Just Have To Tell You

Tuesday was a dog of day for me. It was a mood thing. Most of us have one now and again. I think it was triggered by something I read in the bath on Monday night, an article in the weekend magazine of 'The Australian' newspaper of Nov 4/5. It was cleverly titled, 'The Sweet smell of EXCESS', subtitled, 'Greed may have been good in the 1980's, today it's glorified.' It was revolting as you can imagine. Two quotes that are repeated in bold type will give you the gist of it.
*Most recent figures show the top 1 per cent in the US owns 57.5 per cent of corporate wealth, up from 38.7 per cent in 1991.
*Between 1990 and 2005, the salaries of the CEO's in 51 of Australia's leading listed companies rose 564 per cent to an average $3.4 million.

It was a difficult day for work with a penetrating cold wind. Late in the day I had to climb a tricolour beech tree to cut foliage for a customer who wanted 10 tall bunches. The tall stuff was at the top, out of reach of my ladder and pole cutters. It was a difficult climb, congested branches and twigs restricting me and scratching my face. I had to cut a clearway with the handsaw as I went up, all the time struggling to find decent foot and hand holds. Brother Jod waited at the bottom of the tree, to pick up what I cut and threw out and down to him and carry it over to where I would later sort it and bunch it. It was his birthday, his 57th. He'd annoyed me with his nonsense chatter about the blue he'd had yesterday with his landlord. The landlord wanted to scrub the nicotine stains off the walls of his unit that evening before painting it today. It meant Jod had to move things around. He went on and on, and was still at it while I wrestled with the tree, swaying in the blustery wind, no longer able to hear what he was saying. I came down and he was agitated, it was nearly his knock off time. He had to go home, he said, he had to put everyhing back after the painting.
"You go Jod" I said. "Have a good birthday. Sorry I didn't get you anything, I'll catch up with that another day."

Yesterday morning the cold snap had worsened. When Gord left at 6.ooam I postponed my walk and caught up on some blog reading. By 8 o'clock I decided I would walk no matter what the weather was like, wanting to keep my batting average up. So Snow and I took off into the stiff southerly. I was still grumpy. As we reached the top of the Quinn Rd. hill, I noticed the new auction sign at number 16, the home of Richard and Sandy's neighbours. (post Nov 01) The lady and the girls are still living there but their house is being auctioned on the 9th Dec. I could not help but feel sad for them.
By now the rain had turned into light hail which kept up all the way up Launching Place Rd. Just as I reached the Jehovah's witness people's house an almighty crack of thunder split the air and rumbled away. This made me think of my mate Dave in Queensland, who turned Jehovah's Witness about ten years ago, and who is a helluva preacher if ever there was one.
Where there's thunder there's lightning and one really shouldn't be out walking. Somehow the thought of danger, combined with the driving hail and the biting cold, invigourated me. Thinking of Dave reminded me of the preacher in a movie I watched recently, the classic musical 'Paint Your Wagon'. I had laughed and laughed. They say that laughter cements a memory. Or is it, laughter cements a friendship? I have a sweet memory of watching this film with friends in the early 1970's.
"Got a dream boy, got a song, paint your wagon, and come along." My surly mood was blown away with the wind. I felt as if I'd come back to life.
But there's more! On my way back, the hail gave way to snow. Big snow flakes drifting down gently to earth peacefully and noiselessly. It kept up all the way home and was it was quite an experience.
I checked the thermometer, about 9.00am now, it was 3C. The highest it reached for the day at home was 8C and I heard on the evening news it was Melbourne's coldest November day for 50 years.
So what did I have to tell you?
With my 3/4 coat still on but my jeans wet through, I walked to the rain gauge. Another 22ml overnight to add to the 45 ml already over the past 2 days. I looked toward the lime tree and walked over. We'd pruned this tree some weeks ago and inadvertantly disturbed and exposed a blackbird's nest with three young. Over the next week we watched the young develop to the point of flying and leaving the nest. We were relieved they made it. Then we watched mother make some repairs to the nest and lay another clutch of eggs.
There, in the lime tree a metre from my eyes, was lady blackbird, calmly sitting on her nest, protecting her young from the rain, hail, snow and wind. Magic.