I was asked this question a couple of weeks ago, about the middle of October. Lib's boss, the Director of Nursing, matron in earlier times, asked the question while we chatted in her office. I'd called in to deliver the medical certificate required by management while Lib convalesced her broken wrist.
It caught me off guard a little. Clumsily I answered that we hadn't talked about that yet, then added, "I feel like saying to Lib that I don't want to go anywhere for Christmas, and I don't want anyone coming to our house. I just want to bunker down with a couple of bottles of good stuff and have a few days peace and quiet, then catch up on some jobs around the house."
"You can't do that, not at Christmas," the DON countered, a little surprised at my candour. I left unconvinced.
Lib and I have been married for twenty-five years and for every one of them we've shared Christmas day with her family. She doesn't see them often, as I do mine, and they have a tradition of getting together at Christmas. But why, just once, can't I suggest that this year we have Christmas by ourselves? No tiring preparation, packing, travel, and no invasion of someone's house. Nor invasion of ours with all the accompanying work. No cooking a thumping big turkey. Sounded good to me.
I didn't say anything to Lib, but it played around in my mind for a few days. Then, last weekend, I pulled up outside the post office on my way home, needing to cross the road to get a litre of milk.
"Gidday Carey, how you doin'?". I turned to see a bloke in a leather jacket, a helmet on his head, and a big smile on his face. In the couple a seconds it took for me to recognize him, he lit a fag and took a deep drag, then resumed his smile.
"I'm well Richard. It took me a little time to place you, sorry. I don't often see you off your patch. How are you?
"Happy to be home, we had a busy day at work."
Richard is an ambulance driver. He and his wife Sandy, a nurse, live in the next house along from Olive's on my morning walk. I often see Sandy having a fag on the deck as I go past and sometimes Richard enjoying a cuppa after night shift, or riding off to day shift on his motorbike. He's slow till he reaches the bitumen at Launcing Place Rd. where he gives it full throttle. He rockets up the hill, engine screaming to each gear change.
"How's Merlin," I asked. Merlin is a great Dane pup they've had for a few months. I've watched him grow at a startling rate and seen him demolish all manner of stuff from boots to beanbags and garden shrubs. He often comes to the fence when Snowy and I go past and I give him a pat. Sometimes Sandy is out walking him when Snowy and I come the other way. Merlin is jet black, big and rawboned, all legs and feet and a big head. Snowy is almost pure white, small and stocky with short legs and tip toes, and a small head. The contrast is comical.
"He's fine, he made short work of the soccer goal net the other day."
"Yeah, I saw him, so engrossed tearing it apart he didn't notice me and Snow go past." I've been meaning to ask you Richard, did your neighbour, the other side to Olive, did he die recently?" Early this year I'd seen ambulances at this house, quite regularly. Then district nurse's cars. And a wheelchair ramp was built up to the deck. Most mornings on the return from my walk I'd see the girls walking up to the bus stop in town. Some days there were three, more often two, and sometimes one. Sometimes they'd return my hello or gesture, other times they'd ignore me as if I was invisible. One time, one of them was crying profusely. I thought maybe an elderly grandparent in ill-health had moved in with them. Then Norm Smith asked me, while I was picking in his garden, did I know the person down my way that died recently. Norm said he met the lady in the cemetery. Her husband had died and there were three daughters aged 16, 14, and 10. I didn't know anyone had died, not since Olive, but that would explain the hearse and funeral procession I saw go up there a couple of months ago, making me wonder at the time why it would go up a little dirt road. It was like a few pieces of a jigsaw fitting together.
"Yes, our neighbour did die", said Richard. " He was as fit as you like this time last year. Before last Christmas, his legs went from under him one day. He just fell over, out of the blue. He felt fine, but he had a bit of a sore leg and went to the doctor, wondering why he'd fallen over for no apparent reason. Scans and Xrays followed and it was found he had cancer in the spine, which had spread to the liver and the bowel. Imagine how it buggered their Christmas. Within a month of going to the doctor he'd lost the use of his legs and the control of his bowels."
"His wife is broken," he continued. They had a big debt. He was a mining equipment salesman and used to make big dough, but the income stopped when he got crook. The cars went first, the house has been repossessed, they are only still there because they haven't been evicted yet."
"Shiiiiit. I never knew any of that was going on," I said, "but I knew something wasn't right because I never saw adults there, only the girls walking to the bus. It makes me wonder a bit about the back and rib pain I've been having."
"Well, I see it all the time, driving people about for treatment. You never know what the next trip to the doctor might bring. It's best not to worry though, just live."
"That's for sure" I said. "I reckon if I can walk every morning, thankful to enjoy everything around me, then I'm doing well. Take it easy on that motorbike mate." I made my way over the shop.
The story of Richard and Sandy's neighbours has made me think. Somehow I've lost my dread of all the Christmas hoohah and I'm going to treat it as annual special morning walk, happy that I'm part of it. Bring it on. All of it.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Updates
LYLE. Rosie brought Lyle home from hospital on Thursday night. He had not had another heart attack. He said they drained 1.7 litres of fluid from one side of his lungs. He is much better but still looks terrible to me. I'm taking him to his specialist's appointment, his urologist, on Monday afternoon.
RAIN. We had six mls last week, then 3ml, then 12ml on Friday night. That's 35ml for October with 3 days to go. The 30 year average for October is 124ml. I discussed this with Geoff Howard at the post office on my walk this morning. Geoff lives in the next house along from Pat and Leo Buckley in Launching Place Rd. As I walk past he's often doing his 'Tai Chi' exercises on a concrete slab that until recently supported a shed next to the house. He called me down a while back and gave me some basic instruction and elementary excersises to do. He often wears a black track suit and a black beanie on cold mornings over a shaved head with no facial hair except a little 'V' beard below and in the middle of the bottom lip, above the chin. He called it a tickler, with a suggestively lewd glint in his eye, when I said it looked good. He has blue eyes that hold your attention and a smooth voice that give his opinions a confident authority. He's a deep thinker and no fool. His garden is full of elaborate topiaries and the famous (at the time) TV gardening show 'Burke's Backyard' once filmed a segment there.
Geoff said this morning, " It's because the ****s have been removing all the old growth forests in the catchment areas and replacing them with new plantations that take up all the rainfall. The deep natural composting litter is lost as is water retension. The surface dries out. There's bugger all run off. The young trees soak up all the rain where before the forest floor was moist and the rain ran into streams. They've been warned about the consequences for twenty years but are still doing it."
I think he's right, and as well, too much land has been cleared for agriculture. I think Gov'ts should be giving farmers in marginal country drought assistance to stay on their farms, not to farm, but to plant them out with drought resistant vegetation. And not necessarily natives, though they may be the best option. It seems many things have to change if the 'ecological era' is to save us.
BEE SWARM. I found the frames last Wednesday and spent a few hours putting them together, wiring them, and inserting foundation wax. I was all thumbs as I don't do this often enough to do it easily or quickly , the last time being two years ago and then only a box or two. I enjoyed it. They are manual tasks that, like say cleaning and polishing shoes, are somehow rewarding. The swarm was hard to get at, being in the middle of the rubbish pile I couldn't drop them on the ground in front of the box and let them walk in as they like to do. I removed as many of the tangled sticks beneath them, and where I needed to put the box, as I could without them falling before I was ready.It was still messy. I shook them down and they fell into the heap, the box not really being close enough. I watched them for nearly an hour, smoking them gently on the side opposite to the box as they reformed their cluster, trying to herd them in. Some went in but the main part of the swarm was determined to cluster outside the box. I had to go, I had to pick rhodo and mollis azalea at Laurie Begg's and have it at the farm by 5 o'clock.
I came home about 6.30 and had a look. They were much as I left them, I had been hoping they'd have gone in of their own accord. I lit the smoker and stirred them up around the edge of the cluster away from the box while removing more sticks to make it clearer for them to go in. It was a big swarm. Slowly the bulk of them went in. A small cluster remained under the landing board and back to the cleat that the box sits on, which was quite a big gap the way the material I had scrounged went together. By this time it was after 7pm and nearly dark so I left them and went inside to the bathtub.
After Freda's funeral the next day I checked them and they were all in.
FREDA'S FUNERAL. Meredith picked me up at 9.30am and we went down in her car. Lib needed her car as she had an appointment at the physiotherapist in Pakenham, not that she could drive herself but fortunately Robbie was home on swotvac and he drove on L plates.
It was simple funeral with small crowd. The celebrant spoke briefly about Freda's life and then 'Amazing Grace' was played during which we were asked to reflect on our memories of her. Two fond memories for me were having afternoon tea with Ian and Freda many times over ten years or so. Freda was so at home in her kitchen and talked more there and she loved to talk of days long gone. Ian would become annoyed sometimes, with a 'here she goes again' attitude, but she liked to talk. Then when I was with Ian in the garden I'd come back to my van to find flowers had been put on the seat. Freda would be standing nearby watching and she'd say, "Take them to Meredith to see." I'd taken Meredith around to meet Ian and Freda and see their garden and they had been to see our farm. We had much in common.
Ian met Freda at the Flinders hall at a dance there when he was 17, so it would have been 1934. He had one dance with her, the last. It only happened because Freda was sitting near to him when a bloke who was dressed like a gangster came up and asked her to dance. She didn't like the look of him and said she couldn't dance because she had to dance with 'him', pointing to Ian. They didn't meet again for 10 years. When Ian was in the army in New Guinea in WW2 a letter arrived in handwriting he didn't recognize. He was puzzled because the only letters he got was from his mother. Freda had heard that he was in New Guinea and wrote to him. Ian replied and they continued to correspond. Ian looked her up when he got back to Australia and they married soon after. The celebrant told some of this story and Ian told us the rest while we had morning tea after the service.
I took a bunch of variegeted rhododendron ponticum flowers to the funeral. I picked them from a bush in my garden, one that Freda had given me about ten years ago as a small plant propogated from one in her garden.
Tears welled in my eyes and a lump was in my throat when the casket wheeled out at the end with Ian walking behind to the the old wartime classic song 'We'll meet again" by Vera Lynn. That just got me.
RAIN. We had six mls last week, then 3ml, then 12ml on Friday night. That's 35ml for October with 3 days to go. The 30 year average for October is 124ml. I discussed this with Geoff Howard at the post office on my walk this morning. Geoff lives in the next house along from Pat and Leo Buckley in Launching Place Rd. As I walk past he's often doing his 'Tai Chi' exercises on a concrete slab that until recently supported a shed next to the house. He called me down a while back and gave me some basic instruction and elementary excersises to do. He often wears a black track suit and a black beanie on cold mornings over a shaved head with no facial hair except a little 'V' beard below and in the middle of the bottom lip, above the chin. He called it a tickler, with a suggestively lewd glint in his eye, when I said it looked good. He has blue eyes that hold your attention and a smooth voice that give his opinions a confident authority. He's a deep thinker and no fool. His garden is full of elaborate topiaries and the famous (at the time) TV gardening show 'Burke's Backyard' once filmed a segment there.
Geoff said this morning, " It's because the ****s have been removing all the old growth forests in the catchment areas and replacing them with new plantations that take up all the rainfall. The deep natural composting litter is lost as is water retension. The surface dries out. There's bugger all run off. The young trees soak up all the rain where before the forest floor was moist and the rain ran into streams. They've been warned about the consequences for twenty years but are still doing it."
I think he's right, and as well, too much land has been cleared for agriculture. I think Gov'ts should be giving farmers in marginal country drought assistance to stay on their farms, not to farm, but to plant them out with drought resistant vegetation. And not necessarily natives, though they may be the best option. It seems many things have to change if the 'ecological era' is to save us.
BEE SWARM. I found the frames last Wednesday and spent a few hours putting them together, wiring them, and inserting foundation wax. I was all thumbs as I don't do this often enough to do it easily or quickly , the last time being two years ago and then only a box or two. I enjoyed it. They are manual tasks that, like say cleaning and polishing shoes, are somehow rewarding. The swarm was hard to get at, being in the middle of the rubbish pile I couldn't drop them on the ground in front of the box and let them walk in as they like to do. I removed as many of the tangled sticks beneath them, and where I needed to put the box, as I could without them falling before I was ready.It was still messy. I shook them down and they fell into the heap, the box not really being close enough. I watched them for nearly an hour, smoking them gently on the side opposite to the box as they reformed their cluster, trying to herd them in. Some went in but the main part of the swarm was determined to cluster outside the box. I had to go, I had to pick rhodo and mollis azalea at Laurie Begg's and have it at the farm by 5 o'clock.
I came home about 6.30 and had a look. They were much as I left them, I had been hoping they'd have gone in of their own accord. I lit the smoker and stirred them up around the edge of the cluster away from the box while removing more sticks to make it clearer for them to go in. It was a big swarm. Slowly the bulk of them went in. A small cluster remained under the landing board and back to the cleat that the box sits on, which was quite a big gap the way the material I had scrounged went together. By this time it was after 7pm and nearly dark so I left them and went inside to the bathtub.
After Freda's funeral the next day I checked them and they were all in.
FREDA'S FUNERAL. Meredith picked me up at 9.30am and we went down in her car. Lib needed her car as she had an appointment at the physiotherapist in Pakenham, not that she could drive herself but fortunately Robbie was home on swotvac and he drove on L plates.
It was simple funeral with small crowd. The celebrant spoke briefly about Freda's life and then 'Amazing Grace' was played during which we were asked to reflect on our memories of her. Two fond memories for me were having afternoon tea with Ian and Freda many times over ten years or so. Freda was so at home in her kitchen and talked more there and she loved to talk of days long gone. Ian would become annoyed sometimes, with a 'here she goes again' attitude, but she liked to talk. Then when I was with Ian in the garden I'd come back to my van to find flowers had been put on the seat. Freda would be standing nearby watching and she'd say, "Take them to Meredith to see." I'd taken Meredith around to meet Ian and Freda and see their garden and they had been to see our farm. We had much in common.
Ian met Freda at the Flinders hall at a dance there when he was 17, so it would have been 1934. He had one dance with her, the last. It only happened because Freda was sitting near to him when a bloke who was dressed like a gangster came up and asked her to dance. She didn't like the look of him and said she couldn't dance because she had to dance with 'him', pointing to Ian. They didn't meet again for 10 years. When Ian was in the army in New Guinea in WW2 a letter arrived in handwriting he didn't recognize. He was puzzled because the only letters he got was from his mother. Freda had heard that he was in New Guinea and wrote to him. Ian replied and they continued to correspond. Ian looked her up when he got back to Australia and they married soon after. The celebrant told some of this story and Ian told us the rest while we had morning tea after the service.
I took a bunch of variegeted rhododendron ponticum flowers to the funeral. I picked them from a bush in my garden, one that Freda had given me about ten years ago as a small plant propogated from one in her garden.
Tears welled in my eyes and a lump was in my throat when the casket wheeled out at the end with Ian walking behind to the the old wartime classic song 'We'll meet again" by Vera Lynn. That just got me.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Observations This Morning
Walking along the track towards the end of our property I looked across Bond's lane to my neighbour's heap of prunings on their burn site. The swarm of bees that I saw there yesterday was still there. I'm going to try to box it later if I can find the material to put it in. I botted a box yesterday from a bloke who offered it to me years ago and I have frames in the shed which will need wiring. I hope I can find some foundation wax fresh enough to be acceptable to the bees. I don't really want the bees even though they probably are from one of my hives, (my workload is a bit of a worry) but it's better if I can get them before anyone gets agitated.
At the end of our street I saw Allison walking the pet rabbit.
I called out "Hi Allison". She didn't hear me at first as there was a lot of traffic noise. Second time she turned around, looking rather attractive in her pink dressing gown, and said she'd been watching the film crew traffic heading down Launching Place Rd. We commented on its heavy volume, all the 'Thrifty' rental vehicles and the big truck with the 'Empire Film Co.' logo on the side. This traffic had resumed this week, after ceasing three or four weeks ago much to my relief at the time. In the meantime I'd learned that the movie is called 'Where The Wild Things Are', Tom Hanks is the producer, and it has a budget of $80 million, a huge figure to me but not much as far as movies go I suppose. Gordon found this out on the internet.
Allison, her husband and daughter had been away for a few days and I'd been looking after 'Cocoa'. They came home yesterday. "How's Cocoa?", I asked, loudly above the traffic noise.
"She's OK. She always goes funny when we're away. She sulks when we get back and won't eat. She peed on Rick when he picked her up, then peed on Alysha."
I laughed. " I thought she was having a bit off a tantrum when you were away. After I put her food in and covered up the cage I'd hear the bowls being tipped up and tossed around."
"Thanks for looking after her while we were away."
"No worries", I said, moving off.
" Have a good day," she called.
"You too."
About a hunderd metres up Quinn Rd. out the front of Olive's house, the second hose on the left at that end, I noticed another 'For Sale' sign. Stockdale and Leggo's now stands next to 'Frank Facey's, which had been on it's own for a couple of months. My friend Olive died last February. She was 84 and suffered a heart attack. I'd seen two ambulances there on my walk one morning. Then for a few weeks I saw nothing. I noticed the ice cream container of lemons was no longer put at the gate with the sign 'please take'. Then one morning there was a few cars at Olive's house, and one with a 'district nurse' sign on the side. It was there three days in a row and on the third day I met Glennis walking the other way outside Olive's house. Glennis is the retired dentist's wife who lives opposite Leo Bucklet's at the other end of Quinn Rd. Glennis told me Olive was dying. Doctors told her they could do an operation but couldn't guarantee that she'd be as good as before, so she declined and stopped eating. They sent her home to die at the end, the nurse coming daily to administer morphine. Glennis said it's not pleasant dying slowly like that. You lose your ability to swallow.
Olive told me once that she did not want to live if she could no longer look after her garden. She said she didn't know what she'd do, but said she supposed if she stopped eating she would die. Well I don't know if it was deliberate or if she lost her appetite, only she would have known, but it happened that way.
If I've blogged about Olive before I apologize. I don't think I have, given that she died in Feb. and I started blogging in April. Olive's three daughters, who live locally, gave me permission to continue picking in her garden, which I did this spring making good harvest of the flowering dogwood and the snowball viburnums and some green helleborus and some camellia. The garden is deteriorating, nobody is doing anything there, not even cutting the grass. It will sell soon I suppose and it could well be another resource lost to me but I can only be grateful for the fifteen years or so that I picked there, did the odd job for Olive, and shared a cup of tea with her.
On my way back there were rain clouds massing but only a few spits. Fingers crossed it comes to something. Might muck up the swarm catching.
Tomorrow, Freda Lucas funeral service is at 10.00am at Pakenham.
At the end of our street I saw Allison walking the pet rabbit.
I called out "Hi Allison". She didn't hear me at first as there was a lot of traffic noise. Second time she turned around, looking rather attractive in her pink dressing gown, and said she'd been watching the film crew traffic heading down Launching Place Rd. We commented on its heavy volume, all the 'Thrifty' rental vehicles and the big truck with the 'Empire Film Co.' logo on the side. This traffic had resumed this week, after ceasing three or four weeks ago much to my relief at the time. In the meantime I'd learned that the movie is called 'Where The Wild Things Are', Tom Hanks is the producer, and it has a budget of $80 million, a huge figure to me but not much as far as movies go I suppose. Gordon found this out on the internet.
Allison, her husband and daughter had been away for a few days and I'd been looking after 'Cocoa'. They came home yesterday. "How's Cocoa?", I asked, loudly above the traffic noise.
"She's OK. She always goes funny when we're away. She sulks when we get back and won't eat. She peed on Rick when he picked her up, then peed on Alysha."
I laughed. " I thought she was having a bit off a tantrum when you were away. After I put her food in and covered up the cage I'd hear the bowls being tipped up and tossed around."
"Thanks for looking after her while we were away."
"No worries", I said, moving off.
" Have a good day," she called.
"You too."
About a hunderd metres up Quinn Rd. out the front of Olive's house, the second hose on the left at that end, I noticed another 'For Sale' sign. Stockdale and Leggo's now stands next to 'Frank Facey's, which had been on it's own for a couple of months. My friend Olive died last February. She was 84 and suffered a heart attack. I'd seen two ambulances there on my walk one morning. Then for a few weeks I saw nothing. I noticed the ice cream container of lemons was no longer put at the gate with the sign 'please take'. Then one morning there was a few cars at Olive's house, and one with a 'district nurse' sign on the side. It was there three days in a row and on the third day I met Glennis walking the other way outside Olive's house. Glennis is the retired dentist's wife who lives opposite Leo Bucklet's at the other end of Quinn Rd. Glennis told me Olive was dying. Doctors told her they could do an operation but couldn't guarantee that she'd be as good as before, so she declined and stopped eating. They sent her home to die at the end, the nurse coming daily to administer morphine. Glennis said it's not pleasant dying slowly like that. You lose your ability to swallow.
Olive told me once that she did not want to live if she could no longer look after her garden. She said she didn't know what she'd do, but said she supposed if she stopped eating she would die. Well I don't know if it was deliberate or if she lost her appetite, only she would have known, but it happened that way.
If I've blogged about Olive before I apologize. I don't think I have, given that she died in Feb. and I started blogging in April. Olive's three daughters, who live locally, gave me permission to continue picking in her garden, which I did this spring making good harvest of the flowering dogwood and the snowball viburnums and some green helleborus and some camellia. The garden is deteriorating, nobody is doing anything there, not even cutting the grass. It will sell soon I suppose and it could well be another resource lost to me but I can only be grateful for the fifteen years or so that I picked there, did the odd job for Olive, and shared a cup of tea with her.
On my way back there were rain clouds massing but only a few spits. Fingers crossed it comes to something. Might muck up the swarm catching.
Tomorrow, Freda Lucas funeral service is at 10.00am at Pakenham.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Freda Lucas
Meredith rang me yesterday. I was expecting news of Lyle, who was taken to hospital again by ambulance on Saturday morning. He was having trouble breathing, getting enough air, and couldn't get up from a lying position on the couch. He'd been trying to call Elvie or Meredith for half an hour but couldn't make them hear, even though they were in the next room and the door was open. You can't call out if you can't get enough air.
She said that dad had improved and they said at the hospital they thought he'd had another heart attack but they couldn't say for sure yet. They said that last time, but he hadn't. Then Meredith told me she really rang to tell me that Freda had died. Emerald Glades (Aged Care hostel) rang Meredith's husband Roger (Freda's GP) during the night and he had to go in to fill out the death certificate. Meredith went with him and waited outside the room. Ian, Freda's husband and good friend of mine, came out and saw her. Meredith said he gave her a big hug and held on for a long time. He said he'd had a cry and was feeling better for it, and that he was just so grateful to have had 62 years of married life with Freda. He said she was a wonderful wife and an exceptional cook before the Alzheimer's robbed her of her memory.
The last time I saw Freda, some months ago, she didn't know who I was. I'd heard through Ian that she could no longer walk and was wheel chair bound. The staff at the hostel had to wash her and dress her as it had become too much for Ian. My feeling at hearing the news was one of relief. Ian had had a very tough 2 years as the disease progressed and sold his house and moved into the hostel about a year ago, no longer able to cope by himself with the garden, the housework, and the care of Freda. He turns 90 next January. A finer man I've not met. Freda was 92.
I'll try to blog about Freda, and Ian, when I have more time. They are part of 'old Australia', a fast disappearing generation that remembers going to school on horseback and milking cows by hand.
She said that dad had improved and they said at the hospital they thought he'd had another heart attack but they couldn't say for sure yet. They said that last time, but he hadn't. Then Meredith told me she really rang to tell me that Freda had died. Emerald Glades (Aged Care hostel) rang Meredith's husband Roger (Freda's GP) during the night and he had to go in to fill out the death certificate. Meredith went with him and waited outside the room. Ian, Freda's husband and good friend of mine, came out and saw her. Meredith said he gave her a big hug and held on for a long time. He said he'd had a cry and was feeling better for it, and that he was just so grateful to have had 62 years of married life with Freda. He said she was a wonderful wife and an exceptional cook before the Alzheimer's robbed her of her memory.
The last time I saw Freda, some months ago, she didn't know who I was. I'd heard through Ian that she could no longer walk and was wheel chair bound. The staff at the hostel had to wash her and dress her as it had become too much for Ian. My feeling at hearing the news was one of relief. Ian had had a very tough 2 years as the disease progressed and sold his house and moved into the hostel about a year ago, no longer able to cope by himself with the garden, the housework, and the care of Freda. He turns 90 next January. A finer man I've not met. Freda was 92.
I'll try to blog about Freda, and Ian, when I have more time. They are part of 'old Australia', a fast disappearing generation that remembers going to school on horseback and milking cows by hand.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Rainfall update
We had 4mm of rain during the week for a total of 14mm so far for October. That would make any gardener shaky, as October is supposed to be our wettest month.
3 New words
I read a book review in the bath last night. The article, by Jack Hibberd, was titled Poland's Guilty Secret in the Review section of The Weekend Australian, and the book is titled 'Fear' by Jan T. Cross.
There were 3 words new to me so I've looked them up.
Neonate-- a newly born child, esp. one less than four weeks old.
context- 'On the outskirts, Poles shot dead a mother and her neonate child.'
Bivalent-- same as divalent
Divalent-- said of an atom of chemical element having a valency of two, and therefore capable of combining with two atoms of hydrogen or their equivalent.
Exculpates-- to remove from guilt or blame.
context-- "Yes, but ultimately he nails the existential fear of Poles for Jews, revealing a dual bivalent fear, but not one that exculpates.
There were 3 words new to me so I've looked them up.
Neonate-- a newly born child, esp. one less than four weeks old.
context- 'On the outskirts, Poles shot dead a mother and her neonate child.'
Bivalent-- same as divalent
Divalent-- said of an atom of chemical element having a valency of two, and therefore capable of combining with two atoms of hydrogen or their equivalent.
Exculpates-- to remove from guilt or blame.
context-- "Yes, but ultimately he nails the existential fear of Poles for Jews, revealing a dual bivalent fear, but not one that exculpates.
Anxiety
My ill feelings and premonitions of Monday have fortunately proved to be unfounded. On Tuesday morning, after 24 hours to think it through, I reached the conclusion that I was overtired and suffered an anxiety attack on the Monday, a reaction to the workload and events of the last few weeks. Mondayitis by another name.
Since Lib fell and broke her wrist I've had an busy time at work. Added to that I've attended a carreer expo one Tuesday night with Gordon in Holmesglen (his TAFE course finishes this year and we have to find something) and then taken Lyle to Berwick the next day for xrays. The next week was Lib's appointment with the surgeon at the Dandy Hospital which ended up a three hour wait in outpatients. The heat had hit the temperature reaching the the mid thirties Celsius with a fierce north wind and I learned that Melbourne Water had put a ban on diverting water out of our little stream into the dam at the farm. This was brought in in early September, because of unprecedented low flows in all streams and creeks in the Woori Yallock creek catchment. So we pay for a water diverting licence but cannot use the water, not to mention the cost of capital in our pump and equipment. On top of all that policians and the media have discovered the drought and have hammered it relentlessly lately. So with one weekend busy working pruning and burning off at home, and the next travelling to visit Lib's mum in Wangaratta ( who is 87, in constant pain despite slow release morphine, with an osteoporosis related bad back, and who only just moves around with the aid of a walking frame), and attend a 50th party, I was exhausted. I need a rest.
The good news is that Robbie had his last day of secondary school yesterday. He now has a couple of weeks swotvac before year 12 exams. I will get a break from performing the morning taxi service.
More good news - our resident Eastern whipbird pair have had a baby and the female and the young'n have been easily seen this last week flitting about the woodshed and the stachyurus and prostratheras. Nature at its best. I'm so glad I didn't scare them off with my pruning. This morning also I saw baby grey strike thrushes playing in the poplars at the end of Quinn Rd. Fanstastic!
I think I have regained my equilibrium after a shaky week.
Since Lib fell and broke her wrist I've had an busy time at work. Added to that I've attended a carreer expo one Tuesday night with Gordon in Holmesglen (his TAFE course finishes this year and we have to find something) and then taken Lyle to Berwick the next day for xrays. The next week was Lib's appointment with the surgeon at the Dandy Hospital which ended up a three hour wait in outpatients. The heat had hit the temperature reaching the the mid thirties Celsius with a fierce north wind and I learned that Melbourne Water had put a ban on diverting water out of our little stream into the dam at the farm. This was brought in in early September, because of unprecedented low flows in all streams and creeks in the Woori Yallock creek catchment. So we pay for a water diverting licence but cannot use the water, not to mention the cost of capital in our pump and equipment. On top of all that policians and the media have discovered the drought and have hammered it relentlessly lately. So with one weekend busy working pruning and burning off at home, and the next travelling to visit Lib's mum in Wangaratta ( who is 87, in constant pain despite slow release morphine, with an osteoporosis related bad back, and who only just moves around with the aid of a walking frame), and attend a 50th party, I was exhausted. I need a rest.
The good news is that Robbie had his last day of secondary school yesterday. He now has a couple of weeks swotvac before year 12 exams. I will get a break from performing the morning taxi service.
More good news - our resident Eastern whipbird pair have had a baby and the female and the young'n have been easily seen this last week flitting about the woodshed and the stachyurus and prostratheras. Nature at its best. I'm so glad I didn't scare them off with my pruning. This morning also I saw baby grey strike thrushes playing in the poplars at the end of Quinn Rd. Fanstastic!
I think I have regained my equilibrium after a shaky week.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Monday
Something doesn't feel right today, but I can't put my finger on it.
It's a lovely sunny morning. The boys left at 6.00am with Gord taking his car to Belgrave station. Lib is still asleep. Everything seemed normal on my walk, the air was fresh, cold on the ears, I'd put a jumper on, Snowy was her happy self, the galahs and cockies were feeding in their paddock, the grey thrush sang, the bronzewings 'oomed', just an ever so slight breeze.
But I feel uneasy. Everything seems just too right. Maybe the weekend in Wangaratta, attending Mary's 50th party and revisiting our past life, has unsettled me? Or am I having a premonition? Has something happened that I don't know about yet? Is something unusual about to happen? I feel uncomfortable about the week ahead.
Why?
I'll have to wait and see. This is most odd.
It's a lovely sunny morning. The boys left at 6.00am with Gord taking his car to Belgrave station. Lib is still asleep. Everything seemed normal on my walk, the air was fresh, cold on the ears, I'd put a jumper on, Snowy was her happy self, the galahs and cockies were feeding in their paddock, the grey thrush sang, the bronzewings 'oomed', just an ever so slight breeze.
But I feel uneasy. Everything seems just too right. Maybe the weekend in Wangaratta, attending Mary's 50th party and revisiting our past life, has unsettled me? Or am I having a premonition? Has something happened that I don't know about yet? Is something unusual about to happen? I feel uncomfortable about the week ahead.
Why?
I'll have to wait and see. This is most odd.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Bonhommie
I'm enjoying a post walk, pre breakfast, peppermint tea with a sqeeze of lemon juice while I blog. Cleansing and soothing.
It was a good weekend. We had a little rain last Thursday, only 4mm, and then 6mm yesterday. Not much, but better than nothing. September was very dry and Melbourne's reservoirs went down for that month for the first time in 36 years since such things have been recorded. Many parts of Victoria are at crisis point. Lib's sister in Bendigo emailed us yesterday saying they are no longer allowed to water the garden, even with a watering can.
I expected the rain because the black cockies had been around and folklore says their presence means it will rain in a few days. It always seems to work, but sometimes only a little rain like this time.
I worked solidly most of yesterday. I was out burning off rubbish before 6am. I normally burn in the evenings on a still day but Saturday, when I planned to burn, was warm and windy and I didn't want to scorch the copper beach tree near where I burn nor upset a neighbour if a bit of smoke goes their way. Do unto others as they say. So I pruned on Sat. and cut out some getting largish holly trees that had been annoying me. I had a big dry heap to burn surrounded by more dry stuff to throw on and also lots up green stuff accumulating for future burns when it dried out and I was worried it was all going to get away on me with the likelihood of early fire restrictions this year because of the big dry. So I didn't walk, I burnt instead as a cool change had come in overnight, rain was threatening, and the neighbours would be asleep, was my logic. I ended up burning the lot, green stuff and all, which I know is naughty, but a drop of sand in a tip truck compared to what the DSE get up to.
Nearing the end of Quinn Rd. on my walk this morning there was a soft crunching of gravel behind me which I heard above the 6am news on the radio I carry in a utility bag. I turned around quickly a little startled, always concerned that a vehicle might come on us suddedly and run Snowie over. It was Janice on her pushbike. She slowed and rode next to me saying 'hello', but not calling me by name. She was in full bike gear including helmet and sunglasses. "Hi Janice" I said, "I haven't seen you for ages. Have you been away or something."
"No, I haven't, but I had two weeks off work which meant I was out a little later. I hadn't seen you either and I said to myself I hope he is not sick."
As she said this she smiled and her voice had a warmth to it. I explained I'd been away for a week, told her about Lib's broken wrist and that I'd been so busy my routine was not so well oiled lately. We agreed the rain was great and she smiled again and rode off.
This was a good start to the working week. I hardly know Janice at all and it's pleasing that she was concerned for my well being. She lives in the first house on the right as I walk up Quinn Rd. and has for years fed her horse in Volta's paddock on the other side of Launching Place Rd. early in the morning, sometimes with a man I assume is her husband. She walks her dog, a border collie named 'Hannah' sometimes at the same time I do and we've had an odd chat here and there about dogs or the weather. Once I told her my name and asked hers. Until today she was always a person of few words and always looked extremely serious or worried. A bit like a Swedish tennis player, not a glimmer of emotion.
On my way back I saw the bag of silverbeet I left for my neighbour Allison, tied to the fence, had gone. Allison walks her daughter's pet rabbit 'Cocoa' in the morning, and now and again I leave greens where I know Allison will see them, where 'Cocoa' likes to do her toilet. I look after 'Cocoa' when they go away.
It was a good weekend. We had a little rain last Thursday, only 4mm, and then 6mm yesterday. Not much, but better than nothing. September was very dry and Melbourne's reservoirs went down for that month for the first time in 36 years since such things have been recorded. Many parts of Victoria are at crisis point. Lib's sister in Bendigo emailed us yesterday saying they are no longer allowed to water the garden, even with a watering can.
I expected the rain because the black cockies had been around and folklore says their presence means it will rain in a few days. It always seems to work, but sometimes only a little rain like this time.
I worked solidly most of yesterday. I was out burning off rubbish before 6am. I normally burn in the evenings on a still day but Saturday, when I planned to burn, was warm and windy and I didn't want to scorch the copper beach tree near where I burn nor upset a neighbour if a bit of smoke goes their way. Do unto others as they say. So I pruned on Sat. and cut out some getting largish holly trees that had been annoying me. I had a big dry heap to burn surrounded by more dry stuff to throw on and also lots up green stuff accumulating for future burns when it dried out and I was worried it was all going to get away on me with the likelihood of early fire restrictions this year because of the big dry. So I didn't walk, I burnt instead as a cool change had come in overnight, rain was threatening, and the neighbours would be asleep, was my logic. I ended up burning the lot, green stuff and all, which I know is naughty, but a drop of sand in a tip truck compared to what the DSE get up to.
Nearing the end of Quinn Rd. on my walk this morning there was a soft crunching of gravel behind me which I heard above the 6am news on the radio I carry in a utility bag. I turned around quickly a little startled, always concerned that a vehicle might come on us suddedly and run Snowie over. It was Janice on her pushbike. She slowed and rode next to me saying 'hello', but not calling me by name. She was in full bike gear including helmet and sunglasses. "Hi Janice" I said, "I haven't seen you for ages. Have you been away or something."
"No, I haven't, but I had two weeks off work which meant I was out a little later. I hadn't seen you either and I said to myself I hope he is not sick."
As she said this she smiled and her voice had a warmth to it. I explained I'd been away for a week, told her about Lib's broken wrist and that I'd been so busy my routine was not so well oiled lately. We agreed the rain was great and she smiled again and rode off.
This was a good start to the working week. I hardly know Janice at all and it's pleasing that she was concerned for my well being. She lives in the first house on the right as I walk up Quinn Rd. and has for years fed her horse in Volta's paddock on the other side of Launching Place Rd. early in the morning, sometimes with a man I assume is her husband. She walks her dog, a border collie named 'Hannah' sometimes at the same time I do and we've had an odd chat here and there about dogs or the weather. Once I told her my name and asked hers. Until today she was always a person of few words and always looked extremely serious or worried. A bit like a Swedish tennis player, not a glimmer of emotion.
On my way back I saw the bag of silverbeet I left for my neighbour Allison, tied to the fence, had gone. Allison walks her daughter's pet rabbit 'Cocoa' in the morning, and now and again I leave greens where I know Allison will see them, where 'Cocoa' likes to do her toilet. I look after 'Cocoa' when they go away.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Bronzewing
A while ago when the days were short, I started my walk in semi darkness. I thought I was hearing a tawny frog mouthed owl at the bottom of Quinn Rd. Well I may have, or I may not. Probably not.
As time went by I heard it later in the morning and in different places and I wondered why an owl is humming when he should be asleep.
Then one morning last week on my way back a bronzewing pidgeon flew up close in front of me from the gravel with a flurry of wings and settled briefly in a nearby pittosporum. I had a good sight of the green sheen on its wings. The next morning on my way back down Launching Place Rd, I heard the noise again coming from a pine tree in front of the Jehova Witness people's house. I stopped walking and looked up into the tree for a couple of minutes scanning all the branches in search of the hummer. Its movement gave it away, its chest puffing out and back in unison with the noise. Some sort of pidgeon I concluded. The only other feature I could see at this distance with the naked eye was that it had a light coloured cap on top of its head which I noticed before it flew away.
I was telling Jod about this, and about the bronzewing, at the farm while we bunched a load of dogwood blossom. He said it could have been a bronzewing making the noise but he wasn't sure about the cap so he pulled his bird book out from under the bench in the shop and looked it up. Sure enough the male has a creamy coloured cap which the female doesn't, which explains why the one I saw the day before had a grey head.
Just now I have looked up the common bronzewing in my bird book ( The Birds of Australia- A book of Identification- 758 Birds in Colour- Ken Simpson, Nicolas Day).
Its distribution is all of Australia except Cape York Peninsula. Its voice is resonant, deep, a repeated 'oom'.
It would seem that's what I've been hearing. Also on the bird scene I saw numerous yellow tailed black cockatoos during the week which are always good to watch. And the currawongs have been absent now for some weeks, which I'm happy about, I was getting tired of them nicking the mini dog yummies I put out on the shed windowsill for my friendly blackbirds. And I took a walk in the galah feeding paddock. There were many obvious, neat, concave hollows in the ground where the birds had been 'beaking', about two inches in diameter, and lots of broken off dandelion leaves. I don't know if the galahs etc were taking a bite out of the stems or biting them off to find seeds underneath.
As time went by I heard it later in the morning and in different places and I wondered why an owl is humming when he should be asleep.
Then one morning last week on my way back a bronzewing pidgeon flew up close in front of me from the gravel with a flurry of wings and settled briefly in a nearby pittosporum. I had a good sight of the green sheen on its wings. The next morning on my way back down Launching Place Rd, I heard the noise again coming from a pine tree in front of the Jehova Witness people's house. I stopped walking and looked up into the tree for a couple of minutes scanning all the branches in search of the hummer. Its movement gave it away, its chest puffing out and back in unison with the noise. Some sort of pidgeon I concluded. The only other feature I could see at this distance with the naked eye was that it had a light coloured cap on top of its head which I noticed before it flew away.
I was telling Jod about this, and about the bronzewing, at the farm while we bunched a load of dogwood blossom. He said it could have been a bronzewing making the noise but he wasn't sure about the cap so he pulled his bird book out from under the bench in the shop and looked it up. Sure enough the male has a creamy coloured cap which the female doesn't, which explains why the one I saw the day before had a grey head.
Just now I have looked up the common bronzewing in my bird book ( The Birds of Australia- A book of Identification- 758 Birds in Colour- Ken Simpson, Nicolas Day).
Its distribution is all of Australia except Cape York Peninsula. Its voice is resonant, deep, a repeated 'oom'.
It would seem that's what I've been hearing. Also on the bird scene I saw numerous yellow tailed black cockatoos during the week which are always good to watch. And the currawongs have been absent now for some weeks, which I'm happy about, I was getting tired of them nicking the mini dog yummies I put out on the shed windowsill for my friendly blackbirds. And I took a walk in the galah feeding paddock. There were many obvious, neat, concave hollows in the ground where the birds had been 'beaking', about two inches in diameter, and lots of broken off dandelion leaves. I don't know if the galahs etc were taking a bite out of the stems or biting them off to find seeds underneath.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Good Company
Yesterday morning after seeing Gordon off about 6.00am it was raining sparsely so I decided to wait bfore setting off on my walk. The sky to the west was grey and heavy and the raindrops were big, every indication was that an October buster was imminent. I wrote an important email instead, and before I knew it the rain had stopped but I didn't have time to walk as I had to run Robbie to Emerald to catch a bus. I did some grocery shopping while there and came home again and complained to Lib that I missed my walk.
She asked me would I go for awalk with her later in Cockatoo. She still can't drive, not being able to change gears with her broken wrist, so I agreed, thinking it would be good for her to get out and have a change of scenery.
Around lunchtime I pulled the carry van into the car park on Bailey Rd. and we took off, Lib, me, and little Snow. We'd not walked here before and I vaguely noted the sign naming the track as Yellow track. It was wide enough for Lib and me to walk side by side with Snow at our heels. Lib commented that Snowie walks close to her on the way out when she walks but then on the return is always 20-30 metres in front because she knows the way back.
Yellow track soon merged into a bigger track called Wright track which gently meandered down through the messmates and peppermints which predominate in this bush. It was open forest with a low undersory which I suspect is 'controlled burned' every few years by the DSE for bushfire prevention. After a kilometre or so we came to a gravel road and we decided to turn back rather than continue along another track which would have taken us to Emerald.
Sure enough on the way back Snowie took the lead. A shower of rain and a cold wind made us walk briskly, talking as we did as husband and wife do about anything that caught our interest. "Look at the heavy budding on that sprig of messmate". "See that pepermint trunk with hardly any bark". "Check out the big crown on that tree and the trunk's big angle and the hollow at the base, it's a wonder it's still standing".
Lib pointed at Snowie taking a track off to the right.
"Look at Snowie, she thinks that's our track", Lib said as we walked straight ahead.
I laughed and wondered when Snow would turn and come after us, then I saw a sign saying 'Yellow track'.
"That is our track" I said. We laughed at ourselves as we followed Snow back to the van.
She asked me would I go for awalk with her later in Cockatoo. She still can't drive, not being able to change gears with her broken wrist, so I agreed, thinking it would be good for her to get out and have a change of scenery.
Around lunchtime I pulled the carry van into the car park on Bailey Rd. and we took off, Lib, me, and little Snow. We'd not walked here before and I vaguely noted the sign naming the track as Yellow track. It was wide enough for Lib and me to walk side by side with Snow at our heels. Lib commented that Snowie walks close to her on the way out when she walks but then on the return is always 20-30 metres in front because she knows the way back.
Yellow track soon merged into a bigger track called Wright track which gently meandered down through the messmates and peppermints which predominate in this bush. It was open forest with a low undersory which I suspect is 'controlled burned' every few years by the DSE for bushfire prevention. After a kilometre or so we came to a gravel road and we decided to turn back rather than continue along another track which would have taken us to Emerald.
Sure enough on the way back Snowie took the lead. A shower of rain and a cold wind made us walk briskly, talking as we did as husband and wife do about anything that caught our interest. "Look at the heavy budding on that sprig of messmate". "See that pepermint trunk with hardly any bark". "Check out the big crown on that tree and the trunk's big angle and the hollow at the base, it's a wonder it's still standing".
Lib pointed at Snowie taking a track off to the right.
"Look at Snowie, she thinks that's our track", Lib said as we walked straight ahead.
I laughed and wondered when Snow would turn and come after us, then I saw a sign saying 'Yellow track'.
"That is our track" I said. We laughed at ourselves as we followed Snow back to the van.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Gentle on My Mind
The phone rang last Wednesday morning, the first day after we returned from Lakes Entrance. Lib was in Dandenong hospital waiting for her op. and I was doing housework including two big loads of washing the boys had accumulated.
The owner of the voice on the other end of the line said he had tried to ring the farm but only got the answering machine on which he left a message, but he needed to talk to someone because he wanted to buy 20 squares of lawn chamomile and he needed to pick it up on Friday morning as early as he could. He found my number in an ancient nursery journal so he gave it a try.
He was polite and well spoken. I explained to him that I had been away and couldn't tell him if we had the twenty squares available but if we did then it would be fine. I said I would ring my sister at the farm and we'd get back to him shortly to tell him when he could pick it up if there was no problem with the number.
I assumed he was a landscape gardener and didn't give it much more thought, however it did prompt me to ring Meredith to see how she was managing in my absence, as I learned on Sunday that mother Elvie had fractured a kneecap in a fall of her own. Meredith had 'moved in' to live at the farm to look after father Lyle, who had been mum's patient, and at this point she did not know of Lib's misfortune with the broken wrist.
We commisserated with each other, which we have done all our lives as siblings, and she said she thought that there were 20 squares there and that she and Jod could handle digging it and would have it ready for the customer. She told me our main wholesale buyer had been on the phone wanting as much dogwood blossom as he could have, which set my agenda for the rest of the day.
Next day, as I pulled into the farm with a second van load of lilac blossom, dogwood, pieris and snowball viburnum I noticed the 20 lush green chamomile squares in their trays neatly placed ready for the customer. There was a warm north wind blowing so I unloaded my day's picking quickly, putting it inside out of the wind, where a similar amount of blossom picked at the farm was already. It was a sight to behold. Buckets of pink and white dogwood, mauve, purple and white lilac and rich creamy pieris and greeny white snowball, massed together drinking water, standing fresh. The shop was steeped with the rich, almost intoxicating perfume of spring.
As we sorted the invoice, a van pulled up and the chamomile customer came in. He commented on how lovely the shop smelled, then stopped talking and looked a little dreamy and light headed, as if having an epiphany. Regaining focus, he said it reminded him of a time he was in southern China near the border of Tibet in a forest of naturally occuring tree rhododendrons growing around a lake, with an understory of azaleas. There was blossom wherever you looked. He said the petals from the azalea flowers fell into the lake and were eaten by fish which became relaxed and sleepy, the azalea flowers being narcotic. Black bears came down to the lake for an easy catch and the scene was the most extraordinary thing he'd ever experienced.
Meredith told me later that he was from the Camberwell Council. They want to grow a chamomile lawn at the civic centre and he was so happy to have found the chamomile after searching nurseries and herb places high and low without success until he found us.
Job satisfaction is a great thing and now and again my turn comes. I loved his story of the rhodie forest and the lake with the fish and the bears.
The owner of the voice on the other end of the line said he had tried to ring the farm but only got the answering machine on which he left a message, but he needed to talk to someone because he wanted to buy 20 squares of lawn chamomile and he needed to pick it up on Friday morning as early as he could. He found my number in an ancient nursery journal so he gave it a try.
He was polite and well spoken. I explained to him that I had been away and couldn't tell him if we had the twenty squares available but if we did then it would be fine. I said I would ring my sister at the farm and we'd get back to him shortly to tell him when he could pick it up if there was no problem with the number.
I assumed he was a landscape gardener and didn't give it much more thought, however it did prompt me to ring Meredith to see how she was managing in my absence, as I learned on Sunday that mother Elvie had fractured a kneecap in a fall of her own. Meredith had 'moved in' to live at the farm to look after father Lyle, who had been mum's patient, and at this point she did not know of Lib's misfortune with the broken wrist.
We commisserated with each other, which we have done all our lives as siblings, and she said she thought that there were 20 squares there and that she and Jod could handle digging it and would have it ready for the customer. She told me our main wholesale buyer had been on the phone wanting as much dogwood blossom as he could have, which set my agenda for the rest of the day.
Next day, as I pulled into the farm with a second van load of lilac blossom, dogwood, pieris and snowball viburnum I noticed the 20 lush green chamomile squares in their trays neatly placed ready for the customer. There was a warm north wind blowing so I unloaded my day's picking quickly, putting it inside out of the wind, where a similar amount of blossom picked at the farm was already. It was a sight to behold. Buckets of pink and white dogwood, mauve, purple and white lilac and rich creamy pieris and greeny white snowball, massed together drinking water, standing fresh. The shop was steeped with the rich, almost intoxicating perfume of spring.
As we sorted the invoice, a van pulled up and the chamomile customer came in. He commented on how lovely the shop smelled, then stopped talking and looked a little dreamy and light headed, as if having an epiphany. Regaining focus, he said it reminded him of a time he was in southern China near the border of Tibet in a forest of naturally occuring tree rhododendrons growing around a lake, with an understory of azaleas. There was blossom wherever you looked. He said the petals from the azalea flowers fell into the lake and were eaten by fish which became relaxed and sleepy, the azalea flowers being narcotic. Black bears came down to the lake for an easy catch and the scene was the most extraordinary thing he'd ever experienced.
Meredith told me later that he was from the Camberwell Council. They want to grow a chamomile lawn at the civic centre and he was so happy to have found the chamomile after searching nurseries and herb places high and low without success until he found us.
Job satisfaction is a great thing and now and again my turn comes. I loved his story of the rhodie forest and the lake with the fish and the bears.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Back Home Again
The words of that John Denver song were well and truly in my mind when I reached the top end of Quinn Rd. on my walk this morning. 'Hey it's good to be back home again'. I watched more than twenty galahs feeding in the paddock next to Leo and Pat Buckley's house. Seed eaters, they're often here, as are Eastern rosellas and white cockatoos, moving slowly through the grass and beaking the ground picking up what must be ripe fallen grass seeds, or maybe sprouts.
The fence between that paddock and the one adjacent is a favourite perch of these birds. Lately, a number of black pegs have been placed in the paddock where the galahs forage and sadly I realize that these pegs are marking out the location of a house soon to be built. The two paddocks I refer to front Quinn Rd., each about an acre in size and until last year when they were fenced off and sold, were part of a much larger paddock of say 20 acres extending well back into the valley which each year, for many years, grew a crop of potatoes.
So, soon the galahs etc., will lose their feeding site, and I will lose the pleasure of watching them, and the vista to the west into this scenic valley. Dare I say, the house will likely be a Mc.Mansion, like the four others that have gone up in Quinn Rd. in recent years, and indeed like the one next door to us, built by our neighbours Tom and Kath behind their existing cottage, which presently still stands bravely, albeit temporarily, in front of the new monolith.
But I'm not getting maudlin about it, things change, the galahs will find another feeding site, and it's still great to be home again.
Our week away was unusual and eventful, a real mixed bag. The first day was spent cutting the grass, cleaning the house, and exploring to find the reason for the water entering and damaging lining and paint right along the rear wall. The house needed cleaning because whoever had been there previously had left it untidy, including not washing the sheets in the bedroom where we sleep. (There were lots of hair in the beds--black visible hair, enough to deny sweet dreams, but this we didn't discover till we were retiring, too dog tired to remake them with clean sheets.) The water coming in was caused by a badly fitted new spout put on some months earlier. Find a plumber was now on my list of things to do before we left. And the spinner on the old twin tub did't work but we managed to fix that by tightening a belt.
Days two, three and four were bliss. Our friend's John and Raylene came down for the weekend and a highlight was a pod of dolphins playing at the entrance right at the time we got there on our walk. They were up close and stayed for half an hour giving us a thrill to be long remembered. Then at the tressle bridge a large red bellied black snake spiced the afternoon with its nonchalant basking and slow graceful movement about the frog pond under the bridge. On Sunday morning I took a solitary walk to Lake Bunga and back along the beach. I felt as close to God as ever I have watching the surf lap at the ninety mile beach with majestic grey/white clouds billowing above and zillions of shells and fragments underfoot. A timeless scene that probably hasn't changed since before white men came here and maybe thousands of years before that. On the way back at the head of the Cunningham arm there were two black swans with four cygnets about the size of small ducks, their baby feathers looking frizzy and the colour of soft suede(?).
On Monday night Lib fell down the steps. Broke her wrist badly and spent the night in Bairsdale hospital. Next day about midday after many x-rays, we were told the operation could not be done there as it needed an orthopaedic surgeon and they transferred Lib to Dandenong. I raced back to the Lakes house, about half an hour in the other direction and packed up as quickly as I could. We then drove to Dandenong, arriving at 5.30pm and starting again at casualty. She was admitted at 8.30 pm. and I went home to surprise the boys by getting home a day early. Lib was operated on the next day and came home yesterday with a titanium plate and seven screws in the wrist.
I'm back working, picking lilac, dogwood and viburnum blossom. And loving it.
'I said hey it's good to be back home again.'
The fence between that paddock and the one adjacent is a favourite perch of these birds. Lately, a number of black pegs have been placed in the paddock where the galahs forage and sadly I realize that these pegs are marking out the location of a house soon to be built. The two paddocks I refer to front Quinn Rd., each about an acre in size and until last year when they were fenced off and sold, were part of a much larger paddock of say 20 acres extending well back into the valley which each year, for many years, grew a crop of potatoes.
So, soon the galahs etc., will lose their feeding site, and I will lose the pleasure of watching them, and the vista to the west into this scenic valley. Dare I say, the house will likely be a Mc.Mansion, like the four others that have gone up in Quinn Rd. in recent years, and indeed like the one next door to us, built by our neighbours Tom and Kath behind their existing cottage, which presently still stands bravely, albeit temporarily, in front of the new monolith.
But I'm not getting maudlin about it, things change, the galahs will find another feeding site, and it's still great to be home again.
Our week away was unusual and eventful, a real mixed bag. The first day was spent cutting the grass, cleaning the house, and exploring to find the reason for the water entering and damaging lining and paint right along the rear wall. The house needed cleaning because whoever had been there previously had left it untidy, including not washing the sheets in the bedroom where we sleep. (There were lots of hair in the beds--black visible hair, enough to deny sweet dreams, but this we didn't discover till we were retiring, too dog tired to remake them with clean sheets.) The water coming in was caused by a badly fitted new spout put on some months earlier. Find a plumber was now on my list of things to do before we left. And the spinner on the old twin tub did't work but we managed to fix that by tightening a belt.
Days two, three and four were bliss. Our friend's John and Raylene came down for the weekend and a highlight was a pod of dolphins playing at the entrance right at the time we got there on our walk. They were up close and stayed for half an hour giving us a thrill to be long remembered. Then at the tressle bridge a large red bellied black snake spiced the afternoon with its nonchalant basking and slow graceful movement about the frog pond under the bridge. On Sunday morning I took a solitary walk to Lake Bunga and back along the beach. I felt as close to God as ever I have watching the surf lap at the ninety mile beach with majestic grey/white clouds billowing above and zillions of shells and fragments underfoot. A timeless scene that probably hasn't changed since before white men came here and maybe thousands of years before that. On the way back at the head of the Cunningham arm there were two black swans with four cygnets about the size of small ducks, their baby feathers looking frizzy and the colour of soft suede(?).
On Monday night Lib fell down the steps. Broke her wrist badly and spent the night in Bairsdale hospital. Next day about midday after many x-rays, we were told the operation could not be done there as it needed an orthopaedic surgeon and they transferred Lib to Dandenong. I raced back to the Lakes house, about half an hour in the other direction and packed up as quickly as I could. We then drove to Dandenong, arriving at 5.30pm and starting again at casualty. She was admitted at 8.30 pm. and I went home to surprise the boys by getting home a day early. Lib was operated on the next day and came home yesterday with a titanium plate and seven screws in the wrist.
I'm back working, picking lilac, dogwood and viburnum blossom. And loving it.
'I said hey it's good to be back home again.'
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Holiday
Lib and I are taking off for Lakes Entrance this afternoon after I tidy up some loose ends. The boys are staying home to study(?) and have a bit of their own time at home. It'll be wonderful walking along the beach and visiting some of our favourite haunts like the old tressle bridge at Nowa Nowa and the little platypus pond in the upper Tambo river near Bruthen. Lots of reading, walking, and just not working the the normal routine. Will be back in about a week. Bye for a while. I'll try to write something inspired by holiday freedom to post when I come back.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Final Comment RWScissors
Over the weekend while taking my bath I read and finished 'Running With Scissors'. This shows how I was taken in because I normally read 'The Weekend Australian' newspaper, but I did want to finish this book. Then last night I woke up at 3.00am thinking about it, and I was so glad there was almost three hours before I had to get out of bed. I guess everyone knows that feeling.
Halfway through, as I said, I was repulsed by the the goings on and decided it was not a book I'd recommend. As I continued the humour returned, largely in the form of the character Natalie and with more of the adventures of Diedre. So in the final washup I concluded that this book is a powerful social comment, in the main about the vulnerability of children and our self indulgent modern lifestyle. It looks at our fast food, pop music, substance abusing culture in a satirical way. Some characters are introduced in a certain way and then change giving the message that nothing is as it seems. No character more than Hope and her cat Freud and her bibledipping shows that the author's intent was more than a simple narrative. The more I think about it the more I find. I loved the symbolism of the turkey and the Christmas tree.
And I think the sordid rough parts are included to open the reader up and make him wonder what the heck is this about, which it did for me. And Augusten says himself that the present was so terrible that he only could think of a better future. I've passed it back to Lib to read, with a warning, and if she sees it through I look forward to talking to her about it. And others who have read it. (Maria?)
I would ask for comments on this blog site but I haven't worked out how to set that up yet.
Halfway through, as I said, I was repulsed by the the goings on and decided it was not a book I'd recommend. As I continued the humour returned, largely in the form of the character Natalie and with more of the adventures of Diedre. So in the final washup I concluded that this book is a powerful social comment, in the main about the vulnerability of children and our self indulgent modern lifestyle. It looks at our fast food, pop music, substance abusing culture in a satirical way. Some characters are introduced in a certain way and then change giving the message that nothing is as it seems. No character more than Hope and her cat Freud and her bibledipping shows that the author's intent was more than a simple narrative. The more I think about it the more I find. I loved the symbolism of the turkey and the Christmas tree.
And I think the sordid rough parts are included to open the reader up and make him wonder what the heck is this about, which it did for me. And Augusten says himself that the present was so terrible that he only could think of a better future. I've passed it back to Lib to read, with a warning, and if she sees it through I look forward to talking to her about it. And others who have read it. (Maria?)
I would ask for comments on this blog site but I haven't worked out how to set that up yet.
Tom Hanks in Gembrook?
This morning, and every morning Monday to Friday these last few weeks, there's been an increase in traffic along Launching Place Rd. I only walk along there for about 600 metres each way from the end of Quinn rd. at Leo's house but it has made this stretch unpleasant as I have to get well off the road with 'Snowie' for every vehicle and it's almost a constant stream. And the noise is irritating.
When it started I commented to Glenda in the Post Office agency and she said it was because they were filming out of town a bit at Kurth Kiln. (An old kiln where they burnt timber to make charcoal fuel in WW2, which has has been preserved as a tourist park) Some sort of kids show with animals was all she said.
This morning on this stretch I met Harry coming the other way and we stopped to talk. He was unusually animated, he'd just witnessed a close shave in the main St. outside the pub. Someone overtook two cars at great speed and just missed an oncoming car by millimetres. While we talked the cavalcade of traffic passed us going to Kurth Kiln. Cars, box vans and trucks displaying 'Thrifty' rental signs and even an ambulance which I often see and must be required on standby. I asked Harry had he noticed this traffic since he'd come back from holiday, and he said yes it's because that Tom Hank's film is being made down there as well as another location.
So if Harry's right, this film must be quite a big deal, but I've read nothing of it in the local rags.
When it started I commented to Glenda in the Post Office agency and she said it was because they were filming out of town a bit at Kurth Kiln. (An old kiln where they burnt timber to make charcoal fuel in WW2, which has has been preserved as a tourist park) Some sort of kids show with animals was all she said.
This morning on this stretch I met Harry coming the other way and we stopped to talk. He was unusually animated, he'd just witnessed a close shave in the main St. outside the pub. Someone overtook two cars at great speed and just missed an oncoming car by millimetres. While we talked the cavalcade of traffic passed us going to Kurth Kiln. Cars, box vans and trucks displaying 'Thrifty' rental signs and even an ambulance which I often see and must be required on standby. I asked Harry had he noticed this traffic since he'd come back from holiday, and he said yes it's because that Tom Hank's film is being made down there as well as another location.
So if Harry's right, this film must be quite a big deal, but I've read nothing of it in the local rags.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
'Run With Scissors' Warning
I'm a little over half way through this book now and having made comment earlier I feel I should continue. I said earlier I was surprised by this book then shocked but it crashes from one shock to the next with an intent seemingly to repulse the reader. It is explicit and R rated in my view. I find I don't look forward to reading it like I do other books and it's lost much of its humour.
I will finish it. I have to attempt to understand what the author is trying to achieve. I do know this though. On my walk this morning: the lime green new leaves on the oak trees, the kookaburras (beaks pointing up, vibrating bodies and shimmying tails) staking territory with their duet call, the sharp smell of the onion weed in flower and the scent of flowering sweet pittosporums seemed all the more pleasing to my senses.
Anyone who has read 'Running With Scissors' will know what I mean. Anyone who hasn't but intends to, be warned. I don't recommend it at this point.
Ps. As I walked past Leo's house this morning I noticed on his LeoArt sign the web address- www.learntodraw.com.au
I will finish it. I have to attempt to understand what the author is trying to achieve. I do know this though. On my walk this morning: the lime green new leaves on the oak trees, the kookaburras (beaks pointing up, vibrating bodies and shimmying tails) staking territory with their duet call, the sharp smell of the onion weed in flower and the scent of flowering sweet pittosporums seemed all the more pleasing to my senses.
Anyone who has read 'Running With Scissors' will know what I mean. Anyone who hasn't but intends to, be warned. I don't recommend it at this point.
Ps. As I walked past Leo's house this morning I noticed on his LeoArt sign the web address- www.learntodraw.com.au
Monday, September 11, 2006
More on "Running With Scissors"
I worked long and hard last week and also some of Saturday and Sunday in Hughesy's garden. He and Shirley will be back from Queensland next Friday, after spending the winter with their daughter who runs a florist shop in Noosa Heads. I had to cut the grass and do some pruning they'd asked me to do while they were away. Of course I'd left it till the last minute, as you do. I'll post a blog on Hughesy one day because it would be interesting I think. I reckon his story would be worth telling.
All work and no play is not on, so I managed to do a little reading of 'Running With Scissors'. I'm now only up to page 94 but this book is entertaining and humourous and has managed to -
1. Surprise me.
Out of the blue the teller of the story, a twelve year old boy, announces he's gay. I just wasn't ready for that.
2. Shock me.
He introduced a new character. 'Fern', the minister's wife, a straightlaced good samaritan who'd helped his mother and he through the troubles wrought on a dysfunctional family. The following quote sums up the situation that develops, again out of the blue.
"Fern was a muff diver. And she was diving on my mother's muff."
FAR OUT! I was right when I said this book seemed to be a good antidote to 'The Da Vinci Code'. I'm wondering what on earth will happen next.
All work and no play is not on, so I managed to do a little reading of 'Running With Scissors'. I'm now only up to page 94 but this book is entertaining and humourous and has managed to -
1. Surprise me.
Out of the blue the teller of the story, a twelve year old boy, announces he's gay. I just wasn't ready for that.
2. Shock me.
He introduced a new character. 'Fern', the minister's wife, a straightlaced good samaritan who'd helped his mother and he through the troubles wrought on a dysfunctional family. The following quote sums up the situation that develops, again out of the blue.
"Fern was a muff diver. And she was diving on my mother's muff."
FAR OUT! I was right when I said this book seemed to be a good antidote to 'The Da Vinci Code'. I'm wondering what on earth will happen next.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Leo Art
On my walk last Sunday I called in on Pat and Leo Buckley to pick up the curry recipe (in print) that Leo gave me over the phone some time ago.
It wasn't early in the morning as I usually walk, it was about 4.00pm. This was because we stayed in Melbourne Saturday night at the Travelodge in Southgate, and came home on the Sunday afternoon, Father's day. We went out to dinner in China town after having earlier watched Adelaide v. Melbourne on the big screen at Leighoak, the MFC owned hotel in Chadstone. It was the first time we'd done that and it was a lot of fun because the crowd cheered wildly at every Melbourne goal and booed and hissed at the poor umpiring decisions that went Adelaide's way. So even though our team lost it was an enjoyable afternoon amongst similar thinking human beings. We indulged in a $43 a head banquet at the Westlakes Chinese restaurant which was wonderful we all agreed, as was the service.
Following dinner, we wandered through the streets of Melbourne past nightclubs and party boats on the Yarra. Boom, boom, boom, you could hear the beat for blocks as the young ones crowded in and seemed to actually be talking to each other, despite the ear splitting decibel levels of the music. The city was buzzing and seemed to be celebrating the arrival of warm weather, the last few days having been 23C/24C. We went to Crown Casino where Lib was determined to do some serious gambling, and Lucky Lib the birthday girl (this was a night out jointly for Lib's 50th and Father's day) finished up $150 the better from the poker machines and roullette. I didn't gamble much at all, it's not really my caper and I was so tired. The boys had a good time and it isn't often that we do things as a family these days.
After we arrived home I needed to walk and it was a good time to call on Pat and Leo, as I was supposed to have ages ago. Thinking I wasn't going to come after months had passed, Leo had put the recipe away and couldn't find it, so he went out to his studio looking while Pat made me a cup of coffee.
Leo and Pat have an interesting story which I will tell, without detail, as I don't remember it. They are of English origin. They grew up in the same village, which apparently has hardly changed in appearance in centuries, and were childhood sweethearts. Leo is an artist. He runs drawing classes in a studio behind his house. At least he used to, and I did one about ten years ago, ten two hour sessions on Tuesday evenings. I was picking flax in his garden one day and mentioned in conversation that I couldn't draw at school. He replied that everyone can draw and it went from there.
I asked him was he one of those kids at school who just seemed to be naturally brilliant at drawing like those I envied. He said yes, he always loved drawing but he stopped at school and refused to draw and didn't draw for years. He had a school master who rubbished one of his drawings and humiliated him by throwing it in the bin in front of the class.
Leo left school early and signed for a long stint in the merchant navy where he took up drawing again to fill the long hours at sea, and progressed to drawings of his shipmates who would send the drawings home to their families, and drawings of exotic places the Navy took him. On a return home he and Pat rekindled their romance and after Leo left the merchant navy they married and migrated to Australia. Leo got caught up in corporate life somehow and climbed the ladder, with stress crushing him as the years went by. One day at a business meeting he had a burning, exploding sensation deep in his throat, and an eruption of blood and mucous spewed from his mouth as he collapsed and was rushed to the emergency ward.
It may not have been related to his collapse, I can't remember, but it turned out they found he had a bad type of oesophagus cancer and was given only a short time to live. He chose to have radical treatment which was not expected to save him, and here he is a couple of decades later going to markets, drawing caricatures and bookmarks, and selling streetscapes to tourists or anyone interested.
While convalescing, Leo wrote a book to teach people to draw, which gave him a new purpose in life and was important in his recovery. He began attending markets, with Pat helping, as soon as he was well enough, to generate income.
While Leo was in his studio printing me another recipe from his computer, Pat made a cup of coffee and we stood at the wide kitchen window looking out over the valley, the view which they fell in love with and made them say to the agent that yes, they would buy this house, before they had even been inside. It's a timber cottage with high ceilings and Pat and Leo have made it cosy and homely. In front of the kitchen window a large bird feeder about 8 feet long hangs from two chains and I said to Pat that I see many birds about here when I walk in the mornings so we discussed king parrots, rosellas, cockatoos, currawongs, ravens, magpies and the grey shrike-thrush I have seen regularly lately. Pat said it comes every morning to her feeder and she calls him 'the butler' because of his grey chest and darker wings, tail and head, like a formal suit. I said to Pat that I had become familiar with 'the butler's call and when I imitate it sings back to me. Pat also loves its song and we whistled it to each other and laughed. It's 3 or 4 short notes of the same pitch then a higher double note which finishes trailing off and then stopps abruptly. Between the grey thrush at the end of Quinn Rd. and the hooting of an owl at the start, which I think is a tawny frogmouth (sounds like the noise you get if you blow into the neck of a bottle) the morning walks have been exciting, not forgetting also the wattle blossom dropping off the blackwattles and lining the verge of the road. The wind made by cars as they whoosh along blows the blossom from the bitumen road and it collects on the gravel edge where the grass starts, creating a yellow squiggly line between the dark road and the bright green spring grass. It reminded me of foam on a beach where the water and sand meet, (and that Lib starts 3 weeks holiday soon and with a bit of luck I'll be walking on the beach at Lakes Entrance soon). While the black wattles are nearing the end of their flowering, the blackwoods (also wattles) are in full flower and although a paler yellow, are pretty nonetheless. And the oaks are shooting and some elms flowering.
Leo came back with the curry recipe and another one for chicken satay and we talked more about birds and food. It was a good way to round off the 'different' weekend we'd had and freshen up for the week ahead.
P.S. Leo's class showed me that I can draw after all. I enjoyed it, but I confess I haven't drawn one thing in all the years since. One day though I just might sit down with pencil and paper and have a go again. I'd like to draw trees.
It wasn't early in the morning as I usually walk, it was about 4.00pm. This was because we stayed in Melbourne Saturday night at the Travelodge in Southgate, and came home on the Sunday afternoon, Father's day. We went out to dinner in China town after having earlier watched Adelaide v. Melbourne on the big screen at Leighoak, the MFC owned hotel in Chadstone. It was the first time we'd done that and it was a lot of fun because the crowd cheered wildly at every Melbourne goal and booed and hissed at the poor umpiring decisions that went Adelaide's way. So even though our team lost it was an enjoyable afternoon amongst similar thinking human beings. We indulged in a $43 a head banquet at the Westlakes Chinese restaurant which was wonderful we all agreed, as was the service.
Following dinner, we wandered through the streets of Melbourne past nightclubs and party boats on the Yarra. Boom, boom, boom, you could hear the beat for blocks as the young ones crowded in and seemed to actually be talking to each other, despite the ear splitting decibel levels of the music. The city was buzzing and seemed to be celebrating the arrival of warm weather, the last few days having been 23C/24C. We went to Crown Casino where Lib was determined to do some serious gambling, and Lucky Lib the birthday girl (this was a night out jointly for Lib's 50th and Father's day) finished up $150 the better from the poker machines and roullette. I didn't gamble much at all, it's not really my caper and I was so tired. The boys had a good time and it isn't often that we do things as a family these days.
After we arrived home I needed to walk and it was a good time to call on Pat and Leo, as I was supposed to have ages ago. Thinking I wasn't going to come after months had passed, Leo had put the recipe away and couldn't find it, so he went out to his studio looking while Pat made me a cup of coffee.
Leo and Pat have an interesting story which I will tell, without detail, as I don't remember it. They are of English origin. They grew up in the same village, which apparently has hardly changed in appearance in centuries, and were childhood sweethearts. Leo is an artist. He runs drawing classes in a studio behind his house. At least he used to, and I did one about ten years ago, ten two hour sessions on Tuesday evenings. I was picking flax in his garden one day and mentioned in conversation that I couldn't draw at school. He replied that everyone can draw and it went from there.
I asked him was he one of those kids at school who just seemed to be naturally brilliant at drawing like those I envied. He said yes, he always loved drawing but he stopped at school and refused to draw and didn't draw for years. He had a school master who rubbished one of his drawings and humiliated him by throwing it in the bin in front of the class.
Leo left school early and signed for a long stint in the merchant navy where he took up drawing again to fill the long hours at sea, and progressed to drawings of his shipmates who would send the drawings home to their families, and drawings of exotic places the Navy took him. On a return home he and Pat rekindled their romance and after Leo left the merchant navy they married and migrated to Australia. Leo got caught up in corporate life somehow and climbed the ladder, with stress crushing him as the years went by. One day at a business meeting he had a burning, exploding sensation deep in his throat, and an eruption of blood and mucous spewed from his mouth as he collapsed and was rushed to the emergency ward.
It may not have been related to his collapse, I can't remember, but it turned out they found he had a bad type of oesophagus cancer and was given only a short time to live. He chose to have radical treatment which was not expected to save him, and here he is a couple of decades later going to markets, drawing caricatures and bookmarks, and selling streetscapes to tourists or anyone interested.
While convalescing, Leo wrote a book to teach people to draw, which gave him a new purpose in life and was important in his recovery. He began attending markets, with Pat helping, as soon as he was well enough, to generate income.
While Leo was in his studio printing me another recipe from his computer, Pat made a cup of coffee and we stood at the wide kitchen window looking out over the valley, the view which they fell in love with and made them say to the agent that yes, they would buy this house, before they had even been inside. It's a timber cottage with high ceilings and Pat and Leo have made it cosy and homely. In front of the kitchen window a large bird feeder about 8 feet long hangs from two chains and I said to Pat that I see many birds about here when I walk in the mornings so we discussed king parrots, rosellas, cockatoos, currawongs, ravens, magpies and the grey shrike-thrush I have seen regularly lately. Pat said it comes every morning to her feeder and she calls him 'the butler' because of his grey chest and darker wings, tail and head, like a formal suit. I said to Pat that I had become familiar with 'the butler's call and when I imitate it sings back to me. Pat also loves its song and we whistled it to each other and laughed. It's 3 or 4 short notes of the same pitch then a higher double note which finishes trailing off and then stopps abruptly. Between the grey thrush at the end of Quinn Rd. and the hooting of an owl at the start, which I think is a tawny frogmouth (sounds like the noise you get if you blow into the neck of a bottle) the morning walks have been exciting, not forgetting also the wattle blossom dropping off the blackwattles and lining the verge of the road. The wind made by cars as they whoosh along blows the blossom from the bitumen road and it collects on the gravel edge where the grass starts, creating a yellow squiggly line between the dark road and the bright green spring grass. It reminded me of foam on a beach where the water and sand meet, (and that Lib starts 3 weeks holiday soon and with a bit of luck I'll be walking on the beach at Lakes Entrance soon). While the black wattles are nearing the end of their flowering, the blackwoods (also wattles) are in full flower and although a paler yellow, are pretty nonetheless. And the oaks are shooting and some elms flowering.
Leo came back with the curry recipe and another one for chicken satay and we talked more about birds and food. It was a good way to round off the 'different' weekend we'd had and freshen up for the week ahead.
P.S. Leo's class showed me that I can draw after all. I enjoyed it, but I confess I haven't drawn one thing in all the years since. One day though I just might sit down with pencil and paper and have a go again. I'd like to draw trees.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
More Rain / New Book
I listened to rain on the iron roof last night , a calming, peaceful sound, gentle, but steady and continuous. It's still raining now, enough to prevent me walking this morning. Rob left early with Gord, about 6.15, and Lib left at 6.30 so I'm in solitude. After reading emails and checking a few blogs for my daily catch up with distant 'friends', I want to post a quote from a book I have just started reading. I don't have time for a proper post, as I thought I was taking Rob to Emerald for the 9am bus and made arrangements to pick some copper coloured flax for a customer who calls for his order at the farm about 10.30.
I finished reading 'The Da Vinci Code' yesterday. I have to admit I enjoyed it. It was easy to read and skipped along from one suspense to another which kept my interest, but at times I tired of all the cryptic code intrigue. And perhaps too many obscure symbols for this picker's simple life.
Our friend Raylene, who is now Lib's boss as Director of Nursing, is an avid reader. She lent us some books when we went to dinner recently. It was one of these I picked up, 'Running With Scissors' by Augusten Burroughs, to read as my next book. I laughed loudly when I read this morning the following line -
" As far as I was concerned, my mother was a bitch, period. She was a rare phsycotic-confessional- poet strain of salmonella."
I'm only at page 39 and 3 chapters in but this book seems the perfect follow up to break the spell of 'The Da Vinci Code'.
I finished reading 'The Da Vinci Code' yesterday. I have to admit I enjoyed it. It was easy to read and skipped along from one suspense to another which kept my interest, but at times I tired of all the cryptic code intrigue. And perhaps too many obscure symbols for this picker's simple life.
Our friend Raylene, who is now Lib's boss as Director of Nursing, is an avid reader. She lent us some books when we went to dinner recently. It was one of these I picked up, 'Running With Scissors' by Augusten Burroughs, to read as my next book. I laughed loudly when I read this morning the following line -
" As far as I was concerned, my mother was a bitch, period. She was a rare phsycotic-confessional- poet strain of salmonella."
I'm only at page 39 and 3 chapters in but this book seems the perfect follow up to break the spell of 'The Da Vinci Code'.
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