Humorous Competition

“You’ll be entering the Toastmasters Humorous Speech Competition, won’t you?” asked our VPE. (Vice President Education)

“No,” I said.

I began to set down all the reasons why I couldn’t enter the competition. The main one being, in the unlikely event of me actually winning at our club level, I couldn’t possibly go on to compete at the next level. I don’t usually attend the Area Conference because I find a whole day too tiring and the idea of competing was just overwhelming………….

“You’re just making excuses,” she said.

So, I set to and wrote a silly story about taking a cat to the vet. I felt safe, knowing it couldn’t possibly win.

It got a lot of laughs. They laughed a lot more than I thought they would. Then I got to the part where the “dogs in the waiting room barked and howled” and I said “the dogs in the barking room waited….”

I came unstuck then and started to giggle. But it didn’t matter – I didn’t want to win anyway, so I had nothing to lose. The red light came on before the end so I finished in a hurry. I was sure I must have gone overtime.

I think I left out a bit – which was just as well, because my time was 7 mins 29 secs. Phew! One second away from being disqualified! Although I didn’t want to win, I would have hated to be disqualified.

It was an awful shock when my speech won the competition!

Oh dear! I wasn’t nervous before or during the speech, but after it was over I felt so limp and shaky I wondered how I’d drive home. How will I be at the next level?

You’ll be able to read the speech after the Area Conference in October.

“You be the Judge”

You expect contestants to feel nervous in competitions. But I hadn’t thought of the judges feeling a bit diffident.

Until now. Last night I went with two other members of our Toastmasters Club to judge the Evaluation and Table Topics Competitions at another club.

I was assured that, no, there was no one else who could go, and hadn’t I attended a Judges Training Day anyway?

I wore my good black skirt. It seemed the most judicial colour.

I thought all Toastmasters Clubs were like ours. There is always an air of enthusiasm and fun in our club, but this one was sooooo serious. It might have been because it was a competition night. They might have even been in awe of US!

Nearly every club member competed. It was interesting, listening to the many different Evaluations and Table Topics, but it is a heavy reponsibility, trying to judge them.

Being on a jury must be a lot worse.

What was it?

It’s been windy. I had raked up all the Pinecones and Pine needles in preparation for my mowing man. When I came home yesterday, I expected to find the yard mowed and tidy. But he still hadn’t been, and the wind had filled the yard with just as many cones and needles. I raked again.

He still hasn’t come and there were more Pinecones to clean up this morning. I love the shade my big Pine Tree gives in summer, but it certainly has it drawbacks.

I get my mower man to leave the grass clippings for my compost bin. The other day, I emptied the vegetable peelings into the bin, then scooped up grass clippings in my hands to add to the compost. Suddenly, the grass in my hands began to take on a life of it’s own, and a long shiny black tail emerged from it, lashing furiously.

I let out a squawk, dropped the grass clippings and moved out of the way – fast! Whatever it was disappeared behind some wood. It was probably just a legless lizard. But it felt awfully big – and I wont be picking up grass clippings in my bare hands again!

The Ekka

I hadn’t been to it for a few years, but this year I had the urge to visit the Ekka again. “The Ekka” is what nearly everyone calls the Exhibition or the Royal Queensland Show. When the kids were small, I used to dread it each year. That was before my severe hypoglycemic condition was diagnosed. Some years one of my sisters or a family friend would take them.

Other years, Chicken Pox or Measles would be raging. (It’s the time of year for all the bugs.) As I dabbed calamine lotion on their spots I would think with relief, “At least, I won’t be expected to take them to the Ekka!”

Now, with my family grown up, I quite enjoy going on my own and wandering around at my own pace.

This year I headed for my usual favourites – the floral exhibits, paintings and fine arts, the animal nursery, the dogs and cats. The cat parade was my favourite. Each breed of cat was taken out of its cage and displayed. Children in the audience were given free sample bags if they could answer a simple question about the cats. At the end of the parade, a little boy was asked, “What cat is responsible for all these different breeds?” The answer was, of course, the Domestic Shorthair, but the little boy received a round of applause and a sample bag when he confidently answered, “A Tom!”

I fell in love with the beautiful silver tabby Tonkinese cat with aqua eyes and the tiny Singapura cats that originated in the drains in Singapore. But it was good to come home to my own common, but very precious Domestic Shorthairs.

Monsters

“Help, help, it’s a big monster!”

Miles shrieked in delight and climbed up on his mother’s knee when I pretended to chase him.

Then it was his turn to be the monster. “Raaaaaaaagh!” he roared. Then he instructed me, “Quick, climb up on Mummy!”

My neighbour gave Miles a little wheelbarrow the other day. Miles promptly turned it upside down and asked. “Has it got batteries?”

It worries me sometimes, to see children so reliant on modern technology. But Miles spent the morning playing in the backyard with a cardboard box “boat” that was powered solely by imagination. We took turns sitting in it and rocking till it turned over, then we “swam” across the yard, shouting “Look out for sharks!”

I’m sure the neighbours must think I’ve gone mad.

A lovely wedding

I’ve never seen a more radiant bridegroom.

Four of us made the trip over to the other side of town last Saturday to see our Toastmaster friend married. He’s been such an important part of our club for many years; we wanted to be there for him and to wish him well. We also wanted to see this brave woman who had agreed to marry him!

“She’s enchanting,” he had told one of us. And when she walked up the aisle to meet him, we all agreed. She just seemed to radiate warmth and…….. goodness. You know, you can tell sometimes, just by looking at someone, that this is a really nice person.

It was a traditional wedding, in a lovely old church with stained glass windows…..not the church they had first planned to marry in. It had burned down just after the wedding was announced. And the reception was not held in the place they had planned. It had gone bankrupt after the wedding invitations were sent out.

But the wedding was perfect.

I’ll never forget the look of joy on his face as she walked up the aisle toward him. Nor the beaming smile of the bridesmaid, whom we later discovered, is the bride’s daughter.

I’m sure they’ll be very happy.

“Boys” means “noise”

It was bedlam on Sunday, when we all got together to celebrate four birthdays in the family I don’t think it’s just a coincidence that the word “boys” rhymes with “noise.”

I’ve heard some pretty noisy girls, too.

But it wasn’t our just-turned-eleven girl who made the noise. She was quite helpful, watching the little ones. And it wasn’t the two-year-olds. They played quietly together, sharing toys – although I did have to stop them from bouncing on the back bed. Who could blame them, when they saw the others doing it?

It was the five and six year olds.

Oh, they were awful – those boys. I could still hear their shrieks and roars ringing in my ears after I went to bed.

I love them both, of course. Callum, with his gentle loving ways. And that indomitable spirit that glows within him – his face always looks as though he has a light inside. He’s no trouble – without Robert.

Robert on his own is a quiet sensitive child – a dreamer. He lives in his own world of make believe. He can lose himself in a book or imaginary game. He’s no trouble – without Callum.

But put them together………and they just go mad. They get so excited they don’t even hear us when we say, “Not so much noise” “Settle down, now” “Pick that up”. It’s funny though, their hearing improves miraculously if someone mentions “Chocolate!”

It was a relief when the sun came out after lunch and they could run around whooping and yelling in the backyard while little Miles and Matthew tried to keep up with them.

Shea liked the Bardot CD I gave her. Her mother had said, “Oh, no. Don’t buy her that. I can’t stand it!” So I knew it would be just right.

I was so tired I went straight to bed when I went home that night. I didn’t even bother to roll over to see what time it was when Buddy began throwing himself at the front door, wanting to be let in. Ingrid sat up and growled softly.

“Aaaargh…. let him rot!” I muttered, and Ingrid curled back like a big round roast against me and resumed her purring.

I like to have both cats inside at night, but I’ve had to make it a rule not to let them in if they are still out after “lights out.” Otherwise, they would have me up and down all night.

Buddy continued hurling himself against the door and dropping back down to the floor. WHAM, THUMP! WHAM, THUMP! “At least he’s getting some exercise,” I thought.

I don’t know how long he kept it up, because by the time he’d given up and gone back to his warm box under the house, I was asleep again.

“The last week in July”

pinkrose

Some years, I don’t even realise it is the 1st of August until late in the day, then I think, “Oh yes, it’s that day again…..how many years has it been? 26, 27, 28?Ben turned 29 this year, so that must be how long it has been, because he was only a baby when you were suddenly taken from us.

I remember the day so well, and the week before – the last week in July- when the westerly winds blew. It’s only when the wind blows in the last week in July that the memories have cutting edges – like the wind.

But most years, the day just comes and goes gently. We never made a fuss over anniversaries. We both forgot our 1st wedding anniversary and laughed in surprise when we received a card from our neighbour.

I think it was just a coincidence on our second anniversary when you came home with a brown paper parcel.

“Something you’ve always wanted,” you said, as you handed it to me.

I eagerly opened it and found it was a huge bundle of thick string. “You’ve been wanting something to make a clothesline in the carport,” you said triumphantly.

You were so romantic. I remember the sleepwear you bought me just after we were married – pink thick molleton pyjamas and woolly bedsocks. You were always concerned for my warmth and comfort.

No, we didn’t have special days, but each day was special.

At the funeral, the minister met me at the door. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get red roses,” he whispered.

I looked at the beautiful pink roses on the casket. “Pink is just right,” I said softly.

For ours was a gentle love. It wasn’t a passionate red rose relationship, but a quiet unfolding one that blossomed out of a deep and caring friendship.

It had been a long time before we would admit even to ourselves that it was more than a friendship. When you drove the others in our group home, I was always the last to be dropped off, even if it meant going back over the same route. You taught me to work the dimmer switch in the car, just so I would sit closer.

And when everyone else had been taken home, we would sit in the car and talk. I would feed on your every word – and try to make just enough comments to keep the conversation going, hoping it would never end.

Even after we were married, we would talk late into the night.

But six years was not enough to say all we needed to.

You blamed my pea soup when the chest pains came.

“My cooking’s not that bad,” I told my neighbour as you were taken away in the ambulance. I was trying to be brave. I couldn’t go with you. I had a tiny baby and a three-year-old to take care of.

You were surprised to find how cold it was after 10 days in the air-conditioned hospital. The wind sharpened itself on the corners of the house and cut through the slats in the louvres. I hung an old blanket up at the bathroom window. It was too cold to bath the baby. I was too exhausted, anyway.

“I’m fine,” you said, when friends called. “I don’t even feel weak.” But you held onto the walls as you walked through the house.

It was a clear sunny day when you were taken from us a week later.

So I don’t know why it’s always the wind that makes these memories return, with sharp edges. Perhaps it’s because during that windy week I had a dreadful sense of foreboding.

But there’s no need to dwell on that. I remember the time we had together. Even now, I can still hear your laugh, and the tender look in your eyes.

I can still feel your arms wrapped tightly around me at night. I remember how, if I had to get up during the night, you would hold me even tighter in your sleep, as I struggled to crawl out of bed. It made me feel so secure…. and loved.

I remember how proud and excited you were when our first son was born, and as he grew you were sure that no one had ever produced such an amazing child. And your joy when we produced another one – just as perfect. You had such plans for our boys.

I remember your integrity. “Transparent honesty” the minister called it, at the funeral. Your generosity to your friends and your willingness to go the second mile.

And I remember your annoying habits. The way you would quickly poke your finger in my mouth and out again when I yawned. The way you would cut your toenails in bed while I was in the shower and leave them for me to sit on when I came to bed.

Someone said to me afterwards, “I knew you’d get through this. You have a strong faith.” But mine was a flickering faith. I drew strength from your flame. And it was your faith that gave me the courage to go on.

I always tried to be the person you believed me to be.

Twenty-nine years is a long time. Even more years than my age was when you were taken. Time has smoothed the jagged edges and left comfortable memories.

It’s only the westerly wind that unsettles them, when it blows – in the last week of July.

Speech No. 4 in the Toastmasters “Speaking to Inform” Manual

Date presented: August, 2000.

What Makes a Good Conversation?

Recently, a friend phoned me. She’s one of those people who could talk under wet cement. I’ve discovered that I can even put the phone down and attend to something in another room while she’s talking and she doesn’t even notice. After about half an hour of her monologue she actually drew a breath and said, “Are you there? You haven’t said anything yet.”

“No,” I said, “I was waiting for a break in the conversation.”

As she was finally hanging up she said, “I love talking to you. That was a really good conversation!”

A second friend phoned me that night. I was very tired, but I soon forgot my weariness as we animatedly shared our opinions, beliefs and personal experiences. Time flew, and as I went to bed very late that night, I thought “Now, that was a really good conversation!”

Two different opinions on what comprised a good conversation. Since Toastmasters is about communication, it occurred to me that it might be an interesting topic to research for my speech tonight. So I asked some of my friends what they thought made a good conversation.

My friend’s reactions to my survey were as interesting and revealing as the results were. Some of them wouldn’t stop talking long enough for me to ask them anything. Strangely though, they are the ones who think they are having a good conversation.

For some, the subject itself was a conversation stopper. When I asked, “What makes a good conversation?” I was met with a pained silence, or they changed the subject. So I tried asking, “What makes a boring conversation?”

One candid family member told me, “Talking about what makes a good conversation!”

I discussed the topic mostly by phone with about eight of my friends. They had different suggestions, but all agreed on three main points.

Mutual interest.

Give and Take

Trust

Let’s look at the first one. (Mutual Interest.) A conversation has to be of interest to all concerned. As one friend suggested, it’s when two or more people voluntarily explore the topic. But how can we be sure that we are not boring others? We need to be sensitive to the cues our listener gives us. Someone suggested if he is pulling away from your grip, or standing on tiptoe making desperate signals to someone else he probably wants out!

Some people are unable to even entertain the thought that they might be boring. My verbose friend once told me of the time she went on a blind date. During the evening her partner excused himself to leave the room and never came back. She was concerned that he may have had an accident. It never occurred to her that he might have taken the easy way out.

All my friends agreed that a conversation thrives on the balance of giving and taking. Conversations are the building blocks of a relationship, one told me. If it leans too far in one direction, the relationship will topple. Another said, “People don’t want to hear you talk about yourself. They’d rather talk about themselves.”

We agreed that giving and taking can be done both through speaking and listening. Through talking we can entertain, inform, advise, and share personal experiences. We fulfil our listener’s emotional needs when we sympathize, praise or reassure him.

By listening attentively we can make the other person feel good about himself, We give him an outlet for his pent up feelings, and a sounding board for his ideas.

Since most people would rather talk than listen it means we sometimes have to give up our desire to speak when the other person wants to talk.

Someone mentioned active listening. We can respond non-verbally with our eyes and body language to draw out the speaker. It’s important to ask questions to show interest. Open-ended questions, Like How What Where When Why encourage the speaker to continue.

Then there’s Trust. One of my friends said, You really get to know a person when you feel free to explore feelings and beliefs. But, first you need to feel comfortable with that person. A relationship requires mutual trust. It’s like a series of circles, someone said. The outer ring is for acquaintances. We usually use small talk on acquaintances. Small talk is a necessary medium for finding a mutual interest. It’s a way of testing the waters before plunging in.

The next circle is for people we feel comfortable with. We know them well, we mix with them socially, and might even have serious conversations with them, but we don’t have a close relationship. We don’t let many into our smaller inner circle. It is for those we feel safe with. We can be open and honest with these.

One of my friends said she feels frustrated when people don’t keep to the subject. She likes the conversation to flow logically with no side issues. On the other hand, another one said she likes to explore side issues, because they often lead to a more interesting topic. Someone else suggested that a conversation should not be planned. It should begin with something trivial and gradually develop.

I was wondering how to sum this all up when my ten-year-old neighbour called in. I asked her if she had a good friend that she enjoyed talking to.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I tell my friend Emily everything.”

“And who does the most talking?” I asked.

“Both of us,” she said. “We’re interested in the same things. I’ve known her for years.”

There we have it. Mutual interests, a balance of talking and listening and a good relationship. I think she summed it up well.

But what do you think?

One of my friends said she preferred to examine the facts and draw her own conclusions. I’ll leave it to you to decide what makes a good conversation.

I had prepared this speech for my “Fact Finding Report” last year, then scrapped it and used “Rich Man, Poor Man” instead. I used it this week, because I didn’t have time to write a new speech. It was well received, but I found it hard to get “psyched up” using old material.