So Long 2018

What a year. A bit of a pig really, with Lib's cancer and treatment, but as I said to my niece Annie's husband Brett 20 years ago as he contemplated going into self employment, and which he reminded me of on Christmas Day, "Don't expect it to be beer and skittles all the time."

Brett has been successful in business, window tinting cars. He's a one man band in the cut throat car/ after sales business, but by doing it well and being brave, reliable and determined he has prospered. He left school early and went out and had a go, doing a number of jobs before finding a tinter boss who taught him the skills. Good luck to him.

Christmas Day was good, lunch enjoyed at the farm, and the evening meal of roast turkey at home, Lib, me, Gord and Rob. Gord put on his Vincent Price Dr Phibes movie which was most amusing.

Boxing Day was restful, I went to the farm after picking elderflowers in the creek in Emerald for the herb people, then did half an hour or so of whippering long grass and then watering young stuff. It was warm to hot, Christmas Boxing Day and the next couple mid 30'sC.

Morning of the 27th I rang Jax Tyres in Bayswater, where Gord got new tyres recently, to get a  price to compare with two I had got in Emerald and Monbulk just before Christmas, having noticed a front tyre had scrubbed out badly on the Kangoo. They had a special on, 4 tyres for the price of 3, which came out with alignment and balancing at $60 below the Emerald price and $200 below the Monbulk price. They could do me that afternoon so with no customers of my own to have to pick for I got the job done and shopped at the FTG Aldi on the way home,watering again at the farm as it was quite hot still.

Friday I enjoyed a lovely quiet morning at home then did a little bit of sowing at the farm, dill coriander and calendulas, then watered, and tied up tomatoes. I don't know what happened to my earlier efforts to grow dill and cori in the spring. They came up strongly, along with some allissym, then progressively yellowed off and disappeared. It was not for lack of water. I figured there was some virus or something in the soil, perhaps introduced by bought straw mulch I had put there previously. All my garlic died off too, just rotted. Never have I seen that before. Sure I have failure growing things from seed now and again, but always there's explanation such they dried out or weeds beat me or slugs and snails, but this was weird. They got to about an inch high then just stopped, yellowing and diminishing till gone completely. I have sowed in the same place again but as of Friday nothing had yet shot. We had light rain Saturday night, now it's getting hot again I think I can rely on Jod to water till I go back which may be tomorrow.

It has been the best break from work at this time of the year that I can remember. Our main wholesaler has said he's not coming till Wednesday and only wants a small amount, and the herb people are not coming till Wednesday too. Other customers are taking a longer break so it has been blissfully restful, allowing me to catch up on some whippering, weeding and cutting back at home, but leisurely at comfort zone pace. I've sowed some broccolli and silverbeet seed hopeful for planting out seedling late Jan early Feb. Good fun stuff.

I didn't take my methotrexate medication last week, so that I could indulge in wine and other good cheer between Christmas and today, which I have most enjoyed. Back to good habits today, no grog till Friday night, but I'm tempted to stay off the medication and see how I go with just the weekly injection.

Good news is the painful back I have been suffering for the past month has eased. On Saturday night I was hot in bed and fitfully dreaming I think lying with my right leg outside the bed. I semi woke up with the early morning cooling and lifted my leg back into the bed to get under the sheet. As I did I was aware of a big clunk in my lower back towards the left hip which was where most of the pain had been. Since then I have improved dramatically. Maybe the exercises I was doing and Gord's massaging loosened things up and the semi sleep manoevre did the trick. I'm still being careful as it's still a bit tender and I aim to keep up the exercises people have suggested.

Happy New Year to you. I bought a thunder jacket for Pip in preparation for the fireworks, and a cat box to lock her in if necessary, as she likes to hide. The thunder jacket had a bit of a workout on the weekend and it seemed to work but it was not big thunder.

Christmas Eve

Well I made it. It's Christmas Day in under an hour. I've limped to the line, a crook back this last couple of weeks, quite painful when it started, slowly recovering over a week or so, now bad again.

Today I tidied up here and there, visited three good friends, Dulcie, Amanda, and Lindy and Ian, giving them honey and chocolate or wine. Dulcie has sold her unit in Gembrook and probably will be leaving, she's looking for rental accom somewhere this side of Melbourne and she will need it by mid Feb when she has to vacate. I will miss her but will keep in touch and no doubt I'll visit her. Amanda is having Christmas with her parents in Melbourne, also her sisters and one of her daughters. Her other daughter is overseas, Prague now. Lindy and Ian are going to Melbourne, to lunch with Lindy's mum Faye, who is now in her nineties and also a long standing friend, at a restaurant. These friends have been helpful and encouraging to me in different ways, during a difficult year. Them and many others who I have not visited today or lately but I'm fortunate with my friends, that I have many, and that they are such good people.

Tomorrow is for family. Again I'm fortunate. Good family. We'll lunch at the farm with Elvie, Meredith, Roger, Jod, Annie and Brett and their three kids. Ella and Evie are growing so fast, doing so well in secondary school, and Toby making good progress at primary school. Rosie, Mat and young Grace will not be there, they are with Mat's family this year.

Then it's home here for Christmas dinner, just the four of us. Nice. Robbie's friend Hao isn't coming, he's Chinese origin and doesn't do Christmas, and I think he feels he'd be intruding. No so, he's most welcome, but I understand how he feels.

Lib's sisters and their kids are doing their Christmas thing independently of us, in Portarlington Bairnsdale and lakes Entrance. I remember fondly the days when we Chritsmassed with the Meeks Bells and Currans but as time goes on kids grow up and have new family connections and so it is.

I did a bit of whipper snipping at the farm and at home today and feel happy that I did, crook back and all. Funny thing is the whippering didn't worry the back, it's bending low that's worst, like putting boots on.

Twelve minutes to Christmas Day. Must be off, dose up on ibuprofen and hit the sack.

Felize Navidad!

Pre Christmas Update

In today's mail there was a card from my good friend Nicky Bridges. It contained some Bridges family news as it does every year and Nicky finished off saying that I hadn't put up a post for several weeks so she hopes all is OK. She added she still enjoys reading the blog.

Sorry Nick that I have let the blogging slip lately. The last couple of months has been a bit blurry. I have been very busy at work. October Nov and Dec is our peak season. Spring blossom and beech foliage mainly, but many other smaller requests also pop up for things like variegated pitto, ivy, geranium, rosemary and lately spruce and holly, and with the grass and weed growth and odd jobs round the traps I am too tired at night to do blogging justice. Many has the day been in this period when I have intended to post but after a bath and dinner and a bit of TV I'm too tired to do justice.

Tonight, spurred by Nicky, I have dosed up with coffee and I'm having a go. Yes a tumultuous six weeks or so it has been since my egg idiosyncracy was revealed. There was news I could have told at that time but omitted to. There was a memorial morning tea held in honour of my friend Jane Tilley on a Saturday morning in October at John's Hill lookout on the west side of Emerald. It was a beautiful setting with views to the north to Warburton Ranges, east to Gembrook, and south to Western Prt Bay. It was lovely to meet some of Jane's relatives and friends and hear of their great admiration for this wonderful lady. So glad I attended, given that Big John only told me about it in a phone message the previous evening. It was fully catered and well organized, and apparently John used to take Jane up there now and again on their way back from doctor's visits etc. She loved it for its peace and scenic splendour.

We nearly lobbed on Nicky and John's door step last weekend. We went to Wangaratta Saturday to visit our friend's Owen and Diane M and had a nice stay. Sunday morning the plan was to visit John and Nick on the way home at Claremont then go through the old haunt Greta to pick up the main road home. Alas, after visiting the cemetery to see the memorials to Lib's parents and some other friend's who are buried there, and then going to Glenrowan to see Oand D's son Patrick's house, the time had got away and we went on home. Little Pip who was being babysat in Gembrook had done an escape trick in the thunderstorm and although I knew she was now safe I wanted to get home asap. Sorry Nick, we'll catch you next time.

The weekend before I hurt my back on a gardening job, digging out and removing big old agapanthus. On the Sunday night spasms developed, making in hard to get up out of a chair or car seat. Consequently the next week was difficult doing my picking but with the help of anti inflammatories and careful management and prayers to God I got through. It still grabs here and there and putting on socks and boots is hard but thank goodness it didn't deteriorate and there has been slow improvement, I'm almost moving normally.

During November we had a new oven, gas cook top and range hood installed, all working well. We have been blessed with good rain. About 150mm November, another 25 mm early December, and early this morning it teemed, I have not yet learned how much we had, my friend Glen will let me know. It has been so fortunate that I have not had to run around watering the things I have planted autumn winter and spring.

Gotta go now, tiredness winning out. Lib is well but easily fatigued and spirit down a bit, all natural considering the onslaught she has endured. They did warn that these side effects may take months to pass. She has been cleared not to see her radiologist for twelve months.

Merry Christmas to my friends. May you have peace, joy, love and good health.

Lib's hair is growing back. I had to send a photo to Police, trying to organize police check (every three years) online. Driving me nuts, been sending ID stuff every night, not there yet. Have to photograph documents and upload to submission. Bit hard for this old fellow. They rejected earlier one because she blinked.

Idiosyncracy

Lib said this morning when I asked what would you like for breakfast, "Bacon and eggs". This was like music to my ears. I just love bacon and eggs for breakfast.

Most mornings I have two eggs for breakfast, fried slowly and served with something else, often leftovers from the previous night, or maybe a lamb chop or two, or a sausage, or corn and tomatoes, and always onions, love onions, and they are so good for the ticker.

Digressing, for those readers who know me well and read this blog to keep up with the family progress, Lib has finished her radiotherapy. She's fit and well and confident, as she heads into the next phase, tablet hormone treatment.

But the thing is, I use egg rings, I like them nice and tidy. But, it is art. I strive to have perfect eggs. You must well grease the rings, they need to to be well heated, low heat, before cracking and dropping the eggs into the rings. This in itself is a skillfull thing. Drop the white in slowly so it congeals around the base of the ring, therefore not leaking out as happens if it is dropped too quickly. Then, drop the yolk. I try to get the yolk exactly in the middle, so ideally there is a perfect circle with the yolk, a perfect circle in itself, in the middle. I add cayenne pepper to the yolk, an artistic flair and healthy additive. The egg rings have to be removed at just the rught time, before the whole is too cooked, and the artform becomes damaged. Also if left too long the egg white sticks to the ring and is difficult to remove.

This ritual I follow nearly daily when I have my eggs for breakfast. Truth is, maybe once in a hundred I get it right on. Usually the yolk is slightly off centre, the ring leaks a little, and sticks too much. It really can be so frustratingly defiant of all my precise attention.

Never mind, the eggs are alwas enjoyed greatly.

Something in the Air

There is definitely, something in the air. I can feel it, I can see what it does, but what is it? I know not. I think it is something astrological.

Back to that in a minute. The song 'Something in the Air' by Thunderclapp Newman was a No 1 hit in 1969. To hear it now, or even think of it, stirs emotions in me that come from deep in my psych from my 17yo adolescent trauma. It was a song about change, revolution and inspiration. I think of trips to Lorne  and district with RR, sleeping in the car, drinking beer by a fire in cold weather, hiking, climbing waterfalls, and enjoying the new found freedoms we had reached. Yes it was a revolution for us.

I think of driving on a Saturday out to Preston early in 1972. It was early in the football season. My team Ormond Church of Christ was playing Preston Methodists in the Sth East Suburban Churches Football League. Preston had been allowed into the comp that year, I know not why, Preston is a northern suburb. They and a couple of other clubs had been kicked out of the league they were in the previous year because of brawling. This day we and Preston were undefeated and we tripped out to their homeground not quite knowing how we'd go. I gave a lift to a bloke named Mick Hughes, a new player for us, a rangy half back flanker with long legs and hair, a good footballer, he'd played a couple of seasons at Mordialloc in the VFA. Mick was a uni student and 'Something in the Air' was played on the radio. After it he talked all the way about the coming revolution. I wonder what became of Mick, he was a hell of a nice bloke. That particular day we were in great form and and we blitzed them. Their coach afterwards came in to the visitors rooms and said what a wake up call they'd had, they thought they should have entered our comp in a higher grade and thought D grade would be a pushover for them. We played them again later that year on our home ground, and in the second semi and Grand Final. Unfortunately they beat us in all.

Today I picked ten bunches of snowball viburnum flowers and ten bunches of white dogwood blossom at our house and some lilac. The size, fullness and beauty of the blossom was amazing, even to me who is used to such pleasures. I picked also some bay foliage (it's starting to shoot it's new growth so after about 9 months picking bay I'll be stopping now till January when it's finished the growth spurt and has firmed up) and some green beech (which shot a couple of weeks ago and is still too soft yet but I picked some in hope it stands up as the bloody rosellas always eat that particular tree for some reason before it's firm enough for me).

As I unloaded at the farm, looking around at all the lovely blossom and foliage I said to Meredith just how good everything is this year. She said yes, it's weird, but blossom is full and lovely, and leaves are lush and large, when really we haven't had enough rain for this to be so. September was dry, and last March set records for heat and dry. And the months in between weren't great, drier than usual in aggregate.

She said, "You may think this is crazy, but I think it has something to do with that huge moon we had earlier in the year. It's something that won't happen again for so many years."

My response was, "Could it be? I tell you what, I've never seen Mars and Venus so bright in all my life, and I watched them and two other planets (Pluto and Jupiter?) all in line across the sky many times, shining strong and bright. Driving home in winter Mars seemed huge in the east, and alighting at home I looked to the west an Venus shone lke a beaut, the other two making a line. The night sky has been exhilerating."

I have never known the sweet pittosporum to flower so profusely and the scent to be so strong. It has been intoxicating for weeks when I go out the back door. And the hills to the east are dotted with white blossom on the silvertop trees and when I checked the bees Monday they had shaken off last season's malaise and were gathering honey.

So I don't know what but there's something in the air. There's so much we don't know and I have a feeling that life on earth is intricately connected with everything else and the cosmos, far moreso than we will ever understand. Plants, fish, birds, elepants, buffaloes, beavers, cats, dogs, primates, insects, fungi, reptiles..everything..rivers, mountains, oceans...all connected to the earth and sun and moon and stars. Every leaf is a little solar energy receptor absorbing carbon and pumping out oxygen. It's hard to get your head around. And if you were to dig straight down a couple of kilometres you'd get very hot and soon thereafter hit molten rock. Bizarre!

There's something in the air now, on our level. I feel it. A revolution in how we live, produce energy. "Call out the instigators, because there's something in the air, and you know that it's right, because the revolution's here."

   

Here We Go Again

The oak trees in Gembrook's main street are beautiful to behold with their bright green new leaves. It's hugely pleasant to step outdoors and smell the magnificent perfume of the sweet pittosporum trees in our yard. If I needed reminding spring is in full swing I have been. I've been busy picking forget-me-not flowers by the bunch, the beech trees are ready to shoot their new leaves, the dogwood flowers are emerging and the lilac and snowball blossom is about to break. Yes, exciting it is, but I also know that combined with the grass and weed growth it means solid work for me till Christmas, when the customers take a bit of a break, and I'll get a breather.

It has been an eventful week or two since my last post. Monday morning last week as I took Pip outside for a wee and breakfast I could hear the CFA siren. I barely registered it thinking maybe an early commuter had had an accident and went back to bed. In my semi doze I heard a helicopter buzzing in the not too distance and I thought it was an ambo helicopter taking a victim to hospital. But it didn't stop. It went on and on.

"What's with that bloody helicopter?" I said to Lib when she stirred.

"Must be an accident," she said. "Didn't you hear the siren."

"Yes, but why doesn't it land, and then take off again, instead of just flying around. Maybe it's the cops looking for a crim on the run."

The buzzing kept up and I eventually got up and in my custom turned on the radio. The news told me the Gembrook pub was on fire and that explained the constant helicopter noise - a TV news crew.

The fire had a good hold on the building before the brigades got there and they had a hard job putting it out. The roof caved in. The local paper said yesterday there are no suspicious circumstances and apparently the fire started in a drier in the laundry due to a clogged lint filter.

On Thursday of last week about lunchtime I had a message on the answer phone from Big John. asking me to ring him on his mobile. As soon as heard it was from Big John I knew why he was ringing. My friend Jane Tilley, his neighbour, had died that morning. I had been half expecting such call for some time. Jane had been in out out of hospital over quite a period following successive falls at home. I'm so glad Gord and I visited her a couple of weeks earlier. She was in good spirits but very frail. I'll miss her greatly. Everyday since I drive past her road and think of her. She was a dear lady and a great friend for more than 30 years. She was I think 90 or 91, and may her beautiful soul rest in peace.

Saturday was Grand Final Day. The Friday was a public holiday. I picked FGMN's in Gembrook Bushland Park, as I have frequently lately, but it was not as pleasant as the solitude of the forest normally because trail bikes in the not too distance buzzed non stop their particularly irritating fluctuating noise like ten thousand mosquitos. Saturday I went to Ralphie's for lunch. Monica and he put on a lovely spread of salmon and salad, lovely, hit the spot. We watched the game and Rick and I were quite enthralled at the tightness of the contest and happy with an Eagle victory, but both teams deserve congratulations for putting on such a great show. Lib and Gord did not come with me. They were at Lakes Entrance. Lib was feeling much better after her last chemo episode and took the opportunity to go there before starting her radiotherapy as she did today, which will continue every day Mon- Fri for 3 weeks plus one day, 16 sessions in all. they came back Monday, fit and refreshed and ready for the new challenge.

Sunday was nice weather wise and I was home by myself working in the garden. The noise from motor bikes going up and down Launching Place road was horrendous, and there was plenty of hooting from the Puffing Billy whistle. I don't know what it is about human beings that makes them want to make so much noise. As I watched the Grand Final and all the hoo hah and carry on there was so much noise. I don't bother going to AFL football anymore at all, largely because of the traffic getting there and all the noise from the PA and the adds and music on the the big screen. Can't handle it. (Not to mention the loud and uncouth behaviour of the fans, I could go on and on about that).

Then on Sunday I saw a clip on TV of Jimmy Barnes performing at the GF. I didn't hear it but you could see him screaming into the microphone by his face contortion and I imagined the loud music booming in competition to his voice and believe me you'd have to pay me big money to go and watch that. What on earth is the matter with humans? I think mental illness is rife in our society. I reckon 50-80% of the population are mad to some degree, probably because they are bombarded with noise and crap.

With that in mind, and Lib's cancer and treatment, Jane's death, and the death of Lib's cousin Sheilah earlier in September  (cancer aged 64), I make a conscious decision to withdraw from society as much as possible, especially excessive noise and politics, and begin a life as recluse as I can be, while still functioning usefully for my select people with whom I choose to remain in association. And to seek solitude and silence, where I can delight in the wonder and beauty of the natural world.

The rest of it can go to buggery.

The Roller Coaster Update

Last week was a horror, starting with Lib going to hospital in the ambulance in the early hours of Tuesday morning. It seems that what happened is Lib was given an injection the day after the chemo treatment the previous Wednesday to lessen the risk of infection due to low white blood cell count, which is what occurred after the previous chemo. This injection causes white blood cells to enter the bloodstream from the bone marrow as I understand it. In Lib's case, this caused the extreme pain. When she went into hospital her neutrophills were down but not as low as last time. The next day they had shot up to way above normal levels. She came home last Friday and is much improved but still sore and generally not well, but functioning and managing. Hopefully she will improve from here, but with this chemo business it can be slow for some.

On a happier note, the Demons rolled the Hawks Friday night. Then, I had a good day Saturday when I drove brother Jod to Brunswick so he could attend a 100th birthday party. Some weeks earlier I'd said I might be able to drive him, he was looking for a driver as he didn't have the confidence to drive there himself. I had thought it might key in with Lib to visit her niece and baby who are out that way. Lib was not up to going anywhere, just wanting to rest, but she was happy enough to be left at home so I could take Jod. After all it's not every day you are invited to a 100th birthday party and I thought it'd be a shame if he missed it.

We were half an hour late as we were held up by three separate car accidents before we got half way to Melbourne, but it didn't matter. The lady turning 100 was Florence Howlett, the wife of Jack, one of Jod's old drivers when he was a fireman in the Victorian Railways. Jack died about 7 years ago but Jod has kept in touch with Flo. She was an absolute delight and it was a great pleasure to meet her and her family. Her children are around Jod's and my age, the youngest Chris is 65. Of course there were many nephews and nieces and grandchildren and great grandchildren and it was a fabulous event to be included in. I had gone along semi reluctantly and just doing Jod a good turn (if you can't do your brother a favour now and again what's the guts of you) but ended up really enjoying a memorable day and meeting so many good folk. The food was great, the speeches were too, and Flo is as bright as a button. Jod and all the invited guests got a lovely little book with the family history and photographs on leaving. Jod will cherish it and the memory of the day.

A Long Day

I visited Lib in hospital this afternoon about 5pm. She had just been tranferred from Casey Public hospital to St. John of God private across the road. Her severe pain had eased after earlier being sedated and sleeping. The blood tests showed her kidneys were OK, the ultrasound didn't show up any reason for the attack of brutal pain, and she is now back on the antibiotic drip till her neutrophills go up again.

So we're none the wiser really Lib is going to ask them to do a scan while she is there, because the oncologist said she was going to get a scan after the chemo, and Lib thought getting it done now will save her another trip down there. Anyway we hope the oncologist sees her tomorrow and maybe there'll be answers.

How long she's there, again, we don't know. It depends on the neutrophill level. Touch wood all the real bad stuff is behind us now.

Got to go to bed, hardly had any sleep last night.

The Longest Hour

Not half an hour ago an ambulance took Lib to hospital. She had a bad day yesterday, pain in the lower back and feeling lousy. When I got home from work she said that was the worst she'd felt through all the chemo. Her last chemo dose was last Wednesday.

Still she cooked dinner and ate and watched TV before going to bed early about 9 oclock. I went to bed a couple of hours later, creeping in so as not to wake her. I don't think she was asleep but I lay as still as I could so as not to disturb her by tossing and turning or scratching.

I had trouble getting to sleep myself, and sort of dozed or half slept after a while until Lib turned the light on about 1.30am and rummaged around as she took some medication. She said she had severe pain in the kidney region, intense and throbbing. She was trying to rub her back, and I tried also to give her some relief by massaging but nothing helped. She was grimacing and sighing and almost calling out in pain. I suggested that I take her to hospital such was the state of our alarm. She said no she didn't think she could sit in the car. I said perhaps I should call the ambulance, she said no, the pain might ease as the painkillers worked.

It didn't. It seemed to worsen. She was in agony. About 2am I rang 000 and went through the questionaire process. They said a crew was on the way and told me to ring back if there was any change. By 2.45am no ambulance. Lib's agony continued through all this time. Every few minutes I walked to the top of the drive with a torch to signal the ambulance as it came up the street, then went back to Lib. I rang 000 again, told them I had rang over 40 minutes ago and no show yet. They told me to ring again if there was any change.

About 3.10am as I was coming back from the top of the drive I eventually heard a vehicle in the distance and went back up. I got the driver to back down. It was a tight squeeze, it was a big rig.
They came in and asked Lib a lot of questions and gave her an injection for the pain which they said may or may not work. They told me they'd take her to Casey and left at about 3.45. She was still in great pain. The ambo said it may be kidney or gall stones and unrelated to the cancer and chemo, then again it maybe the chemo.

I made a cup of coffee and write as I'm too agitated to sleep. I'll try to lie down for a few hours then ring the hospital when they've had a chance to find out what the hell. I just hope that the injection worked and Lib's pain eased.

That hour and ten minutes waiting for the ambulance was the longest 70 minutes of my life.

Lib Home

I was out picking today and on my way home about lunchtime when I saw Gord driving up the hill towards town as I came down the other way. I had told him I'd be back in a couple of hours which had stretched a bit and told him to be ready to come to the farm straight away when I got back. My plan was to take my foliage to the farm and go see Lib again after ringing her to see firstly if she could come home, and if not did she need anything.

Seeing Gord had meant one of two things. Either he was just going up to the shops for something or Lib had rang and he'd gone to Berwick to bring her home. There was a note on the kitchen bench telling me the latter was so. I had some more soup for lunch and got busy vaccuuming, dusting, and squeak cleaning the kitchen and making up the bed with fresh sheets.

I had just finished telling Pip that Lib was coming home and I'd leave her there to welcome her home when the front door opened and Lib's voice was heard. Pip rushed to greet her with great excitement, I'm sure she knew Lib was sick and in hospital all those times she had to wait in the car while I visited. I'm sure dogs understand far more what we say to them than we realize.

Lib finally got to open her birthday presents and she was keen to have roast lamb for dinner, her and Gord had stopped on the way home to buy a leg. I took my foliage to the farm and came straight back. Lib put the roast on and I had a bath and came out to a roaring fire and a lovely dinner.

Let's hope for a better run from here. One more chemo session next week, and with luck we'll get through with no more chest infection.

A Brush with Beauty

Yesterday was a strange day for me. I have been a little off form for a few days and now have an irritating cough and head cold symptoms. Maybe it's the same bug Lib caught and Gord has. Last week was huge one way or another, and Friday I had extra to pick and by the weekend I was knackered. Lib is still in hospital, a week now, having antibiotic drip every six hours till the neutrophil levels returns to 1 and she can go home. They were down to 0.1 when she went in, then hovered on 0.2 for a couple of days, and yesterday they had got up to 0.5. Google just told me normal level is 2.5 - 7.5. The chemotherapy knocks most of the white blood cells out while it is doing the same to cancer cells. As the chemo wears off or is gradually out of the system the white blood cells begin to regenerate. In the meantime the patient is vulnerable to infection which is what happened to Lib.

She says it's like being in prison stuck there, not that she has any beef with the hospital or the nursing. It is clean and efficient and the food is good, but it is so boring and she has little interest in TV and even reading is not appealing to her. It's like being caged she says.

Saturday I made use of the fair weather to do some weed spraying for a couple of people, then visited Lib. Sunday I mucked about with firewood and dug out an Aloe cactus and moved it for my friend ViIma. I didn't go to the hospital Sunday, Lib said stay home and have a day off from driving. I lit the fire and watched the footy.

I didn't do much work yesterday. There were 5 punnets of broad bean flowers ordered by the herb people and I went out to Margheurita's about lunchtime to pick them. While there I mulched the bed of garlic by breaking up a bale of straw I'd left on the ground last week when I weeded the garlic. I'd hoped Marg would have done this already but the weather has not been good up until the last couple of days. There were three bunches of lemon myrtle ordered also and that was all I did for the day.

When I drove home from Margheurita's I pulled into my parking bay behind our house looked across toward our clothesline to see the washing in the bright sunshine and gentle breeze and I noticed a large number of little birds on the grass nibbling at it. I couldn't make out what they were so I carefully got out of the van leaving Pip in the back and very slowly walked towards them. I got about half way when a number of them alarmed and flew off, so I stopped dead still. The others continued feeding and I could see they were red browed finches, also called firetails. The ones that had taken flight returned and I reckon there were at least 50 of them. As they fed they came closer and closer to me. They kept coming and soon there were ten or so all around my feet. They were eating tiny little grass seeds which normally you'd not even notice. While I watched quite astounded three more were splashing in the bird bath about fifteen feet away. I couldn't stand there all day as I still had to pick the lemon myrtle and get it and the broad bean flowers to the farm, so I got moving and they all took off.

While I was hanging out the washing earlier a grey thrush sang it's joy and there were spinebills flitting and feeding in the camellias, the acrobatic grey fantails were catching insects, and a butcher bird and yellow robin watched everything. Such beautiful creatures, just a walk out the back door. It makes all the political guffawing seem so irrelevant. Melbourne's population may have reached 5 million but fortunately when I'm in my little patch it may as well not exist. (Except I can't block out the noise from all the motorbikes that travel Launching Place Road on weekends when the weather is good. An unbelievable din. Nutter.)

I went inside and put some soup on the stove. The previous evening I'd made a veggie soup thinking Lib was coming home yesterday but she'd told me by message that she's be in a couple of more days. The soup recipe came from the oncology people who sent an email so I'd bought ingredients Friday eg kale cauli zuchini leek, and with the usual carrot and onions always in the house, a tin of diced tomatoes, and broccolli and parsley from our garden I got chopping, and added some green beans and pumpkin too. The soup was great. Lucky I made a big pot, hopefully there'll be some left when Lib comes home, or I can make more I suppose.

After dropping off at the farm Gord and I went to the hospital to see Lib. She seemed a bit brighter. She's longing to come home. I took her a few cards and small presents that were here for her birthday. Our presents for her are still here at home unopened.

Grateful I Am

The weather last weekend was cold and wet and it has continued through Monday and Tuesday. I have had the open fire going in the evenings to warm the lougeroom and lift the spirits of the those nearby, which it has done well through this difficult and testing winter of 2018, a long, cold and windy one, which will be remembered for Lib's breast cancer and the accompanying disruption of normal life.

Actually I didn't light the fire last night. Lib is in hospital being treated with antibiotic drip for a chest infection which flared up on the weekend and resulted in a fever Monday night. We had been advised by the oncologist before the chemo began that risk of infection was greater because the chemo messes with the immune system. If a fever came with temperature at a certain level we were advised to go to outpatients at the hospital pronto. This we did yesterday morning. I left Lib about midday after they had taken blood samples for tests and she was having the drip administered, and went to the farm to do some picking. Lib rang me on my mobile saying she was being admitted so I went back after I knocked off with a book I bought at the newsagent. She was OK but a bit tired of the whole business. She was very hungry and as she hadn't eaten all day, and she had a craving for McDonalds and sent me off to get some which I smuggled back in. They'd brought her dinner when I got back but she had only picked at it. She has been like this on the chemo, wanting various foods almost like a craving, but then not able to eat much when it comes.

By the time I got home it was 7pm and the fire not set as we'd left early so it was not worth mucking about with a fire just for me and Gord, especially as we weren't going to be sitting in the lounge much. So that was I think the third time only since early May that we have not lit the fire. I have gone through a power of firewood and I can't believe my luck that at the start of winter I had more good dry firewood under cover than I have ever had. It was the generosity of three good friends that made this so and I'm so grateful to them.

My friend Marghuerita, where I grow broad beans, garlic, pumpkins and a few flowers and pick some foliage, was having a clean up round her house and offered me some old sawn timber that was in her way, so each time I went out there last summer and autumn I'd take a little chainsaw and stick some in the van to take home. Then she was getting rid of her old delapidated cattle yards and there was some good firewood in the rails and posts. She nagged me to take more all the time and it was a bit of a nuisance but boy was I glad I did.

My friends Pat and Mal moved from Gembrook about a year ago and bought a couple of acres at Narrewarren Nth. The garden was a bit overgrown and they set too cutting stuff out. They had no need of the firewood having gas heating so they offered the wood to me. Gord and I called in a number of times with the trailer and picked up there when we did our little shopping excursions to Fountain Gate. It has been so helpful, and there was even good kindling from old cedar boards from an old shed they demolished.

My friend Sue Jarvis in Gembrook has a wonderful garden, a veritable arboretum, where I pick foilage useful to me, and in return Gord helps her a couple of hours a week most weeks weeding or mulching. He's on my employ for this work but helps Sue, and as the winter approached and there was not much for me to pick Sue offered me the wood that had been lying here and there, and old poles she had used as edging but no longer wanted, all good dry firewood. So it was easy to get and already cut into manageable pieces or lengths. I will actually have wood left over when it eventually warms up. And Gord has kept helping Sue through the winter. Good all round.

So I have been  lucky that in our focus on Lib's operation and chemo, I've had no worry of a shortage of firewood. I am grateful to my wonderful friends.

I'm grateful for many things. My friend Maria has made cakes for me to take to Lib, Lib's friends and workmates have been wonderful with gifts, offers of help and visits, and all the words of encouragement and prayers have been hugely appreciated by us.

On the weekend in all that foul weather, both days, I went outside with a wheelbarrow full of trees and shrubs and planted them in strategic places. Most of these plants I have raised from cutting or seed, they all have special meaning to me. I have planted quite a bit at the farm too lately. It's a joyous thing for me to plant trees. I am grateful to God or the Universe, or however it has come to be, that I have been granted custodianship of a small part of Earth, while I'm fit and able to do my bit for it. I'm constantly delighted by the beauty in my garden and at the farm, weeds and work not done and all, and the wonderful birdlife that abounds. And driving around this beautiful district and visiting other gardens and admiring the trees gives me big reason to be grateful.

Nick Cave

I just saw Nick Cave on Rave on the ABC.

Not my cup of tea. The music and style if you can get my drift.

But. We have a little in common. Yes. He lived for a time in Wangaratta at a time in his youth. He was at school with Lib. They were friends. Lib says she recalls walking home with him hand in hand.

It doesn't stop there. Nick Cave later went to Caulfield Grammar. So did I. He was expelled so I believe. So was I.

Strange hey.

Good Old Ralphie

It looks like Ricky ralph is going to do me again in the footy tipping. He is, currently at the completion of round 20, twelve ahead of me. He and Gord are level pegging on 120, followed by myself on 108, with Lib sadly trailing at the rear on 79.

I do not yet concede, there are 27 games to go, with 27 opportunities to peg back 12, that would be 4 each round. Mathematically possible, but logically not likely. I would need to pick some roughies and get nearly 27 right.

But it is not all gloom. Ralphie picked the sweep and got 9 from 9 in round 20. Luckily I put $5 on his tips (as I do for all of us each week) and my collect was $311 for the 9 multibet.

Three weeks to go to see out August and the home and away season. My tip for the premiership is Geelong, Ralphie's team, who tonight sit in 9th position. Let's just say the vibes tell me Geelong has all the firepower and just needs a few things to fall their way. And I'd be happy to see it. That Patrick Dangerfield is a champion player and bloke, Ablett is as good a player as I've ever seen (his drop off at 34 is real but I expect the champion will respond in September) and Selwood is just a great player able to produce when needed. And they have a gaggle of good young fellows ready to fire. Kelly's beauty and Jack Henry looks like becoming a real star.

I expect August to be a hard slog workwise. July was very tough with strong cold wind testing my endurance. I have surprised myself with my efficiency, not flinching, at home or work, and I feel fit and strong and up for it. Lib is halfway through her chemo, two sessions to go, finishing in September to be followed by three weeks of daily radiation. We are getting there. She's a brave soul, a fantastic lady loved by so many. We are so grateful for all the best wishes and encouragement from so many people.

Itchy Toe

Kept awake half the night with an infuriating itchy big toe, I eventually left our warm bed at about 6am so as to go and scratch it properly without disturbing Lib, and with something abrasive to give me relief, and find the nailcutters and do the job on my feet with a prop like a chair so that I was not assaulted by leg cramps as I bent my leg to reach my toe as I had been in my nocturnal discomfort.

Of course the the house is freezing in this cold midwinter but a cup of green tea with lemon juice has me feeling vital and in the mood to post on this blog before I switch my mental energy to the day's tasks ahead.

Is this another age thing? My feet are getting hard and calloused, as are my hands that suffer from dry and cracking and painful splits that are reluctant to heal. Am I not far away from visits to the podiatrist as many old people I have known have done? When I was picking up new glasses in Belgrave recently a podiatrist shop in the arcade caught my eye, and the receptionist was leaving for lunch so I asked her what an appointment costs. It wasn't cheap, but she said I could get a voucher from my GP for six or so visits at a reduced price. The world is a changed place for me. It has crept up.

Come to think of it, a podiatrist used to come to the farm to do my father's feet in his last years. Same with my old friend Ida Pullar in Gembrook, I think it was subsidized by local or state government, but certainly you would have to have a concession card to be afforded this service, and that is not so in my case, being still actively self employed.

Speaking of Ida, I had a day of nostalgia yesterday. It would have been her 99th birthday yesterday if she was alive. She died more than a decade ago, I think maybe in 2005. My nostalgia had another basis also. I was picking variegated pittosporum in Gembrook at a house yesterday where I have been picking or a few weeks, where the owners have several largish trees along their front fence, and are kind enough to let me prune them down for them. It is the fine leaf variegated pitto, not the garnetti variety that I have at the farm and at home but a substitute acceptable to my customer who buys this foliage in large quantity. I've been picking the garnetti for three months and as I was running out I began mixing it with the fine leaf one, and the demand is continuous. I have almost run out now and will have to wait till after it regrows vigourously in spring.

It was a garnetti pittosporum that was responsible for my friendship with Ida. She lived close to where I was picking yesterday and she had a large one just inside her front gate. I had seen a little elderly lady with white hair in the garden and thought I should ask her one day if I could prune it for the foliage, but I hadn't got around to it until one Saturday morning I was in the local supermarket before going to to the footy at Waverley Park, a Melbourne v Hawthorn game early in season 1995 I think, if not maybe 1994. Ida's husband Allan had not long passed away and she was adjusting to life by herself. The supermarket owner, Richard Mullet (I went to school with him at Camberwell Grammar) was serving me at checkout and we were talking footy and I told him I was going to the Melbourne Hawthorn game. Knowing I followed Melbourne, he said you'd better watchout, Ida here next to you is a Hawthorn stalwart. I turned to talk to the little lady and recognised her as the lady in the house with the garnetti. After some good natured chat about the footy I told her I'd seen her bush and had meant to pop in and see her about it. With no hesitation at all she said, "Yes, come and take what you want anytime, it needs cutting back. I'm a cutter, gardens need cutting back but that's too big for me."

So began a wonderful friendship. She had other things in her garden of use to me, namely two large bay trees, a beautiful pink flowering dogwood, daphne, camelia, mollis azaleas, and numerous native shrubs like eriostemons and grevilleas, all of which were of great use to me. It was only a quarter of an acre but was extremely productive. I picked there regurlarly for several years and called on Ida twice a week on average for a cup of coffee. She was an avid reader and our conversation covered footy, politics, gardening and her family history, and anything at all. She was a great conversationalist, happy to share her knowledge and wisdom. I became friends with many of her family who visited her regularly.  It was sad she suffered Alzheimer's in her last couple of years. Eventually her family had to move her into care and she spent her last of life in an aged facility in Sale.

I know I have blogged about Ida before, but yesterday she was front of mind, and I'm thankful for her friendship that made my life richer. And writing about it, and blogging generally, is hopefully helpful to me, perhaps, as a preventative measure to stave off or delay mental deterioration, should it follow what is obvious to me, my physical decline.

PS Another happy memory is that on that day at Waverley Melbourne kicked 8 goals to 1 in the first quarter and gave Hawthorn a good flogging.

A Difficult Few Weeks

My first meeting with my (later to be) wife Libby was I think in January1978. I have often thought of this when I hear that segment on Radio National 621 on Sunday mornings, when the subject of interview explains what was, 'The year that made me.'

It is the pivotal year in a person's life that sets their course of destiny. I think to myself, it could be 1972, when I was called up for National Service, because this led to me going to Qld Agricultural College on a retraining scheme in 1974 where I studied beekeeping. So it could be 1974, as this led me to be employed in 1976 by the Victorian Department of Agriculture as an apiary inspector in north-east Victoria based in Wangaratta. So maybe 1976?

No, I choose 1978 because I met Lib. Those other years were important, as those events took me to Wangaratta, but it was meeting Lib that gave my life a greater purpose that exists strongly forty years on. We were married in January 1981, and we have rarely been apart for more than a few days since. She has been a great companion.

So I felt alarm and anxiety when she told me about four weeks ago that she had a lump in her breast. She said it's probably nothing, our little dog Pip sits on her when she lies on the couch and pushed off quickly a few days previously and made her breast sore, so it was probably just bruising or swelling that would go away. It didn't. After a week she made a doctor's appointment at the Cockatoo Family Clinic. He referred her straightaway to a lady specialist in Ringwood for an appointment two days later. Gord and I went with her and took Pip for a walk while she saw the specialist. The lady told Lib she was 99% sure it was cancer and booked her for a biopsy in the afternoon. The next week was another appointment with the lady specialist, this time at her Berwick rooms. The biopsy confirmed the diagnosis. Before we left Lib was booked for a full body scan and a bone scan for the following Monday, to see if the cancer was anywhere else.

This was an all day thing as the body scan was 8.30am afterwhich they injected Lib with something which took a few hours to go through the body so the bone scan would work. We went home for lunch and went back as it was done in Berwick. A couple of days later, last week, an email from the specialist told us the scan results were normal, and that Lib was booked in for the lumpectomy and and seminal node biopsy on the Friday in Ringwood Private Hospital. The seminal node biopsy required injection with dye prior, and we left Lib as she was prepping for this at about 10.30am. We learned later that this procedure took 2.5 hours and Lib described it as torture as she had to hold her arm above her head as she lay with this big machine over her and they manually pushed on her breast to get the dye there so they could find it. Apparently it's pot luck as to whether it's found easily or otherwise, which was Lib's misfortune.

Lib was then booked in for the surgery to remove the lump at 3.30pm. I got home after shopping and mucking around with this and that at about 4.30pm and there was a message on the answering machine from Lib saying she was still waiting to go into surgery. I rang a couple of hours later and they told me she was in recovery and was groggy. We rang next morning to learn she could come home so we went to Ringwood and picked her up.

Lib was sore over the weekend but of course is taking painkillers when it's bad. The swelling has subsided and she's improving. We go to the specialist in the morning to see where we go from here, I think there's some radiation treatment over 8 weeks and perhaps some chemo.

Right now we feel happy that this thing was found early and the action has been so swift. While this was going on I had a rheumatologist appointment and routine skin cancer check and lung cancer ex-ray, which I keyed in to have when Lib was there getting the scan. Skin check was clear and I haven't heard anything re the chest ex-ray so it must be clear too. I think if there was a problem the would have called me in by now. During this period also I had a lousy head cold and a sore heal that made walking painful but this is minor compared to the ordeal Lib has faced.

As always n the forty years I have known Lib, she is strong in a crisis. I came across a little saying the other day that is appropriate to Lib.

In this life of toil and trouble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own.




 

Charlie Reunion

A bit over a year ago, actually the first round of the local footy 2017, I travelled to Healesville with Gord. He was team manager of the Gembrook reserves and had to be at the ground at the crazy hour of 10.30am before the reserves game commencing at about midday. There were few people there when we arrived, the under 18's were playing on the field as Gord headed off to do his thing.

After a while a ute pulled up next to Gord's car and a bloke about my age let his dog out. It came over to Gord's car and where I was with Pip, and the dogs got friendly and tail wagged and sniffed and walked about together. The bloke and I talked about footy, dogs and the weather and I said to him, as we were in Healesville, "You don't know a bloke named Charlie Tweedie do you?"

He looked at me curiously and said, "Why do you want to know?"

I explained I was called up for National Service in 1972 and a bloke in my hut at recruit training, Charlie, came from Healesville.

"He's my brother."

He gave me another fellow's phone number saying he'd tell me Charlie's number so I could contact him. I went home that day and put the number in a little box on my desk fully intending to follow up soon. It didn't happen quickly but as the number was on my desk I often thought I must chase up Charlie.

Last week I learned Gembrook was playing Yarra Glen at YG this Saturday. Gord is not team manager of the reserves this year, he found it too stressful, but he retains affiliation with the footy club and goes to the home games but not the away as he's not confident driving to away games to venues by himself. So I said to Gord, knowing from his brother that Charlie lived in Yarra Glen that if I could contact my old mate Charlie and arrange a meeting, I'd drive him to the footy at YG.

The number Charlie's bro gave me was disconnected but I rang information and got Charlie's phone number. Rang on Tuesday, left a message on the answer phone. By Thursday there was no reply so I rang again and left another message. About 10pm Thursday night Charlie rang back. We had a quick chat and he said he was pleased I called and would be happy to meet me Saturday morning, at a venue he suggested, a coffee shop in a new complex overlooking a a little lake.

So yesterday I arranged all my chores to be done early and Gord and I left at about 9.40am and pulled into YG a few minutes after my 10.30 appointment with Charlie.

There he was ordering a cappacino, unmistakeable with his red brushback hair and chisel face. I said "You've shrunk, you were taller."  He said, "You have." A warm handshake. We sat outside. I ordered a cappacino and a curry pie and we sat exchanging small talk summing each other up.

He talked cautiously at first, but with many "f" words, spoken quite loudly, to my embarrassment, with other people in earshot. I sensed he was asserting himself  as the Charlie I knew from 46 years ago, a knockabout bloke with rough edges. Charlie's father was a Scottish immigrant, a boxer and a bricklayer. He taught his boys to box and if I remember from conversations of 46 years ago, was not averse to locking his boys in an outside laundry in the wintertime in their underwear so they could experience cold like he did in Scotland. Charlie hadn't changed much in 46 years, stockier, flint hard eyes, wizened neck, surprisingly fit and strong, forthright, and confident moreso than than in his youth. The thing that got me was his smile, his humour, yes this was my mate Charlie, the same man, he talked unrestrained about his life over the decades once he warmed up. The bad language dissipated the longer he went. He softened when he talked of his wife of 42 years, Margaret, his pride in her so obvious. He has three children, the oldest a boy about Gord's age, over six foot and strong as a bull. and two daughters approaching 30 years, one a criminal lawyer.

We lived together in the same hut for a few months in 1972. Ate together, marched together, endured together. An unusual situation, we both agreed was not a bad thing, in fact quite a fun thing, with so many humourous incidents and situations, despite the the seriousness of military training.

I laughed so hard at his telling of the time we were drilled to throw a live hand grenade. We were in groups of three or four Charlie told me, I couldn't remember any details. Charlie was in a group with a bloke named Safarawitz, "a big stocky bloke who was a bit of a dill." The drill was according to Charlie, you looked over the top of the bunker at the target, a big log you couldn't miss, then pulled the pin on the grenade and without sticking your head over again you threw it with a round arm action to the target. Safarawitz in his turn, pulled the pin on the grenade, then for some reason instead of throwing it, dropped it at his feet and froze. The others went into panic except the instructing Corporal Darryl, who picked it up and threw it over avoiding a catastrophe that probably would have killed multiple people. Charlie said Safarawitz was subsequently removed from the platoon, which I could not remember, it was near the end of our training, and he was amazed when he went to Singleton for the Infantry Corp training that Safarawitz was there too.

Charlie told me things I had forgotten. A corporal we had was named Jones. I had not recalled him in all these years but when Charlie talked it came back. He was the best of the corporals, a little less harsh shall I say. We agreed our platoon Sargeant Bob George was an inspiration who set an example we tried to emulate. In Charlie's words if we were to have gone overseas it would be so comforting to have Bob George beside you. He was about 5 feet 6 or7 inches tall but was always immaculate with his uniform, and his rifle in all the drills seemed to be part of his body. He had a big voice, and was the proverbial lean mean fighting machine. In his frustration one day when our performance was below par, he challenged any person in the platoon to come forward and fight him if they did not want to do what he wanted. He said he was a golden gloves boxing champion in WA previously and he did not care who it was or how big you were he'd give you a hiding, One of our platoon was third ranked Australian professional boxer but nobody stepped forward. The training NCO's were regular soldiers who had done terms in Vietnam and they were somewhat damaged I think, varying from moody to downright nasty and unhinged. They hit the grog hard off duty, and I think turned up suffering in the morning. But turn up early they did, and they were fit and hard edged.

I was so pleased to find Charlie in such good nick. He had to go about 11.30am. He plays team tennis in veteran group and had to get to Templestowe for a 1pm start. Said his team is doing well. I never would have picked Charlie as a tennis player. His wife Margaret is a serious runner in Senior competions following a lifetime of athletics and won gold medals in Perth a while ago in National senior competition. Charlie worked for three councils most of his working life, finishing as a foreman of a road gang for Greater Dandenong Council a couple of years ago. He's retired now and does odd jobs like fencing around Yarra Glen. A hell of a good bloke. We parted with a strong handshake and a hug. Mates, 46 years no see, still mates. There's a bond born in being thrust into the same hut and depending on each other all those years ago in what was really quite a hostile environment that no amount of years can diminish, even if it was for only a few months.

Charlie's older brother was killed in Vietnam. When Charlie was called up he didn't have to go in, he didn't explain why, but I think it was because of his bro. He didn't go at first, but two years later decided he wanted to, so he was more like a volunteer. It was a serious thing for him.

So glad I made the contact and we met up. Hopefully now we'll meet regularly or at least not wait years.

Time to Drop Anzac Day

I think the Anzac Day thing is over the top. It has become almost like a sort of national cult. I've heard so many cliches and platitudes about Australian values and reference to sacrifice for freedom that I can't get through the day without making comment.

For starters let me say my grandfather served in the Australian Army spending more than 1000 days overseas including the Western Front and the famous vctory at Villers Brettoneaux. He died when I was 5 or 6 years old and I have scant memory of him but he has always been revered in my family and I always felt family pride in his service particularly when I was young.

Growing up in the 1950's and 60's Anzac Day was important as the country was still quite raw following WW11. Many of my friends fathers were ex servicemen. Anzac Day was when most of these blokes got together with their old mates and marched with due solemnity for those who died in the war. My parents were teetotallers, as were both sets of of grandparents. There was a lot of boozing following the marches, and in my family it was said often it was not a day to be driving on the road as there were many drunk drivers. Anzac Day was given the respect it deserved by my family but we were not active participants. It was a public holiday, everything was closed, although I'm not sure about the pubs. I don't think there were any football matches or horse racing.

Most of those old servicemen have since passed. There's few WW11 guys remaining, a few from the Korean war, some Vietnam vets, and now of course some from Iraq, Afghanistan, and some other sortees in Timor and the Solomons and other peacekeeping. But there's nothing like the numbers of returned servicemen as there was when I was young.

This past few years we have been celebrating the Centenary of Gallipolli and Anzac Day, starting in 2015 with 100 years since Gallipolli. I think the first Anzac Day was in 1916 started as a recruitment drive for more enlistment, the war in 1916 going badly for Britain and her allies. This was war on an industrial scale with soldiers of both sides as fodder for destruction. It makes me sick to dwell on it, especially as it began with a feud between the royal rulers of European nations. It seems to me it marked the beginning of the end of European colonialism.

As I see it WW11 was really just a continuation of WW1. The allied victors of WW1 rearranged national boundaries in Europe and the Middle East largely based on economic advantage with sanctions on Germany that gave rise to such political unrest that before no time it was on again. This time on a bigger scale with improved tecnology in armaments and aviation.

But I did not start this to give my small knowledge of history. I have trouble with the notion that  these servicemen died to give us the freedom we enjoy today. In my view they died because of  bad/sad political ineptness and poor military strategy. It freaks me out thinking about it.

And I grieve equally for the soldiers of Turkey who died defending the their shores from the invading British. I have German ancestry as well as English, Welsh, Scottish, and Irish. Probably my ancestors were killing each other on both sides in both wars. I grieve for all the poor bloody soldiers of every nation who died fighting probably because they had to or be branded with white feather or imprisonment. It was not their fault.

What about the freedom of the refugees we have imprisoned on Manus Island? Where is our sacrifice for their freedom?

I bought an Anzac badge for ten bucks from the man selling it the street at Emerald. I went home and had a close look at it. All proceeds go to the RSL Patriotic Fund. That worries me that word 'patriotic'. I would have preferred it said all funds go the spouses and children of killed or incapacitated servicemen/women. I googled the RSL Patriotic Fund. There was a lot of stuff that didn't say much but it did say it has assets of $640 million. I hope they use that money appropriately. I was in the post office the other day and they were selling teddy bears dressed in military uniform complete with a row of badges. I didn't check where that money was going. And there were two up coins and Anzac biscuits for sale also. It's become almost as bad as Easter eggs at Easter.

And our local MP Jason Wood sent out a glossy brochure with two photos of himself promoting Anzac Day. I agree with a letter in the local paper objecting. It said,

"My grandfather and his seven brothers, all veterans of Gallipolli and Flanders, would be turning in their graves. They would be aghast that a commemoration dedicated to them and their comrades would be used as a political drawcard in this way."

I'm sure our fallen heroes would also turn in their graves if they could hear the revelations of the Royal Commission into the banking industry. What values exist there?

I think this Anzac thing has gone way overboard. Blind patriotsm is a mindless thing. Australians are no better or worse than people of  other nations. We are blessed by good fortune to live here but that is no reason to denigrate othe nationalities by banging on about our values and how special we are.

Let's move Australia Day to April 25 and drop the Anzac. We can still celebrate our fallen heroes as part of it. And we have remembrance Day in November too.

I would be happy lose Anzac Day. It has become a festival for self aggrandisement and political mileage.

Yes, time to move on.

Killing Me Not Softly

I didn't get much sleep last night. I opened my inbox to find my monthly invoice from my phone company at the farm. It was twice the amount for the previous month, which was twice the amount of the month before, which had been about the same for some years.

I switched over to the NBN about a month ago when we came back from Tassie. I did this at home too with a different company. This entailed a huge amount of time on the phone to both providers as I grappled with instructions and entered codes and hooked up wires here there and everywhere. Then the next day the thing was not working and I'd go through it all again. It seemed I spent all my spare time on the phone day and night, and eventually it all seemed to be working and stay working.

Then the first invoice came on the farm account, as I said double what I normally pay. Of course I queried it, on the phone again, queuing and holding and eventually speaking to a lady in the Philippines, where also all the technical support people had been located. I said it seemed I was paying for two systems. She said they could not do a revised invoice but if I paid it and it was found a credit was due it would come off next month's invoice.

In all the hitches to get the thing working it was discovered the modem they had sent me was faulty and would not cooperate so they sent me another. I hadn't paid for the first modem, it came no charge as I had taken a bundle package with a two year contract. After we were successful with second modem the lady asked me to send back the faulty modem so as I wouldn't be charged for the second. I did this and photographed the postal receipt and tracking number and emailed it to the company.

So when the new invoice came last night with the second doubling of price I examined closely and saw that I had been charged $189 for the second modem and still as best I can know was being charged twice, once for the old system and then the new, plus other charges I have no knowledge of what they are.

So today I'm on the phone again talking to a person in the Philippines who tells me I have to pay for the replacement modem as there was nothing wrong with the first one. Go figure. She acknowledged it seemed I was being billed twice for the phone service but said they couldn't do another invoice, best I pay and a credit can be made if it is due on next month's account. I said I'm not happy with that as I was told that last time and it didn't happen. All this took considerable time, as she put me on hold and talked to others and eventually I had to hang up as I had meeting to attend at 10am and a lot of picking to do.

So what now? I pay by direct debit from my business account on 6 May. So I rang my bank and asked them to stop authorization on that debit. The guy did this then told me it did not guarantee they wouldn't take the money as big companies have tokens they share, and if my bank cancelled the token for that debit which he did, the company could borrow a token from another company and still make the debit from my account. I was incredulous at this but he said sorry that's how it works.

I'm at a loss to know what to do. If I pay there's no surety that I'll get any credit on the next account or that it still won't be double what it used to be. And if I look for another company, say the one I have at home whose billing has been smooth,  they'll slug me for hefty fee for exiting before my two year contract is up, or hardly started. And I'll have to go through all that technical stuff again.

I had to get this off my chest in the hope I can go to bed and not stew with anger again, tossing and turning. Fair dinkum, this episode and the media reports of the Royal Commission into the big four banks and all their schistering leaves me convinced that this country is stuffed and there is little trust left. I have found it a challenge to not use offensive language in my phone calls and in this post.

Climate Change

I heard on the radio discussion about the record high temperatures, mid-high 30'sC, this week in Northern Victoria. This prior to the cold snap today, as I write we have fire blazing following cold wind and hail.

It prompted me to recall the Four Corners program on the ABC which screened before we left for Tassie last month. The crux of this was accounts by farmers that harvests were earlier now than say thirty or forty years ago, namely wine growers and cherry orchadists who both said harvest was now three to four weeks earlier.

This concurs with my experience. We used to start picking beech foliage mid to late November. Earlier than this the new foliage was too soft and would not hold up, in as far as keeping in water for the florist. I notice that in the last few years we are picking beech in late October. This means these deciduous trees are shooting bud weeks earlier in October than they used to.

I had to laugh today. After a week of unseasonally warm to hot weather breaking records for April, I was in relaxation mode this morning it being Saturday. The forecast cool change and my free time led me to climb into the roof to look for the dead rat/mouse that was the cause of the foul odour in my office for some days. No sooner had I got up the ladder and through the man hole there was a huge torrential rain with hail that made so much noise in the roof cavity that I was totally unnerved.

I searched for the dead animal and found a decomposing rat embedded in an insulation bat. Down I came with detritus in a plastic bag. I went outside. The deluge had washed out channels in our driveway and blocked drains sending water where it was not wanted. I could see dripping from the spouting when I took the ladder I had used to get into the roof outside, so I used to it inspect the downpipes. Blocked. Full of leaves and ice from the hail. My hands felt like they would freeze off as I cleared the crap.

From heat and sweat and a hard week there I was nearly bloody freezing. 

Cricket and Footy

I'm very happy that Sth Africa is leading Australia 2/1 in the current test series and has set a target of 612 for Australia to win the fourth test and level the series. Not likely as there are only four sessions in which to do it, as if. I have no comment to make that can add anything to the recent ball tampering controversy. All I can say is to repeat that I have barracked for whoever it is Australia has been playing for many years, right back to the Waugh captaincy era when the rot set in. It has been no surprise that the team finally disgraced itself totally. Let's hope this can be a watershed and our national team can rebuild sportsmanship and humility into their philosophy.

 Football. I listened a little bit to the commentary on 3LO on Sunday. It was most refreshing to hear Stan Alves, ex Melbourne captain and Nth Melbourne premiership player, and St Kilda coach. Stan was a bit of a hero of mine in my later adolescent years, the late sixties. As a wingman at Melbourne he held his own and even excelled against the strong opposition of the day at Richmond and Carlton. He was fast and skilled with real spring in his boots and kicked with precision.

Stan gave me one of my fondest football memories, a humourous one. I think it was 1972, a MFC practice game. The previous year Melbourne recruited "Diamond Jim" Tilbrook from Sturt in Sth Australia. I think he may have come over mid or late season with huge publicity surrounding his debut, in which he kicked four goals from memory but was pretty quiet for the rest of the season. There was big publicity about him the following season with expectation very high once he'd had pre-season with his new team and had settled in. With a mate, I think it was Ian Sinclair, we went to a Melbourne practice match which in those days were played at the Albert Park ovals. It was an intra club game as they just about all were back then, and there were two teams, one in red jumpers, the other in blue. It was a mix of experienced and young hopefuls all trying to impress to get a game in round one. There was hardly any crowd and we were on the wing where the ball came close to the boundary right in front of us. Stan, was engaged in a struggle for the ball, outnumbered by opposite jumpers. "Diamond Jim", on the same team as Stan, came thundering in, huge chest, muscles and eyeballs bulging, and barged through. He was so desperate to get a kick he paid no mind to jumper colour. Stan went arse over and landed prostrate not more than 10 feet in front of us. Tilbrook took off with the ball and kicked it. Stan drew his knees up inside his arms and just sat there for a few seconds watching the play. Then shaking his head he said with exasperation, "SHIIII....IIIT."

Diamond Jim played 50 odd games for Melbourne but never displayed the South Australian form that saw him a pivotal member of the Sturt team that won 5 premierships in a row '66-'70. Stan's last season at Melbourne was 1976, Bob Skilton's last year sa coach, when they narrowly missed the finals by percentage, I think beating Collingwood at Victoria Park in the last round. Nearing the end of his career Stan took up an offer to join Nth Melbourne and played in their 1977 premiership. I was so happy for him when he leapt excitedly from the stage with his medallion after the presentation.

Stan was a brilliant footballer, and I still love his style and comments on the radio.

Rain on the "Tank"

Rain on the roof. It's easing off unfortunately after starting about an hour ago. (I started this post on Saturday morning, did not finish) It would suit me if it continued all day, so dry has it been since we had an inch in mid January. Gardens and paddocks have been parched, birds and animals hungry. An example is the broccoli seedlings I have twice planted and seen disappear overnight from our vegie garden. It has a rabbit proof fence so they are not the culprit. I suspect rats or mice, they are climbers and would easily invade from the shrubs on the outside of the fence.

Every day before and after our trip to Tasmania, before knocking off work at the farm I've watered the vegies and herbs in the annual garden as well as the young clethras, stepahandras and lilacs I recently planted.

(It is now Monday morning). I hope this marks the end of the big dry and we can devote that time to other work catch up. Speaking of dry, it was the same in Tassie, the east and north particularly, paddocks with little grass and sorry looking stock.

As I began this post on Saturday morning I could hear the Thomas the Tank Engine and Percy whistle blowing it's head off in the town, triumphantly proclaiming the Puffing Billy Event Hub status of our little town. As the rain continued the hooting whistles stopped. I went up to the town later to get a jar of olives and a red onion for the Greek salad Lib had asked me to make for dinner, to see the "Tank" day had been cancelled, and the hordes had dissipated. The "Tank" was cancelled Sunday too due to the severe weather warning and strong winds. Rain rain glorious rain.

The "Tank" days the previous weekend were also cancelled because of the Total Fire Bans on the Saturday and Sunday, and the weekend before we were in Tassie so did not have to suffer the noise, congestion and pollution of this impost. Let's hope the tents and portaloos will be packed up now for six months and some common sense and change of policy will prevail and prevent it coming back next spring.

For now at least, we can enjoy some peace and quiet, and plenty of rain I hope. 

Tweet of the Week

On Sunday mornings Radio national 621 has an item called Tweet of the Week. They play a bird call and ask listeners to identify the bird. Yesterday morning I missed the question but heard the answer when it was announced an hour or so later. Before revealing the answer and the name of the first caller to correctly identify the bird, they play it again. I heard, on the radio, the familiar sound of the striated thornbills which I hear nearly every morning outside our bedroom window or in the yard as I pick the herbs for our morning tea. So I said to myself that's the striated thornbill. Sure enough, that was the answer, with only one caller correctly naming the striated thornbill although numerous callers rang in with the answer thornbill.

Half an hour earlier while I was taking Lib beakfast in bed we watched nine of the little fellas flitting about and bathing in the bird bath outside our bedroom window. What a joyous thing it is to watch.

Yesterday evening I came home from my duties on roster at the Emerald Museum and was doing my evening chores eg watering pots and seedlings and feeding my birds. I looked up into the foliage of a peppermint tree (eucy) and there was a group of striated thornbills working away presumably eating leaf lerps as they are known to do. For this I'm grateful. Prior to 2009 we had no small birds as the bellbirds hunt them out and farm the the lerps like ants do aphids for their sweet secretions, leading to tree defoliation and mortality well documented. The heat wave in 2009(?) a string of days 45C, pissed off the bellbirds and they have not returned. Immediately our eucys improved and the loss of a couple a year dead out stopped.

Music is Magic

Sunday evening I slipped into the hot water in the bathtub with my little Sony transister radio and my current book. It had been a trying weekend to say the least and I was in need of restoration.

There's a radio station I have stumbled onto before on Sunday between the 8 and 10 on the tuning dial which plays brass band music after 7pm. Marching band music, which can be invigourating. As I fumbled with the dial while lying in the bath, unable to see the numbers as it was above my head, I came across it again and blow me down it was playing a band version of Pachelbel's Canon in D which was our wedding music 37 years ago.

This did the trick, not only were my spirits immediately sparked but it also brought many memories flooding back which took my focus away from the difficulties of the weekend and my frustrations. No doubt the hot bath helped also.

I worked pretty solidly Wednesday, Thursday and Friday in the warm and muggy weather. With Valentine's Day approaching this week the florists had ordered bigger than usual and I had a one off customer with quite a large order as well on top of our regulars. By Friday night I was tired.

But the weekend was not restful. Lib had arranged that we visit her sister and her husband in Portarlington, at their new seaside residence which we had not previously seen. In fact Lib had not seen her sister in over two years during which time they had made the purchase and they now split their time between their longterm residence in Bendigo and Portarlington in their retirement bliss.

We left home shortly after 9.00am on Saturday and drove for three hours with a petrol and toilet stop. We took Pip with us as thunderstorms were forecast and we didn't want her left alone in the house as she goes nuts with thunder, and possibly she would scratch doors and walls in panic if left alone locked in. Driving to and through Melbourne is not my idea of fun, the traffic was heavy, and it was a slow crawl through central Geelong and bumper to bumper crawl through Drysdale.

We had a cup of coffee before a walk into town and down to the water and the pier where the swisho new ferry to Melbourne was moored. It was pleasant to see the expansive water view looking out over the bay. A nice lunch followed and about 3pm it was time to start the drive home, this time it took only two and a half hours as we didn't stop and the were no traffic jams. But 5 and a half hours driving for the day following three bigs days left me wrung out.

Sunday morning the phone rang at 8am. It was my friend Marguerita. She sounded despondent and said could I come out and water the vegies and her garden as she wasn't well, the heat knocks her round and she couldn't do it. She said she hadn't watered for three or four days and things were dying. I went out shortly after lunch and was there most of the afternoon, watering, weeding, planting out flower seedlings for her and carting some rubbish to her burning pile, with a wheel barrow with a flat tyre. I don't mention this to make myself out a good fellow, but to explain my state of frustration, that virtually a whole weekend passed without attending to many things that I would have liked to at home. And when I looked at my box of broccolli seedlings I was dismayed to see the white cabbage moth grubs had stripped em.

Lib and I were introduced to Pachelbel's Canon in D when we were frequent guests at Owen and Diane Murray's house on Sundays in Wangaratta in 1979/1980. Ow and Di loved classical music, and red wine and that's a good combo I discovered.

I think it was Lib who suggested we have that as our wedding music. When we told the Cof E Reverand Charles Helms that we had chosen that music he was somewhat surprised, saying it was usually played as a funeral dirge. The piece of music itself apparenly lay in obscurity for a couple of centuries and was only rediscovered and in recent times, and is now very popular at weddings and is often used in movies where a wedding is happening.

I remember at our wedding reception in 'The Old Emu' restaurant in Milawa Beryl and Fred Sargent were on the same table as the Reverand Charles Helms. Beryl, a heavy smoker, told me she was going crook at me and Lib under her breath for putting her on the table with the Reverand. Eventually she could take no more and asked him if he minded if she smoked. He said by all means go ahead and then asked her if he could bot a smoke from her. Sadly some years later Beryl died from lung cancer. Fred died in 1996. I think Charles would be long gone too.

So many memories flooded back as a result of hearing the music again on Sunday night. Memories of our friends that were at the wedding and the happy exciting time it was in our lives. Music is magic. For interest sake I cut and paste some info on Pachelbel.

Love it or hate it, Pachelbel’s Canon in D is one of the most famous pieces of classical music of all time, but the facts behind the composition aren’t as well known. Classic FM busts the myths behind this enduring work.

It’s as simple as three violins, one cello, and eight bars of music repeated 28 times. Johann Pachelbel’s Canon has risen in popularity to become one of the best-known pieces of classical music ever written.

It’s hard to imagine a time when this piece wasn’t a firm favourite at weddings, but in reality, not very much is known about Pachelbel’s most famous piece. We don’t even know exactly when it was composed, although it’s thought it was around 1680.  There are a few unsubstantiated claims that the music was written for the wedding of Bach’s brother, Johann Christoph, on 23 October 1694, but this is pretty unlikely.

The Canon’s popularity snowballed in the 1970s, after French conductor Jean-François Paillard made a recording. Since then, the music has been recorded hundreds of times, and the iconic harmony has made its way into pop songs, films, and adverts. But even before the public got hold of the piece, classical composers knew Pachelbel was on to a good thing – Handel, Haydn, and Mozart all used the iconic bass line in some of their compositions in the following years.

It’s easy to be distracted by the tight harmonies and the three pretty violin tunes, but Pachelbel’s approach to writing the music was almost mathematical. He uses an ostinato (the same bass line repeated over and over again) and a canon (the same music repeated by the violin parts, in a round) to construct his piece. Listen out for the same music being passed between the violins.

A Rad Moon

As it happened it was Lib's and my 37th wedding anniversary, and it was also a red moon, and for other reason to do with blue moon and eclipse coinciding, a special lunar event.

I did not see much of it, when I went out to check yes the moon was full and large and partially eclipsed but no red colour. Half an hour later it was much the same.

The event made me think of a day last year when I went to my friend Henny's place to pick fuschia and abutilon flowers. I went through her gate and carport and as I went across to her back door Henny greeted me. She was wide eyed and and in obvious high spirits, a beaming smile beneath her jet black curly hair as she said, "I'm so happy."

"That's good Henny, it's a great day for it. Why today are you so happy?"

"It was a rad moon last night."

I didn't understand what she said, thinking she had said it was a rat moon. Henny migrated from Holland in her young days . She has a thick Dutch accent.

"A rat moon?" What happened?"

"A Rad moon," she said. "It was so bright last night I couldn't sleep. I love a full moon. I went for a walk in the garden and made a decision. I went back to the house and got Serge's ashes and spread them in the garden. It made feel wonderful. Our favourite colour was red. I was always going to spread Serge's ashes in a beautiful quiet place but I never found the right place, then last night I realized it was here, in our own backyard. Serge loved the garden, and now he's there."

By this time I had realized that a rad moon was in fact a red moon. I never met Serge, my friendship with Henny began after he had died of cancer some years ago. He was Henny's second husband and she had a deep love for him and talks of him frequently and of how happy they were together. I felt priviledged to hear of Henny's great satisfaction at finally spreading Serge's ashes. The joy of it was infectious.

I did a Signpost article on Henny a few years ago, if I can locate I'll cut and paste it.

My Garden is My Little Paradise

Hendrika Priemus loves working in her garden where she nurtures plants and the soil and is rewarded with food, flower and contentment. After thirty years Henny renovates as need has it and seasons roll by.

She says, “I’m always thinking and planning ahead. There’s nothing better than to go bed at night and run through in my mind the good things I did in the garden, and the next things to do. I grew up on a farm in Holland, and lived on farms after I married. Gardening is my life; my garden is my little paradise.”

Henny’s childhood was on the islands of Zeeland, off the Netherlands coast, with 4 sisters and three brothers. All her dad’s family were orchardists, the fruit going to the main town of Zeiriksee by small steam train. Later Henny went to boarding school on the mainland. On one occasion, on the way home on the ferry at the end of term, she observed something which stayed with her all through her life.

“There was a group of children on the ferry in the care of a teacher, who after a while brought out a container of hot soup. As he filled bowls and gave them out there was one impatient little boy with red hair who kept calling out ‘Me, Me, Me.’ The teacher gave the other children their soup first and made the noisy boy wait till last, then said to him, ‘That is a lesson to you to wait your turn.’ I think of that when I feel impatient. Also it is important to share. You are lucky if you can give. People who can’t give miss out.”

While at boarding school Henny met her first husband, a young man from a big family who worked on a farm in another part of Holland. She was 17 when they married and had two children, a boy and a girl. Her husband was a hard worker and became a farm manager. He was restless and ambitious and believed Australia was a land of opportunity to make riches. Henny was happy in Holland but she agreed to migrate to Australia as a family.

“We went to the migrant camp at Bonegilla in the mid 1960’s. We spoke no English, had no jobs, and had sold almost everything for the passage out. We went to a large sheep station about 50 kilometres from Jerilderie. The house we moved into was filthy and needed hosing out. My daughter was nine and my son four years old. It was like a small village with about 10 workers living there. My husband was a labourer and a good worker, but he got the hard boring work like going out and cutting burrs all day in the heat. His dream crashed. It was a long trip for the school bus and we shopped only every two weeks, it was so far to go. Later we moved onto a smaller farm closer to Jerilderie and were able to shop more often.”

“I grew to love the countryside. It was beautiful, and it was exciting to watch the men with the sheep dogs coming down the road, the dogs darting about rounding up the sheep, the whistling and calling, the noise, the dust. We had kangaroos grazing and lounging around behind the house. We were there 8 years and it was great for the children who thrived and did well at school. I came to love Australia.”

Sadly Henny’s marriage did not endure. She moved to Melbourne with her children, who finished schooling and successfully attended university, while Henny paid rent designing and dressmaking and working in boutiques and antique shops. She had a weekend job in a gallery in Olinda where she stayed overnight. “I called it my holiday job so much did I like it.”

In 1981 she met Serge, her second husband. In 1983 she heard from a jeweller in Olinda that his cousin bought a property in Gembrook. “Where’s Gembrook?” she said.  Soon after she and Serge drove to Gembrook in their VW campervan on a wet July day, stopping in JAC Russell Park. Henny said to Serge, “This is my town.”

As they started home in a storm, Henny saw a ‘For Sale’ sign on the ground in front of a dilapidated bungalow and said, “This is my new address.”

Henny has lived there for more than thirty years. She and Serge did up the bungalow and extended. Serge commuted to Melbourne while Henny worked locally at anything she could find including packing potatoes and cooking for business people. Serge died in 2011 and Henny says her time with Serge was the happiest of her life. “He was a complete gentleman.”

Henny’s daughter Dianne Cevaal is an artist who in 2011 produced a book titled ‘Sentinelles: Watching the World.’ The last paragraph says, “They watch sentinelle over the world, alerting us to things we need to pay heed to, and to messages from which we might learn. They are about the earth because without a healthy earth, life cannot exist. Each creature is precious, each plant is precious, and we need to look after each other.”

The words could apply to Henny and her garden.

Good Timing

I just rang my friend Glen to arrange a time next week to come and prune his abutilons. I pick flowers from these bushes, also known as Chinese lanterns, through the winter and early spring when demand for them is strong. Glen has 5 different colours,orange,yellow, white, pale pink and deep pink, and being able to pick them a quantity in one place is a great help. They are quite rampant growers and because Glen does not prune them when I need the flowers they become large and unruly and there's much pruinings to cart away when they are eventually cut back, which it suits me to do now when demand is light.

Glen, who keeps rainfall records, told me we had 12mm yesterday and 12mm following that last night. How good is that? Just when things had dried out a bit and perfect timing for our vegie garden. Yesterday I planted out some green button squash and sowed some broccollini and silverbeet into seed boxes for planting out late summer early autumn hopefully to grow vigourously in autumn and produce lovely greens through the winter without bolting to seed.

I'm going out to Marguerita's this arvo to see if the tomatoes need more tying up on the stakes. I'll need to do this before Lib and I go away for a few days shortly to Lakes Entrance for our annual pilgrimage to feel the sand beneath our feet and breathe the ocean air. We have worked hard since our holiday to West Australia last July and I have not sighted the sea since. I am longing for it.

I attended Joyce Begg's funeral last Thursday in Pakenham. Joyce was a good friend who showed me generosity and kindness over many years. Ditto her husband Laurie. Joyce lived nearly all her life in Gembrook until the last couple of years when her battle with Parkinson's neccessitated she move into a care facility. They had 2 daughters and 8 grandchildren and 21 great grandchildren. It was moving for me to see them all participate in the service and see the photo tribute to Joyce's life on the screen while the songs "Wonderful Copenhagen" and "Some Enchanted Evening" played. Beautiful.

I once did a 'Signpost' profile on Laurie and Joyce. If I can find it I'll include it here.

Laurie Begg started at Gembrook Primary School in 1941 after moving to Gembrook from Glen Waverley when he was eleven years old. His father purchased the propety 'Sunnybank', 120 acres on the Beenak Rd. It was at school that he first met Joyce Huxtable who was a few years younger than he but destined to become his wife some 12 years later.

Laurie and his sister walked to and from school most days and it was not unusual to see snakes. Old Mr Mentaplay often sat on a stump across the road from his house on the Morbey Road corner. The kids would stop and talk to him and wonder at the ants, jumping jacks and bullants as well as little black ants, that crawled all over him but seemed not to bother him at all. "He was a friendly old bloke and loved to tell us stories. We used to call Mrs Mentaplay a 'snake charmer'. Everywhere she went she found snakes and was forever killing them."

"Sometimes neighbour Jim Fry would pick us up coming home in his Armstrong Sideley motor car, which had a gas producer as petrol was in short supply during World War 11. He'd turn his engine off about 100 metres from his garage and roll the last bit, coming to a stop right in the garage, such was his good judgement at knowing what speed to be going and when to cut the engine with precision."

Laurie left school after merit year at age 14 to work on the family farm which included poultry sheds. He had brothers away in the army and there was plenty of work to do on the farm.

"My job was to look after the chooks. We'd get about 30 dozen eggs a day and we'd send them down to the egg board on Puffing Billy two or three times a week. We packed them carefully but the cheques that came from the Egg Board never tallied with what we sent, there were always deductions for breakages or bloodspots or double yolks. Dad grew spuds as well, and cabbages and carrots. We milked two or three cows and supplied neighbours with milk.

Joyce grew up on a dairy farm on the Pakenham Road corner where the community complex now stands. Her parents milked ten cows twice a day by hand and her father Robert Huxtable delivered milk on pushbike around the town.

Joyce recalls that on school holidays and weekends she'd go with him. "He had piece of timber fitted across the handlebars with a four gallon milk can on each side and he'd dink me too. I'd run in and bring the container to be filled from the house, whatever the householder had left out. On my school days he'd do it all himself. He also sent milk out to the mills on the tramlines."

Joyce left school and started work in 1947 at the telephone exchange where she worked into the night. She has interesting recollections of finishing work and walking back home past the pub during potato digging when the population increased with seasonal workers.

Laurie's father sold 'Sunnybank' after the war and moved to Thorpedale to grow spuds. Laurie didn't stay there long before moving to Springvale where he worked as  barman for a time before going to Queensland with mates and working at a sugar mill in Mackay for a few years. His sister Nancy had maintained friendship with Joyce so on moving back to Victoria Laurie and Joyce reacquainted. They married in Febuary 1953, and lived in Springvale where Laurie worked in a timber yard. They moved back to Gembrook in 1956. Laurie worked as a tree feller for three or four years, mostly for Jim and Kevin Williams.

Later Laurie worked at 'The Crest' for Ray Chandler where he maintained the garden and grew cut flowers for Chandler's florist shop in Malvern. Foliage, daffodils, liliums, boronia, and lily of the valley were sent by bus and train and Chandler would come up on the weekend and take a load back on Sunday.

This, as well stints on market gardens at Berwick and working on a big garden at Dromana instilled in Laurie a keen interest in plants and propogation, culminating in the Larneuk nursey in Gembrook for many years. Laurie worked as head gardener at the Rhodedendron Gardens at Olinda for some of this time while Joyce manned the nursery during the week.

Laurie began planting out stock plants at the site opposite the kindergarten where they now live and they moved there when they retired fourteen years ago. Their wonderful garden has been regularly open to the public along with other Gembrook gardens to raise money for the CFA. Laurie and Joyce are most generous in spirit to garden groups and anyone interested in gardening.

They are self taught but have enormous knowledge, in particular with rhododendrons, which are Laurie's special passion. He still does a day a week working at the Rhododendron Gardens as a volunteer.

Laurie and Joyce have two daughters, eight grandchildren and seven great grandchildren.