Acai

I came across a new word yesterday. Acai. Of all places to find a new word, it was on a piece of litter I picked up on my walk. I don't know what acai is, it isn't listed in my dictionary, but I'm assuming, from the context in which it's written, that it's a fruit of some sort.

It's on a plastic drink bottle. It's sitting right in front of me, while I share the bizarre marketing text with you. When you think about it, writing is everywhere. People read newspapers, books, magazines, brochures, letters, emails, maps, signs, laws, bylaws, product information, etc, etc. All this writing is written by someone for a reason, and basically, it's the oil that lubricates society and enables it to function. I guess that's why we pack kids off to school at an early age.

I'd seen this plastic bottle on the roadside, the nature strip actually, on the other side of the road to where I walk at this point, for three or four days. My handful of regular readers know that I pick up litter on my walk and feel good doing it. Bottles, cans, paper, plastic, most of it goes to a recycling receptacle and every day it's a small contribution I make to help the planet. A lady of insight and wisdom once said to me that she believes in the ripple effect - a small drop makes a ripple that spreads out across the pond, touching everything. And often I remind myself of the verse by Goethe. (post 31 Dec 2006)

Austere perserverance
Harsh and continuous
May be employed by the smallest of us
And rarely does it fail its purpose
For its silent power grows irresistibly
Greater with time.

Normally I only pick up stuff directly in my path (I have limited time), except for aluminium cans which I collect for Jod to sell to the recycling depot. But if a piece of litter remains where I see it for a few days, like this bottle, it annoys me enough to make me cross the road.

I put it my backpack, which I unzipped when I got home and made my way toward the recycling bin, unscrewing the cap and tipping the remaining pinky, syrupy looking liquid into a variegated box plant as I walked past. The colour of it made me curious. I sniffed the open neck of the bottle; it reminded me of the scent of bubblegum from childhood. Wondering what on earth it was, I read the label.

In the largest letters on the bottle, printed 3 times vertically from bottom to top, spaced evenly around the bottle, is "vitamin water". Above the "water" is the word "GLACEAU", in capital letters, but smaller. Underneath one of the "vitamin waters" but in smaller print than the three "vitamin water" and "GLACEAU", is the addition, "nutrient enhanced water beverage".

In the three spaces between these vertical lines of print, at the top, horizontal, in the second biggest print on the bottle is the word "triple-x". Then underneath, "acai-blueberry-pomegranate (triple antioxidants)".

In small writing under one of these is, "contains less than 1% juice." Below this is the nutritional information where the fat, sugars, vitamins etc are listed, grid form, in smaller print again.

In the second space under "triple-x" etc, the ingredients are listed, "formulated beverage contains: water, fructose, sucrose, food acids," etc, etc, right through all the vitamins and fruit, including the "acai (0.027%)".

It's the text in the third space, in larger print, with clear, well spaced writing, that raised my eyebrows -

"c'mon get your mind out of the gutter. we only mamed this drink triple-x because it has the power of triple antioxidants to help keep you healthy and fight free radicals. so in case you're wondering, this does not cost $1.99/minute or contain explicit adult content or anything considered 'uncensored'. it has not 'gone wild!!!' nor will clips of be passed around the internet like a certain hotel heiress. it has never been seen live or nude, but it is definitely out there."

I don't know what to make of that, but I guess there's the power of suggestion. We've got; 'help keep you healthy', 'fight free radicals', 'mind in the gutter', 'explicit adult', 'uncensored', 'gone wild!!!', 'clips passed round the internet', 'a certain hotel heiress', 'live or nude', and 'out there'. Wow! Maybe I should get hold of some acai. I've had blueberries and pomegranates.

Turn the bottle back to the nutritional information grid and straining the eyes, you can see the only thing listed in g's rather than mg's is carbohydrate sugars - 5.4 g per 100ml. That works out at 27g per 500 ml bottle, or 5 teaspoons of sugar. In a bottle of 'vitamin water'!

The last thing for me to check out was the manufacturer. Under the nutritional information it says, "made for the centre for responsible hydration by" --- you'll have to guess, or find your own bottle.

It's amazing, improving my vocabulary on my walk.

Vale Tumbleweed

Tumbleweed, Jod's cat, died last week, on Wednesday night. Jod lost the plot, and Thursday was a day of drama. Good thing I wasn't there, I wasn't at the farm till late, when things had calmed down.

Meredith told me when I met her in the bank, by coincidence, when I went in to cash a cheque, it being payday for everyone, myself included. It was about 3.45pm, I was late for a 3.30 museum meeting, but the bank closes at 4.00 so it had to come first. As always when you are late, the queue moves slowly. Finally it was my turn at the two window counter and the teller was a new bloke who wanted my driver's licence and fumbled around looking for and counting notes. Two people came and went at the adjacent window and I turned to see that the new arrival was none other than Meredith.

Meredith always has a pleasing affect on me when I see her. This is not surprising, we grew up together, as close allies. But not expecting her there in the bank, the pleasant affect was greater than normal. "I have to go to a museum meeting but I'll be at the farm before five. How's things going? No problems?" She'd had been doing a wonderul job holding the fort at the farm and looking after Elvie, who, after a week in hospital having her gall bladder and some stones removed, was home convalescing.

She looked at me, hesitating. "Well, we had a bit of a hiccup. Tumbleweed died. Jod came last night with the cat crook, he was terribly upset. It was having an epileptic fit, we rushed it to Wardie, it had a stroke apparently, he couldn't save it. Jod's been no good today, off the air, cursing, talking suicide. It's been tough. You know how he gets. He's better now, he buried it, he's calmed down."

"Oh shit! Poor Jod. And poor you."

"Yeah. Good thing it was Thursday when there's not much on. He's had Tumbleweed 15 years."

Later, at the farm, she told me Jod had gone out for a smoke. (The landlord, whom he's always fighting with, painted his flat recently and doesn't want him smoking inside) From ouside, he heard the cat start screaming and he rushed in to find it writhing about on the floor. He tried to calm it down, it responded to a degree and started to lick his fingers. He thought it'd be alright, but a short time later it started again, in obvious pain, and Jod, in panicky desperation, drove it to the farm where Meredith was staying looking after Elvie.

It must sound a bit extraordinary for a 58 year old man to be so upset about a cat dying that he's threatening to drive his car into a tree. To understand, you have to understand Jod, his life, and his personality, as we half do, having known him more than five decades, as siblings born two years and four years after him. Jod has always been a tantrum tosser; as a small child, a schoolboy, and I'd say right through adulthood, where he's been prone to alcohol abuse and depression. His response to adversity is a kind of blind rage. I can imagine him in a battle situation either taking out enemy machine gun posts and winning a VC, or being the first one shot. Then, as the adrenalin subsides, the rage dissipates into self pity.

I don't relate this with any ill intent. I have great affection and sympathy for him. He is what he is, in my opinion, because of unfortunate circumstances in his early childhood. We probably all are. I read a book once about parenting titled, "They Fuck You Up." Well worth a read if ever you come across it.

Jod was engaged three times to different girls, but never married, perhaps fortunately as he may not have handled parenthood well. Who would know for sure? I remember he borrowed a suit of mine to wear to his engagement party. When he gave it back it had a big tear in the knee. He'd had a fight with his prospective father-in-law late in the evening after much beer had flowed. He's lived by himself for the last twenty years, after a nine year defacto stint that included much brawling and knife throwing. For most of the nine years he kept a rented bachelor bungalow as a refuge after serious arguments. The lady had a number of children from her earlier marriage, the children often being the spark to the arguments.

After the break-up, and subsequent loss of employment, Jod hit rock bottom. It was his family and the farm that helped him rebuild. Tumbleweed was given to him as a young cat and was a great companion for him after work.

I'm glad to say that he's recovered from the shock well. He told me that he went round to 'Yartz's ex's place on Saturday arvo. She's lost all three of her dogs recently, and talking to her helped him. She invited him around for a few drinks next Saturday night. He declined at first, saying he wouldn't drive home after drinking, so she offered that he could stay in her spare room. Maybe there's romance in the air! Hold on to your seat!

The Olympic Games

The Beijing Olympics are in full swing. It seems that the more 'Olympics' I experience, by way of the media of course as I never been to one, the less interested I am. But I have no particular beef with them and I don't want to come across as a killjoy or a wet blanket. It's just that I get my excitement by other means; like a good drop of rain, or the long close up encounter with a Leuwin's honey eater I had yesterday when I went to Laurie Begge's garden to pick some 'Flamingo' pink Pieris flowers. The honeyeater was there before me, taking his fill of nectar.

This is the 15th Olympics of my lifespan. I can list them off pat and follow a track through my life.
Helsinki, 1952, I was but a suckling babe. A good'n, mum tells me.
Melbourne, 1956, I was busy catching flies for the pet frog at kinder.
Rome, 1956, We drew maps of Italy with Mrs. Lambert in Grade 3. (Mrs Lambert was wonderful. She had brother Jod in grade 4 the previous year and, because he struggled at school, she had him at her house one evening a week for extra tuition (free). Her husband was a copper and did shift work. They lived in Blackburn Rd. Mum dropped Jod of in the car and because me and Meredith were there too Mrs. Lambert took us in too for an hour or so and gave us some work to do appropraite to our age.)
Tokyo, 1964, in form one at secondary school, Dawn Fraser was the star, third gold medal, same event, in successive games.
Mexico City, 1968. American sprinters gave black power salute. I was expelled from school. The world seemed to change rapidly from the mid sixties.
1972, the Munich Massacre. Shane Gould. Drug taking accusations made about Eastern bloc countries. I was called up for national service.
1976, Montreal. No gold medals. I'd moved to Wangaratta.
1980 Moscow. The US boycotted the games as did most Australians, protesting the invasion of Afghanistan. Nadia Commenicci? Still in Wangaratta.
1984, Los Angeles. The Soviet Union boycotted this time in response to 1980. In Gembrook now, busy establishing house and garden.
1988, Seoul. I was busy with young kids. More drugs controversy, this time Chinese swimmers, American sprinters, and weightlifters.
1992, Barcelona. Keiren Perkins. I was still busy with young kids.
!996, Atlanta. The Coca-Cola games. Kieren Perkins. Still much drug controversy. Still busy with youngish kids.
2000, Sydney. I was torched out by the opening ceremony. Cathy Freeman. I remember the jazz ballet routine with the Victa mowers.(*#!*)
2004, Athens. Nothing comes to mind. Ian Thorpe?
2008, Beijing. As I said, I haven't been enticed. I watched and enjoyed the opening ceremony. Sally Rice? Michael Phelps? Plenty of good rain in Gembrook.

Developments

I've refrained from mentioning the 'McMansion on the gouge' recently. It pains me walking past every morning. No longer do I count the galahs and cockies feeding on the grass there as I did for most of the first two years of my walk, nor pause to look into the serenity of the valley, at the head of which the Shepherds Creek West Branch is born, miraculously, by the rising of three springs a couple of stone throws from the main road.

Construction of the imposing house has ceased. Cars are there on weekends and some weekdays, presumably the work now being done is indoors and by the owners, such as painting and fine tuning to prepare it for habitation by the new tribe. Since the excavator first dug deep into the chocolate soil last November, I've watched bricklayers, carpenters, plumbers do their stuff, nine months in the building. I shudder at the accumulated cost of all the tradesmen. Those blokes all want $400-$500per day. After the concrete slab for the shed was poured, it sat bare and bold for a month or so, then a team of six blokes turned up with a truck and put up the large slate grey steel shed, in one day. Tip trucks delivered huge loads of gravel, and a bobcat levelled the surrounding earth and spread the stones to make the driveway.

Looking from the road, the house, shed and garage stretch almost all the way across the block, leaving only a sliver of view into the valley, between the shed and the house. I'm glad that, when I started walking, the block and the one next door were still part of the farm on the north side of the valley. The second block is still vacant, not for long I would say, but from the road where it fronts you don't get the magic view into he valley. One of the first changes that I noticed on my daily passings was the subdivision, sale, and fencing off of the two blocks. The landscape is now changed irrevocably, at least for my time.

There's not yet a tree or shrub on the site. I'll watch with interest to see, hopefully, a garden evolve around the buildings, that will eventually soften the visual impact of this development. A single devopment, but one of so many occuring all over good old Gembrook.

Walking every day, you see the roadkill; kangaroos, wombats, galahs, spinebills, and after rain, earthworms and even frogs. You see the sick tree and watch it slowly die. You see, hear and feel the increasing traffic, and smell the exhaust. You become aware of the jumbo's flightpath, litter, birdcalls, wind direction, the colour of the sky, the shape of clouds, the beehive in the tree trunk. You notice changes.

Cold, Wet, -- and Wonderful

I've been walking in the mornings now for more than two and a half years. I had to take Rob up to the 7.10 a.m bus this morning; it was raining and a grey mist reduced visibility further, from that already impaired by the foggy windows. Rob said, "You're going to get nice and wet walking today." I replied that I might have to give it a miss.

Then I caught sight of Sharon's lime green flouro jacket on her way down the hill. Sharon is from the new estate and is also a daily walker or jogger. If it's good enough for her, I thought, I'm walking in the rain today too. So I did.

In gumboots and raincoat I strode into the cold and rain looking for windmills to fight and a princess to rescue, and loved every minute of it. So did the dogs; as wet as shags and wolfing their breakfast when we came home. I recommend early walking for a general feeling of well being, and improved morale. It's great.

My thoughts turned to Don Quixote when I put the tub of yoghurt back in the fridge after putting a healthy dollop on my muesli. It slipped from my hand and spilled into the fridge. As I reacted quickly in a vain attempt to catch it, my right shoulder caught the egg tray in the fridge door sending it and eleven eggs to a sticky ending on the floor. What a mess to clean up before breakfast! It happens to the best of us.

Snowy Sunday

Rarely does it snow in Gembrook, although the older residents tell me it was common in earlier times. When I say snow, I don't mean a few flakes for a few minutes, we get that every year; I mean snow white on the ground. There's snow happening right now, and has been for the past half hour. The flakes, small, larger a few minutes ago, are falling slowly and gently and from a variety of angles, and are melting as soon as they hit the gravel and paving bricks outside the window. Further away, in the garden, a white tinge is building on the grass, discernible because it contrasts with the vivid green of that under the lemon tree where the snow isn't reaching through the canopy.

My plans are in revision. When I finished the numerous household chores that I like to do when Lib works Sundays, I was set to head to Keith Smith's and spend a couple of hours cutting back his camellia stock plants, a project ongoing with an finish target of end August, before the new spring growth starts. It isn't easy work. The section I'm up to has overcrowded plants ten or fifteen feet high growing into each other with no room to move. If rain has fallen the water falls of the leaves, saturating my clothing, as I cut them back to a frame about 4 feet high. I can wear a raincoat, but this is restricting and the water seems to find its way in anyway. The slow part is having to cart all the prunings out of the plantation after one or two bushes have been cut, or the build up on the ground means you can hardly move at all.

It wouldn't be much fun in the snow. But, the snow has stopped. I'll make the bed with fresh sheets and set the fire and get cracking after a bowl of pea and ham soup from the pot I made yesterday. There still should be time after making some headway at Keith's to pick up another trailer load of prunings from Pat A's. I left a lot on the ground there yesterday, which I couldn't fit on the trailer, and there was not enough daylight left to go back. Pat's garden has been a project in progress also these past few weekends and I'm nearly finished, another end of August target.

Pat offered me a 'refreshment' about 5.30 pm and we enjoyed a stubby in her kitchen, talking about the footy and the Olympic games. She's a keen 'Bulldog' fan. She moved into the house about a year ago while she was still working and put her spare time into getting the inside right. The garden was fairly overgrown with rampant wild roses and choisias and fruit trees, so it too has been solid work. She's retired now and should be able to handle the garden once I get it into shape.

Pat seems happier now than she has for years, since the accident when she lost her husband suddenly. He was pulling down a tree with a tractor, around a second tree. It hit the second tree, from which a limb came down and struck his head. They had a big house and 10 acres which, after a brave year determined to stay, she sold and bought my old friend Ida's house. She wasn't happy there, and moved again. It's been a struggle, she was in shock for a long time. She has children and grandchildren, but until she lost her man so unexpectedly, she had never contemplated life without him.

The weather has cleared now with no sign of snow or rain. I'd better get cracking, back to plan A. I bet it'll be cold on the fingers. The thermometer outside says it's 3C.

Soup

Last week my good friend Blossom, who lives in Melbourne, sent me a little soup recipe book, with a note asking after Lib. Many a winter's day in past years have Bloss and I enjoyed the comfort of her wonderful homemade soup. I rarely get to see Blossom these days, but I regularly make a big pot of soup.

Last Saturday it was pea and ham and the week before minestrone, and before that a leek soup recipe I got from Wilma when Huit pulled some leeks for me. The variety in soup making is part the beauty of it.

Pandora's book cafe opened in Gembrook recently, in the old garage building that also houses 'The Motorist' museum. Four Saturday's back during a cold snap, the signs outside, 'Book Sale', and 'Hot soup', lured me in. I browsed the books, selecting 'Iberia' by James Michener and sat by the woodfire to read while waiting for the cauliflower and blue cheese soup of the day. The lady in the shop added a potato puff no charge to the crusty bread roll and it was a superp lunch for $6. Walking out with 'Iberia' under my arm for another $6, I told her if the cauliflower and blue cheese soup was on next week I'd be back. She said it would be, it was, and so was I.

Ditto the next week, when the lady told me about a quick and easy chic pea and barley soup, for which she said she'd type up the recipe if I was in next week. Last Saturday, while my own pea and ham was cooking away slowly on the stove, the choice at Pandora's was pumpkin or lentil. I went with the lentil which was excellent and bought a book on Turkey, the country, again for $6. She gave me the Chic pea recipe, named Persian barley soup, and one for cannelonni bean soup, both of which are refreshing in summer.

I can't wait till summer, I'm a chic pea freak, I'll be giving it a go soon. Imagine, chickpeas, garlic, onion, barley, parsley. AHH!

What a drudge life would be without soup!