Boggle was the name of our fish.  He (we assume he was a boy), was a big, fat goldfish.  He lived in a bowl on our kitchen bench and thought he was a dog or cat.  He rose to the top of the bowl when the children came into the kitchen, hovering near the top of the water until they spoke to him,  “Hullo, Boggle”.  Boggle would then dive gracefully back into the depths of his bowl.  Until one day, when we found Boggle on the floor.  He had done a kamakasie dive out of the safety of his bowl, landing on the kitchen floor where he died because no one was home to rescue him.  He was a fish out of water and sadly he died.  I’m sure it was his chosen method of dying.  We buried Boggle in the back yard and even now remember and talk of Boggle.  Boggle’s actions helped us interpret peoples’ behaviours.
 
I have a Godson who liked to jump out of planes.  Freefalling it is called.  He was not a candidate for freefall parachuting when you looked at him.  Just an ordinary Aussie bloke who loved horse racing and two up who also liked freefalling from a plane.  As his godmother I was not at all impressed with this occupation, but he smiled sweetly, patted me on the head and continued to jump.  He was comfortable as he always was.  I was not.
 
He decided to move to Lightning Ridge, where his brother had an opal mine, to try his luck with the opals.  His brother was rapt to have an extra pair of hands to dig and to have company in the house.  So Tom journeyed to join his brother Simon in the profession of miner.
 
Whilst delighted, Simon decided to have some fun with Tom and organised to meet him and drive him into the Ridge.  On the way he stopped at one of the pubs and said to Tom, “Go and pick up some beer will you?”  “Certainly” Tom replied as he climbed from the ute and approached the pub verandah.
 
Tom entered the pub and stopped dead in his tracks.  Not what he expected.  He walked to the bar and asked for the beers.  Still not easy, he paid and walked out of the pub.  At the door he began to shake.  We don’t know if it was relief, fear or anger.  His sweet brother had set him up to enter an all black pub.  Our Tom was the only white man in that pub and every eye turned to watch him walk to the bar and then exit. 
 
Considering his normal past activities it took a pub full of aboriginals to make our Tom be ill at ease.   He still talks of being the only one; of his discomfort whilst not backing down.  A fish out of water absolutely.
 
Being comfortable in our own skin is one thing; being comfortable in our own environment is another.  But stepping into a new environment and experiencing that feeling of not belonging is not a nice feeling.  Uneasy, jumpy, not knowing correct behaviours and hoping people will accept our ignorance of the environment.   No need to die like Boggle.  Just face it, get through it and then go back to our own safe environment.  Just like Tom did and Boggle didn’t. 

​
Helen Duggin
September 2017

The Wedding was spectacular. Held in the court yard of an ancient building. One of those
courtyards where the bricks we walked on were so old they had indentations in them. This building sited beside a river with towering river gums overhead. The antique bricks reflected the colour of the ages gone by; reds and creams; rough finish on some and smooth on others. All handmade. A symbol of times gone by. It was Summer and the temperature climbed into the high 90s. The trestle tables were set out in long rows ready to receive the one hundred and seventy guests. Huge fans turned from every vantage point and spread water spray on the people walking past or lucky enough to be sitting in the span of the turning circle of the fans.

I'd planned to wear something spectacularly clinging and romantic, as fitted the setting. But as the day was so very hot I changed to a simple shift; no stockings, just fake tanned legs. And then the shoes, I could not compromise on them or the hat. The hat was a huge black straw hat with a very wide brim. And the shoes were high heeled with straps. Totally impossible to walk in after years of ignoring these beautiful things which had lived in my wardrobe for twenty years,

Where do you wear four inch heels, with straps and no backs. Shoes that were bought so that my long legs could display them when I crossed my legs. How beautiful to sit with long legs crossed elegantly displaying painted nails and gorgeous black strappy sandals. The joy of posing and knowing all was beautiful below the knees.

The wedding party was spectacular. Modern and sentimental. The groom was Jewish and so we had Mazel Tov as the glass was broken under the archway of tradition. And the party began. It was years since I had had any interaction with Jewish people; not since moving from Windsor in Melbourne and playing tennis against them at AJAX Sports Club. So we talked and reminisced about the Sports Club and other mutually known traditions. And I stood in my very elegant shoes in my black elegant hat and renewed my friendship with the Jewish religion. And the heat continued and everyone began to take things off but not my shoes. They were firmly on my feet.

I wondered if they could dance. And they could. We carried the bride and groom around the dance floor and joined hands singing traditional songs. Quite frankly we rocked! And the party went on for hours and hours. Everyone singing and dancing. Me still tottering along on my wonderful strappy sandals praying I would not break an ankle. The sun went down, dinner was over and still we sang and dance. Mamma Mia came on and I think one hundred and fifty people stood and moved to the dance floor. And we sang and joined with each other in complete celebration of the wonderful night; beautiful company, sharing the joy of the newly married couple.

The music stopped and we all went home. I put myself in my car and drove home in a euphoric state having experienced a wedding I would never forget. I only had one other wedding I remembered in the same way. It was not mine but friends who had a wedding where the dancing and singing was monumentally wonderful. That one set overlooking Port Phillip Bay.

Next morning I placed my wonderful shoes back in amongst my other shoes; the sneakers for walking; the Rockports for comfort; the flat black court shoes for those lunches beside the lake; the sandals for the hot weather and the shoes I bought for someones wedding twenty years ago and that came out for Winter Weddings. Nestled amongst this mundane, ordinary shoes there are my high heeled strappy sandals. Resting now after a hard night of enjoyment and enthusiastic partying.  The hat lay somewhere in the bedroom along with the shift dress.

​Those shoes are the odd thing out in my Wardrobe; impractical but so very beautiful And only to be worn on beautiful occasions such as the wonderful wedding beside the river in an ancient building celebrating the union of a loved couple.


*​Helen creatively renamed her 'Odd One Out' story 'Odd Thing Out'...