How many of you fit this category?

MY MEAN MOTHER.

"I had the meanest mother in the world. While other kids had lollies for breakfast, I had to east cereal, egg and toast. While other kids had cans of drinks and lollies for lunch, I had to have a sandwich.

As you can guess, my dinner was different from other kids' too - as well as the food, we had to eat it at the table and not in front of television.

My mother also insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were on a chain gang or something. She had to know who our friends were, where we were going and she even told us what time we had to be home.

I am ashamed to admit it, but my mother actually had the nerve to break child labour laws. She made us work. We had to wash the dishes, make our beds and even learn to cook.

That woman must have stayed awake at nights just thinking up things for us kids to do. She always insisted that we tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

By the time we were teenagers, our whole life became even more unbearable. No tooting the car horn for the girls in our family to come running. She embarrassed us by insisting the boys came to the door to get us.

I forgot to mention that most of our friends were allowed to date at the mature age of 12 and 13. Our old-fashioned mother refused to let us date before we were at least 15.

She actually raised a bunch of squares. None of us kids were ever arrested for shop lifting or busted for dope.

And who do we have to thank for this? You're right - our mean mother.

Everyday we hear cries from both our people and politicians about what our country really needs. What our country really needs is more mean mothers like mine.

Do you believe in Miracles?
The following may convince you that Miracles do happen.

A Miracle Indeed.

Most people don"t know what a chanter is, let alone a practice chanter. But this is what I had brought with me as I travelled to far away Mildura from Melbourne, first by train to Swan Hill, then by bus. We were collected by friends who had invited and taken us for the first time to "the block."

The farmhouse itself (as a lot of older places were) was situated not far from the back and centre of its rectangular and flat form. It had its regulation shade trees around it, and a few of the citrus variety. The place was very old and had not seen a coat of paint for many years. The kitchen, though, had been modernised, within a part of the built in and louvered verandah which surrounded it.

The farm itself was planted out wall to wall with grapes, mainly of the one variety. A pickers' hut stood out in the middle of the block, unprotected from the incessant sun. But this was still growing time, and the place was deserted. We had been privileged indeed, and had been invited to stay at the big house, with our friends, the new owners, in their 40's and 50's at that time.

We were treated to a great country feast that night, and the wining and dining went on until the wee small hours. During the night I went out to pee, not in the toilet of course, but to conserve water in that dry land, under the stars. The lemon tree surely appreciated my copious ministrations that night!

What a wonderful star encrusted canopy overarched the heavens! Quite breathtaking, even for me, who had grown up to appreciate the stars from my times at Blackwood, and on the Wright farm at Addington. At this time I noticed in that silence, a horse in fairly close proximity, right across the channel, on the other side of the fence. It was grazing, munching away quietly.

Next morning we had a rather late "brunch", and then the others hurried off to an appointment and some shopping, I was pleased to be left all to myself, no stale alcoholic vapours for me And so began the miracle! And it happened to ME! All alone in the solitude. Not a breath of air, and an absolute still 30 C.

Sitting on the back verandah (in the shade of course!), I began to play my heart out. Forty years worth of remembered ancient melodies! All played on the practice chanter. The ancient art of Scottish Piobaireachd! The Glen is Mine, Lament for the Children, McIntosh's Lament. The Earl of Seaforth's Salute, and so on!

I had played several of these. tunes into that dry hot air, when suddenly I saw a movement in the far distance. It looked like a horse, turning its head towards the sound. Incredible! I continued to play and observe. There were many other horses on the other side of the fence, a different property, and all far away. All seemed to be looking directly towards me and the sound.

Not wanting to disturb them, I slowly got up, and playing all the time, walked slowly across the water channel to the fence. As I did so, it seemed that the horses had been mesmerised, because they too came slowly closer and closer, and they stood in two concentric semicircles about me, shoulder to shoulder, watching me.

These were no ordinary group of horses. Obviously, from their fine lines, they were racehorses! They were the most beautiful (and expensive) sight! A few stragglers still came in, forming a third row behind the others. I tried to count them, but not wanting to break the spell, lost count as I continued to play.

One horse then came forward, slowly, slowly, as I played and got so close that I could feel its breath on my fingers, then the hair of its nose, and then the moist tip of its lip and tongue. It then backed up, resuming its place, the next horse came forward to do the same thing. In all at least 20 horses nuzzled my fingers and looked me in the eye, after waiting their turn.

As you can imagine (well, those of you who know about practice chanters, bagpipes and piobaireachd will know) all this took quite a considerable time. Probably one hour from the time I left the shade of the verandah to make my way to the fence. Though leaning on a post, I was just about all in, and worried that I might be getting sunburnt. My fingers were aching, and I needed a change of pace, so I tried a different track.

I played a March tune, of the type played in Pipe Bands. No sooner had I played the first bars of the march, I noticed that the spell had been broken, the horses lost concentration, and one by one began to drift away, as they commenced grazing again. Play as I might, they took no further interest. But the miracle of my being able to speak to these beautiful animals through the ancient art of piobaireachd stays with me, and I wanted to share it with you.

Suffice to say, that the rest of the weekend is just a blur, rendered insignificant by this miracle, which has stayed with me.

Miracles happen, even when we least expect them, and I was privilege indeed.

Donald Chalmers.