It's the word that comes to mind when I look through the window into the backyard, to see those bodgies of the bird world, currawongs, gang banging my fig tree. Greediest bird I know, wanton, marauding, hunting in packs. The fig tree loves it. After all, this is fullfilment. She stands gracefully, clad in luxuriant big leaves, dangling her pink, fleshy fruit, to be consumed, seed dispersed, she dissipated. All for good reason. Survival of the species.
I've always liked the word debauchery. It conjures strong images. Indulgence, lewdness, lust, excess, revelry, orgy. Things we'd like to engage in, but we know better, that we need restraint. Like me last week. There I was in the expensive recliner, two doe eyed, perfumed young ladies, Lisa and Janet, poised over me, one exploring, the other sucking. Exquisite, I thought, this is worth $200. Then Janet said, "Would you like to be numbed?"
"No, no, I'm fine", I moaned, and she continued drilling. My debauchery, imagined, got me through the half hour rebuilding of my tooth. But no matter what one might be thinking, it's restraint that sets us apart as humans. Without it we have no morality and culture, we would be living like the thousands of dogs on the streets of Santiago, and life would possess little beauty or peace.
The word debauchery has its origins in the Old French language, 'desbaucher', to corrupt.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Moving On
Well, here I am on Anzac Day, still mulling it over. The road was quiet on my walk, not one car went past all the way up to the town. It's a public holiday, most people don't work and still get paid today. Not me.
I picked up four empty 'Woodstock' Kentucky bourbon and cola cans and five 'Jim Beam' and a number of empty bottles. And a pot beer glass in J.A.C. Russell Park, a full, unopended can of 'Woodstock' near Puffing Billy station and a tax invoice for a $5 Anzac Day badge. My lucky day. There was more litter than usual in the main street, most of which I picked up and binned, including three broken beer glasses. It seems there were celebrations on Anzac Eve with the prospect of a holiday today. There were cars parked outside the RSL hall, from where I saw a few people walk down the hill and past the pub. They didn't pick up the litter.
I've had three days to think about my problem with Anzac Day. The conservative government of the 1960's and the 70's, pre Gough Whitlam's landmark Dec 72 election, went all the way with LBJ in Vietnam. The nation was divided, I was in the conservative camp. It took quite a while, but I had to admit I was wrong as time went by. Gough came like a wave and went with a bang. The USA pulled out of Vietnam. There was no domino effect. I was wrong.
We have a conservative government again, which has coincided with the revival of Anzac Day. We have joined the USA again in war. I don't think we should be in Iraq, as we shouldn't have been in Vietnam. No less than we shouldn't have been in Turkey in 1915. That's my problem with Anzac Day. It glosses over, or gives a sense of legitimacy, to bad politics, which results in people being killed. Soldiers, and civilians, who don't get much rememberance.
It troubles me that another generation is being brainwashed into blindly following bad politics. Like I was in my youth. That's my problem with Anzac Day.
I'm over it. Till next Anzac Day.
I picked up four empty 'Woodstock' Kentucky bourbon and cola cans and five 'Jim Beam' and a number of empty bottles. And a pot beer glass in J.A.C. Russell Park, a full, unopended can of 'Woodstock' near Puffing Billy station and a tax invoice for a $5 Anzac Day badge. My lucky day. There was more litter than usual in the main street, most of which I picked up and binned, including three broken beer glasses. It seems there were celebrations on Anzac Eve with the prospect of a holiday today. There were cars parked outside the RSL hall, from where I saw a few people walk down the hill and past the pub. They didn't pick up the litter.
I've had three days to think about my problem with Anzac Day. The conservative government of the 1960's and the 70's, pre Gough Whitlam's landmark Dec 72 election, went all the way with LBJ in Vietnam. The nation was divided, I was in the conservative camp. It took quite a while, but I had to admit I was wrong as time went by. Gough came like a wave and went with a bang. The USA pulled out of Vietnam. There was no domino effect. I was wrong.
We have a conservative government again, which has coincided with the revival of Anzac Day. We have joined the USA again in war. I don't think we should be in Iraq, as we shouldn't have been in Vietnam. No less than we shouldn't have been in Turkey in 1915. That's my problem with Anzac Day. It glosses over, or gives a sense of legitimacy, to bad politics, which results in people being killed. Soldiers, and civilians, who don't get much rememberance.
It troubles me that another generation is being brainwashed into blindly following bad politics. Like I was in my youth. That's my problem with Anzac Day.
I'm over it. Till next Anzac Day.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Anzac Day.
After yesterdays slow gentle rain, 7ml, the first in four weeks, it was especially pleasant setting out on my walk up the spur this morning. The ground was wet and the air cleaned of dust and the smoke from DSE burns that's been hanging in the air these past weeks.
I had my transistor radio in my carry bag, tuned, unusually, to the ABC 774, and Macca's 'Australia all Over'. Being the last Sunday before Anzac Day (next Wednesday), the show had an Anzac Day focus. As I went up Quinn Rd. a brass band played a slowish version of Waltzing Matilda interspersed with the trumpet tune of the 'The Last Post'. Enjoying this inspiring musical nuance, I was distracted by an empty drink can on the road. It was a 'Woodstock' bourbon and coke can. I crushed it with my heel and put it in a plastic bag in my carry bag.
"Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, you'll come a waltzing Matilda with me."
The music finished and I walked on, half listening to Macca's prattle, the shows jingles, the voice grabs, but my mind was now on Anzac Day. In the clarity of the sharp morning air, feeling fit and fresh, it dawned on me that I have a problem with Anzac Day. It's difficult, if not impossible, for me to join the feeling of celebration that now comes with it. Or to accept, as Macca said, that it's become our 'National day'.
Don't get me wrong, I have no disrespect for it, or the RSL. It's just that it fills me with mixed emotions, sadness and anger. I'm sad for the those who lost their lives serving in the name of their country. Sad for the civilians, men, women and children, killed in the crossfire or obliterated by bombing. Sad for those crippled physically, and sad for the mental and emotional suffering. Sad for the inhumanity of war.
I wondered what my grandather would think? He served in WW1, in the 57th Battalion, made up largely of men from suburban Melbourne. Australia's, and the 57th Battallion's, first major action in France was the battle at Fromelles. Grandfather, fortunately, missed the first day, when 2000 Australians died, and the 60th Battalion was almost wiped out in the heaviest day of casualties in our military history. Men of the 57th Battalion spent the next four days bringing wounded men back from no-man's land between the trenches. There were some 8,000 plus Anzacs killed at Gallipolli over 8 months, 2000 in one day at Fromelles. There's a statue at the site in Flanders of a sergeant of the 57th Battalion carrying a wounded digger on his shoulders. Like Simpson and his donkeys at Gallipolli, this is the epitome of Anzac Day.
Grandfather Wilson, Poppa to us, was wounded by shrapnel in the face and back at Ypres and sent to hospital in England, and was back with the 57th Battalion when it liberated Villers-Bretonneux on Anzac Day 1918, after it had been occupied by the Germans in a forward push. Later he was shot in the right buttock at Boulogne and again sent to hospital in England, where he was when the war ended. He died fifty years ago so I didn't know him really, but Elvie tells me he was a self-effacing man who didn't waste words. A non drinker, he didn't participate in Anzac Day, he didn't like the boozing that went on afterwards, and didn't like being reminded of the war. He gave his army mates the silver service when they came to his house, and always helped returned men.
By the time I reached the top of the hill I'd picked up more empty cans, another 'Woodstock' bourbon and coke, a 'Jack Daniels' Tennessee whisky and coke, and two 'Jim Beam' and coke. Also a plastic bottle of Coca-Cola and a glass bottle of vodka cruiser. And, no kidding, a condom, still sealed in it's plastic sachet. I put it in my shirt pocket, thinking I might meet a nymphomaniac around the next corner. It didn't happen.
I can't help but to feel anger on Anzac Day. Anger at the military command that sent the diggers to their deaths in the water, on the beach, and on the cliffs at Gallipolli. Anger at the politics of war, invading Turkey intending to take Constantinople to give to the Russian ally later. Anger at the stupidity of sending thousands of men out of the trenches into heavy machine gun fire and almost certain death at Fromelles. Anger at the flagwaving and the superiority it engenders. Anger at Vietnam. Anger at Iraq. Anger at inhumanity.
Finishing my walk, I counted the crushed aluminium cans I'd collected as I put them in Jod's box in the shed. There's always more on a Sunday morning. There were 6 'Woodstock' Kentucky bourbon and coke, 5 'Jack Daniel's' Tennessee whiskey and coke, and 3 'Jim Bean' Kentucky bourbon and coke, one Bundaberg rum and coke, and one VB.
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, you'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.
I had my transistor radio in my carry bag, tuned, unusually, to the ABC 774, and Macca's 'Australia all Over'. Being the last Sunday before Anzac Day (next Wednesday), the show had an Anzac Day focus. As I went up Quinn Rd. a brass band played a slowish version of Waltzing Matilda interspersed with the trumpet tune of the 'The Last Post'. Enjoying this inspiring musical nuance, I was distracted by an empty drink can on the road. It was a 'Woodstock' bourbon and coke can. I crushed it with my heel and put it in a plastic bag in my carry bag.
"Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, you'll come a waltzing Matilda with me."
The music finished and I walked on, half listening to Macca's prattle, the shows jingles, the voice grabs, but my mind was now on Anzac Day. In the clarity of the sharp morning air, feeling fit and fresh, it dawned on me that I have a problem with Anzac Day. It's difficult, if not impossible, for me to join the feeling of celebration that now comes with it. Or to accept, as Macca said, that it's become our 'National day'.
Don't get me wrong, I have no disrespect for it, or the RSL. It's just that it fills me with mixed emotions, sadness and anger. I'm sad for the those who lost their lives serving in the name of their country. Sad for the civilians, men, women and children, killed in the crossfire or obliterated by bombing. Sad for those crippled physically, and sad for the mental and emotional suffering. Sad for the inhumanity of war.
I wondered what my grandather would think? He served in WW1, in the 57th Battalion, made up largely of men from suburban Melbourne. Australia's, and the 57th Battallion's, first major action in France was the battle at Fromelles. Grandfather, fortunately, missed the first day, when 2000 Australians died, and the 60th Battalion was almost wiped out in the heaviest day of casualties in our military history. Men of the 57th Battalion spent the next four days bringing wounded men back from no-man's land between the trenches. There were some 8,000 plus Anzacs killed at Gallipolli over 8 months, 2000 in one day at Fromelles. There's a statue at the site in Flanders of a sergeant of the 57th Battalion carrying a wounded digger on his shoulders. Like Simpson and his donkeys at Gallipolli, this is the epitome of Anzac Day.
Grandfather Wilson, Poppa to us, was wounded by shrapnel in the face and back at Ypres and sent to hospital in England, and was back with the 57th Battalion when it liberated Villers-Bretonneux on Anzac Day 1918, after it had been occupied by the Germans in a forward push. Later he was shot in the right buttock at Boulogne and again sent to hospital in England, where he was when the war ended. He died fifty years ago so I didn't know him really, but Elvie tells me he was a self-effacing man who didn't waste words. A non drinker, he didn't participate in Anzac Day, he didn't like the boozing that went on afterwards, and didn't like being reminded of the war. He gave his army mates the silver service when they came to his house, and always helped returned men.
By the time I reached the top of the hill I'd picked up more empty cans, another 'Woodstock' bourbon and coke, a 'Jack Daniels' Tennessee whisky and coke, and two 'Jim Beam' and coke. Also a plastic bottle of Coca-Cola and a glass bottle of vodka cruiser. And, no kidding, a condom, still sealed in it's plastic sachet. I put it in my shirt pocket, thinking I might meet a nymphomaniac around the next corner. It didn't happen.
I can't help but to feel anger on Anzac Day. Anger at the military command that sent the diggers to their deaths in the water, on the beach, and on the cliffs at Gallipolli. Anger at the politics of war, invading Turkey intending to take Constantinople to give to the Russian ally later. Anger at the stupidity of sending thousands of men out of the trenches into heavy machine gun fire and almost certain death at Fromelles. Anger at the flagwaving and the superiority it engenders. Anger at Vietnam. Anger at Iraq. Anger at inhumanity.
Finishing my walk, I counted the crushed aluminium cans I'd collected as I put them in Jod's box in the shed. There's always more on a Sunday morning. There were 6 'Woodstock' Kentucky bourbon and coke, 5 'Jack Daniel's' Tennessee whiskey and coke, and 3 'Jim Bean' Kentucky bourbon and coke, one Bundaberg rum and coke, and one VB.
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, you'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
It's a Classic Autumn
Mid April. There's butter yellow in the gold ash and tulip trees, orange and rust red in the pin oaks, dogwoods and snowball viburnums, crimson in the claret ash and the whole range through to purple coming into the liquid ambers. Stunning viewing as I walked this morning, intoxicated by the crisp early morning air. I sucked the air deep into my lungs. It reminded me of the Southern Comfort over ice I drank late last night, which Lib bought me for my birthday.
Last year we missed autumn altogether. The weather went from hot as hadies through March to freezing cold in April in the blink of an eye. My friend Nigel went back to England as his father died. He left 40C weather here at the beginning of March to be greeted by freezing conditions in England, where he watched the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne, in the March heatwave, on TV. He couldn't wait to get home but came back into our cold snap which lasted for 5 months. The conditions this time are perfect for the autumn show; dry, warm days, cool nights, after a hot summer with some good rain.
The birds are fattening up on holly and cotoneaster berries, Himalayan strawberries, apples, figs, persimmons in a gourmet garden banquet before the harsh winter. The bees have shrunk down their brood nests and are packing honey in tight around the brood despite the warm 25C days, and nectar still coming in. I worked through them on Saturday, taking the third box off each and even knocking two down to singles, they'd reduced so much. They know what's coming, and are getting ready to rest after a long season gathering a record (in my experience) crop of honey. There are still drones in the hives but these I'm sure will be expelled with the next front of cold weather. I united the two hives at Sunset together to make one super strong colony, and left a box of thin unsealed honey on top for them to ripen. I'll unite two hives here at home next weekend, and maybe even turn 4 into 2. The less hives I have in spring the less trouble I should have with swarming is how I see it. Who knows what spring will hold?
So I had a busy weekend. Another 125kg of honey. I'll do a post shortly to summarize the bee season, just for the record, and to print a copy to send to my old boss, senior apiary inspector Laurie Braybrook, who's now in his eighties and a long time retired, but who has remained in touch despite it more than 26 years since I left the Department of Agriculture.
To my great joy, my son Robbie had the bird book out last week. He reckons he saw a female satin bower bird in the fig tree. I don't doubt it. A while ago I saw a greeny coloured bird, quite large, in the same tree, but couldn't get a good look at it. I hope to get another sighting.
Last year we missed autumn altogether. The weather went from hot as hadies through March to freezing cold in April in the blink of an eye. My friend Nigel went back to England as his father died. He left 40C weather here at the beginning of March to be greeted by freezing conditions in England, where he watched the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne, in the March heatwave, on TV. He couldn't wait to get home but came back into our cold snap which lasted for 5 months. The conditions this time are perfect for the autumn show; dry, warm days, cool nights, after a hot summer with some good rain.
The birds are fattening up on holly and cotoneaster berries, Himalayan strawberries, apples, figs, persimmons in a gourmet garden banquet before the harsh winter. The bees have shrunk down their brood nests and are packing honey in tight around the brood despite the warm 25C days, and nectar still coming in. I worked through them on Saturday, taking the third box off each and even knocking two down to singles, they'd reduced so much. They know what's coming, and are getting ready to rest after a long season gathering a record (in my experience) crop of honey. There are still drones in the hives but these I'm sure will be expelled with the next front of cold weather. I united the two hives at Sunset together to make one super strong colony, and left a box of thin unsealed honey on top for them to ripen. I'll unite two hives here at home next weekend, and maybe even turn 4 into 2. The less hives I have in spring the less trouble I should have with swarming is how I see it. Who knows what spring will hold?
So I had a busy weekend. Another 125kg of honey. I'll do a post shortly to summarize the bee season, just for the record, and to print a copy to send to my old boss, senior apiary inspector Laurie Braybrook, who's now in his eighties and a long time retired, but who has remained in touch despite it more than 26 years since I left the Department of Agriculture.
To my great joy, my son Robbie had the bird book out last week. He reckons he saw a female satin bower bird in the fig tree. I don't doubt it. A while ago I saw a greeny coloured bird, quite large, in the same tree, but couldn't get a good look at it. I hope to get another sighting.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Easter Monday
I have to work today as I did last Friday, but I had Saturday and Sunday home.
Yesterday the birthday boy made a big pot of vegetable soup in the morning, then did an amateur chimney sweep in preparation for the approaching cold weather. The weather being warm at the moment, I then looked into the two beehives at 'Sunset'. There's still nectar coming in when the weather's good, they haven't tossed out the drones yet, although broodnest size is reducing considerably. I'll have a final extract of honey when I pack them for winter soon. I hope the good weather holds for a bit.
We had a little present opening celebration with a bottle of bubbly when Lib got home from work, and a some good red with roast beef for dinner. My presents were all well thought out which touched me. Lib gave me a pair of new pyjamas and a bottle of Southern Comfort, Gord and Rob a set of much needed pouring funnels, a travellers bathroom kit, and a pedometer, Meredith and Roger a book on ancient American civilizations and Elvie a set of greeting cards with birds on. And Jod gave me 3 tins of curried lentil and vegie soup last week.
I've said it many times, but again, "Ain't Life Grand".
Yesterday the birthday boy made a big pot of vegetable soup in the morning, then did an amateur chimney sweep in preparation for the approaching cold weather. The weather being warm at the moment, I then looked into the two beehives at 'Sunset'. There's still nectar coming in when the weather's good, they haven't tossed out the drones yet, although broodnest size is reducing considerably. I'll have a final extract of honey when I pack them for winter soon. I hope the good weather holds for a bit.
We had a little present opening celebration with a bottle of bubbly when Lib got home from work, and a some good red with roast beef for dinner. My presents were all well thought out which touched me. Lib gave me a pair of new pyjamas and a bottle of Southern Comfort, Gord and Rob a set of much needed pouring funnels, a travellers bathroom kit, and a pedometer, Meredith and Roger a book on ancient American civilizations and Elvie a set of greeting cards with birds on. And Jod gave me 3 tins of curried lentil and vegie soup last week.
I've said it many times, but again, "Ain't Life Grand".
Sunday, April 08, 2007
A Feeling of Symmetry
Well, I have to say that I'm pleased that on this Easter Sunday I am now 55 years old. The number 55 has symmetry that I like. As I walked this morning I reflected that there's a fair chance I'll make the age of 75. I hope so, if I maintain good health.
That would be the year 2027. A bit scary, huh!
That would be the year 2027. A bit scary, huh!
Friday, April 06, 2007
Good Friday
Good Friday or no, every Friday is garbage collection day in Gembrook. The truck roars/groans/growls/squeals/bangs its way up our street at about 6.30 am. It works Launching Place Rd. and Quinn Rd. earlier still, you can hear it in bed before dawn. The noise seems horribly amplified in the cool, still, early morning air, as if whoever designed the vehicle was hellbent on as much noise as possible. The sequence repeats over and over as the truck accelerates, brakes, lifts bins with the hydraulic arm, bangs them once or twice, puts them down, and moves on to the next property. It's repeated a couple of hours later every second week, when a truck returns to pick up the bigger yellow lidded recycling bins. The council, with much enthusiasm, recently introduced a green waste bin collection for the other alternate week, however I, and many people, have declined this optional service, choosing instead to mulch with, or compost garden waste.
The bins are designed to reduce rat and dog invasion and to minimize human labour, but it's not foolproof and there's always litter left on the road on my way up the spur. The empty bins often fall over, replaced in haste by the operator, and the impression is of untidiness and sometimes mayhem. Not uncommonly, if a dog looking for food, or a person, in belligerance, has knocked a bin over, the truck ignores it and moves to the next house.
The odd bits of litter that spill from bins in the tranfer from bin to truck, I pick up and put back in the empty bin. If a dog has tipped up a whole bin and spread a lot of stinky, gooey trash over an area I leave it for the householder. On my everyday walk I put aluminium cans in a bag for Jod, who sells them to a recycler, and I put plastic and paper in the recycling bin at Puffing Billy station or the News agent/post office. I don't put plastic and paper in the street bins as this all goes to landfill. I asked the council worker who regularly empties the street bins into a small truck if there's a recycling procedure for this rubbish and he said there wasn't. Seems odd to me, that the council makes a big fuss about recycling, but don't have street bins for recyclables. The same at the shopping mall food halls, there's no recycling bins usually.
I think of the energy and resources used in the manufacture of cans and plastic bottles and hate the thought of them going to landfill. Preventing a little of that pleases me that I've had a positive impact in a small way, every day. There's a long way to go in the community though, because often I see a tipped over bin on my walk there's plastic bottles and cans mixed in with the the other stuff. Similarly as I walk past recycling bins stuffed so full the lid is sticking up I see plasic bags and foodscraps stuffed in with the recyclables. Either those people don't know, don't care, or don't think.
The Indian Mina birds are happy on Fridays, busy on the road, scavenging around bins. And 'Snow' is always alert looking for Friday titbits.
The bins are designed to reduce rat and dog invasion and to minimize human labour, but it's not foolproof and there's always litter left on the road on my way up the spur. The empty bins often fall over, replaced in haste by the operator, and the impression is of untidiness and sometimes mayhem. Not uncommonly, if a dog looking for food, or a person, in belligerance, has knocked a bin over, the truck ignores it and moves to the next house.
The odd bits of litter that spill from bins in the tranfer from bin to truck, I pick up and put back in the empty bin. If a dog has tipped up a whole bin and spread a lot of stinky, gooey trash over an area I leave it for the householder. On my everyday walk I put aluminium cans in a bag for Jod, who sells them to a recycler, and I put plastic and paper in the recycling bin at Puffing Billy station or the News agent/post office. I don't put plastic and paper in the street bins as this all goes to landfill. I asked the council worker who regularly empties the street bins into a small truck if there's a recycling procedure for this rubbish and he said there wasn't. Seems odd to me, that the council makes a big fuss about recycling, but don't have street bins for recyclables. The same at the shopping mall food halls, there's no recycling bins usually.
I think of the energy and resources used in the manufacture of cans and plastic bottles and hate the thought of them going to landfill. Preventing a little of that pleases me that I've had a positive impact in a small way, every day. There's a long way to go in the community though, because often I see a tipped over bin on my walk there's plastic bottles and cans mixed in with the the other stuff. Similarly as I walk past recycling bins stuffed so full the lid is sticking up I see plasic bags and foodscraps stuffed in with the recyclables. Either those people don't know, don't care, or don't think.
The Indian Mina birds are happy on Fridays, busy on the road, scavenging around bins. And 'Snow' is always alert looking for Friday titbits.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Ten From Ten
In the ten days since Lyle died, I have...
1. Thought of him every day with more love, respect, admiration, pathos and understanding than I ever felt previously.
2. Revelled in the change of weather/season. The day before the night Lyle's life force left silently it was a hot, punishing 37C day with a fierce north wind. The change came that night with 20ml of rain. On my morning walk after hearing the news that Lyle had gone I walked in light rain, dodging puddles and snails crawling acrooss the road. I saw a frog squashed. It was cool and so peaceful after the vicious day before.
3. Felt a greater love for people around me; my mammy Elvie, Meredith, Jod, Lib, Gord, Rob, friends and neighbours. My compassion level has elevated.
4. Attended to things such as collecting Lyle's clothes and possessions from Salisbury house. Lib and I did this the same day. There was a lump in my throat the whole time. We also met with the undertaker and discussed Lyle's wishes. He had prepaid for his cremation and costs and did not want a funeral service nor public notice. He instructed the undertaker to scatter his ashes. The undertaker agreed to give them to us for us to scatter. We'll do this at the farm down the back near the creek in an area that has become untidy around young beech trees. We'll clean up this up and plant it out with useful understory. It will be beautiful. I've seen the solicitor re the execution of Lyle's last will and testament. He has left his share of the farm and his assets to Elvie. She's happy to continue at the farm as long as her health allows, so we are business as usual for now.
5. Been to Farmworld at Lardner Park, Warragul to at look at Gators. A Gator is a small carry all type vehicle for farm use made by American firm John Deere. Walking up the hill carrying produce is becoming tougher for Meredith and Joddy, and me, we're not getting younger. Let's say we're an ageing workforce and I'm sure a 4WD Gator would help us improve and work the bottom steep part of our farm. They are expensive, but I want one!
6. Watched the Demon's inglorious season opener at the MCG last Friday night. Lyle and I always shared a strong interest in football and this was the first game they've played without me able to discuss the result with him, a father/son thing. It was a dismal effort which almost prompted me to dismiss our chances for 2007. I cling to the old maxim that it's no use being a champion in March.
7. Had lunch with Rick Malfroy and his wife Monica at the Pine Grove Hotel, a most pleasant social dalliance made no less enjoyable by the fact that I was paying. Rick won our in house footy tipping competition in the 2006 season so I thought I should settle before the start of the the 2007 season. We email each other our tips and no doubt I'll clean him up this year.
8. Had a phone call from a close friend from the past who told me he had cancer. Cancer of the head. He had half of it removed last December including an eye and half his jaw. I was grateful he told me personally without me hearing it from other sources at some other time. He wants me to catch up with him when I can get there and have a beer with him. This I will as soon as I can.
9. Continued my war on European wasps. Nest kill count now 18 this season.
10. Noticed European wasps working close to the ground, seemingly foraging at ground level. Also bellbirds working on the ground, which is most unusual. Both must be gathering, or feeding on, something. I wonder if the tree insects are falling off with the cooler temperatures. And I've been hearing rats and mice in the roof.
1. Thought of him every day with more love, respect, admiration, pathos and understanding than I ever felt previously.
2. Revelled in the change of weather/season. The day before the night Lyle's life force left silently it was a hot, punishing 37C day with a fierce north wind. The change came that night with 20ml of rain. On my morning walk after hearing the news that Lyle had gone I walked in light rain, dodging puddles and snails crawling acrooss the road. I saw a frog squashed. It was cool and so peaceful after the vicious day before.
3. Felt a greater love for people around me; my mammy Elvie, Meredith, Jod, Lib, Gord, Rob, friends and neighbours. My compassion level has elevated.
4. Attended to things such as collecting Lyle's clothes and possessions from Salisbury house. Lib and I did this the same day. There was a lump in my throat the whole time. We also met with the undertaker and discussed Lyle's wishes. He had prepaid for his cremation and costs and did not want a funeral service nor public notice. He instructed the undertaker to scatter his ashes. The undertaker agreed to give them to us for us to scatter. We'll do this at the farm down the back near the creek in an area that has become untidy around young beech trees. We'll clean up this up and plant it out with useful understory. It will be beautiful. I've seen the solicitor re the execution of Lyle's last will and testament. He has left his share of the farm and his assets to Elvie. She's happy to continue at the farm as long as her health allows, so we are business as usual for now.
5. Been to Farmworld at Lardner Park, Warragul to at look at Gators. A Gator is a small carry all type vehicle for farm use made by American firm John Deere. Walking up the hill carrying produce is becoming tougher for Meredith and Joddy, and me, we're not getting younger. Let's say we're an ageing workforce and I'm sure a 4WD Gator would help us improve and work the bottom steep part of our farm. They are expensive, but I want one!
6. Watched the Demon's inglorious season opener at the MCG last Friday night. Lyle and I always shared a strong interest in football and this was the first game they've played without me able to discuss the result with him, a father/son thing. It was a dismal effort which almost prompted me to dismiss our chances for 2007. I cling to the old maxim that it's no use being a champion in March.
7. Had lunch with Rick Malfroy and his wife Monica at the Pine Grove Hotel, a most pleasant social dalliance made no less enjoyable by the fact that I was paying. Rick won our in house footy tipping competition in the 2006 season so I thought I should settle before the start of the the 2007 season. We email each other our tips and no doubt I'll clean him up this year.
8. Had a phone call from a close friend from the past who told me he had cancer. Cancer of the head. He had half of it removed last December including an eye and half his jaw. I was grateful he told me personally without me hearing it from other sources at some other time. He wants me to catch up with him when I can get there and have a beer with him. This I will as soon as I can.
9. Continued my war on European wasps. Nest kill count now 18 this season.
10. Noticed European wasps working close to the ground, seemingly foraging at ground level. Also bellbirds working on the ground, which is most unusual. Both must be gathering, or feeding on, something. I wonder if the tree insects are falling off with the cooler temperatures. And I've been hearing rats and mice in the roof.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)