Today is our fortieth wedding anniversary. Our story begins on a Friday night at a packed bar, with a tall man, a business card and a borrowed pen. As I reflect on the events that shaped our relationship, I’m bursting with gratitude for the adventurous, love-filled life we’ve shared.
We met

Friday night, January 1984, at the Umbrella Bar, Sydney. My friend Angie and I were out on the town. Angie liked tall men; he was standing next to a tall man. The four of us spent the night flirting. He gave me his business card and said, “Call me”. I said, “No, you call me”. He borrowed a pen and took my number. I waited, hoping the phone would ring. It did.
Me
A Kiwi girl living in Sydney, already married and divorced twice at 28. Well-travelled, yet with limited insight into the chaotic relationship choices I was making.
Inadvertently, I’d started dragging myself out of the negative relationship cycle by embarking on a learning journey. I completed a six-month course on Communicating and Relating, an intense foray into understanding myself. I was studying Personnel Management two nights a week at TAFE. That education quietly reshaped me — strengthening my confidence and sense of self.
He
A Nowra boy living in Sydney, 25 years old, newly separated and about to graduate with a Bachelor of Business, having studied part-time for six years while working full-time as a Merchant Banker. He planned to travel and be free.
He left – and I waited.
Nine months after we met, he took off to see the world, making memories in Europe and Turkey without me.
I needed to become stable and independent, so I kept working, studying, and waiting.
Our relationship grew through flimsy blue paper aerograms – brief pages of longing and hope. Sporadic long-distance phone calls fuelled the torturous yearning, but we both needed the slowness that distance provided.
I joined him in the USA. We reunited at the San Francisco airport, but we had a backup plan for unforeseen events. There were no mobile phones in those days, so I promised, “I’ll wait for you on the steps of the Australian High Commission every day at 10 am if you don’t make it to the airport.”
We spent a month secluded in our hired Chevy Camaro, driving from San Francisco to New Orleans.
I returned to Sydney and waited some more. He kept travelling.
He came back
Finally, after 8 months, he came back and moved in with me in Sydney. He finalised his divorce. I completed my Certificate in Personnel Management.
We left
We planned a life together. Nowra seemed better than Sydney for raising kids, so we moved there and bought our first home. He worked for his parents, fixing water pumps and milking machines. He completed his electrical apprenticeship.
I took advantage of a magic moment in time where, even as a New Zealander, I could attend university for free and receive Austudy. Thank you, Gough Whitlam, for free education; you absolutely changed my life. I completed my Bachelor of Psychology, a Lifeline Telephone Counselling course and a Childbirth Education qualification.
We got married
On 29th March 1986, just two years after we met, we married in his parents’ lounge. We melted our old wedding rings to create new ones, forging the future from the past.
We left again
In the small town of Nowra, we had two beautiful children, great family support and made good friends, yet I yearned for something different.
“Let’s live overseas,” I suggested. “Ok”, he replied.
His new job was as an Accountant for an electrical company in Lae, Papua New Guinea. Looking back, I can’t quite fathom why I thought moving from Nowra to Lae — an even smaller, more isolated town — would offer me more. I bought the book, “Where There Are No Doctors”, and packed it along with my 18-month-old and 3-year-old children. Spouses were generally unable to work in PNG, yet I worked for 8 years while living there. Thank you again, Gough, for that free university degree.
He’d packed his saxophone and trumpet when we moved to PNG. I was bemused, as I’d never heard him play, except on the record that he’d made with a dance band when he was 15 years old. One night, at a party, he stood at the top of the stairs, saxophone to his lips, and the sexy sounds of the saxophone flew into my heart. I fell in love with him all over again. I was his greatest fan and the luckiest woman in the room.
He completed a Master of Business. I completed a Graduate Certificate in Training and Development.
We spent 8 years in Papua New Guinea as a family, four years in Lae and four in Port Moresby. My irrational desire to move led us to outstanding jobs, travel, learning opportunities and lifelong friends.

I Left Without Him
He was offered a great job, just as we’d decided to leave PNG. He asked, “How long could I live without him?” I left with the children to start our new life in Cairns. The kids and I embraced him at the airport every Friday night, and he flew out again on Monday mornings. A communication box kept us connected. The kids and I filled it with anything we needed to talk about when he came home – drawings, bills, invitations and school reports.
I started a small business, became dissatisfied, completed my Honours in Psychology and became a psychologist.
After a frightening event in PNG, he came back to us permanently 2 years later.
He joined another band and bought a motorbike. The best gig ever was his band playing at a Harley-Davidson event. I was still his greatest fan.
We left again
When the children finished high school, it was time to leave again. The big city was calling.
We moved to Brisbane as a family, and here he and I have stayed, though we have moved homes three times since arriving. He kept playing music, started cycling, and I wrote a book – Not Forgotten: They called me Number 10 at Neerkol Orphanage.
We kept old friends and made new ones. We had interesting jobs, took 6 months off to travel and enjoyed our lives.
Now we are both retired. We focus on loving our family, which has grown to include a daughter-in-law and two grandsons, connecting with friends, keeping healthy, and being stimulated. He’s still cycling and playing music, and I’m still writing and madly creating coffee pod sculptures – Have you met Tall Black?
What worked for us?
After 40 years, here is what I know worked for us to build a strong, lasting marriage.
- We shared a focus on family, driving positive change, continually learning, ensuring joy was part of our lives, and valuing connection with friends. Work was important because it was interesting and the means to do what mattered to us.
- We each had space to enjoy solo activities, but we also loved sharing time. He is still the person I choose to spend most of my time with. I love his company.
Our love is anchored by rituals: a kiss every morning, warm greetings when we arrive home, checking in with each other at the end of the day, dinner together, and a shared late-night cuppa. Friday nights are still fun nights. When we had young children and little money, it was fish and chips by the beach; now it’s dinners out, or maybe just a drink in front of the TV. Our annual Christmas Carols, where he plays the piano and leads the singing, and friends and family gather at our home, is a highlight of the year.- We fit together well. I dream big – “let’s take six months off work and travel the world”. He makes the dreams happen, booking the travel and managing the money.
- We’re on the same team, cheering each other on, celebrating each other’s successes, and supporting each other in the harder times. We build each other up. We are undoubtedly the most important people in each other’s lives.
Thank you for bringing the music to my life, Steven. We share the best of lives. I’ve loved every one of the 14,610 days we’ve been married.
I still love Friday nights at a bar, but I have no interest in tall men, retirees don’t carry business cards, and I have a special pen in my bag, given to me by my children for book signings. He knows my number now.

My gorgeous grandson, Leo, was surrounded by his adoring great-grandfather, grandfather and father. The love for him radiated from these three men. Watching them, I wondered how the experience of becoming a dad had shifted across the three generations.

Three generations of men becoming dads, three very different worlds, and one shared moment: holding their newborn child for the first time.
The oldest boy is my great-nephew. He is my sister’s grandson, visiting from New Zealand with his parents for a lovely long weekend of family connection and to join our annual Christmas Carols extravaganza. I visited my sister in New Zealand in January 2025. At 79 years old, she was living at home with her husband, and while she seemed somewhat withdrawn and a little confused, life was much like it had been for many years. I had an underlying sense of disquiet and gently encouraged her to
An ordinary day, but not an ordinary moment. It’s a moment heavy with meaning—a snapshot of family history, love and loss. A moment that rewards every effort to show up for these children, and honours the trust their parents place in us. A moment that whispers: This is what matters.
In Thailand and Cambodia people make offerings to spirits every day to create positive karma. We, as tourists, must have been included in their wishes for happiness and well-being as we’ve had a fortuitous trip.
We anticipated a spectacular but busy day at the Grand Palace as we joined the throng of tourists channeled through the entrance gates. We followed the crowds along the designated path to the resplendent buildings. Pausing to gain our bearings we found ourselves in front of a small sign offering a “Free English Tour at 10.30 am”, it was 10.27 am. Our unplanned morning allowed us to be here at exactly the right time and place. There were thousands of people visiting the Grand Palace that day but we joined a group of just three others. We enjoyed a funny, informative tour, with a guide who spoke excellent English and happily answered our questions.
We had no idea Chiang Mai held a spectacular annual flower festival for three days in February. On our second morning in Chiang Mai we caught a glimpse of one colourful exhibit as we drove past on our tour. After discovering it was the last day of the festival, and although we were hot and bothered that evening, we dragged ourselves along to Suan Buak Haad Public Park. There we were treated with an exotic array of 25 large parade floats ornately adorned with flowers, petals and plants. It was an elaborate celebration of botany, art and culture.
We gladly accepted the invitation to go to Koh Samui with our daughter-in-law, son and grandson where we would be joined by three of her sisters from England. With their partners and children we would become a party of 15. We built our trip to Thailand and Cambodia around the week we would meet the family.
The Giant Puppet Project, Siem Reap
There was one offering I should have refused. A tour in Chiang Rai included a trip to the village of the long-necked Karen people. These colourfully dressed tribal women traditionally wear heavy metal rings around their necks. As refugees from Myanmar they have no right to work, education or health care in Thailand. We paid a fee to enter the village and the women sat outside their shops posing for photos.
Ten days later in Siam Reap, a sign on the back of a toilet door in
Our Cambodian bike tour included a visit to Angkor Wat at sunrise. Despite the allure of the event, I dreaded the 4.40am pick up. For a night owl like me that’s torture. I tiredly sat in the dark waiting for the sunrise and was blessed to see it gently rise behind one of the most spectacular buildings on the planet. The following day our guide emphasised how lucky we were, as for weeks prior the sunrises had been consistently dulled due to cloud cover.
This month, I’ve spent hours talking with friends and family about getting old and dying. It’s such a fun topic when you’re on holiday. Yet, discussing ageing and death is now part of the narrative of my life. At 68, if the media interviewed me, I would be considered an “elderly retired grandmother”. Not that I feel like that. When I was a young mum, I talked about babies and toddlers. Then I lamented with anyone who would listen about wayward teenagers. After those teenagers became adults and left, I discussed work. Now that I’m retired many conversations are around planning holidays, grandchildren, the state of the world, getting old, and death. It’s a bit like the
My 92-year-old father-in-law and 90-year-old mother-in-law live independently in their family home. They have made some alterations like adding a step elevator for the front steps and installing grab rails and a bidet in the bathroom. They have help in the garden and a cleaner. Their home remains perfect for them, close to family and the community they have lived in all their lives. However, I decided I needed to move after falling down my
It’s unimaginable that I won’t be able to make decisions for myself, but I have seen the consequences of not planning for this possibility. At 65 years old, a friend had a stroke and was unable to make decisions for himself. After an initial hospital stay, he was moved to an aged care home. His family and friends had to make an application to the Guardianship and Administration Tribunal, so a guardian to manage his affairs could be appointed. Until this happened no major decisions could be made about his assets, and funds needed for his care were limited. My friend also had to be medically assessed as not having the capacity to make important health and personal decisions as evidence for the tribunal. These stressful and lengthy medico/legal processes would have been avoided had he prepared an Enduring Power of Attorney when he was well.
We all have “stuff”. It seems to accumulate no matter how many clean-outs we have. Some of that “stuff” is valuable, like your home, financial investments and other assets. I’m sure family and friends will select sentimental mementos when I’m gone, but they won’t want most of my chattels and I’m ok with this. However, although I plan to spend as much of my money as I can before I die, I do want to choose who will receive any remaining financial assets. The best way I can ensure this will happen as I wish is to make a Will. 





Leo lifts the brass latches of the 100-year-old cabin trunk, opens the lid and climbs inside. At 18 months old Leo is unaware that the trunk belonged to his great-great-grandmother Purthanry Thanes Mary Cutts. While he explores, I run my hands gently over the aged leather lid and embellished corners, allowing myself to daydream of luxurious travel aboard a grand cruise liner.
I met Purthanry, my husband’s paternal grandmother when I was 30 and she was in her 80’s. Like the trunk, she had an aura of elegance and sophistication which I found somewhat intimidating even as she welcomed me warmly into the family. I was unaware of the trunk until after her death. Then I coveted it. The trunk is a precious family heirloom and a connection to my
Purthanry had returned home by 1928 when she married Frank Moorhouse at 27. Purthanry, a Girl Guide Captain, and her Guides, approached Frank at Mosman ferry wharf while selling tickets to a ball. Initially Frank refused the tickets as he did not have a partner, however, the resourceful Guides assured him they could organise the perfect date. Purthanry and Frank attended the ball together.
The couple moved to East Street, Nowra, living in a home they called Amaroho. Some of Purthanry’s first acquisitions were a beautiful dressing table and chamber pot commode cupboard which stayed with Purtharny until her death at 95. When I received the cabin trunk, my son and his English wife took possession of the dressing table and cupboard which are now part of Leo’s daily life. Arthur remembers his mother brushing her long hair at the dressing table. She always tied her hair up in a bun. Purthanry dressed formally with minimal makeup and never wore trousers or shorts.
When old people gather (and I don’t mind being called old because I am, and the alternative is worse) it often starts as an organ recital. We update each other on our aches and pains, and how our bodily parts are functioning. For me this year it’s been about heart, hip and head, so I’ve had lots to contribute.
This was my first foray into AI. I asked it to make me “body organs playing music” and this is what it produced. I am amazed. What do you think?
I’ve had great fun entering a couple of short-story competitions,
“Jack, would you like to try the marinated goats’ balls?”
Frank Moorhouse was on the periphery of my life.
Connecting with Frank Moorhouse
Franks Memorial