As the last day of April brings some sunshine after a freezing night, the media is buzzing with the death and funeral of Richard Pratt, Australia's 4th richest man and greatest philanthropist. Commentary was glowing yeterday on news bulletins as I walked toward home down the hill. Dick Pratt is famous for his generosity over 50 years, donating $millions to charity and the arts. He was also found guilty of price fixing by the ACCC in 2005 and fined $36 million, and until a few days before his death when the charges were withdrawn, as he would be unable to testify, he was facing criminal charges of giving false evidence.
I make no judgement, but a bible story came to mind, about a poor widow giving a few meagre coins. When I got home I rang my JW mate Dave Dickson at Charters Towers, knowing he'd be able to tell me quickly where to find it. Dave is well and was pleased to hear from me. It was a beautiful warm morning in Charters Towers where things are back to normal after 40 inches of rain in Jauary/Feb and massive flooding.
Luke 21:1-
As he looked up, Jesus saw the rich putting their gifts into the temple treasury. 2- He also saw a poor widow put in two very small copper coins. 3- "I tell you the truth," he said, "this poor widow has put in more than all the others. 4- All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth: but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on."
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Sweet Rain
Julian told me at the post office there was 17ml in his gauge this morning. This after 25 ml on the weekend for a total of 42ml. "But it varied a lot. Bruce had 36ml on the weekend at the farm." My own gauge showed 22ml on Sunday morning, there was rain after that, and this morning after steady rain last night I tipped out 32ml, for a total of 52 for the few days. That's 10ml more than Julian, just a couple of k's away.
Jod's been picking field mushrooms at the farm, I had a nice plateful for breakfast this morning. The pine mushies have also responded. Yesterday's pick went into a chicken casserole in the crockpot, and the big bag I picked this morning sits waiting. There's more than I can eat, I'll try and flog some to the 'Herb and Spice' people who pick up at the farm, but it's a matter of timimg. It's not easy to give them away as friends and neighbours are reluctant to eat them.
My highlight from the rain came on Sunday morning, as I came down Quinn Rd. Eight eastern rosellas were gathered around a puddle in the the road. The puddle was just deep enough in the middle to make a good bird bath, for one bird. I stopped to watch. The birds, the most beautiful of birds they are, were taking it in turn to have a good clean. The dogs scared them into flight, their bright green rump feathers glistening. I hoped they all had a go.
The trees must have loved the rain too. I said to Julian earlier that the chart in the post office window showed that rainfall was well down on average for each of the three completed months this year. "That's right, Melbourne had the driest Jan/Feb/ Mar, in total, ever on record."
Jod's been picking field mushrooms at the farm, I had a nice plateful for breakfast this morning. The pine mushies have also responded. Yesterday's pick went into a chicken casserole in the crockpot, and the big bag I picked this morning sits waiting. There's more than I can eat, I'll try and flog some to the 'Herb and Spice' people who pick up at the farm, but it's a matter of timimg. It's not easy to give them away as friends and neighbours are reluctant to eat them.
My highlight from the rain came on Sunday morning, as I came down Quinn Rd. Eight eastern rosellas were gathered around a puddle in the the road. The puddle was just deep enough in the middle to make a good bird bath, for one bird. I stopped to watch. The birds, the most beautiful of birds they are, were taking it in turn to have a good clean. The dogs scared them into flight, their bright green rump feathers glistening. I hoped they all had a go.
The trees must have loved the rain too. I said to Julian earlier that the chart in the post office window showed that rainfall was well down on average for each of the three completed months this year. "That's right, Melbourne had the driest Jan/Feb/ Mar, in total, ever on record."
Friday, April 24, 2009
Spoon Shortage
There's a shortage of dessert spoons in our house. Lib cleaned out the kitchen drawers some time ago and threw out many things, including much cutlery she didn't like or thought superfluous. I rescued quite a few knick knacks from the garbage bin. There are only 5 or 6 spoons now for daily use, another box of good cutlery is tucked away in the parlour if we have visitors.
Not only did Lib toss out a lot of cutlery, she rearranged the storage in the kitchen of plates, glasses, you name it. It's amazing how strong habit is. After weeks I still go to the old place first when looking for something and it's been the source of much good natured ribbing between the men, Gord, Rob, and me, and Lib, the sole female and culprit in this exercise in kitchen dominance.
The spoon shortage hasn't worried me, I use one for my muesli and fruit at breakfast and that's it. We rarely have dessert after the evening meal. It annoys Gord though. A creature of habit in the extreme, he has yoghurt and other desserts late into the evening. Lib was working early this morning and, as is my habit, I was up first preparing breakfast while she showered. Gord had to get up at the same time to get an early bus to TAFE.
I hadn't done the dishes from last night. The plates with cutlery on top were stacked neatly in the sink soaking. As chief dishwasher (self appointed) I'm consciuous of water saving and have developed my own system. Gord put his bowls and spoons on top after his late night sorties from the fridge. Today, he couldn't find a clean spoon for his cereal and started to whinge.
"You don't have to winge to me about that, Gord" I said taking one of his last night's spoons from the sink. "All you do is grab one of these and rinse it quickly and rub it with the tea towel." I may have over accentuated the hand actions and sounded critical as his response surprised me.
"There's no need to be a moron." He took the spoon I offered and washed and dried it again. Ever since he did a food handler's course at TAFE a couple of years ago he's told me how to do things in the kitchen.
Lib had come down and was eating her muesli. She joined in. "Can you take those pork schnitzels out of the freezer for tonight. And bring a lettuce home, ya bastard."
She was smiling broadly after she said it. Family Life. A lot of fun. You can never get too big for your boots.
Not only did Lib toss out a lot of cutlery, she rearranged the storage in the kitchen of plates, glasses, you name it. It's amazing how strong habit is. After weeks I still go to the old place first when looking for something and it's been the source of much good natured ribbing between the men, Gord, Rob, and me, and Lib, the sole female and culprit in this exercise in kitchen dominance.
The spoon shortage hasn't worried me, I use one for my muesli and fruit at breakfast and that's it. We rarely have dessert after the evening meal. It annoys Gord though. A creature of habit in the extreme, he has yoghurt and other desserts late into the evening. Lib was working early this morning and, as is my habit, I was up first preparing breakfast while she showered. Gord had to get up at the same time to get an early bus to TAFE.
I hadn't done the dishes from last night. The plates with cutlery on top were stacked neatly in the sink soaking. As chief dishwasher (self appointed) I'm consciuous of water saving and have developed my own system. Gord put his bowls and spoons on top after his late night sorties from the fridge. Today, he couldn't find a clean spoon for his cereal and started to whinge.
"You don't have to winge to me about that, Gord" I said taking one of his last night's spoons from the sink. "All you do is grab one of these and rinse it quickly and rub it with the tea towel." I may have over accentuated the hand actions and sounded critical as his response surprised me.
"There's no need to be a moron." He took the spoon I offered and washed and dried it again. Ever since he did a food handler's course at TAFE a couple of years ago he's told me how to do things in the kitchen.
Lib had come down and was eating her muesli. She joined in. "Can you take those pork schnitzels out of the freezer for tonight. And bring a lettuce home, ya bastard."
She was smiling broadly after she said it. Family Life. A lot of fun. You can never get too big for your boots.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Margaret's Fruit Cake
After an enjoyable lunch with Ricky Ralph and his wife Monica at the Pine Grove Hotel on Saturday, a lunch paid for by yours truly as a consequence of me finishing behind Rick in our footy tipping last year; and a social morning walk on Sunday in the cool autumn mist, social in that I had conversations with Chas, Norm Smith, Roxanne, who looks gorgeous with her hair down, and Huit and Wilma who stopped their car to talk, I sat at the computer and blogged a post in which I took a pot shot at the Gembrook Market, largely because the sign promoting same in JAC Russell Park has annoyed me for years but never more so than on Sunday morning. Why more that day I'm unsure.
I published the post, without the photograph.
Soon after, while I was reading The Age on line, there was barking by the dogs followed by a knock on the front door. It was neighbour Margaret, smiling, holding the handles of a large brown paper bag in one hand. Her grey hair was tied back neatly as usual, accentuating her large attractive eyes, and she was well dressed in black slacks and jumper.
"I want to thank you for your kind help cutting up the tree limb that fell across our drive in the windstorm last week. I have a gift for you."
"I was pleased to help Margaret, you didn't need to do that."
"It's a cake, made to a special recipe. You have been so kind in many ways and helped us put down roots in Gembrook. We're truly grateful."
I thanked her and she left, saying her daughter Libby was picking her up shortly to take her to a mountain horse riding show somewhere, she wasn't sure, not far away. She'd watched 'The Man from Snowy River' and read poetry to get in the mood and was looking forward to it. When I called to offer help with the tree she invited me in to watch the end of a video she was watching, Mozart's 'Magic Flute'. She loaned me a book of David Malouf's short stories last year.
It was a heavy cake. I put it in the kitchen, still wrapped in butcher's paper tied with coloured cord, and started to peel the vegies for the Sunday roast dinner before the delayed telecast of the Richmond/Melbourne game. Lib came home from work about half time and we all had a bit of the cake.
Man O man! What an amazing fruit cake so full of nuts and fruit! Never have I had such a wonderful cake. Lib took a few slices to work to show her friends today and the consensus was that it was BRILLIANT, and must have cost heaps for the ingredients. As well as the cake, the bag contained a thank you card with the recipe beautifully written inside.
Talk about heartwarming! The next time I looked at my post potting the Gembrook market I realized how snakey I sounded, and pulled it with one ping on the delete button. To any market people who may have read it in the short time it was up and were disappointed, I apologize. My view changed with Margaret softening me up. I still don't like the sign, which, to me, is an ugly blot on the street scape, but I acknowledge the right of those that run the market to do their best to make it a success by putting up a sign so long as no regulations are breached, and to aim high with their ideals, even if the promotional text seems fanciful to me.
I feel better now. I hope Monica is still off the fags.
I published the post, without the photograph.
Soon after, while I was reading The Age on line, there was barking by the dogs followed by a knock on the front door. It was neighbour Margaret, smiling, holding the handles of a large brown paper bag in one hand. Her grey hair was tied back neatly as usual, accentuating her large attractive eyes, and she was well dressed in black slacks and jumper.
"I want to thank you for your kind help cutting up the tree limb that fell across our drive in the windstorm last week. I have a gift for you."
"I was pleased to help Margaret, you didn't need to do that."
"It's a cake, made to a special recipe. You have been so kind in many ways and helped us put down roots in Gembrook. We're truly grateful."
I thanked her and she left, saying her daughter Libby was picking her up shortly to take her to a mountain horse riding show somewhere, she wasn't sure, not far away. She'd watched 'The Man from Snowy River' and read poetry to get in the mood and was looking forward to it. When I called to offer help with the tree she invited me in to watch the end of a video she was watching, Mozart's 'Magic Flute'. She loaned me a book of David Malouf's short stories last year.
It was a heavy cake. I put it in the kitchen, still wrapped in butcher's paper tied with coloured cord, and started to peel the vegies for the Sunday roast dinner before the delayed telecast of the Richmond/Melbourne game. Lib came home from work about half time and we all had a bit of the cake.
Man O man! What an amazing fruit cake so full of nuts and fruit! Never have I had such a wonderful cake. Lib took a few slices to work to show her friends today and the consensus was that it was BRILLIANT, and must have cost heaps for the ingredients. As well as the cake, the bag contained a thank you card with the recipe beautifully written inside.
Talk about heartwarming! The next time I looked at my post potting the Gembrook market I realized how snakey I sounded, and pulled it with one ping on the delete button. To any market people who may have read it in the short time it was up and were disappointed, I apologize. My view changed with Margaret softening me up. I still don't like the sign, which, to me, is an ugly blot on the street scape, but I acknowledge the right of those that run the market to do their best to make it a success by putting up a sign so long as no regulations are breached, and to aim high with their ideals, even if the promotional text seems fanciful to me.
I feel better now. I hope Monica is still off the fags.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Ave Maria
My friend Mary died last Wednesday. Her funeral is today. Blossom, who introduced me to Mary about twenty years ago, can't make it, she has an appointment at the Peter McCallum clinic for treatment for another tumour. She'll be with me in spirit as I say a private prayer from both of us for dear Mary.
I'll miss Mary. I had mixed emotions when I learned of her death. I was sad that I wouldn't see her again, yet at the same time I felt relief that her suffering was finished. I last called on her a few months ago, she was not long out of hospital after a bout of pneumonia.
I posted about Mary on 30 October 2007.
I'll miss Mary. I had mixed emotions when I learned of her death. I was sad that I wouldn't see her again, yet at the same time I felt relief that her suffering was finished. I last called on her a few months ago, she was not long out of hospital after a bout of pneumonia.
I posted about Mary on 30 October 2007.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
The Creeping City
Ash trees are showing rich burgundy, poplars butter yellow, the footy season is well underway, we've even had some cold nights. Autumn. Ah, yes! The best time of year is well and truly here. That may well be a relief to one and all following the brutal summer, but, whatever the season, and despite the global financial crisis, the Gembrook building boom continues unabated.
A few days after Lib and I returned from holiday, a loud, constant, mechanical groaning sound met me at Le Souef Rd. on the Monday morning. Curious, I looked back down from Innes Rd., across the vacant block on that corner. A large truck was pumping concrete on the block fronting Le Souef Rd. People were moving about, others were still. Before our holiday there was the noise of earthmoving equipment working on site, so I knew a new house was imminent.
During next couple of weeks the thud of nail guns split the morning autumn stillness and the house frame now stands boldly on its concrete foundation. Also, the first house frame greets the casual obsever in the Belvedere Estate, along with a number of suburban style timber fences that sprang from nowhere while we were away, disecting the paddock, claiming it for Gargantuan suburbia. The main sale board map shows 'sold' stickers on 15 of the 17 blocks. Too soon, 17 houses.
The tentacles have spread across the main Rd. A new sale board has gone up advertising the sale of 25 blocks in the next stage of the 'Gembrook Park Estate'. Further down, the sale board on Redwood Rd. corner says there are only 6 blocks (of 28) left unsold in the Gembrook Views Estate estate. A flyer came in my mail advertising 'Gembrook Village', a "NEW exciting property development reserved EXCLUSIVELY for the over 55's."
There's a sign on the block on the corner of the intersection of the main road with the Pakenham/Launching Place road, giving notice of planning permit application for the constuction of six residences on that site. And the acre block next to 'the McMansion on on the gouge' has a sold sticker on it, and pegs to mark out a future house, another for me to watch the building progress, daily as I walk.
Its an unstoppable force, a rising tide drowning the town and its past. More cars, traffic, congestion, more dead birds on the roadsides, more noise, more exhaust fumes, more litter. Less peace and quiet. Less peace of mind. I shudder at what will be when all this building is done. Probably more of the same.
I think we'll have moved on. But where? It's the same everywhere. Somewhere where there's plenty of water? Maybe New Zealand? I turn 57 next week, I can't expect the world to stand still for me. It hasn't before, it's not going to now.
The words of a Kris Kristofferson song come to mind. "But there's still so many drinks that ain't been drunk, in this best of all possible worlds."
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