I hold in high regard as my top four friends. For seven days I will promote these bloggers on my pages and the bulletin board.

To be selected you don't need:

1. trillions of friends and comments
2. other published works
3. or subscribe to The Divine Miss White's Ravings & Reviews (yeah.. I know, hard to believe, but hey this is about YOUR work)

You need to:

1. be a writer who makes sense
2. know your subject (poetry, fiction, non fiction, autobiographical etc.)
3. be courageous
4. to hold the readers attention
5. have pages that load (yawn, tapping the fingers with some of those pages..zzz..snoring)
6. be a friend of The Divine Miss White

Bloggers will be promoted on my pages and the bulletin board.

Bulletins will include:

1. the frontrunners myspace details
2. the name and link to the blog that caught my attention, and
3. reasons for the selection

Bloggers are encouraged to:

1. support each other by reading each others pages,
2. add each other as a friend or subscribe to their blogs if you like their work
3. tell your friends to add me and send me their blog links

NB
blogs deemed to be politically, religiously or racially inflammatory; sexually degrading and violent towards women or children, or demeaning the character of others do not apply.

ON another note, my ebook is progressing and will be announced early Feb.

A letter to my friends

Since Preachers, Publishers and Prayer Shawls hit the blog waves, reactions from friends and the wider myspace community has been as attention-grabbing as the headline.

The blindingly obvious question is why a headline, alongside a photo of a white woman wearing red, would come in behind Mr Gideon's daily Bible readings.

Remembering no other book in history has sold as many copies as The Bible, and myspace is an online community with a membership exceeding 147 million

I would like to invite my readers join me in this introspective process.

Ask yourself what emotions are triggered, or what is your self projection on the following ink blot of word combinations?

+ Strawberries, cream, honey
+ Pimps, hoes, Johns
+ McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Subway
+ Women, power, influence
+ Apple, Gates, Microsoft
+ Preachers, Publishers, Prayer Shawls

You don't need to send me your responses, however if you insist all icons will be graciously received on the comment page below.

Which leads me to the icon on the aforementioned blog, announcing an up and coming blog, that became the second highest read blog in the religious section of myspace Most Popular Blogs.

It's my preference to redeem difficult, awkward or sad situations, and turn them around. I enjoy using my life experiences to bring light relief, inspiration or comfort to others.

Writing is uncomfortable, drawing back the shades on my own life, comes at a price. However, if my doing so cuts across the differences of others, I do so respectfully. I am here to compose, not expose. (although.. I do have an unpublished work called 'No one puts baby in a corner', all rights reserved)

As a reminder to why we are here, my next blog wil be a light hearted, entertaining piece. Clearly Preachers, Publishers and Prayer Shawls attention grabbing antics has stolen it's own thunder.

That said, Preachers, Publishers & Prayer Shawls has by no means gone away. On the contrary; it's simply cellared for another occasion.

I am forever your humble blogger

The Divine Miss White
a.k.a Catherine

Within five hours of posting "Friends, Christians & Atheists lend me your ears" reached third position in it's category, in my space Most Popular blogs.

Watch this space to hear what The Divine Miss White has to say about Preachers, Publishers, and Prayer Shawls.

This BLOG announcing a BLOG has become the second highest read BLOG in the religious category of Most Popular BLOGS 13/01/07

NB This blog will now be released when The Divine Miss Whites friends base reaches 10,000. Thank you for your patiance.

A lack of pe-performance jitters worried me, as performers understand anxiety is like fuel, and managed correctly, can generate exciting performances. On this occasion I was unusually calm.

Singing at a private function for the NSW Premier Bob Carr, at Old Government House was quite a coup. With twelve of his friends and NSW's First Lady, I actually felt quite at home. While on opposite sides of the political divide, he and my late husband were friendly colleagues in the NSW Parliament.

However, a small detail, which I failed to disclose was, I was also a former Press Secretary to John Fahey, the then current Finance Minister in the Howard Government, Added to which, John and The Premier were political rivals, as John had also been the NSW State Premier before Mr Carr came to power.

Feeling elegant and sophisticated in my little black dress, with just enough cleavage and of course the right shoes, the National Anthem, like my Gideon's, was a well worn standard in my repertoire. I was ready to give a command performance.

Now, Australians may not sing with the patriotic vigour of our American neighbours, but for the most part, we know our anthem. Perhaps our genteel bearing is a throw back to our royal connections, in any case, we (including myself) sing our national anthem with appropriate pomp and circumstance.

Yet, whenever I am called upon to sing the National Anthem the words escape me, and this occasion was no exception.

Standing at the podium, in an intimately lit ballroom, Old Government House was a picture. A microphone was unnecessary as the acoustics in these vintage buildings serve to make even the most dulcet jazz tones sound like an angel, an Archangel; but an angel nonetheless.

Besides, being heard has never been my problem; maybe it's the outcome of co-parenting my Irish born rowdy siblings. In our noisy household, when I spoke (loudly), it was all hands on deck.

If only .. sigh, if only I was singing to a tone deaf Premier .. if only he and his guests had been spared my every faltering word, my clumsy, three nerve wracking attempts at Advance Australia Fair. So frustrated and shaken was I with my efforts, I physically threw my arms in the air, and as if speaking to my siblings, said 'Please Mr Premier I am as nervous as a kitten, we know this song already; just sit down!!!"

For my American friends, an Australian Premier is equal to an American Governor. I ask you, would your patriotic deference extend to commanding an American Governor and his guests to sit down.

With grace, and certainly a degree of laughter and wink wink, nudge nudge, he obediently took his seat, followed respectfully by his guests.

Despite the fact I redeemed myself with a private performance of a few sets of jazz standards after the Premier and Mrs Carr departed, I am forever mortified at the memory of this occasion. What surpised me was hearing the Premiers guests tell me (after one or two, too many ports) they loved my icebreaker, as I gave expression to the anxiety experienced by one and all on such an auspicious occasion.

The moral of the story is.. if you are called to be an ice breaker, at least make sure it's top shelf and on the rocks.