Long Ago

I was just checking the footy scores here and there by google, especially the O+K and by accident came across  Best and Fairest winners, Baker Medal I think it's called.

Scanning through the list of winners the name of John Lappin appeared four times, although in his first he could not be awarded the prize due to suspension during the year. He obviously was around the same age as me, as that first year was 1971 and his last award was in the early 1980's. Along the way he was also runner up four times and a footnote says he won the comp B+F in another league in I think 1976.

I remember playing on him as my direct opponent and he was too good for me and he remains in my memory as one of the best I have played with or against. He could be niggly and didn't like close attention but he could outmark me and was good all round. There were a number of Lappins in the Chiltern team and there was always another one close at hand.  One of them got me with an elbow once knocking me out briefly and leaving me needing 14 stitches above my left eye.

Also I noticed another direct opponent Con Madden in the winner's list. He was runner up twice as well and was a good footballer who could also make you look silly. He played for Beechworth who were very strong at the time. He was classy and could kick 70+ metres.

Our coach in 1980 Geoff Lacey was also a comp B+F winner, in the early 1980's after I had left. He was also a runner up a couple of times previously. He was an amazing work horse at the coal face from first bounce. He was as tough as nails he probably would have won a handful of Baker medals if he wasn't so quick to give one back.

PS I have edited this post today(15 NOV 2015). I add that teammate Terry Wadley won a Baker Medal in 1978 before leaving to play at Wangaratta magpies the next year. Terry was first rover that year and had explosive speed and had a great year that year, my first at Greta. He was strong and powerful in the legs and loved a run bouncing the ball. He came back to Greta in 1980 and played in the premiership.

Bathing in Bliss

The last three nights I have had the pleasure of a hot bath after some weeks of missing out. The new tub is a little shorter and is made of fibreglass instead of iron at variance to the old one. Also the shape is not as comfortable.

But thirty years in one tub no doubt left me biased. I'll grow familiar with the new, three days is hardly fair to compare with thirty years, even though i know in my heart that this one is not a patch. I'll adjust. It's that wonderful hot water that's the key.

Or new bathrooms are now fully functional, although not quite finished entirely. They are fantastic, the grot is no more, it's like being in a fancy hotel. Plumber has been paid and payment to tiler and carpenter is not yet finalized but it looks like total cost will come in at $10 -11,000 which isn't bad for two bathrooms totally new, and close to our initial budget guess.

Down to the Wire

Rickyralph has drawn level again in our tipping comp. He tipped Geelong of course, being a Geelong supporter. I went Hawthorn, whose form was undeniable. The Cats jumped away to a seven goal lead n the first quarter. Hawthorn pegged them bacck slowly to lead late in the last quarter. The Tomahawk as Rickralph knows him took a mark on the siren and kicked after he bell from outside 50 to win the game. That's two weeks in a row Ricyralph has picked up a point on the last kick of the day.

Five rounds to go.

Peace Man

Elvie gave me this pearl yesterday.

"Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependant on anybody"

1 Thessalonians 4:11, 12

Park Birds

What a wonderful place Gembrook Bushland Park is for birdlife.

 Birds recorded Gembrook Park Flora & Fauna Reserve 29.1.12-26.4.12 with our small bird observing group.

            Australian King Parrot

            Australian Magpie

            Australian Magpie-lark

            Australian Raven

            Black-faced Cuckoo Shrike

            Brown Goshawk

            Brown Thornbill

            Common Bronzewing

            Crested Shrike-tit

            Crimson Rosella

            Eastern Rosella

            Eastern Spinebill

            Eastern Whipbird

            Eastern Yellow Robin

            Galah

            Golden Whistler

            Grey Butcherbird

            Grey Fantail

            Grey Shrike-thrush

            Laughing Kookaburra

            Lewin Honeyeater

            Pied Currawong

            Rainbow Lorikeet

            Red Wattlebird

            Rose Robin

            Rufous Fantail

            Silvereye

            Striated Pardalote

            Sulphur-crested Cockatoo

            Superb Fairy-wren

            Wedge-tailed Eagle

            White-browed Scrubwren

            White-naped Honeyeater

            White-throated Needletailed Swifts (flying over Reserve)

            White-throated Treecreeper

            Yellow-faced Honeyeater

            Yellow-tailed Black Cockatoo

Introduced species:

            Common Blackbird

            Common Mynah

            Common Starling

            House Sparrow

           

           

No Bath Today

Plumber didn't show. I hope he does tomorrow. After three days abstinence I indulge on Thursdays and I hope it will be christening the new bath, with a bottle of red wine and a weekend magazine from the Australian that Annie keeps for me and gives me a bundle now and again. She's a ripper is Annie, but without a bathtub I haven't kept up with my reading of current affairs and opinion.

I heard a good one today..."Art is the umbrella in the shitstorm of life." I really like that.

I fed the bees again today, fourth time this winter. I'm so pleased all 5 hives have survived so far. I'll feed them again in a couple of weeks before we go to Fiji and with a bit luck they'll be OK when we get back in early September and able to gather their own supply then but the weather is the key to that.

We've had a couple of better days, but it's still freezing now. I have an electric sealed liquid heater under my thighs and a warm winter jacket on and it's still a struggle here in my office because of the cold. We've nearly run out of firewood again and I'll be out in the morning with trailer to try to find some dry stuff to keep us going till Fiji. The boys won't light the fire while we're away, they'll use electricity and gas to be sure. I've had the open fire going every night for three months bar one when we all went out.

To all who read this I hope you are well and keeping warm. I've ordered three metres of crushed rock for tomorrow morning delivery in order to repair our boggy driveway, and not before time, so the morning will be busy and I have stuff to pick as well as the plans to get some wood. Enough prattle, sweet dreams await I hope.

A Little Closer

We have reached the end of July, seventh of 2012. What a year it's been? I have so many things on the go I tire just thinking about it. I can't complain, I'm alive and kicking and the struggle goes on. To return to my boxing metaphor, I'm well into the second half of the bout, blowing hard, but feeling strong. My guard is still well up to fend off big ones, and the blows to the body have been absorbed.

Our two bathrooms are nearly finished. Will and Liam were hard at it today, and making a hell of of a mess. Washing machine repair man came and fitted a reco pump, the Subaru I took up the garage to have speedo and odometer fixed, not an easy thing apparently and a few trial error things to go through and the car will be out of action as they send the "head' away first to see if it has a fault. Lucky Lib's on holiday and Rob can take hers to Uni. One more session from plumber should have the bathtub hooked up again. I haven't had a bath in weeks, although I've showered everyday of course. I'm hoping plumber tips up tomorrow, although I did tell him we'd have no power as they are doing scheduled works to the supply.

I interviewed Jo Hilder today for a Signpost article. What a fantastic man! There's plenty of adulation for our Olympic athletes and AFL footballers but there are life heroes around us who just do their stuff all their lives and do wonders.

I visited Nigel today, to take him some copies of Signpost he asked for to send to relatives in England. He was devasted that one of his goats died recently. He spent three freezing nights nursing his goat all to no avail. Now his 17 year old cat Voodoo is failing and he's dreading calling the vet to have him put to sleep. Nigel lives for his animals and is stressed out. I feel for him.

A Changed View of Life

I talked to a man today at some length about life, and death. This year as his wife's terminal illness deteriorated he fed her dinner many times by spoon as she was incapable of feeding herself. Now, a couple of months after her death, he reflects that having endured what he has this year his whole attitude to life has has changed. He can no longer give a stuff about anything. He wants only to walk in the fresh air and work growing his vegies. Nothing worries him anymore. His whole thinking has changed and business and financial aspiration no longer interests him. As much as he loved his wife and grieves losing her he's discovered a freedom of mind and spirit as a result of the loss. Nothing matters anymore, he lives for the day and the moment.

I think I can understand. Another man told me once of a friend's wife who died suddenly of a stroke with no more warning than having a head ache one night and getting up to take a panadol then dying on her way back to bed. This man was successful and they had acres and a lovely house with a pool and everything complete and neat. After his wife died he sat with no interest and asked what did all of it mean to him. It meant nothing he said.

I guess the message is to live for each day and love the one you're with. They could be gone tomorrow.

Saturday

It has never struck me before, the strangeness of the word Saturday. Apparently its origin is from Roman times, something to do with the planet Saturn. Wickepedia tells me it follows Friday and precedes Sunday, the Vikings practice was to bathe on Saturday, and it is the day of rest for Jews and Seventh Day Adventists.

For me, the strongest connotation for Saturday is football. In my childhood all football was played on Saturday. I loved football and spent all winter kicking a ball on the local oval or in the back yard. Saturday meant going with the old man on his delivery run then to the footy at the MCG (he never went to other venues, the Demons played there every second week, and no other club did), or watching the amateurs who used to be live on the ABC television with the VFL scores periodically put up on the screen in big bold numbers, or later on catching the train from Mt Waverley to the G, usually by myself.

Saturday was footy day. There were six games, all played simultaneously. Radio coverage did five or all six, 3UZ, DB, KZ, AW, XY, LO, and most had around the grounds reports with well known ex footballers providing update scores and comments. To me as a kid, it was exciting and absorbing. The Sporting Globe hit the streets about 7.00pm, and if the Demons won, I'd be up the street to buy it to read about the exploits of Ron and Hassa and Tunna in glorious victory. There was Pelaco Inquest on TV wrapping up the day's results and an hour's replay of the two last quarters of the biggest games. These are my strongest memories of childhood.

In my football playing days it was always Saturday, including junior football at school in the mornings, then Saturday arvos later with Ormond Church of Christ 71-73 then Greta 78-81. Wonderful memories and mateship. In between, in 74 in Qld I'd hunch down over the radio to listen to radio Australia to the match of the day which I'd follow by a bottle of Bundaberg or Beenleigh rum. Mostly from 75-77 I was working with the beekeeping equipment or driving all over, but always with the radio on listening to the footy. Always on a Saturday.

Today, well yesterday now as I woke in the chair cradling Pip a short time ago, was as pitiful a Saturday as I could imagine. My Demons were flogged by by Nth Melbournrne, I did not have a return at the races, not even a place, and Carlton beat Richmond by four points to give Rickyralph a one point gain in our tipping competion. I remain one ahead but was looking for a three game buffer so it is close to the wire from here.

It was cold and wet and miserable and I half watched the footy and half listened to the races as I hunted about from computer to briefcase doing bookwork and tax crap. About 4 oclock I took a stubbie and drove up to the footy oval and watched the last quarter as Gembrook defeated Wandin by 8 goals in the wet.

Just like the old days.

Myrtle and Henny

Henny, one of our two black chooks, laid an egg on Wednesday. I didn't check yesterday, I returned home not long before I was due to have a drink with neighbours Steve and Ann at 6.30, as I do every second Thursday. I'll look in the nesting box later.

It may seem trivial that one of our chooks laid an egg, but it fills me with joy. For some weeks I did not know if she was laying or not. I'm inexperienced with this chook caper, and my involvement directly has been less than twelve months.

Close to a year ago, Lib came home from work with two chicks that had been hatched from eggs in an incubator, an exercise to entertain the residents at the aged care facility. She had told me she planned to do this, as the chicks would probably be destroyed now that there was no use for them. I voiced my disapproval on the grounds that we didn't have a chook pen and I had neither the time or willingness to build one. A few days later I came home from work and there were two chicks running around on a sheet in the loungeroom. Dear little things they were, no bigger than the palm of your hand. They had accepted the sheet as their safe territory and would not venture off it. When Lib went to bed she put them back in the cardboard box they'd been transported in.

At this point I could have created a "chickens or me scene" but I didn't really fancy packing my bags and taking off. One chick was whitish yellow, the other black, and Lib named them 'Lemon' and 'Myrtle'. The first few days were no problem, the tiny things were happy in their box with an occasional excursion onto their sheet. Lib fed them and cleaned the box, they became accustomed to routine and familiar with people. On the weekend Lib took them outside, the dogs became familiar also and seemed to take up a guardian role. All kosha and endearing.

Quickly they grew. A bigger box for night time in the laundry, days now penned in the vegie garden which has roofing iron sheet walls to keep out rabbits. Soon they started to jump up onto the top edge of the iron and escape, and nylon bird netting and wire mesh was mishmashed over the top to keep them in. When Lib was home she'd let them out and read a book on a blanket while the young birds scratched and explored. Soon they grew too big for the box and confinement at night in the laundry.

It was now my problem to solve. Thanks to google I ordered a portable chicken coup which had a base cost of about $550. Add on $40 for wheels, $40 for feeders, $40 for ramp to second level and nesting boxes, and freight, and the credit card groaned to the tune of over $800. This still seemed expedient compared to buying posts and wire etc and finding the time to build a chook house. Three boxes arrived at the front door one day and after much cursing and trying to decipher the instructions a Saturday was lost before the chickens happily took up residence.

It was now my role to let them out in the morning, move the cage each week, and prepare their 'going to bed' food which I did each weekend, putting 7 lots in recycled Chinese takeaway food containers.
All seemed well, I was looking forward to getting fresh eggs. 'Lemon' was the dominant bird showing signs of protecting 'Myrtle'.

"Roosters can be bastards of things," I said, fearing the worst. Lib said they'd been sexed and were both female.

The crowing started at dawn shortly after. Fully grown he was a magnificent bird. He strutted imperiously about the deck and would come to the widow and let rip with "cock a doodle do" almost shaking the house. It was repeated and repeated, much to my dismay. I apologized to all the neighbours saying I was looking for a home for it. Nobody wanted it. "It has to go," I said to Lib. Having raised them from chicks we felt an attachment. Necking him was not something I relished. I was hoping we'd find a home for him.

One day I was hanging out the washing and a hell of a to do broke out and as I rushed upon the scene there were feathers flying and 'Pip' had 'Lemon' pinned to the ground and was surely about to do him in if I did not intervene. Instinctively, and unfairly as I'm sure she was defending herself, I wacked little dog and berated her so severeley that she became submissive from then on to this feathered bully who delighted at every opportunity to attack her and 'Snowy'. It all became too much for me and I tried to get close enough to 'Lemon' to grab him, but he knew what I was up to and always had one eye on me. I couldn't catch him on the day I chose for the deed when no one was around. The next morning I grabbed him as I let them out, after turning away pretending I wasn't looking. I had dreaded doing it but it was quick and clean and I buried him deep and stuck a sheet of iron over him so fox or dog couldn't dig him up.

Myrtle was then alone, not that she seemed to mind. We bought another black chook and the eggs came in due course. They seemed to want to find a spot in the garden to lay and finding the eggs was a challenge until we put a sheltered nesting box on the deck which did the trick. The new chook 'Henny' stopped laying weeks ago, although I wasn't sure if she was laying in the garden again. I couldn't find a stash of eggs, but maybe currawongs or rats took them. Meredith told me she's put eggs down and seen currawongs steal them, picking them up with their feet and flying off.

Chooks can do this, go "off the lay" when they malt, Elvie told me, particularly black chooks. A small thing like seeing 'Henny' back in the nesting box and the resultant egg, amazes me in the significance it has for me, but in a busy life of constant problems and hassles, it was real joy in our house. 'Henny' is the quieter of the two chooks, 'Myrtle' learned some aggression from 'Lemon' and is head chook, but she lays an egg every day and has not yet had a break "off the lay". And I'm learning more about chooks.
  

Pines

I counted the pine trees close to the road on my walk the other day. There's 34 mature specimens in short section of about five or six hundred metres of Launching Place Rd.

The photo shows the biggest of them all perhaps. It doesn't look massive in the photo, but it is. Note the two trunks at the base. I think they call that bifolate, and it's inevitable that one half will fall one day, as the tree grows thicker and the bark of the two trunks grows toward each of the other creating an outward force that increases with time. As the trunks go up they divide further and high up this tree has eight trunks of substantial size all thrusting skywards and competing for light. There's another couple of big pines behind it which have had the bottom limbs removed, and have ivy growing up the trunks.  

I once had no time for radiata pines as trees but now I see them as things of great beauty with their dark bark, rich green needle foliage, and imposing stature. As I get older things looking more and more beautiful.

Sunshine Soft and Still

Yesterday was sunny and lovely, almost warm for a bit there. The dogs loved it and Pip didn't whinge at the door to come in after our walk. Dogs love the sun in winter, it's like a strong sedative to them. Then come the heat of summer it's a cool shady spot they'll be found. Basic common sense isn't it?

There's wattle blossom breaking all over the place and when the sun shines there's even a few insects about. There's more colour here and there the days are noticably getting that little bit longer. But when the sun goes behind the clouds and is gone for the day, wowee does the cold come back quickly.

Karma

I can't help but smile as I walk past a new house being built on my morning walking route. It's a quite large structure of suburban style brick and tile on a small block. The house fills most of the block in the modern way and the external wall one side is close to the boundary fence and rises above it in an imposing manner that would be a regret to the resident of the cottage there, I think.

That resident, a woman, whom I think I previously posted some months ago told me to "f*** off" when I waved to her as I walked past one day, is rarely sighted by this walker, who would of course give her a big wave on every available opportunity. Now I do try not to have any feelings of angst to anybody, but the smile comes over me as I go past nevertheless, as I think of the woman in the cottage and how the building activity and close proximity of soon to be new neighbours must be giving her new impetus to explore her vocabulary.

The cook up was most enjoyable today. The two crockpots are cooling down outside in the cold of night. The roast lamb for dinner was superb, and I did my weeks supply of chook putting away food (grated cheese, chopped meat leftovers, sorrel/silverbeet, mixed seed, boiled rice, bread), and moved the portable chook house, as well of course as the laundry and fire setting and general clean up. Lib visited her Auntie June, Bill's sister, who turned 90 recently, in the retirement place over Warburton way. 

The evening meal was accompanied by an 'Exile' Barossa Valley shiraz and followed by the now customary kip. I woke to watch Amla score his triple century for Sth Africa in the test against England in a record partnership of 370 or so with Jaques Kallis, who in the opinion of Gord and myself, is the the best cricketer of the past two decades bar none. For some reason which we probably can't explain we are Sth African supporters in cricket. We barrack for anyone who plays Australia, but Sth Africa is our preference. Weird hey. 

Cook Up Tomorrow

My nocturnal habits of late are continuing. The night is peaceful. I put some chicken frames with a few root vegies and herbs in the crocky on low on Friday night when I got home. I forgot all about them till tonight when I got home after a working bee in in NHP this morning, then a bit of work for Shirley Hughes pruning a big cypress in the afternoon. That's Ok, 24 hours on low is good for stock. I turned of the crocky after I showered and just now strained the liquid off and put it the fridge so the fat gells on the top for removal in the morning. I put some lentils and beans in a dish to soak and tossed in some brown rice and barley, so I'm ready to cut up up vegies in the morning for a soup. Lib took out a kilo of beef mince so I'll do a spag sauce too, and cut up vegies for to go with our roast lamb tomorrow evening. I can bowl it all over quickly on the morrow as it's all well organised.

At the working bee today we pulled a lot of ivy from a trouble spot, mulched some fruit trees, cleared leaf litter from the drain behind the museum, and Roy Kendall, a champion of champions, attacked the kiwi fruit, in the sense of cutting it back. It was not good timing for a working bee, July is inhospitable and there were other things happening. But because of those dedicated people who came to help we really did do some good work. And I left feeling fantastic.

Now I'll sleep very well.

Capital Works

Tonight I attended a dinner at the Cultural centre in Pakenham, held to announce the recipients of CWgrants for 2012/13. The NHPEM cracked it for some stonework steps down to our car park. It was not an event that I happily attended but our treasurer Dennis sort of dobbed me in and picked me up and drove me which meant I could avail myself fully of the liquid refreshments without the worry of driving home, so it was not all bad.

As it turned out I had a thoroughly good time. The lamb shanks were tough but tasty and a bone shot off my plate onto the leg of the lady sitting next to me, who discreetly lent over and said close to my ear, "Nobody saw that." What an amazing lady she was who made the evening worthwhile. While she was attacking her shanks a little later her fork slipped off and took up residence on the lap of the bloke on her other side. "F***," she said. "Nobody saw that," I said. The bloke passed her fork back with no fuss.

My highlight was when a Councillor from another ward approached me without my solicitation and thanked me for my passion. He was aware of the controversy our committee was embroiled in earlier this year and seemed to enjoy my reference to the two bastards we have in our ward. Maybe this bloke was on the panel that adjudicated on the selection of recipients for CWgrants, which I had learned from a council officer did not include councillors from our ward. In any event he impressed me greatly and is someone I would not hesitate to contact in future, not that I intend to have any involvement in council politics. Not now, not ever.

I had to laugh really as the councillors and council managers all tucked into dinner along with the recipients. The tone of it, in the speeches also, is one of how wonderful it is that we have volunteers, and how wonderful is the council to recognize this. The laugh is that we the ratepayers pay for every morsel and drop and every brick or nail or wire. It's all all our money that these bastards gloat and preen over spending something for us, and making us feel so privileged to receive it.

I spent the day at home today cleaning up after the tradesmen, and booking airfares and transfers to the Fijian island next month. This is sounding better and better and better by the minute.

Holidays

Lib's organized a couple of weeks in Fiji at an island resort when she takes some long service leave soon. Not a fancy hotel type resort but a self contained cottage with few modern amenities, no television for example and frankly I don't know a lot about it except that there's lots of walks through lush vegetation. Lib got onto it through a work colleague who goes there on some sort of time sharing arrangement. We now have to arrange air travel to and from and transfers.

Two weeks in one place in a warm climate appeals at the moment, with beach nearby and forest surrounding. Our last holiday, as in travelling some distance, was Adelaide last November, and Magnetic Island off Townsville the year before that. It was Alice Springs in 2009, then Florieu Peninsula SA in 2008. The big one was Peru 2005, and we did south west WA in 2004. These have been since the boys grew up, just Lib and I except for Adelaide last year when Gord came as we were going over largely to see Robbie who was living there at the time. And I add Bali, 2007 I think.

As the boys were growing up it was mostly Lakes Entrance where Lib's family have the house. We did driving, camping family hols to Queensland, The Grampians, and Tasmania through the 1990's while the boys were young. There's a lot of happy memories.

There's a way to go before our trip but lots of walking, lunch picnics and reading books sounds good to me. It's been a long cold winter. I'll keep you posted. Lib has Robbie's old lap top, maybe I'll be able to post from there, or maybe I'll have to hand write a diary and type it up when I get back.

I can't complain at what life has dished up to me, in fact I'm lucky, and very grateful.

She Blew Today

It was the sort of day today that had you ducking for cover and looking about to make sure a flying piece of roofing iron was not hurtling at you with decapitation a possibility, and eyes were regularly cast anxiously skyward at bending tree trunks and branches. I was at Keith's picking some flowering camellia and the gusts were so powerful the roof was lifted off the chook house and set down again with an almighty bang about a metre off centre. We managed to drag it back roughly into place and Ros wired it down before it was taken off again. Through it all the sun was shining and at least the ground surface has dried temporarily. I say temporarily because rain is forecast tomorrow with possible hail.

The rainfall figures for June are up in the Post Office, 158 mm, 42 mm above the 38 year average of 116mm. For the first half of the calender year we've had 718mm, 189mm more than the average of 528mm. And the first half of July has been very wet. And cold too.

I've been up late doing book work There's still a way to go. I've never been busier in my life but much of the work doesn't pay tangible rewards in the present. You only hope that what you are doing has some positive result somewhere along the line I'll stop grizzling and go to bed, where perhaps some sweet dreams are lying in wait.

More Mess and Mud

There are drop sheets, old towels, sheets of plastic and even an old quilt spread out along the hall from our frontdoor to bathroom no.2. I hastily found them this morning and set them out as some sort of token resistance to the dirty boots of the three tradesmen who traipsed in and out all day. The mud covered sheets are still there, waiting for more of the same tomorrow.

I left them to their banter and demolition noise, going early to Hanna's where I took my solace in more forking of mother earth. Just me and the dogs in the quiet of the clearing morning chill. About a half an hour in I felt something under the fork and before I remembered that there was a 90mm PVC pipe underground taking water from the garage roof to the above ground water tank, it started spouting out from the ground. From a six inch spout it quickly dropped away but sufficient water escaped the pipe to make the immediate area a muddy bog. As the pipe goes down from the roof then underground and up the side of the tank it means there's always water in the pipe up to the height of discharge into the tank, if you get what I mean.

I went home to look for a couple of joiners. Couldn't find any, and the plumber working on the bathroom had none either. He told me about a fitting that was available (I can't remember the name of it - plumtech sleeve?) that made the repair much quicker and easier than using couplings and my plan was to pick one up in Emerald later today and repair the pipe tomorrow. But it nagged at me so when I was up the street I called into the garden supply place and lo and behold they had joiners.

It's a tricky job, you need to cut the pipe just right, dig the earth away from the pipe both sides so you can lift it and put the new bit in then lower pipe so it all sort of slips together just right and is set by the quick setting glue. Those who have done it will know exactly what I mean. Well I buggered it up first time and had to go and get another joiner and a bit more pipe. This time it worked with Gord there to help bend up the pipe. Relieved I was, yet disappointed by the waste of time incurred.

There was another bed I wanted to dig which was also over the pipe so I thought I'd go and find the pipe to avoid a similar event which would be tomorrow now as time had slipped away. I went over and probed carefully here and there with the fork and bingo, I went a little too firmly, hit dead centre the pipe with more water gushing and more mud. This time there was only one hole on top of the pipe so I improvised a repair with a sleeve of pipe left over from the previous repair. I won't know if it has worked till the next rain as if it leaks I'll know then, when the pipe fills with water again. I haven't reburied the pipe so I can see what happens.

I had a museum meeting at 4.30pm so I prepared a hasty report and got home about 7.00pm. Denny had been around looking for the key he had given me to his front gate. He'd come back from some weeks away and his wife was not home and she had the key, he forgot  to tell her to leave it. So I was off out again to return his key.

A trying day. No hot bath to comfort me, that bathroom is now in a state of destruction/reconstruction. No alcohol to console me, Mondays - Wednesday are alcohol free usually (AF days). At least we have a shower and toilet operable in the nearly completed first bathroom. At least too it's stopped raining for now. Halleluyah!  

Bogged

The shower screen man left a message late Friday saying he was coming before lunch time Saturday, much to my relief. He rang again Saturday morning about ten saying he was on his way just leaving Narre Warren. I then went out to move three vehicles, Lib's, Gords, and mine so that he could drive into the carport for easy unloading and access. I parked Lib's on the grass track behind the Subaru that Rob drives, then Gord's behind it, then I intended to put my van behind them, leaving the driveway clear for the screen man to do his stuff then drive straight out down the drive and out our lower gate.

The ground being so wet the van wouldn't quite get off the drive as I had to go uphill on the grass, which by now was getting a bit chopped up. The van slid sideways so I thought I'd back down onto the drive and drive out and around and leave the van up the top. This juggling vehicles business has been a trial while this bathroom reno has being going on with all the wet weather and mud and slop.

I backed a little too far, my left rear wheel going onto the grass and spinning when I tried to move forward, sliding me further sideways as even th gravel of the driveway is covered in mud here being the lowest part of the drive. I was stuck. The van was half on the drive half off.

The screen man took about twenty minutes only and left having to back out up the drive the way he came in. I roused Gord and Rob , we tried to drive and push the van out, no go. I found a long towing strap I have never used for the purpose I bought it, that is pulling trees down in a desired direction  when felling. I hooked one end on the Subaru and the slack right around the van (mistake- this pulled the van along but not up on to the drive and we had to stop when the van became wedged in under an escallonia tree). Next attempt was a rope conventionally hooked through a towing eye under the van which I should have done first, after the shrubby tree was cut of the van,  and all was well, it came out. I was holding up the boys who were heading off to the football.

Last night we had a great dinner at our neighbours Steve and Ann and followed it by watching DVD's of Cat Stevens and Cher concerts. What a good way to spend a winter's night.

So our screen is in, the tradies will be back tomorrow to start on the other, and we slowly grind our way forward. 

Joining the Dots

Late today Meredith was on the phone at the farm, talking to a lady, Cynthia, she told me after the call finished. Cynthia is from Wagga Wagga and was in West Australia visiting her father Phil Allchin. Phil is in his nineties and served in WW2 with my father in law Bill Meek, in the same unit for 5 years.

I have posted about this connection before. I came into contact with Phil some years ago in a round about way through the niece of my friend Ida in Gembrook, Glenda. Through Ida, who died several years ago, I learned that her brothers George and Hap Atchison were in the 2/2 anti aircraft.They are all long passed on, but I made contact with Phil at Glenda's urging because she had regular contact with him around the ANZAC time of year, having met him numerous times at reunions with her dad George.

Phil was moved that the son in law of Bill Meek had sought him out. At the end of a letter he asked me off handedly one day did I have a great great grandmother by the name of Hannah Williams by any remote chance, seeing that my name is Williams. Well it turned out that yes I did, and the Hannah Williams in question was indeed Phil's great grandmother. Amazingly Hannah was a Wilson, my mother was a Wilson, before she married an Allchin who died, and then she married a Williams who is unrelated to my Williams side. There was a child from the Hannah / Allchin union who was raised by people named Hand. In another strange twist Phil married a Hand from that same family.

I may not have all spot on but Meredith is working on it as she and Cynthia are both into the family tree thing. There are more strange twists.While visiting her father Phil in WA Cynthia was going through his paper work as he's starting to fail being well into his nineties, and she found a letter from Meredith to Phil asking some questions re his family.

Bill Meek and Phil Allchin were in the same unit in the war because the both lived in a Brighton, a street or so apart and joined up at the same time. They already knew each other. I find it uncanny that while Meredith and I were growing up in Mt. Waverley, Cynthia and her sisters were growing up in High St Rd Mt.Waverley. All this has come to light because I so happenned to meet Libby in Wangaratta and marry her, and then befriended Ida through whom the dots started to join up.

Cynthia said she'll come down from Wagga Wagga and visit Meredith to further research. Meredith is chuffed and so am I.

Bathroom Standstill

A week ago yesterday a shower screen man came to measure up. I rang him last Friday to ask when we could expect installation. His phone was not attended so I left a message. He rang back Monday morning saying our screen was being built that day and would likely be installed tomorrow or Wednesday. He'd call us to arrange a time.

With no call eventuating I rang him this morning (yesterday now as it's after midnight). He said he'd ring this afernoon to arrange a time. I said I wouldn't be here, and told him to leave a message. No message. In the meantime Will and Liam have been asking when can they come and demolish second bathroom to start reno which we are trying to delay till first bathroom is operable or we'll have no where to shower or bath. We are at the mercy of the screen man. If the screen isn't installed tomorrow Friday (today) it puts everyone's plans for early next week up the creek and our tradies may have to move on to other jobs and who knows then when they'll be able to return.

And so it goes. After a few days of blissful relief from the rain a cold front came in again this afternoon and the forecast is for a horrible wet few days. I have much to do outside but if bad weather confines me there is at least also much bookwork to catch up on for the end of financial year accounting and last quarter BAS due end of this month. Sometimes I think I'll go nuts.

To finish the day on a pleasant note I report that I made a lamb mince filling today for tacos/burritos for tomorrow night's dinner (today's), with onions, garlic, chillie, tomato, beans. Rain or no we can sit by the fire and enjoy Mexican food Friday night and watch the footy after dinner.

Meagan the Barber

My hairdresser Leanne is unavailable this week. She usually cuts my hair in her house but her father was entering palliative care when I called her and has since died. Today I tripped down to Pakenham to do some shopping and thought I'd get a cut whilst there. I grabbed a late lunch at a sushi bar in the new mall complex before finding the barber I had used once before when Leanne was unavailable.

He had a queue lined up so I went to an express cut ladies place that had a sign up for men too. Again there was a queue, mostly kids lined up before school goes back. So I walked planning to go to Todd and Sweeney in the main street where I used to go years ago. He kept putting the price up so I found Leanne. I found another shop at the back end of an arcade off the main street, near Retravision, there was no one in the shop but no sooner was I in there than a lady's voice came from behind me saying "Here I am I'll look after you."

I recognized her straight away, she used to work in 'Sweeney and Todd' and sometimes cut my hair there. She's been in her shop cutting men's hair now for four years and a good job she did too today. I remembered she was a Sydney Swans supporter and we had a good chat about the footy. Good sort too. It cost me $19 which isn't bad considering she would have rent and overheads. Leanne does me for $15 but she works from home and would have less costs, so she does alright. Todd Sweeney was $22 when Gord went there a while back he told me, and it's probably $24 now.

For many years Lib cut my hair, but she got sick of it, and I can understand that.

I stocked up on red wine at Dan Murphy and the usual items at Aldi I like to get every few weeks eg soda water toilet paper canned food tea bags, a lot of the staples that you can save quite a bit by stocking up on. I bought a new phone and answering machine for the farm too, which was another motivation for the trip, the old machine stopped functioning.

I finished my Nigel article tonight, after sending it in this morning, I revised it down tonight to 820 words after some discussion with Nigel to get his OK and suggestions. I have just now resent the revision to the editor and hope it comes out with the changes as the final version reads better.

Not much else to say. I hope I'm not boring the pants off you with this mundane prattle but I'm tying to be disciplined and post each day, in the hope something good will come sometime. I feel one brewing. I'm sick of the Olympics before they have started, at least the adds on TV. And the swimmers are complaining that the government doesn't pay them enough while they swim, so they can swim without financial worry. Poor buggers.

Raising a Sweat

I was up at Hanna's again this (yesterday) morning, forking over some ground. I'm sure the rhythmic steady exertion is good for you, so long as you don't go too hard at it. I couldn't help but think of what Dave Dickson's friend 'Frosty' used to say, something about "Nothing better than sweating over a live fork." Well my fork wasn't live, it's a four pronged stainless steel variety but I did raise a sweat, and there's a good feeling of reward for effort at the end when you survey the result.

The photo shows the patch of freshly turned earth and the fork I speak of. That's 'Snowy' guarding the entrance of a wombat burrow, I think Pip is down the hole when I took the photo. The rain held off for me. Not a bad workplace. Better than being stuck in a traffic jam.

I worked on my Nigel Signpost article tonight, deadline is tomorrow. I was reasonably happy with it and will go over it again in the morning. I found it hard to condense to 800-850 words, it's still about 930 after working it down from 1150.

Forking for Walking

I didn't walk this morning. Instead I packed the dogs in the van and drove to Hanna's place. As the rose of dawn came over the hills in the east I was busy forking over ground in preparation for the fast approaching spring. Rain is forecast again so I want to get a wriggle on. After a couple of hours I had a good half of the patch I was working on done which exceeded my intentions. I then put some broad beans in where I had dug earlier and planted some pansy seedlings in the garlic bed where a fair amount of the garlic didn't come up, rotting in the ground instead. 

If it's not raining I'll be there again in the morning to continue. The dogs love it there because rabbits are prolific and they get more exercise chasing them than with me walking them on the lead. The rabbits will be a problem with my herbs and vegies, my intention is to put temporary barriers around the beds using weedmat and garden stakes but at this stage it's an idea only and may not work. It needs to be something I can put up and take down quickly and easily.

There's a garden bed in a cage where Harry used to grow strawberris and grapes. I planted silverbeet seedlings in there yesterday. The wire sides needed a bit of repair here and there (I saw rabbits in there last year).

Our bathroom renovations are on hold as we wait for the shower screen man to do his installation after coming to measure up last Wednesday. As soon as that bathroom is done, work on the other can begin.

A Winter's Day

I fed the bees today. It was a few weeks since I had done this so I was a little concerned that my last feeding had lasted them through the dreadful cold and wet that we have endured lately. All colonies had survived and seemed to be ready waiting for me. I had lovely cool smoke from the needles of the Mexican pine near our front door and disturbed them as little as possible during the exercise of refilling the trays with the candied honey and sprinkling it with white sugar. The bees came up licking as I did this and you'd swear they know the routine now.

They are away from the house a bit in an area where we seldom venture. The dogs never follow me there, perhaps past experience has made them wiser. There's some thick undergrowth behind the hives and while I was doing the feeding there was a familiar sound coming from the scrub. It was 'old scritchy' the whipbird cackling away like an old grump, a most welcome sound given the harshness of the winter. The whipbirds for several years have come to breed in our garden or closeby, remaining through the spring asthey raise their young, then disappear as the weather heats up in summer. It was heartwarming to notice them for the first time this season, in what is surely a sign of the approaching spring. They have not started the 'cracking' and answering yet but I'm waiting for that now.

After feeding the bees here I went up to 'Sunset' to feed the hive at Mark and Jane's and as I got out the van two magpies were warbling outrageously in unison in another promise of the nearing spring season.

Not far to go now. Still seven weeks of winter left supposedly but I think spring will be early just as winter came in weeks early. There are terrible heatwaves scorching the U.S. Perhaps we'll cop an extreme summer to follow spring.

Rickyralph Draws Up

The footy didn't work out for me today (yesterday). None of the roughies I wanted got up so the $660 stays in the Sportingbet vault. Worse, Rickyralph caught up two on me, I had North and Essendon. We are now level with a third of the season to go.

After my customary kip after dinner I woke up thinking about the many things I want to do tomorrow and decided to start now so I've spent the last hour cutting up vegies and adding it all together with some stock I made late last week from some chicken frames that were reduced to 99cents. Talk about a second wind, I'm as fresh as a daisy. It's a bit of a discovery, this finding an extra couple of hours in the middle of the night. It's actually the best time for me. My time, no distractions, master of myself.

If there's any joy to be had from the punting today (yesterday) it's that I had one dollar each way on Glaneuse each way at Flemington, race 6 I think. It fought it out to win narrowly at 40 to one, returning me $50.50 for my two dollars and recouping the $16 I lost on the footy tipping in total, and my unsuccessful running doubles at Flemington and Warrnambool, plus a small profit.

I backed Glaneuse because I heard its trainer Mick O'Leary interviewed on the radio some time ago. I don't remember detail but he was a reconteur extraordinaire with some fantastic stories of his successful horses and his love of the game came through. One story in particular involved a horse owned by a bloke who was up for murder and in custody for much of the horse's career.

I do find the horse racing industry interesting. It attracts a diverse range of society, from non conformists and desperadoes through to established conservative wealth right to the queen, if you get what I mean. Every race has the horses and jockeys lives at risk and somebody's house riding with them. I love the vernacular.

My father Lyle used to say that horse racing was from Lucifer's pit, as was alcohol. You could argue forever but I enjoy both. Evil is evil, and you can find it everywhere if you want to, in politics, the police force, the church. To me a glass (or bottle) of red and a wager on a nag is harmless good fun.

I'll go and add the mashed potato to thicken and noodles to the crocky and let it simmer away and go to bed. You know what I'm having for lunch tomorrow with fresh bread.

Who'd Have Thought / Please

Just for a bit of fun I put a dollar on a Carlton victory against Collingwood in a nine match multi for the round, including Melbourne to beat Richmond, North to beat West Coast and Brisbane to beat Sydney. I took three other 9 game multis that had Collingwood to win to kick off the round putting $5 on each, making a total of $15 down the drain tonight. So I'll be hoping for three more upsets tomorrow that would land me $660 for my dollar should Melbourne, North and Brisbane get up and the other faves come in.

In hindsight I should have taken a Carlton victory more seriously, given the history between these two, but pre game I did not give them a chance. This result has breathed life into the competition. Prior to tonight's game I could not see anyone beating Collingwood for this year's flag, so well were they travelling.

Thank you Carlton. Carlton has provided two of my lifetime highlights in football, the 1970 GF, and the 1999 Prelim. Last year's GF wasn't bad, nor '72, '75, '77, '79, '80, '81, '82,  and '64, '66, '60, although I was a bit young then, as in '55, 56. 57, 59. I have pleasant warm feelings about 2001, 02 and 03. Notably regretfulful results at the time, were '58, '69, '71, '73,'74, '76, '78, '84, '85, '88, '90, '91, '93, 2000, 2010.  My feelings for and against clubs fluctuates over time depending on changing personell and circumstances, and who's playing who in the end. Often it's the lesser of two evils for me. Not that any of it matters. But.....

Please, not Collingwood for the 2012 premiership. Or Essendon. Or Hawthorn.

It's time I was in bed. I fell asleep in the the chair after the footy again (Taster's Choice cleanskin). And so ends this day, with hope and promise for the morrow.

Time Flies

For most of the last twenty years I've picked bay foliage from the garden of an old house in Emerald. Most but not all because for a few years the trees were infested with scale insects and in a few others the demand for bay lulled or I was busy with other things. The house changed hands in 1996 and the new owner, Nigel, was happy for me to continue picking there on the two or three times a year when I needed a small amount of bay, or some helleborus or geranium or box or other bits and pieces.

I interviewed Nigel today for Signpost magazine for a profile I hope will appear in August in what will be the celebratory 100th edition. I chose Nigel because I wanted something a little different from my usual format which is becoming a little routine and predictable.

Nigel is different to the other people I've profiled because he's younger (62) and his working life for the most part has been as a musician, or otherwise in the music industry. When he was 14 and still at school in England, he was coerced by his older brother Paul to buy a bass guitar and join a band he Paul was forming, The Cortinas. They performed live around London doing cover versions of Beatle songs and others for two years while Nigel was still at school, then two more while Nigel worked as a clerk for the Civil Service. At age 17 Nigel and Paul, who was 5 year senior, quit their jobs and the band shifted from semi professional to full time. It was a family affair with mum as bookings manager and Dad road manager driving them and the equipment around in his van.

The band changed its name to Octopus to refresh and Nigel wrote songs as they continued for another four years till the early seventies. They then became the Kincaids for a year or two touring Europe performing the song "Jenny, Jenny, Dreams are Ten a Penny", which had become a hit, along with others, but which had never been performed live by the creators who did not want to perform or tour. They'd go away for a week or two to Holland, Spain or Germany where they were treated as "stars" and do TV and stage gigs miming. They were a front for the Kincaids, a band that never really existed. When this finished Nigel branched out on his own in the early seventies and joined a band in Hollywood following which came stints in numerous bands, all of which were short term.

In 1977, in England, Nigel auditioned for a bass player role for a band that was going to Greece for a 3 or 4 month attractive tour and from a large field of applicants, and after being called back time and time again to audition, the field narrowed down to two and one final audition "play off". Nigel, by this time really wanting to join and needing the steady and lucrative income, gave it all he had but missed out. He was gutted after the build up and effort, but as so often happens in life, it turned out for the best. A couple of days later the phone rang and he was offered the bass player spot in 'Split Enz' at the same time Neil Finn joined. If he'd gone Greece he'd have missed out on the 8 years of  success that followed as 'Split Enz' toured Australia, England, the US and Canada.

If I can translate Nigel's story into an article acceptable to the Signpost editor and it makes the August edition I'll post it on this blog at the end of the month.  I fell asleep in the chair after dinner of the oxtail stew and mash which turned out superb. Abstaining from alcohol since Sunday night I made up for it tonight with a bottle of Barossa Reibke which put me into glorious slumber. Waking up after midnight here I am fresh as a daisy after two black coffees in the wee hours. Off to bed now but I know I'll lie there mindmapping my Nigel article, trying to reduce the story down to the 800 or so word restriction I have and yet capture the essence of it in a way that will entertain the readers and perhaps add a message. Maria says all the time, you have to ask yourself, who am I writing this for, and why. So I have to work out the angle from which to approach it.  

Not So Wet North of Divide

My post two days ago about the high rainfall this year was accurate for Victoria south of the dividing range but I read in the Weekly Times that northern Victoria has been well under its average rainfall figures this year with some areas is serious trouble due to insufficient rain for the grain and cereal crops. I had been aware of this in May but with the deluge here since then I assumed they too would have had good rain, so I was surprised to learn of it.

The weather is fine for the next few days so I hope to get a few jobs done including getting some feed into the bees. I have fed them twice so far using a mixture or half candied honey mixed with dry white sugar, spreading it in trays under the lids. Tecnically it's a no no to feed bees honey but I have some which I couldn't sell or eat a couple of years ago when a rat ate its way through a straining cloth and drowned itself in the foot or so of honey left in the tank. Big bugger too. So I put it in jars intending to experiment with a foliar honey spray on plants but didn't get around to it.
You would not feed bees honey from an unknown source because of the risk of introducing disease but as this is my honey that doesn't concern me. The other reason not to feed bees honey not in sealed combs is that it can cause hives to rob others in a frenzy, fighting and killing each other and wiping out weak hives. This hasn't happened so far, the days are so short and temperature so cold I've got away with it. It was a risk worth taking as they would have died of freezing by now. Without honey they can't keep warm in their cluster.

PAG Meeting

We at had a Park Advisory Group meeting at the museum today, from 3.30 pm to about 5.30pm. I organize these in my role as park curator. It's a way of planning and organizing works in the park seasonally, and covering ground that the full Nobelius Heritage Park and Emerald Museum committee would struggle to do in the time available at our monthly meetings. I make a curator's report to the full committee meetings which is largely based on the summary of the PAG meetings. The full committee then aproves proposals or otherwise.

So why am I telling you the reader this? Because tonight, following today's meeting, I feel greatly proud and privileged that I am part of a group of amazing people who continually front up giving their time to the cause, which is the park, our heritage, and the community. Present today were Dennis, Beryl, June, Gary, Chris, myself and Wendy from Cardinia Shire Council who is standing in for Mark Reynolds, the CSC Open Space Manager on leave through July.

We have been through thick in thin as a Committee of Management and despite my tiredness preventing me writing up a summary of the meeting tonight, I'm moved to write of the appreciation I feel for my colleagues. We have had a big first year of achievement, the first of our two year term of this committee and as president I take great heart that we can back it up with a big second year.

The mames I mentioned above are some not all of the great contributors and apologies were received today from Steve, Kevin, Roy and Bob. There are COM members who do not usually attend PAGs and my gratitude extends to them also although it was particularly today's meeting that moved me to post.

There were several items on the agenda but possibly for me the best was the decision where to plant the white dogwood tree I've had in a pot for twelve months, which is to replace one that died some years ago. Also it was decided to follow this planting next year to make it a row of three or four consistent with the guidelines of the Vegatation Management Plan. I'll find a few more layered plants in my garden and pot them up in preparation. Also important was the parley and planning for the new dwarf conifer garden, hopefully to happen after permit from council, due to the heritage overlay, and approval from Heritage Victoria which has recently included the NHP site on its state register.

We are carrying on the good work.

Wet and more Wet

Somebody in Gembrook records the rainfall and has for the last 38 years, and puts the monthly figures up in the post office window. Every month this year, Jan - May (June's aren't there yet), has shown  higher rainfall than the 38 year average which is also displayed. I added up the difference today and the five months have had 150 mm more rain than the 38 year average.

I'm sure June will also show a much higher figure. There was 40mm showing in my gauge today, and I recall tipping out 90mm the week before last after a few day's rain, which was the second big rain for June, I can't remember how much there was in the first one but I'll be watching the window chart to see the June total.

Everything is saturated. Our block is on a gentle slope and it's easy to slip on the grass, the surface being so soft and unstable. Liam who is doing tiling in our bathroom renovations slid off the driveway when he touched the brake and became bogged as he left today, not being able to get his wheels back on the firm driveway, which is covered in slosh in any case at the bottom of the slope.

So July continues the wet. The record rainfall in the 38 years recorded was 1996. I remember it well, it rained every day just about from March to September, then October was bone dry and the muddy ground dried out and set like concrete. The driest year of the 38? It was 1997, which started the long protracted drier period causing severe restrictions and Melbourne's water supply getting dangerously low a couple of years ago, after filling in '96. They got as low as 26% and are now at 70% and rising.

Who knows what the rest of winter and spring will bring? Nothing would surprise.

Nine from Nine

I cleaned up this weekend, tipping all nine winners in the footy. Not that it was a hard task, most of the games were gimmes. There are 5 in our our tipping comp, myself, Lib, Gord, Rob and Rickyralph. The round was so predictable that as well as my nine from nine, Ric, Gor and Rob scored 8, and even Lib managed 7, and believe me Lib is hopeless.

For the record Rob leads with 86, I have 84, Ric 82, Gor 78, Lib 72. The real contest is between Rickyralph and myself, the loser buying lunch for the winner. I lost 4 in a row, won last year, and am heading for sweet success this year. I put $5 on my tips at Sportingbet as I do every week, it was my first collect, $44 was the payout. I invest $5 each week on my tips and Lib's, a total of $140 for the year so far, so I'm well behind. I always respect Lib's tips and put on the $5 regardless of how wrong I think they are. Some years ago Lib collected $1300 on round one when a few roughies got up.

Speaking of roughies, the trifecta at Launceston on race six paid in excess of $15,000 for one dollar today. And at Mudgee on a seven race card, one paid $7,000, and another $10,000. I'd like to be on one like that one day. I had an interest there because Warrnambool was abandoned before a race was run and Ballarat after race 3.

It was a cold wet day. I did an ox tail in the crockpot this am after my walk and getting Lib mushrooms on toast for breakfast in bed. The thermometer showed 8C about midday and 6c at 4pm. I'm thinking of Lesley who left Mackay a few days ago for 3 months touring the Kimberleys in 4WD's. If I have one regret at being poor it's not being able to do stuff like that. But I don't complain. Lib is talking long service leave and a holiday to Fiji in August. How good is that?

Season and Reason

Unusually, it's a bright morning, a pleasant change from the dank and miserable lack of light we have endured lately. Many days I've struggled to see what I'm doing right in front of me, which is no doubt exascerbated by now 60 year old eyes. Nevermind, the sun coming through the window is cheering.

There are four cordyline palms ouside the window, between which the sun streams. These are feral. There were two I bought in terracotta pots some years ago. They became too big for the pots, sending tentacle roots through thr drain holes and into the earth, so I planted them in the ground a little further down away from the house. Two 'babies' sprang forth from root left behind where the two pots were. Lib liked them so I left them. They are now over 2 metres high and the originals are approaching 4 metres.

It would not take long for vegetation to reclaim this site and leave little visible evidence our human intrusion, were we not here to keep it at bay. Plants retain moisture around them to help them survive, moisture brings mould and rot and slowly timber disintegrates and mortar crumbles and cracks, letting in more moisture and rodents and whiteants. Even roofing iron rusts away.

It makes me think of  MacchuPicchu in Peru, a city of the Incas lost for centuries beneath lush jungle vegetation. When discovered by archeologist Highram Bingham and the jungle removed, the city was largely intact because the foundations and walls are made of solid stone expertly cut and fitted using compression to hold the whole thing together and withstand the extreme wet of the east Andes jungle. Of course the rooves made of timber and thatch no longer exist.

I suppose our concrete cities will stand for a long time but I understand there are fungi that will consume concrete. Probably once these get a hold they'd proliferate and do their stuff. I'd like to think so. That's a pleasant thought on this last day of the financial year or the season 2011/12 as I like to see it. For today, I'm wrestling with the problem of removing wallpaper from soon to be renovated bathroom. Other bathroom is already underway, it had no wallpaper. It's all a bit stressful.



 

The Changing Landscape

I picked foliage today from the garden of the house opposite the Community hall where my friend Ida used to live. The garden is becoming overgrown with little cutting back done in recent years. When I first met Ida in the mid 1990's her husband had died some months earlier. She was a keen gardener, a real "cutter" she called herself who strongly believed in regular pruning. As she grew older and less capable she relied on me to maintain the garden and mow the lawn. Our friendship spanned nearly a decade until her family had to have her taken from her house (she refused to cooperate) when Alzheimer's had advanced to a point where she could no longer live alone. 

Another friend of mine bought the house, Pat Atzmuller. Pat's husband had been killed in a tree accident which forced her to downsize from their acres and big house. I continued to pick in the garden, and Pat had a large steel shed built in the back yard mainly for storage I think.
But Pat wasn't really happy there and moved into another house a year or two later. As it turned out the new owner was Gus Ryberg's granddaughter, Julia, who was happy for me to pick in the garden now and again when I needed something, mainly bay foliage from the tree on the boundary with the vacant block right on the main intersection corner.

The big steel shed that Pat had put up was removed some time ago and I was wondering why this was so today as I picked bay foliage and cast my eyes around the overgrown shrubbery and over the large concrete slab in the back yard that was the floor of the shed. As I worked Frank Failla appeared from somewhere so I stopped to have a yarn. He told me I should take as much foliage as I could because it's all going soon, starting with the concrete slab tomorrow. Workmen are coming to cut up the slab into portions that Frank can pick up with his bobcat and take to the tip.

Apparently the developer who subdivided the the five acres that was vacant land behind the house and converted it to Gembrook Views Estate, bought the house from Julia some time ago and the site is to be developed, which explains to me why Julia, who is now a tennant, has not bothered with the garden.

The vacant block I referred to is not to be vacant long. There's a sign up offering for sale off the plan three villa units, with "gated" security facilities. I have wandered that block for many years picking wild carrot flowers for ourmixed posies in summer and autumn. My resources are steadily disappearing

I do not mention all this to gossip about Gembrook, it's just part of my day I wish to record. My friend Leigh Candy (Getadogster) is doing a blog post for everyday of 2012 as a sort of commemoration of his turning sixty, and a record of his life memories and feelings during this significant time. He sets a good example, and whilst I'll not commit to posting daily I intend to crank it up and do more regular posting during the next twelve months, lets say the 2012/03 year July 1 to June 30. I have found Leigh's blog so entertaining, and reading it such an enjoyable part of my year, that I'd like to think I can do similar for my few readers. I will need offer more of myself and show the courage Leigh has to put his opinions up.

The way the landscape's changing it may well be my last year as 'Carey at Gembrook'. Who knows, maybe one day it'll be 'Carey at Kaniva' or 'Carey at Coonamble'. 'Carey in Cairns'? Orbost? Pt McQuarie? My feet are getting itchy.

Rock on Leigh, Go Gunna.    

Writer's Block

I'm suffering it. There's many things I can think of to write about, but nothing appears as something I can put a meaningful thread to. We've had frost this morning, the earth tremor last night was a beauty, the announcement of the marine parks around the country was exciting, the days start lengthening after tomorrow, we attended nephew James's 30th party last Saturday night which was a great night catching up with family on Lib's side, I fed the bees on Saturday; but for some reason there's nothing that grabs me to expand on.

It may be a mid winter thing. I am enjoying reading 'Tobruk' by Peter Fitzsimons. I'm only about 60 pages in and most of it is historical so far leading up to WW11 and the Tobruk seige, but he has an enthusiastic style that I'm enjoying, and what I have read so far is balanced and not the flag waving stuff I was expecting. And I've learnt some things I did not know, or had forgotten. Like how badly Germany was treated by the Versailles treaty and that President Wilson wanted to give New Guinea to the Japanese after WW1. Yikes!

Speaking of enthusiasm, as I just did with Fitzsimons style, it is what is lacking for me at the moment. It's not something to worry about, I'll bounce up shortly, but just for now even the dogs are annoying me. 

Less is Best

Most of us in Australia, myself included, have never known real poverty and have plenty of food and and motor cars and Tv's and airconditioners, computers, and whatever else we feel we need, and much we don't need. Compared to much of Asia we are wealthy, and so far not greatly affected by the recent economic turmoil in other parts of the world.

I read recently how Australia's cricketers are to have their payments improved by $80 million over the next five years. I notice that Victorian teachers were on strike last Thursday demanding  pay increase above what the government is offering. This follows industrial action over the last twelve months by police, ambulance and nurses. All say they are underpaid by comparison to counterparts in other states and want pay increase.

It is my view that Australians generally are overpaid and housing is overpriced. We are becoming a nation of greedy people who want more and more. I think even the National Parks blokes are on strike now, refusing to clean the toilets.

We may be an affluent nation, but we are becoming impoverished of grace and compassion and manners and leadership. Politicians lie and scaremonger, unions demand and misuse. I'd like to see some selflessness and gratitude and determination to help the unfortunate who slip through the net, and more care for the environment.

I reckon Australia is going down the gurgler. Sorry, but I do. Sold down the drain by greed and self interest. It will hit the fan. Dig that coal man, get that gas, pour that concrete. There's no tomorrow. Give me more...and more.

Less is best would be better, before it's too late.

More Family Tree

Meredith told me today that our grandfather Edgar Wilson's grandfather was Joseph Wilson, who had a dairy farm in Chapel St. Prahran. Can you imagine that? This must have been around 1860 or so. For interstaters like Lesley who wouldn't know of Chapel St Prahran, it's a trendy shopping area a few kilometres from the Melbourne CBD. Obviously back then it was on the outskirts of the city.

His grandmother was a Crockett, an Irish English lady who hailed from the same place in England that the legendary American frontiersman's family came in the 1700's. So Jod reckons we are related to Davy Crockett?

A Sense of Place

Author and social researcher Hugh Mackay argues that "Place is crucial to all Australians. It's fundamental to the human sense of self, sense of community, sense of mortality and sense of destiny." He says it's silly to put cultural distance between aborigines and other Australians by attributing to indigenous people a mystical sense of  place, a special relationship with the land that transcends anything we urban types could comprehend.

In his 2005 article that Maria gave the writing class for homework he continued, "It's all rubbish, of course. Not the special relationship bit; that's true enough. What's rubbish is the idea that the sense of place is unique to indigenous people, or even that it's more special, more "spiritual" for them than for us."

I have to disagree. He mentions the MCG, Flemington, the SCG, the WACA or the Gabba as places that symbolise deeply embedded cultural values. They don't do it for me. I see them as commercial venues designed to extract money from large numbers of people, and very successful at that they are. I have and do attend such places due to my sporting interests however I'm fully aware of the extravagant costs involved to park the car, gain entry and buy refreshments. There’s nothing sacred for me there.

He then says, "If sport doesn't do it for you, think of Gallipoli, Changi or the Kokoda Trail. Think of the Australian War Memorial, or the smaller memorials- parks, plaques, obelisks and halls scattered across Australia." Well they don't do it for me either. In fact war repulses me. I have not been to Gallipoli, Changi, or Kokoda but I have read of their historical significance. It puts these places no higher on my list of sacred sites than the bay in west Scotland where 1000 soldiers died in a storm on their way home after surviving the horrors of World War 1, or battlefields all over the world where loss of life has been high. Or Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Dresden, London, Falluja. So war doesn't do it for me either.

Hugh then goes on to suggest I visit my primary school playground, the suburb where I grew up, the house I lived in as a child, the places where we had holidays. "Go back and feel it. Sense it. Tell me it doesn't mean anything." I have gone back. It's all so changed it seems unreal, like my past never really happened. The people of my childhood are not there. It does nothing for me. Unless freeways and supermarkets where once cows roamed and birds sang turns you on, you will agree. Sorry Hugh. Going back doesn't do it for me.

So what does it for me, gives me a sense of place? I feel it it in my garden; where I have spent pleasant time over 30 years, where I have nurtured and fed, grown food, watched trees grow, listened to birds, played with children, buried numerous pets. I feel it in my house; where I have cooked and eaten so many meals, raised my boys from babies to adults, shared a bed with Lib as we have gone from young married couple to approaching old age, spent so many winter nights warming by the fire. You could say that my family has connected me to this place. No doubt if we sell up and move all will change. The town has already changed dramatically. There are new housing estates, more cars.

But I have felt it in other places. I felt it sitting on a park bench in the plaza in Cuzco, Peru, with Lib, having a picnic lunch of dry biscuits, tinned tuna and avocado, the sun warm on our backs. Around the plaza are shops and cathedrals built by the Spanish on Inca rock foundations four feet above the ground. Indigenous people in traditional costume go about their daily trading and the Andes mountains tower in the background giving the scene a feeling of timelessness.

I felt it on an afternoon stroll at Ubud on Bali, around ricefields where farmers work the same way they must have for centuries. In a corner of a field in a stone workroom an old man worked at woodcarvings which filled the building and must have been his life's work. There was nothing to be seen that suggested anything had changed in centuries.

I felt it looking down into the Grand Canyon, trying to grasp the immensity, and the impact this timeless wonder must have had on the human inhabitants of the area over thousands of years.

And I have felt it at Ayer's Rock. I was there as a young man in 1972, when a friend and I pitch our two man tent in the camping ground from where we watch the setting sun change the Rock's colour. There was nowhere else to stay if I recall. I went back a couple of years ago with Lib. We had to stay in the official resort accommodation. The cheapest room was about $200 per night. I bought a six pack of stubbies from the bar, the only place you could buy alcohol. It cost me $36.

I don't think we can possibly have the same connection to place that the aborigines have. Their ancestral families revered the landscape and the flora and fauna that provided sustenance. Their history is there for them in all that exists. Our history is twined with pursuit of money and material gain. In our quest we dig up, knock down, build, knock down, and concrete over. We have altered the landscape drastically in two hundred years, a landscape that was previously unchanged for so long.

Poor Owl

This owl was dead on the road when I walked last week. I think it's a Boobook owl. I put it in the bird cemetery, a thick photinia tree I have along Launching Place Rd, where it rests with the large number of other roadkill birds I've placed there over the years.
Owls are wonderful beccause they are nocturnal and help control numbers of rodents by preying on rats and mice, part of the ecological system.
I propped it on the transistor radio for the purpose of the photo. The radio is about 150mm across and the bird was about 300 mm in length. I noticed its feathers were so soft. The bird book tells me this is why owl fly so silently to catch their prey without alarm.
In my dream future of the world there are no cars.

Shrooming Tour

My friend Pat booked me into a mushroom tour as a birthday gift last month and the day arrived on Sunday. Lib and I made our way to Mooruduc Estate Winery arriving fifteen minutes before the requested 9.45, for the tour beginning at 10.00am. We enjoyed coffee and cake and met Jane from Bentleigh who came in our car as we headed off in convoy of about 15 vehicles containing about 30 people to the first of two locations the tour visited.

The gentleman conducting the tour, an extremely knowledgeable person named Cameron Russell whom I'd heard interviewed on the radio a few weeks ago, when he said pine mushrooms are usually safe but there's one similar type that if eaten mistakenly, on about the sixth to tenth time, can destroy your red blood cells and kill you. This fuelled my quest for more knowledge, given that I'd endured the strange incident about a year ago when I had to go to hospital in the middle of the night as blood tests showed possible arteritis.

I asked him before we left the winery about what I'd heard him say, adding that I'd eaten pine mushrooms every year for many years but now had concerns. He allayed my fears straight away, telling me if you pick only the young fresh pinies with the concave cap and not bigger than the palm of your hand you can't really go wrong. As they get older and bigger, the caps tend to rise at the edges forming a shallow cup shape. This is where you can go wrong he said as the dangerous one resembles the older up curved ones. I told him that it had been worthwhile me coming already, and we hadn't started yet.

The tour itself was only two half hour sessions on roadside locations about five minutes from the winery. There were varoius fungi at both. I came away happy my main questions had been answered. I always wondered about eating those brown mushrooms with the sponge underneath rather than gills (slippery jacks) but had only done so once when a lady had been shown by someone who knew and rang me to come round and pick some from the same place. I took them home and cooked them but didn't like the texture although they had a lovely rich flavour. Cameron said they are safe if you scratch them or cut them and they don't go blue or black quickly where you do with oxidisation. They are best dried out thoroughly then powdered and added to dishes when you want strong mushroom flavour.

Field mushrooms out in paddocks, nice rich pink going brown underneath with brownish tops are safe. Mushrooms under trees that look similar can be dangerous. The test is to scratch the skin off and if the flesh discolours yellow, even very slightly, don't eat them as they could be yellow stained mushrooms which will cause 8 or so hours of vomiting and sitting on a toilet. Nice brown ones with no hint of yellow when skinned or peeled means they are 'agaricus augustus' I think he said, and delicious eating, as I have found many times around our house and on my walk under wattles and eucalypts. The main message is, if there's the slightest doubt, DON"T EAT.

There were many other fungi we saw but they were not edible and could be dangerous. It's only really the three above mentioned that I'd eat, the pinies, the slippery jacks if I could be bothered drying and powdering them, and the field mushies with it's similar looking variant of wooded areas provided you are sure it isn't the yellow stained.

We returned to the winery for mushrooms on toast and superb mushroom soup and a glass of wine. On the way home we called into Mornington race track and caught a few races, not staying for the last two as it was too cold.

A great day and many thanks to Pat.



 

Farewell Hughesy

I was invited to Allan and Shirley's house at Avonsleigh last Thursday afternoon to join his family and friends for afternoon tea. Shirley greeted me with a hug and quickly ran through the events of the the 24 hours preceding Allan's death.

After a day sitting a card table working on a jigsaw puzzle and a pleasant evening meal with Shirley and their  visiting daughter Debbie, Allan suggested they have a nightcap. He had a 'Bailey's' and went to bed. He woke at 1.00am saying he had a toothache and went to the toilet. Shirley got him a couple of Panamax. He woke again about 3.00 am complaining of pain in his neck and Shirley, an ex nurse, didn't muck around and rang the ambulance. When the ambos arrived he was incoherent and losing consciousness.
The ambos said he may not make it to hospital, did Shirley want them to resuscitate him, given that he may suffer brain damage. She said no he wouldn't want that.

He did make it to hospital but died soon after. They did a scan and said he'd had a massive haemmorrage which had filled once side of his head pushing his brain across to the other.

I was amazed at how well Shirley was was bearing up. I talked to the daughters all of whom I'd met before and some of Allan's friends that I'd also met, like old Bill Opey RAAF mate from Ballarat. It was a surprisingly happy event with four generations of family, the great grand children running about the house giving an atmosphere of life continuing.

As I was saying goodbye to those inside and moving towards the front door, an old fellow ran in saying Shirley had fainted as she was seeing him off. I rushed out to find Shirley lying flat on her back seemingly asleep on the concrete. As I carefully picked her head and shoulders up I asked her was she OK and she replied "Yes I'm fine I was just having a little rest." Clearly she did not know how she came to be lying down. A big egg quickly rose on the back of her head. It was fortunate that one of Shirley's grandaughters present was a doctor and she calmly assessed the situation and had Shirley go to hospital to be checked out.

I had to go out that evening to a volunteer's reception put on by the Council in Pakenham and was taking June the museum secretary. Somewhere in all the excitement I lost my glasses so had to drive Emerald to Pakenham without them, back to Emerald to take June home, then to Gembrook by which time I was exhausted, but we did enjoy the evening. They had a singing group and light food and refreshments. Sometimes it's good to just participate and it took me out of myself a bit.

The glasses were found the next day, they'd fallen out of my shirt pocket at the farm as I unloaded some things. It was a relief to find them, a feeling many people would know. I called in on Shirley today. She spent that night in hospital and was home by midday Friday. She seemed in good spirits but talked rapid fire going over the events of last week. I could tell she needed to talk. I plan to call in on Thursday again and do a bit of pruning. Her daughters have all had to leave interstate on committments and I told them I'd call in regularly. They ring Shirley each day but the house is empty and it must be hard on your own after 60 years of marriage. 

Feeling Desolate Today

I went to a funeral yesterday, that of a lovely lady whom I did not know well, but one I had great respect for through numerous meetings and phone conversations in the course of some years in my association with her tradesman husband. We are about he same vintage. The service was in Cockatoo and I could not help but shed tears after hearing her children, about the the same age as ours, speak so lovingly well in their eulogy. She was a Christian lady, 58, totally dedicated to her family, who was diagnosed last December with motor neuron disease which claimed her in the short space of six months.

I could not attend the burial later at the Gembrook Cemetery, I had arranged to meet Mrs B on my way back to look at something she wanted me to do in her garden. Mrs B as it turned out wasn't there but I picked some red holly berries and before going home to change I decided to visit the cemetery to pay my final respects in the quiet of my own company, everyone having left by then.

I found the grave and said my prayer then strolled about the cemetery where so many of my aquaintance have found their final resting place. This is inevitable the older you get and the longer you stay in one place. I have lived here thirty one years now. Four of my close neighbours are there. Les down the end died ten years ago, collapsed in the shower aged 51. I used to find empty VB cans on my nature strip, obviously tossed from a vehicle by someone on their way home. They stopped after Les died. His son Dwayne died in a car accident a decade earlier. Young Luke across the road, 21, hit the oak tree opposite the pub, early on his way to work, when he swerved to miss a car that went out round the school bus after dropping off kids. The lady next door to them died of breast cancer aged 37. My dog Blitz got after her kids' guinea pigs once. And my old friend Lionel, and Harry, Gord's Tim, Pat's Franz killed by a tree, a wall fell on 'Squid', and many others.

The weather is cold and wet. Business is bad. I am struggling with a lack of enthusiasm borne of weariness and sorrow. This morning, after my walk and letting out the chooks I heard the phone inside. Catching it before it stopped ringing a voice shaken by emotion told me it belonged to Jenny Hughes, daughter of Allan and Shirley. Allan died last night, a massive stroke.

He was 90. No one can begrudge the grim reaper. He survived war and heart attacks and brain tumour. I hung up quickly, Jenny was not seeking counsel from me. I could not help but cry. I'll not see Allan again and I grieve with his wife and daughters. I shared a beer with him last Thursday.

I'm feeling desolate today.