Life's Mystery

Mark's gone. My friend Mark died yesterday afternoon. Where has he gone? His body lies yet, most probably, in the big fridge at the back of the hospital, yet he has gone. Where is he?

Life's greatest mystery is death. We understand conception, birth, breathing, eating, loving, illness, ageing, but with death comes mystery. Where does the life, the spirit, the soul, call it what you like, go?

When I looked into Mark's eyes two weeks ago at the hospital I saw in him what I'd never seen before. Wonderful eyes; rich brown, clear, sharp, piercing like those of an eagle, but loving. I was looking at his life, his spirit, his soul, soon to be free of his crippled body.

I am convinced our spirit/soul goes somewhere after our body wears out. It's in the eyes. But where?

A Big Mob for Muster

I heard an aboriginal lady talking on radio Australia last weekend, about the difficulties she endures to buy groceries with her centrelink payments, since the 'intervention'. It was all too complicated for me to relate here, but she concluded by saying something like this-

"We feel like a big mob of sheep, the big boss calls a muster and we have to come and do this and that, and it's all so difficult, and then we end up paying so much for everything and getting so little."

Later, walking along Innes Rd as usual, I came to two barriers put across the road. 'ROAD CLOSED'. I continued into J.A.C.Russell Park. There was a jam donut van on the grass and people putting up tents for stalls, jumping castles,etc. A lady I know from Emerald said "Hi" as she rushed past, excitedly adding that she was a 'clown' for the day. It was a hive of industry. Ah yes, 'Kids Fun Run with Thomas' day. 'Thomas' is a small steam engine painted up to look like 'Thomas the Tank Engine' of the 1980's TV show.

I saw a couple of my neighbours helping organize. "I didn't know you were into this nonsense".

"It's Ok, the kids have a lot of fun," was the response.

"That may be, but you're getting them young, conditioning them to the 'big event' and organized entertainment, and sheep-like behaviour. Turning them into good little consumers and milking families."

"Do you know where the money raised goes?"

I knew full well who initiates and supports the event. As the brochure says, proceeds go towards providing additional facilities for children undergoing treatment at the Children's Cancer Centre in Monash Medical Centre. Makes it kind of hard to argue against.

"I'm not against charity, particularly one like that. I see a bigger issue, past all the whoopeedo."

I don't think my comments were appreciated. I watched them setting up for a while till I saw a whitehaired man go under the tent which had a big sign out front, "SHOWBAGS", to set up a table.

"Hey mate, what's in the showbags?"

He turned his head towards me briefly, irritated at being interrupted. "Different stuff, depending on the age, there's different age groups."

In fact there are six age groups, beginning with 'The Purple Fun Run with Thomas', for kids aged 2 and under, through orange, blue, yellow and red, to 'The Green Fun Run with Puffing Billy", for kids 9-12. Every fun run entrant gets a 'showbag', after paying $15 entrance fee, or $20 if they didn't submit their entrance form before Nov3. Or $35 special price per family before Nov3, or $40 for late entries. (3 or more entrants from one family).

"Yeah? What sort of stuff?"

"Chips, lollies, free tickets to things."

"Chips and lollies! That'd be good for them!"

I've checked the wwwkidsfunwiththomas website since, and talked to people. To be fair, there was also an apple, a bottle of water, fun things and stickers. Amongst the the showbag contributors was a couple of international restaurant/take away food chains.

Robin in the post office doesn't share my misgivings. "As a grandmother, I can only say it was a wonderful, fun day, the kids had a ball."

Perhaps I should pull my head in. So my town becomes a traffic jam for the day, a megaphone I can hear from my garden 2km away blasts out for hours along with hooting from the train. Big deal. Perhaps I should just ignore it, mind my own business, say nothing.

I came across another quote recently, something like- "Make it your aim to live quietly and to mind your own business, and work with your hands, so that in your daily life you may gain the respect of others, and that you may live independently."

(1 Thessalonians 4;11,12)

Bad News

When I got home last Wednesday evening there was a message on the answering machine to ring Mary Kelly. Immediately I suspected bad news. Mark and Mary are longstanding friends. I met Mark playing football at Greta, Lib and Mary trained as nurses together beginning the same year, and worked at Wangaratta Base hospital. But it was always Mark that rang.

I rang back. Mary told me Mark was in a bad way. "His heart?" I had often thought that Mark may have heart trouble, there was family history (his father died young, leaving Win with 5 kids under 10), and he loved his beer. Since the operations, unsuccessful, on his crook back, he'd put on a lot of weight and couldn't do much physical exercise.

"No, his liver went toxic, his kidney's aren't functioning properly. He's in a serious condition in the Western General Hospital in Melbourne."

I thanked Mary for letting me know. There was not much to say, she didn't elaborate and I didn't like to press. I told her I'd go to see him as soon as I could.

I drove to Footscray the next day, after buying a citylink daypass and studying a new 'Melways' in the newsagency. It was hot day. Traffic was heavy on the freeway. Grass everywhere had browned off, and dust and litter blew up with the north wind. I had the van widows down to get air moving through to cool me down. Exhaust fumes were poisoning me slowly and noise from truck engines destroyed all chance of peace of mind. The news and discussion on the radio was all doom and gloom; economic downturn, water shortage, strafed super funds, unfair carbon emmission targets creating unemployment, loss of business overseas.

I thought of Mark as a 21 yo when I first met him 30 years ago. A fit,strong, country boy who played centre half back or back flank, he loved to run hard and straight through whatever was in the way. And always quick to help a teammate.

I left the freeway at Racecourse Rd. Passing Flemington racetrack I could see sprinklers spreading water onto the course, the only green grass I'd seen since leaving the hills. The huge grandstand stood empty but I imagined the colliseum effect it would have when filled with people. Melbourne, the 'big event' capitol.

Pulling into the hospital carpark, relieved the 'Melways' map in my head had worked as effectively as a GPS, a sandwich board met me "SORRY CAR PARK FULL." I found a park in the street 5 minutes walk from the hospital, pumped some coins into the ticket machine, and took a big swig of cold water from the bottle in the cooler bag, before heading off into the fumes and heat on foot.

I found Mark in the bed in room 15 where the nurse at the desk told me he'd be. His face and arms were yellow. His hands and forearms were swollen, almost bloated. There were plastic things strapped to the inside of his wrist, presumably to hook up a drip to. His arm and hand shook badly as he put it out for me to shake.

Conversation was difficult, it's hard to find the right words. He coughed badly every few minutes. The nurse asked me to go outside while she removed his bedpan, which he was lying on unknown to me, when I arrived. "If it hasn't happened by now it probably won't this time," she said, as she filled in the chart.

When she called me back in she asked me did I have time to help feed him. It was roast beef, potatos, sprouts, cauliflower and gravy. He ate only a few very small mouthfulls. He wheezed and coughed and winced. The pain was in his legs he said. His sister told me on the phone that night that his legs were swollen, black and horrible, the toxins had been leaking down into his legs. Mark told me he'd gone from 105 kg to 173 kg in a short time.

I was there about an hour. He thanked me for coming. I told him I'd see him Saturday if I could, if he wanted visitors, maybe Lib could come. He said he'd love to see us Saturday, "Give Lib a big kiss for me."

It was a sad drive back to Emerald. I made it in time for the monthly museum meeting starting at 3.30pm. The president read her report formally, saying she was resigning as of now, explaining that burnout and ill feeling on the committee were her reasons. The secretary then spoke glowingly of the now ex president, then also resigned, not just as secretary, but from the committee too. The treasurer, a 90 yo gem of a man, then spoke, saying it had been his intention to give his resignation today, but given the circumstances that had just unfolded, he'd hang on till end of term if necessary.

The vice president, who was at her first meeting for some months after 'a break', and who had been involved in the 'ill feeling on the committee', reluctantly took the chair, humiliated. We stumbled through the meeting and set a date for a December meeting. That gives us some time to try to sort out something. Just what I don't know, but frankly, after visiting Mark, possibly on his deathbed, the politics of the Emerald Museum Committee are of little consequence to me personally.

Rememberance Day

Ninety years ago to the day, WW1 ended, after years of fighting and millions of deaths. I can't help but be moved when I remember my grandfather, Edgar, who was on the western front and survived more than 1000 days of army service overseas. I was five when he died.

His only daughter, our mum Elvie, turned eighty yesterday. She talks of her dad with great fondness. He used to take her camping and fishing when she was a girl, up around Warburton, which was in the bush in the thirties. When the '39 bushfires came, he left Elvie with friends and went off to help fight the fires. It was four days till Elvie next saw him, without a word of his well being in that time.

Edgar died of a heart attack on his last day of work in the late fifties. A grocer, he closed his shop for the last time, rang his wife Annie saying, "Put the kettle on, I'm on my way." His Bedford truck crashed through a fence after his last delivery. He was dead at the wheel.

In 1990 I gave up smoking. I nearly went mad. In the depths of my desperation, at my lowest, I said to myself, "I'm doing this for you too,'Poppa'." He'd smoked since the war. Nanna Wilson, who hated his smoking, told me he'd tried to give up so many times but couldn't.

As I think of history, I feel a softness for people. Everyone has endured God knows what. People should look after other people. Help each other. I detest violence, exploitation, and injustice. John Donne (1572-1631) wrote-

No man is an island, entire of itself
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were
any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.

The election of a coloured man to the presidency of the United States fuels hope for me. Hope that I share with friends. Perhaps, ninety years after WW1, nations can finally unite to overcome the huge 'global' challenges.

Teeth

I munched on a granny smith apple this morning as I began walking. It's been a pink lady most mornings lately. Gee, they've been good. Crisp and juicy sweet. On my way home last night, knowing we were low, I looked for apples in Sal's mini mart at Emerald. The pink ladies were old, soft and crinkly, the royal galas the same. The granny smiths were all that looked half fresh, so I bought a couple for a change, although the boys prefer red apples. I wasn't sorry, it was a good apple.

Of course you need teeth to chew into an apple. My father Lyle couldn't, not without peeling it and cutting into small pieces. He lost his teeth when he was quite young and had falsies as long as I recall. When we were kids, he'd peel and cut up an apple with a pocket knife in the car while waiting at a red light, and say how he really missed being able to bite straight into an apple.

Dad's parents had no teeth either. It wasn't uncommon. Mum says there was a real craze on sugar which she thinks started as the sugar cane industry expanded into a major agricultural industry in Australia. Sugar was an affordable luxury. Mum's parents also had false teeth. Her older brother, born in the early 1920's, lost his teeth, but she, born in 1928, managed to keep hers.

But dad had a sweet tooth, no doubt about it. It was almost a craving. He'd eat a whole block of chocolate in 15 minutes when we went to the footy. 'Cherry Ripes', 'Violet Crumbles', boiled lollies, he'd put us kids to shame. Mum says he'd take her to the pictures when they were courting and buy a box of chocolates which he'd eat that quickly she'd be lucky to have two.

Apparently dentists were once quick off the mark to remove your teeth, right up to the 1960's. Dentures were considered more convenient than toothache and rudimentary dental tecniques. As a matter of course many WW2 servicemen on discharge, at their final medical, as a parting gift from the armed services, had their teeth removed to save them paying for it later.

Fortunately in my time the emphasis has been on saving teeth, limiting the intake of sugar, and dental hygeine generally. I thank mum for being such a nag about us cleaning our teeth when we were young. When I was discharged from the army in 1973, the examining dentist asked where I grew up; my teeth were that good he said, I must have lived where the water supply was flouridated, which wasn't the case.

Well before then, dentists had stopped pulling teeth so readily and started drilling and filling. I went to a dentist in Wangaratta in the second half of the seventies for a check up. I hadn't had toothache or any problem, but he booked me in for a few return appointments, and I ended up with my molars full of big silvery grey fillings. A few years later, when I met and married Lib, mother-in-law Molly told me that that dentist had retired, and was known for doing unneccesary work. I must have copped him in his last year. I wish I'd talked to Molly before choosing a dentist.

Twenty five to thirty years later those fillings fell out or loosened and bits of thin drilled away teeth broke off regularly. I'm told dentists drill away less tooth nowadays and the amalgum is better. Sometimes small caries can come to nothing if left. Just the same, me and my bank account dread the trip to the dentist. I learned that the Ferrari parked near the clinic was owned by my dentist, so I tried another. Only once. I'll go gack to the Ferrari man next time I suppose, and I'll keep up the private health insurance, which covers some of the dentist's charges to us. The trouble is the premium keeps going up.

I met a volunteer dentist, a Canadian, walking on an extinct volcano that we'd climbed on Amantani Island in Lake Titicaca in Peru to watch the sunset over the lake. She said sugar, soft drinks and lollies had been introduced to the diet of the Indian population in recent times and many young people were losing all their teeth early. She said many of the old ones had excellent teeth, not having had sugar, but in many cases gum diease caused them to lose teeth anyway. She spent her annual holidays each year in Sth. America, working for no pay to help improve the lot of indigenous people, who without such volunteers had no access to dental service. A wonderful lady!

Teeth, a blessing, or a curse? Keep 'em clean, I suppose, and stay off sugar. I'll enjoy munching on an apple each morning as long as I can.

Little Gem, Arisaema speciosa

Two good little stories came out of yesterday. I walked as usual first thing then checked for email about 8.00am, enjoying a mint tea. I was sending a cross fingers message of hope to Lib's cousin Druscilla in California, re the U.S. election in a couple of days, when the phone rang.

It was my friend 'Hughsey' at his croaky best. "Do you have access to "gem magnolia. Daughter Jenny, florist in Noosa Queensland, has been on the phone, she needs some for a wedding she's doing next Saturday. She's tried her wholesalers, they say it's unavailable at the moment."

"I think you mean 'Little Gem' magnolia foliage Allan. It'd be unavailable now because it's in new growth which would be too soft for use. It'd just wilt. How much does she want?"

"I don't know. How about I get her to ring you?"

"No worries mate."

I finished my one line email to Druscilla concluding, "God bless y'all."

The phone rang again. Jenny. "The bride must have 'Little Gem' magnolia foliage, she wants the smaller grandiflora leaves with the brown backing, it's of special significance, something to do with her father who died recently."

"There's been strong demand for 'Little Gem' down here. I don't have any growing. I have the normal grandiflora, I thought Little Gem would be a flash in the pan thing and ignored it. I tell you what though, I know a lady who has a one in her back yard. I cleaned out her overgrown garden for her in the winter, but I didn't cut the 'Little Gem', thinking it may come in handy later, but then forgot all about it till just now. It may be that it's been slow to grow, not having been cut before. I'll have a look later today. How much do you need?"

"Five bunches would get me out of trouble."

I was pleased to be able to ring her back later saying there was 4 and a half bunches and it was quite good quality, not perfect, but not bad. She was greatly relieved. We arranged that I'd take it to the farm and she'd have 'Ultimate Florist Connect' pick it up and send it to Noosa for her.

"How much do I owe you? I'll get dad to pay you cash."

"No charge Jenny, if it goes off alright you can get dad to give me a bottle of wine for Xmas."

In my post last Sunday I complained about the non appearance of the forecast rain. Well it did come, it started very gently about 5.30pm while I was in next door having a drink with Tom and Kath. We sat on their deck and watched it. There was 20ml in the gauge next morning and showers continued on and off yesterday, not enough to make me wear a raincoat while working, but sufficient to catch me out away from the van and get me wet.

I was cold and bedraggled with a painful right shoulder arriving at the farm with some good booty late in the day. With Tuesday (today) being the Cup Day holiday, one of our customers cancelled, and I was looking forward to a quiet day. It turned out not to be so as Shane (Titen Flowers) gave us an order for rosemary, bay, cumquats and whatever rhodie I could find. For reasons of seasonal timing and exhausting supplies it was all difficult. We've been scrounging for rosemary for weeks. I went into the post office to ask the girls if they had a bush at home that I could prune. Mark Tobin, who lives at Sunset where I pick laurel from the hedge, was at the counter. "You don't happen to have a rosemary bush at home do you Mark?"

"Yes we do, quite a few, around that glasshouse we put up down the back. It needs cutting back. Help yourself."

It was the most beautiful rosemary you'd ever see and I easily picked what I needed, almost 3 feet tall, a huge contrast to the scrappy stuff I've been using. It knocked the socks of 'em at the farm.

I had a whinge to Meredith about my crook shoulder and wet clothes and she said, "I've got something to show you that'll make you feel better." She went outside and came back with a plant in a 6 inch pot about 18 inches high. "Do you remember about 5 years ago you came in with some seeds, sort of soft and red, and gave them to me saying a lady gave them to you and said that they are well worth growing? This is the first time I've seen a flower."

"Do you know what it is?"

"Yes. Arisaema speciosa. For years I didn't, I was getting sick of looking after them, not knowing what they were or what to do with them. I took one across the road and Coral knew it was an arisaema of some sort, she collects them. I gave her six plants, I still had ten. Now that I've seen it in flower, I can tell from the book that it's 'speciosa'. It has that six inch long strand coming out of the flower and the red tinge around the leaves. It's quite rare."

I admit my knowledge of tuberous perennials is sparse, it's not been an area of interest for me. But I'm tickled pink. I only wish I could remember who gave me the seeds so I could thank them. For the record, the Reader's Digest encyclopedia says of arisaema-

"Genus of tuberous perennials grown for their large, curious, hooded spathes, each enclosing a pencil-shaped spadix. Forms spikes of fleshy red fruits before plant dies down. Fully to half hardy. Needs sun or partial shade and humous-rich soil. Plant tubers 15cm deep in spring. Propogate by seed in autumn or spring or by offsets in spring."

(Post script-- added after the running of the cup. I had a tip from an erudite punter to back Newport ridden by Chris Symons. I had $5 each way. It's easy after the event, but I should've known to back Bart Cummings. Viewed gave him his 12th Melbourne Cup, at age 80. Fantastic!)

No Rain, Musket, Metal Prices,The Currawong Egg

The weather forecast all week has been saying rain on Sunday. Not showers, rain. It was disappointing when I woke that there was no tinkle on the roof. There was a fog which had cleared by the time I reached the main street, leaving the young Canary Island oak planted in the pavement a few years ago dripping water to the ground from its satched leaves. This tree is jumping away, remarkable given its position.

The sun is shining brightly now with no indication that rain will come later. After a record dry September and a similar October, which has not had publicity with so much else going on in the world, the last thing we want is a dry November. God help us!

My walk was exceptionally pleasant today. Sundays are good as there's less early traffic. There were a few cans for Jod along the way. New people have moved into Richard and Sandy's, although I haven't met them yet. It looks like people have moved into the 'McMansion on the gouge', twelve months after the first excavation. A 'For Sale' sign went up on the acre block next door to it a couple of weeks ago. I rang the agent, they're asking $245-275,000. Out of my league, but if I won Tattslotto I'd buy it and put a shed and small eco friendly house on it with a BIG water tank, and plant it out with useful trees and shrubs for food, blossom, foliage and firewood and mulch. I'd let Jod live in the house.

Jod has a new cat, Musket. It's a dear little stray thing that he found at the back of his flat a couple of weeks ago. He took it to the vet, then the farm, where Elvie's looking after it. It had a tapeworm and was starving weak. Jod told me on Friday it must have been sent to him. He'd been sad thinking about Tumbleweed, really miserable, and suddenly Musket turned up.

"Why did you call it Musket?" It semed a strange name for a cat.

"Because just before I went outside and saw it around the rubbish bins looking for something to eat, I'd been standing looking at the photo on the wall of Daniel Boon and his musket. Stupid name for a cat, I know, but there you are. I owe Mum the money for the vet's bill, we're going halves. I was so pissed off this morning. I went all the way down to the recycling depot to sell me cans, and the bloke said he could give me only 20 cents a kilo, or $22, as he weighed 'em as 110kg. They were worth $1.10 a kilo two weeks ago, I would have got about $120. Fuck that, I brought 'em back. I'll keep 'em till the price goes up."

"Have you got room to store them?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"Do you want me to stop bringing the ones I find, for a while, I could store them in my shed?"

"I tell you what, that'd be really good, if you could do that, I don't have a lot of room. But keep gettin em, you're my best supplier, the price'll go up. If I'd left 'em there and took the $20, those bastards would only hold 'em till the price went up and make the profit. The bloke that works there told me that. He's a rough bastard but it was good of him to tell me. He said 'bring 'em back later'."

"That's a huge drop in price", I said, "when you think about it."

"Yeah, it's because of this global crash, metal prices have gone right down. Copper was worth $8 a kilo, that why blokes were knocking it off everywhere, now it's worth $2. I reckon now would be the time to buy into these big mining companies, while the price is down. The big ones will survive and the price will go up."

"The trouble is we don't have any money."

"No, but at least I saved the little cat's life."

"Hey, Jod, can you wait a minute? I found a bird's egg, or half a one, while I was walking a few weeks ago. It's in the van glove box, I put it there after I found it again in my jacket pocket. It got a bit squashed but you still might know what bird it's from. I keep forgetting to ask you."

I went out to the van, came back and showed him the egg. "That's a currawong's egg, they're not easily found. Where'd you find it?"

"On a seat on the the Puffing Billy railway station."

"I wonder how it got there. You can see the baby hatched, there's traces of blood. Yeah, a currawong's egg."