Lately while reading I came across some words which I couldn't say with confidence that I knew the exact meaning. I listed them on a piece of paper and I now have a little time to check the dictionary. Here they are, I like them as words.
ATAVISTIC- 1/ relating to or resembling ancestors. 2/ involving reversion to an earlier type.
I remember when reading a book of short stories by Carlos Fuentes (which Maria lent me and I enjoyed) this word popped up a number of times. I looked it up more than once but still forgot it's meaning. Hopefully this time by blogging it I will remember it forever.
PERIPATETIC - 1/ travelling about from place to place. 2/said of a teacher employed by several schools and obliged to travel between them. 3/denoting the school of philosophers founded by Aristotle, given to promenading while lecturing. noun- a peripatetic teacher or philosopher.
CONFLATED - to blend or combine ( eg. two different versions of a text, story, etc) into a single or whole.
EGREGIOUS - outrageous, shockingly bad.
EPIPHANY - 1/ a Christian festival on 6 Jan which, in western churches, commemmorates the showing of Christ to the three wise men, and, in Orthodox or other eastern churches, the baptism of Christ. 2/ a sudden appearance of a god. 3/ literary, a sudden revelation or insight.
Then I heard one on the radio when I drove the boys up to catch the bus at 6.00am, INSOUCIANCE - noun lack of concern; indifference; carelessness. INSOUCIANT - adj. without cares or worries; light-heatedness.
I love learning new words, but I find if you don't use them you forget their meaning. I'll tell people today, if I'm asked how I am, that I'm peripatetic, insouciant, and hoping for an epiphany. Or that I feel conflated with egregious atavism, and see what the response is. But I probably won't be able to remember the words.
The drizzly mist accompanied Snowy an I on our morning walk. It's another cold dreary day.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Three Old Friends
I never thought, until this year, that what people call a mid life crisis was relevant to me. I turned 54 last birthday, but that particular number is not important, my sister is two years younger and she says the same realization has come to her, and the symptoms she describes ring true to mine.
Sometimes your legs seem to be losing their strength. If in a hurry you start to jog to get there quicker your knees jar and feel like they are about to buckle. And joints from ankles to shoulders protest at daily routine work. Just driving the same road every day seems mindless and the traffic infuriates and noise offends the nerves.
Along with the physical aches and pains, loss of vigour, and the dragging tiredness, is difficulty finding enthusiasm and energy to plough through the problems, which seem to swell from molehills to mountains. It all starts to look a bit too hard. And worst of all, you start to feel shaky. Some days I'm devoid of self confidence and it eats away at me all day, as if I've lost empowerment.
Somewhat overshadowed by our weekend police drama, but well worth recording, I've had contact with three people lately who have all in their own way helped me rise above my negative malaise, temporarily at least.
The FIRST was Fay Day, an elderly lady on the other side of Gembrook, who lives alone and suffers arthritis. I do a bit of gardening for her, and pick a little foliage there sometimes. A few months ago I did some serious pruning and left two big heaps well away from her house at the back for burning at a later date after the fire restrictions were lifted. At the end of a hot dry March, the weather suddenly turned wet and cold and I didn't get a chance to go back and burn off till last Saturday.
Fay's husband Eddy, who loved the garden and kept it in good shape, died 3 years ago and there was three years growth with blackberries taking over. I sprayed most of the blackberries last summer so there was a lot of dead canes that needed dragging out and putting on the fire.
Eddie was a complete gentleman, a Yorkshireman who spent much of his working life in the British Navy. He met Fay, a WREN at the time, on Malta and they married in England in 1949. Eddie only had a few days leave and was then suddenly posted to a new ship and spent the next 12 months away. They never had a honeymoon and for the first twenty years or so of their marriage Eddie was only home on leave for about a month a year. They were a devoted couple whom I'd known for some years and the small cottage, where they hadn't been long, was the first home they had ever owned. It has the name 'FIRENZE' on a sign over the little gate in front of the front door, Firenze being the Italian word for Florence, where Eddie spent some years at the naval base.
Eddie went from excellent health to a situation where all his organs shut down and he died within two weeks. He was working getting rid of 'brambles' as Fay calls blackberries at the bushy rear section of their block when he got scratched on the lower leg. Fay reckons it was a white tail spider that bit him and started his deterioration but I think the medicos called it cellulitis (?) or something where contact with some vegetation triggers an allergic reaction that gets right out of control. I saw him shortly after he became crook and he showed me his leg which was swollen and gone purple but we certainly had no inkling that would be our last meeting. I learned of his death some months later when Fay rang me to ask me to cut something back in the garden.
She rang me, months later again, with a similar request, and this time had the bad knews that a grandson had committed suicide. It seemed a bit rough for the poor lady to endure two tragedies so close together.
But with British courage Fay continues. I enjoy a cup of tea with her now and again after gardening there and I love her stories. She's selling the cottage shortly because her only daughter's family is moving to Tasmania and she's following her over at her daughter's insistence. That's why I've been doing some work for her, to make the garden a little more presentable.
After burning off last Saturday I knocked on her door, not knowing if she was home or at her daughter's for the weekend as she sometimes is, and she answered so glad to see me and so happy to have the rubbish burnt. She said her neighbour had commented what a good job I'd done killing the 'brambles'. She asked what did she owe me and was grateful when I said "a few bits of root from that stephenandra when I come back with my mattock one day before you go."
It made me realize I shouldn't really be moping around about losing a bit strength and being 55 next birthday. I've been lucky to know Fay and Eddy and take inspiration from them.
The SECOND person was an old work colleague. Laurie Braybrook rang while I was in the bath on Saturday night. He's 80 now and was senior apiary inspector when I was in the Dep't of Agriculture. There were only three inspectors for the state. He told me he's doing it pretty tough because his wife has Alzeimers and he has to do all the organizing which she always did. It was good to hear from him and moreso because I left The Dep't. twenty six years ago and Laurie is from my father's generation. He served on Bouganville late in WW2 with the infantry and is going to send me a few things about his battalion. I ring him or he rings me every few years and it is good for me when he rings and still has regard for me.
When I arrived at the farm yesterday with a load of foliage I noticed a bucket of wallflowers and I knew immediately that Theresa (THIRD) from Silvan had been. She could always grow wallflowers so much better than us. Theresa is a little lady in her late seventies who has a big garden on twenty or thirty acres where she grazes beef cattle. She is of German origin, growing up on a farm. She told me once she learned about 'moolies' (cattle) and farming during the war when all the men were gone and she had to help her mother. She remembers going to school to find that some of her friends did not come, they were drowned in the famous dam buster raids that flooded their valley. She married Karl, who had been a navigator in the Luftwaffe, after the war and they migrated to Australia.
They had a son who died aged 3, I think from meningitis, and a daughter who married an Australian. Tragically, their daughter was shot in the head at close range by her husband with a 303 rifle. He was later charged with murder. He was found not guilty when successfully defended by Frank Galbally in a case that is included in a book about Galbally's famous successes. We learned of this one day when we were there and Karl was enraged by this book that had just been published and included a picture of his dead daughter's face with the bullet wound to the forehead. So Theresa and Karl had lost both children and raised their granchildren, a girl and a boy, as their own. They ran a mechanical service business in Melbourne's outer north specializing in Porsche's and VW's, and retired to Silvan.
We came to know them shortly after their move to Silvan. We picked crimson clover flowers in their paddocks. Theresa offered to pick them for us to save us time so we bought them from her and also violets and wallflowers in winter and herbs such as rosemary, mint and french lavender flowers. The magical volcanic soil at Silvan with the excellent drainage and sunny aspect suited these things better than our site at Emerald. Sister Meredith and I travelled to Silvan twice a week buying fro Theresa and picking numerous other things along the way and at other places.
Karl died in 1996 after a second heart bypass operation and as our business changed more into foliage and away from restaurant flowers and herbs it was no longer viable to drive to Silvan. So we did not see Theresa much for a few years except for the odd social call. But every autumn for some years now Theresa rings up, knowing things are scarce, and asks us if we need anything because she goes swimming in Monbulk on Tuesday's, and drops off a bootload of flowers and greens.
Meredith told me yesterday that when Theresa said to her"Hello Meredith" and looked at her with that little smile, she just felt like crying and hugging her, such is her admiration for her grit, persistence and courage. Knowing Theresa, we have often said to each other, you have no need to wonder why the Germans were so difficult to overcome in WW2.
Sometimes your legs seem to be losing their strength. If in a hurry you start to jog to get there quicker your knees jar and feel like they are about to buckle. And joints from ankles to shoulders protest at daily routine work. Just driving the same road every day seems mindless and the traffic infuriates and noise offends the nerves.
Along with the physical aches and pains, loss of vigour, and the dragging tiredness, is difficulty finding enthusiasm and energy to plough through the problems, which seem to swell from molehills to mountains. It all starts to look a bit too hard. And worst of all, you start to feel shaky. Some days I'm devoid of self confidence and it eats away at me all day, as if I've lost empowerment.
Somewhat overshadowed by our weekend police drama, but well worth recording, I've had contact with three people lately who have all in their own way helped me rise above my negative malaise, temporarily at least.
The FIRST was Fay Day, an elderly lady on the other side of Gembrook, who lives alone and suffers arthritis. I do a bit of gardening for her, and pick a little foliage there sometimes. A few months ago I did some serious pruning and left two big heaps well away from her house at the back for burning at a later date after the fire restrictions were lifted. At the end of a hot dry March, the weather suddenly turned wet and cold and I didn't get a chance to go back and burn off till last Saturday.
Fay's husband Eddy, who loved the garden and kept it in good shape, died 3 years ago and there was three years growth with blackberries taking over. I sprayed most of the blackberries last summer so there was a lot of dead canes that needed dragging out and putting on the fire.
Eddie was a complete gentleman, a Yorkshireman who spent much of his working life in the British Navy. He met Fay, a WREN at the time, on Malta and they married in England in 1949. Eddie only had a few days leave and was then suddenly posted to a new ship and spent the next 12 months away. They never had a honeymoon and for the first twenty years or so of their marriage Eddie was only home on leave for about a month a year. They were a devoted couple whom I'd known for some years and the small cottage, where they hadn't been long, was the first home they had ever owned. It has the name 'FIRENZE' on a sign over the little gate in front of the front door, Firenze being the Italian word for Florence, where Eddie spent some years at the naval base.
Eddie went from excellent health to a situation where all his organs shut down and he died within two weeks. He was working getting rid of 'brambles' as Fay calls blackberries at the bushy rear section of their block when he got scratched on the lower leg. Fay reckons it was a white tail spider that bit him and started his deterioration but I think the medicos called it cellulitis (?) or something where contact with some vegetation triggers an allergic reaction that gets right out of control. I saw him shortly after he became crook and he showed me his leg which was swollen and gone purple but we certainly had no inkling that would be our last meeting. I learned of his death some months later when Fay rang me to ask me to cut something back in the garden.
She rang me, months later again, with a similar request, and this time had the bad knews that a grandson had committed suicide. It seemed a bit rough for the poor lady to endure two tragedies so close together.
But with British courage Fay continues. I enjoy a cup of tea with her now and again after gardening there and I love her stories. She's selling the cottage shortly because her only daughter's family is moving to Tasmania and she's following her over at her daughter's insistence. That's why I've been doing some work for her, to make the garden a little more presentable.
After burning off last Saturday I knocked on her door, not knowing if she was home or at her daughter's for the weekend as she sometimes is, and she answered so glad to see me and so happy to have the rubbish burnt. She said her neighbour had commented what a good job I'd done killing the 'brambles'. She asked what did she owe me and was grateful when I said "a few bits of root from that stephenandra when I come back with my mattock one day before you go."
It made me realize I shouldn't really be moping around about losing a bit strength and being 55 next birthday. I've been lucky to know Fay and Eddy and take inspiration from them.
The SECOND person was an old work colleague. Laurie Braybrook rang while I was in the bath on Saturday night. He's 80 now and was senior apiary inspector when I was in the Dep't of Agriculture. There were only three inspectors for the state. He told me he's doing it pretty tough because his wife has Alzeimers and he has to do all the organizing which she always did. It was good to hear from him and moreso because I left The Dep't. twenty six years ago and Laurie is from my father's generation. He served on Bouganville late in WW2 with the infantry and is going to send me a few things about his battalion. I ring him or he rings me every few years and it is good for me when he rings and still has regard for me.
When I arrived at the farm yesterday with a load of foliage I noticed a bucket of wallflowers and I knew immediately that Theresa (THIRD) from Silvan had been. She could always grow wallflowers so much better than us. Theresa is a little lady in her late seventies who has a big garden on twenty or thirty acres where she grazes beef cattle. She is of German origin, growing up on a farm. She told me once she learned about 'moolies' (cattle) and farming during the war when all the men were gone and she had to help her mother. She remembers going to school to find that some of her friends did not come, they were drowned in the famous dam buster raids that flooded their valley. She married Karl, who had been a navigator in the Luftwaffe, after the war and they migrated to Australia.
They had a son who died aged 3, I think from meningitis, and a daughter who married an Australian. Tragically, their daughter was shot in the head at close range by her husband with a 303 rifle. He was later charged with murder. He was found not guilty when successfully defended by Frank Galbally in a case that is included in a book about Galbally's famous successes. We learned of this one day when we were there and Karl was enraged by this book that had just been published and included a picture of his dead daughter's face with the bullet wound to the forehead. So Theresa and Karl had lost both children and raised their granchildren, a girl and a boy, as their own. They ran a mechanical service business in Melbourne's outer north specializing in Porsche's and VW's, and retired to Silvan.
We came to know them shortly after their move to Silvan. We picked crimson clover flowers in their paddocks. Theresa offered to pick them for us to save us time so we bought them from her and also violets and wallflowers in winter and herbs such as rosemary, mint and french lavender flowers. The magical volcanic soil at Silvan with the excellent drainage and sunny aspect suited these things better than our site at Emerald. Sister Meredith and I travelled to Silvan twice a week buying fro Theresa and picking numerous other things along the way and at other places.
Karl died in 1996 after a second heart bypass operation and as our business changed more into foliage and away from restaurant flowers and herbs it was no longer viable to drive to Silvan. So we did not see Theresa much for a few years except for the odd social call. But every autumn for some years now Theresa rings up, knowing things are scarce, and asks us if we need anything because she goes swimming in Monbulk on Tuesday's, and drops off a bootload of flowers and greens.
Meredith told me yesterday that when Theresa said to her"Hello Meredith" and looked at her with that little smile, she just felt like crying and hugging her, such is her admiration for her grit, persistence and courage. Knowing Theresa, we have often said to each other, you have no need to wonder why the Germans were so difficult to overcome in WW2.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Weekend Police Drama
Every parent's nightmare visited us last night. The phone rang at 3.00am. and before I could get to it the answering machine kicked in and a voice identifying itself as the Pakenham police said, in a loud and serious tone, he wanted to talk to Carey or Elizabeth as soon as possible about their son Gordon and left a number for us to call.
Believe me I snapped to a state of alert and grabbed at the phone and rang back immediately, only to find I had pushed a wrong digit in my haste and got some poor bugger out of bed. Then, the number I thought was right was engaged. I tried to play the message back to check the number but had to go through several other messages first, it was a new phone recently purchased and I hadn't mastered it. Lib had come down and I saw unspoken agony on her face while I wreslted with the freaking phone. The number was still engaged and was for the next 15 minutes, until son Robbie who had been on his computer but had heard what was happening, managed to get an alternative number on the net. That was the sweetest dial tone I have ever heard.
I quickly identified myself and asked what had happenned. He told me Gordon had been apprehended on the property of a local school where he had entered a building and triggered an alarm which led to his arrest. I was immediately relieved he hadn't pranged his car and injured himself or worse. He asked had I known Gordon was not at home.
"No, I saw him just before I went to bed about midnight, he was carrying his boots in one hand and a large sponge in the other and I asked him what he was doing and he replied he was going to wash his car. Was he at the Emerald Secondary College?"
"Yes, he was. He says he has a disability is that correct, and if so what is it."
"Yes, he has an intellectual disability, and a condition called....." Would you believe it! My mind went blank, all I could think of was Alzeimer's disease which I knew wasn't right.
"I just can't think of the name."
"Is it Asperger's syndrome, that's what he says he has."
"Yes, that's it."
"Is he under any treatment for it."
"No. He's fine. He's never caused one bit of trouble for himself or anybody else."
"Well maybe that's something you could consider once we're over this, but it doesn't alter the fact that at the very least he was trespassing."
"Maybe, but this is completely out of character." I was trying not to to let my irritation show.
"Is there anything else you can tell me about his disability?"
"He feels strong attachments to people, things or places, that's why he'd be at the school. It can make his behaviour... a bit...quirky."
" Can you come down to the station."
"No, I can't, I might be over 05, I don't know, but I'm not taking any chances. I had several glasses of wine before I went to bed. Can I speak to him."
"It's not possible just now, there's a lot happening here. We had to send out for an independant third party to be present at the interview, because he has a disability. They won't be here for a while yet and the interview may take an hour or an hour and a half." I'll ring you when we're finished."
"Where is his car?"
"It's at the school, locked up."
"Go easy on him will you," I said, mindful this conversation was nearly over,"he's a hell of a good fella."
"He has to be formally interviewed as to what he was doing illegally inside school buildings."
So over the next couple of hours I drank coffee and read The Sunday Age on the net. I asked Robbie if he knew Gordon had gone out and he said he heard the car leave and if he said he was going to wash the car that meant he went to the servo at Emerald where they had special facilities that were open till late, and he would go there late so there was nobody else there. He was still lacking confidence in his driving.
About 5.30am. another policeman rang and asked could I come and pick Gordon up.
It was before six o'clock when I arrived, and did a 3 point U turn to park right in front. As I got out of the car I noticed Gord coming out, obviously he had been watching for me. No sooner did I greet him did he say , " they've still got my car keys, can we go back and get them." We went inside to the reception desk and no one was there so I pushed the bell buzzer on the desk. Gordon sat down and looked at the ground and said "I've only got two out of five, I hope I get three right tomorrow."
It took me a few seconds to understand what he was talking about, then I twigged, it was the household footy tipping competition. He looked remarkably calm for someone who'd been arrested five hours earlier and had just finished a taped police interview.
A young lady in uniform came out and apologized for the delay, saying they'd been busy and they were short because some one was taking the third independant party home. She came back again a few minutes later saying they couldn't find the keys but they were looking for the sargent who might have them. While we were waiting I asked him, " what happenned, are you charged with trespass?"
"I don't know, they said we'll get something in the mail. It's up to higher up police to decide. That was terrible dad, it was like I was in a movie, except terrible."
Eventually the keys turned up. On the drive dack to pick up his car, I asked Gord a few questions and he explained to me what happenned. He called in to have a look around his old school on his way back from the servo. He parked along the main drive and left his keys in the car while he went for a bit of a walk around. He saw signs saying 'Trespassers will be Prosecuted', but he didn't feel he was a trespasser, he thought a trespasser was someone who wanted to harm the school which he didn't. He had done this before, once he turned a heater off that had been left on over the weekend. He looked through windows into some of his old classrooms and checked doors till he found one left open. it was the music room and he went in. The school is well lit at night so he had no trouble seeing. He picked up a guitar, strummed it for a minute or so. The door into his favourite teacher's office was locked, then he went through a door into the gym. He was inside for about 10 minutes and he didn't know he'd triggered an alarm.
While he was walking back to his car he saw someone he ignored. This was a security response person he later realized but at the time he just thought it was strange someone else was about at night. When he got to his car he saw a police car ahead of his car blocking the drive. He got in his car but the keys weren't there, so he walked up to the police car to tell them he was just looking around when two police grabbed him and told him he was full of bullshit and he was under arrest. They handcuffed him and said unless he told them where he'd hidden the stuff he'd stolen they'd get sniffer dogs in to find it and he was in real deep shit. Of course he told them he was telling the truth and they told him he was lying and they took him to Pakenham police station which is when they phoned us.
A phone call or a knock on the door by police late at night is something all parents of teenagers dread. We're just glad the knews was good by comparison to what might have been.
Believe me I snapped to a state of alert and grabbed at the phone and rang back immediately, only to find I had pushed a wrong digit in my haste and got some poor bugger out of bed. Then, the number I thought was right was engaged. I tried to play the message back to check the number but had to go through several other messages first, it was a new phone recently purchased and I hadn't mastered it. Lib had come down and I saw unspoken agony on her face while I wreslted with the freaking phone. The number was still engaged and was for the next 15 minutes, until son Robbie who had been on his computer but had heard what was happening, managed to get an alternative number on the net. That was the sweetest dial tone I have ever heard.
I quickly identified myself and asked what had happenned. He told me Gordon had been apprehended on the property of a local school where he had entered a building and triggered an alarm which led to his arrest. I was immediately relieved he hadn't pranged his car and injured himself or worse. He asked had I known Gordon was not at home.
"No, I saw him just before I went to bed about midnight, he was carrying his boots in one hand and a large sponge in the other and I asked him what he was doing and he replied he was going to wash his car. Was he at the Emerald Secondary College?"
"Yes, he was. He says he has a disability is that correct, and if so what is it."
"Yes, he has an intellectual disability, and a condition called....." Would you believe it! My mind went blank, all I could think of was Alzeimer's disease which I knew wasn't right.
"I just can't think of the name."
"Is it Asperger's syndrome, that's what he says he has."
"Yes, that's it."
"Is he under any treatment for it."
"No. He's fine. He's never caused one bit of trouble for himself or anybody else."
"Well maybe that's something you could consider once we're over this, but it doesn't alter the fact that at the very least he was trespassing."
"Maybe, but this is completely out of character." I was trying not to to let my irritation show.
"Is there anything else you can tell me about his disability?"
"He feels strong attachments to people, things or places, that's why he'd be at the school. It can make his behaviour... a bit...quirky."
" Can you come down to the station."
"No, I can't, I might be over 05, I don't know, but I'm not taking any chances. I had several glasses of wine before I went to bed. Can I speak to him."
"It's not possible just now, there's a lot happening here. We had to send out for an independant third party to be present at the interview, because he has a disability. They won't be here for a while yet and the interview may take an hour or an hour and a half." I'll ring you when we're finished."
"Where is his car?"
"It's at the school, locked up."
"Go easy on him will you," I said, mindful this conversation was nearly over,"he's a hell of a good fella."
"He has to be formally interviewed as to what he was doing illegally inside school buildings."
So over the next couple of hours I drank coffee and read The Sunday Age on the net. I asked Robbie if he knew Gordon had gone out and he said he heard the car leave and if he said he was going to wash the car that meant he went to the servo at Emerald where they had special facilities that were open till late, and he would go there late so there was nobody else there. He was still lacking confidence in his driving.
About 5.30am. another policeman rang and asked could I come and pick Gordon up.
It was before six o'clock when I arrived, and did a 3 point U turn to park right in front. As I got out of the car I noticed Gord coming out, obviously he had been watching for me. No sooner did I greet him did he say , " they've still got my car keys, can we go back and get them." We went inside to the reception desk and no one was there so I pushed the bell buzzer on the desk. Gordon sat down and looked at the ground and said "I've only got two out of five, I hope I get three right tomorrow."
It took me a few seconds to understand what he was talking about, then I twigged, it was the household footy tipping competition. He looked remarkably calm for someone who'd been arrested five hours earlier and had just finished a taped police interview.
A young lady in uniform came out and apologized for the delay, saying they'd been busy and they were short because some one was taking the third independant party home. She came back again a few minutes later saying they couldn't find the keys but they were looking for the sargent who might have them. While we were waiting I asked him, " what happenned, are you charged with trespass?"
"I don't know, they said we'll get something in the mail. It's up to higher up police to decide. That was terrible dad, it was like I was in a movie, except terrible."
Eventually the keys turned up. On the drive dack to pick up his car, I asked Gord a few questions and he explained to me what happenned. He called in to have a look around his old school on his way back from the servo. He parked along the main drive and left his keys in the car while he went for a bit of a walk around. He saw signs saying 'Trespassers will be Prosecuted', but he didn't feel he was a trespasser, he thought a trespasser was someone who wanted to harm the school which he didn't. He had done this before, once he turned a heater off that had been left on over the weekend. He looked through windows into some of his old classrooms and checked doors till he found one left open. it was the music room and he went in. The school is well lit at night so he had no trouble seeing. He picked up a guitar, strummed it for a minute or so. The door into his favourite teacher's office was locked, then he went through a door into the gym. He was inside for about 10 minutes and he didn't know he'd triggered an alarm.
While he was walking back to his car he saw someone he ignored. This was a security response person he later realized but at the time he just thought it was strange someone else was about at night. When he got to his car he saw a police car ahead of his car blocking the drive. He got in his car but the keys weren't there, so he walked up to the police car to tell them he was just looking around when two police grabbed him and told him he was full of bullshit and he was under arrest. They handcuffed him and said unless he told them where he'd hidden the stuff he'd stolen they'd get sniffer dogs in to find it and he was in real deep shit. Of course he told them he was telling the truth and they told him he was lying and they took him to Pakenham police station which is when they phoned us.
A phone call or a knock on the door by police late at night is something all parents of teenagers dread. We're just glad the knews was good by comparison to what might have been.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Hang on, Mate
I feel I've just about been 'mated' to death lately.
We had Anzac Day. The Prime Minister, other pollies and high profile football coaches extolled mateship as one of the values that define us as Australians. The Beaconsfield mine caved in, killing one and trapping two, and Prime Minister Howard described the dramatic rescue as "evidence of the power of Australian mateship." Andrew Bolt of the Herald Sun took it further on May 10, concluding his article on the rescue with a question and further comment. "Has our world ever seemed so fractured and threatening? No wonder that mateship - always prized here - is revered today. No Politician dare ignore this tradition, when we feel we need it so much more."
It was at this point I thought the 'mating' was getting a little kinky, and without my consent. I must have missed some of the foreplay, or maybe I'm a bit slow picking up on the hit. Don't get me wrong. I'm not against mateship, and I'm aware of its origin and tradition in Australia's early settlement, in the outback, at Eureka, and in World Wars1 and 2.
And I have a number of good mates, and memories of some that have passed on. The word mate is part of my daily language. I say "thanks mate" when Lib tells me my dinner is ready. "G'day mate" is invariably my intro when I email my old school friend, and it's "how are you mate" when I phone friends from my old football team. I respect my mates.
However, if it is claimed that mateship was the reason and power behind the rescue, there's an inference that, without it the men would not have been saved, which is preposterous. Do Mr. Howard and Andrew Bolt really believe that were it not for mateship the mine owners and workers would have decided it was all too hard and simply plugged up the mine, interring the alive and well Russell and Webb and leaving them to die slowly? What a gangbang that would have been for the media throng already assembled and lusting for an orgy.
The rescue was not about mateship at all. Saying it was, is like saying that our wonderful SES volunteers all over the country, who become highly trained and who are on call for much of their time, would turn around and go home again if it wasn't a mate who was the victim at an emergency. It was about humanity. But it gave the mateship barrow pushers an opportunity for yardage.
The danger with this insular thinking and denial of humanity is that we are being mated into pathetic banality. True love and humanity become a little harder to find, slowly and surely, the further the barrow goes in this wrong direction.
So please chaps, ease up. Your 'mating' zeal is indecent.
We had Anzac Day. The Prime Minister, other pollies and high profile football coaches extolled mateship as one of the values that define us as Australians. The Beaconsfield mine caved in, killing one and trapping two, and Prime Minister Howard described the dramatic rescue as "evidence of the power of Australian mateship." Andrew Bolt of the Herald Sun took it further on May 10, concluding his article on the rescue with a question and further comment. "Has our world ever seemed so fractured and threatening? No wonder that mateship - always prized here - is revered today. No Politician dare ignore this tradition, when we feel we need it so much more."
It was at this point I thought the 'mating' was getting a little kinky, and without my consent. I must have missed some of the foreplay, or maybe I'm a bit slow picking up on the hit. Don't get me wrong. I'm not against mateship, and I'm aware of its origin and tradition in Australia's early settlement, in the outback, at Eureka, and in World Wars1 and 2.
And I have a number of good mates, and memories of some that have passed on. The word mate is part of my daily language. I say "thanks mate" when Lib tells me my dinner is ready. "G'day mate" is invariably my intro when I email my old school friend, and it's "how are you mate" when I phone friends from my old football team. I respect my mates.
However, if it is claimed that mateship was the reason and power behind the rescue, there's an inference that, without it the men would not have been saved, which is preposterous. Do Mr. Howard and Andrew Bolt really believe that were it not for mateship the mine owners and workers would have decided it was all too hard and simply plugged up the mine, interring the alive and well Russell and Webb and leaving them to die slowly? What a gangbang that would have been for the media throng already assembled and lusting for an orgy.
The rescue was not about mateship at all. Saying it was, is like saying that our wonderful SES volunteers all over the country, who become highly trained and who are on call for much of their time, would turn around and go home again if it wasn't a mate who was the victim at an emergency. It was about humanity. But it gave the mateship barrow pushers an opportunity for yardage.
The danger with this insular thinking and denial of humanity is that we are being mated into pathetic banality. True love and humanity become a little harder to find, slowly and surely, the further the barrow goes in this wrong direction.
So please chaps, ease up. Your 'mating' zeal is indecent.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Moscow Mule
Lots of ice
Limes, sliced
Lots of vodka
fresh mint, chopped
Lots of ginger beer
I was cleaning ash out of the fireplace on Sunday when I heard this on the TV. Lib was watching one of those chefs on the Austar sattelite talking about finger food, and I pricked my ears when I heard limes as we have a prolific tree in our yard. The Moscow Mule is an alternative to champagne and I must try it one day. I was rushing to be on duty at the Emerald museum because they couldn't get anyone from the normal roster, it being mother's day. It was a cold, dreary, wet weekend so we needed the fire not only to save gas and electricity costs but it helps morale. On both Sat. and Sun. on my morning walks I needed a raincoat as a misty drizzle (a drizzly mist?) was falling, and this persisted all day Sunday. On Saturday we went to the footy, Melbourne vs Fremanltle and our team, the Melbourne Demons had a big win. We rang up Lebanese House restaurant and ordered some takeaway meals which we picked up after 1.30pm and put in the esky, before the football. The restaurant opens at 6.00 pm on Saturdays but the owner remembers us, we have been going there for 25 years and says so long as we let him know we're coming he'll cater for us. Such a nice man, he remembered me when I rang even though we hadn't been for well over a year since he changed his hours to have a little time to pepare for Saturday night. He even called me "Bro" on the phone which I took as a show of recognition and friendship. And it was as usual great food. Sunday night afer our roast dinner of bladebone beef we watched "Million Dollar Baby" on DVD which Gordon bought me for my birthday and although the boxing theme, esp. women boxing, did not appeal, I was engaged by the film and enjoyed it. Of course I had no idea where the story would go before we watched it. I would recommend it. I just remembered, with a bit of a shiver, that I forgot yesterday to pay for a daypass on the Citylink for Sat's trip. We usually go the back way to the footy to aviod tolls but we were running late and had to get to the restaurant. I hope I can pay today or we'll get a fine, over$100 I think. Big brother watches every move. I wonder if ASIO would mind the Lebanese restauranter calling me "Bro."
Limes, sliced
Lots of vodka
fresh mint, chopped
Lots of ginger beer
I was cleaning ash out of the fireplace on Sunday when I heard this on the TV. Lib was watching one of those chefs on the Austar sattelite talking about finger food, and I pricked my ears when I heard limes as we have a prolific tree in our yard. The Moscow Mule is an alternative to champagne and I must try it one day. I was rushing to be on duty at the Emerald museum because they couldn't get anyone from the normal roster, it being mother's day. It was a cold, dreary, wet weekend so we needed the fire not only to save gas and electricity costs but it helps morale. On both Sat. and Sun. on my morning walks I needed a raincoat as a misty drizzle (a drizzly mist?) was falling, and this persisted all day Sunday. On Saturday we went to the footy, Melbourne vs Fremanltle and our team, the Melbourne Demons had a big win. We rang up Lebanese House restaurant and ordered some takeaway meals which we picked up after 1.30pm and put in the esky, before the football. The restaurant opens at 6.00 pm on Saturdays but the owner remembers us, we have been going there for 25 years and says so long as we let him know we're coming he'll cater for us. Such a nice man, he remembered me when I rang even though we hadn't been for well over a year since he changed his hours to have a little time to pepare for Saturday night. He even called me "Bro" on the phone which I took as a show of recognition and friendship. And it was as usual great food. Sunday night afer our roast dinner of bladebone beef we watched "Million Dollar Baby" on DVD which Gordon bought me for my birthday and although the boxing theme, esp. women boxing, did not appeal, I was engaged by the film and enjoyed it. Of course I had no idea where the story would go before we watched it. I would recommend it. I just remembered, with a bit of a shiver, that I forgot yesterday to pay for a daypass on the Citylink for Sat's trip. We usually go the back way to the footy to aviod tolls but we were running late and had to get to the restaurant. I hope I can pay today or we'll get a fine, over$100 I think. Big brother watches every move. I wonder if ASIO would mind the Lebanese restauranter calling me "Bro."
Friday, May 12, 2006
Fly with the breeze
Jen from Massachussets wished me well in her email, saying "Have a wonderful week." I got a real kick out of that.
I first heard of a blog a few weeks ago when Maria, my writing teacher said they were a fun way of doing daily writing, a way to brainstorm and get things down that you can come back to later.
I was looking for something on the net last Sunday morning. It was raining heavily and I was frustrated I couldn't take my morning walk. I stumbled onto Jen's blog, and here I am, a week later doing my first entry on my own blog. I emailed Jen saying I much enjoyed her writings and hence her reply in which she also said if I started a blog she would like to read it.
I did have a wonderful week Jen. I went for a walk every morning early and picked fresh pine mushrooms which I had for breakfast. Then my sister said to me yesterday when she handed me a bag of freshly picked field mushrooms, "Did I know they just found that mushrooms have 15 times more antioxidants than vegetables." Wow, How good is that?
A stong wind midweek blew much of the autumn colour back to earth but the liquid ambers are spectacular still. Yellow, orange, red, crimson, purple, I have never before appreciated them so much.
I worked very hard for the week, mother's day being next Sunday made the florists industry busy and I blew away the foggy doldrums I'd been wallowing in for weeks and have caught a fresh breeze.
I can't wait to tell Maria I have my own blog, even if it has made me very late for class!
I first heard of a blog a few weeks ago when Maria, my writing teacher said they were a fun way of doing daily writing, a way to brainstorm and get things down that you can come back to later.
I was looking for something on the net last Sunday morning. It was raining heavily and I was frustrated I couldn't take my morning walk. I stumbled onto Jen's blog, and here I am, a week later doing my first entry on my own blog. I emailed Jen saying I much enjoyed her writings and hence her reply in which she also said if I started a blog she would like to read it.
I did have a wonderful week Jen. I went for a walk every morning early and picked fresh pine mushrooms which I had for breakfast. Then my sister said to me yesterday when she handed me a bag of freshly picked field mushrooms, "Did I know they just found that mushrooms have 15 times more antioxidants than vegetables." Wow, How good is that?
A stong wind midweek blew much of the autumn colour back to earth but the liquid ambers are spectacular still. Yellow, orange, red, crimson, purple, I have never before appreciated them so much.
I worked very hard for the week, mother's day being next Sunday made the florists industry busy and I blew away the foggy doldrums I'd been wallowing in for weeks and have caught a fresh breeze.
I can't wait to tell Maria I have my own blog, even if it has made me very late for class!
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