The Bank Teller and The Barber

I was in the bank Monday, withdrawing my weekly cash allowance (self-imposed). The teller, a young lady named Megan, asked me how my weekend was. I told her a little story explaining a highlight as there were no customers behind me and it was nearing 12.30 when the branch closes for an hour. I asked her whether she had a good weekend and what was a highlight. She replied she went to Adelaide to help her partner buy a suit. He'd never owned one before and needed one for his wedding, they were getting married soon. I asked her when and she said the day after the King's Birthday weekend coming up soon. The registry office is only open on Tuesdays, they are getting married there.

I have a nice rapport with Megan, since I first met her a year ago when she started work at the bank. I told her of my very good friendship with Megan Kelly in the 1970's. We have drifted but I have much fondness for Megan K, now O'Brien. Sister of my friend Mark in Wangaratta she was fun loving with a sense of humour that would brighten anybody. I told bank teller Megan that my Megan back then was the only person who could have me enjoy dancing. I was not a dancer and frankly loathed it at the many functions of the day. But with Megan I was OK with it and grooved along with no reluctance. Megan K's youthful joy and laughter often appears in my memories fondly.

Megan today explained they weren't having a wedding celebration. They'd have the long weekend off to prepare, the Tuesday off to tie the knot at the registry, then back to work Wednesday. Other than her partner's father coming from Cairns to be a witness, there'd be no family to share the occasion, something they were both happy with. I gave her early congratulation and wished her well. I'll drop in a box of chocolates for her the week before the wedding. Her partner is named Nicco she told me in answer to my question. He's Dutch South African by origin.

The barber who cut my hair a couple of weeks ago had an amazing story. As I waited while he did the bloke before me, I overheard him say he'd been on cortisone for many years and it wrecked his bones. When my turn came, I asked him "Why the cortisone, if you don't mind me asking?"

He was a sickly kid during childhood after his family migrated from England when he was three. Doctors couldn't find what was wrong him until eventually he was diagnosed with acute Chrone's disease, which was not supposed to happen to one so young. I'm not sure how old he was at this point and my recall of his story may not be 100% accurate. Somewhere along the way whatever was going on with him caused him to have rheumatoid arthritis and a lot more cortisone. After some time, he was nearly buggered, in hospital for a long time. they were going to cut his leg off, he was all set, they'd painted orange on his leg so there could be no accident like cutting off the wrong leg. I knew what he was talking about as before my recent carotid clean out they'd coloured the side of my neck to make sure they did the right one. There was a Canadian doctor present (on some exchange arrangement) at the last prep session who suggested if this patient could be given to him to treat with a new bio injection treatment, he reckoned he could save the leg. It worked, but over time the weekly and now self-administered injection had adverse side effect.

He lived on Hindmarsh Island. His wife was at work. He was home alone and didn't feel well. He went to the toilet to vomit and collapsed over the bowl. Heart attack. This was last November. He said he would have died were it not for freakish lucky breaks. His wife would have come home to find him dead in the toilet. His son was coming from Morphetvale in his car to go to the schoolies function in Victor Harbor, an annual sheebang attended by thousands. He had been looking forward to it and planning for it. He was driving to VH and something made him change his mind. He inexplicably decided to forego the schoolies and go and see his dad instead. When he got there, he found him unconscious in the toilet. He bundled him in his car with great difficulty and drove him the half hour or so to VH emergency. 

The barber remembers little of this, but he recalls a lady in the waiting room letting out a blood curdling scream when his son brought him in and laid him on the floor. Staff came running. He remembers a nurse leaping over him and rushing outside, that's all. She was running to catch an ambulance crew who were around the corner at the ambulance ramp driving away. By a miracle they were a highly trained crew of paramedics who had transferred a patient, a job not normally done by these cardiac guys but fortuitously they were there. She literally banged on the back of the ambulance as it was driving off.

The barber learned these details later. The paramedics rushed him to Flinders Hospital some 50 minutes away, all the time doing CPR or whatever it's called, pumping the chest to keep him alive, breaking ribs in the process. He was operated on and survived. Apparently, the position of his blocked artery meant the normal outcome is an explosion causing death, but by a third miracle it didn't happen and he's a rare survivor of that particular event.

I asked him how old he was. 48. I thanked him for sharing his story and gave him a healthy tip. I wished him well and said I hoped he made it to 72, like me walking around healthy. I left the shop, thinking I'm so lucky.

Before the Rain

 It's been a while since I posted. I've been busy with one thing or other. Footy season too. Good to see the Suns touch up the Cats last night.

I had a haircut yesterday. The bloke cutting my hair was a ripper. Told me amazing stories of his health battles since he was a toddler. I'll write it up before long while it's fresh in my mind, but not now, it will take some application. Definitely worth recording.

For now, below l copy and paste from an Email I received this morning which explains some of why I've been busy. Added to it I've had a program treating weed trees in a section of river I had not previously been on the other side, olives, boxthorns, pittosporums, tobacco plants. Good to get in there now while it dry, the river low, and the reeds and died off for easier access. Also snakes not active.

Hi Members, A big thank you to those folks who up potted the last of our seedlings for the season.  

These plants will be our starting stock for 2025 planting season and already our team is discussing where to place this wonderful selection. 

🌿🌾Acacia Pycnontha 160 (Golden Wattle) - Dodonaea Viscosa 25 (Sticky Hop bush) - Acacia Acinacea 40 (Gold Dust Wattle)

We wish to thank all our members in meeting outside of our normal hours to advance our planting season before the rain.

This adjustment has been working but only with the assistance of our team volunteering to water the new plants.

Many thanks to  the following folks:

Tony and Di for taking on the watering of Wattle Res up-stream end group of several gums: To Di and hubby Jeff for taking the job of watering Cootamundra Res new plants: To Carey who wanders all over the place watering those in need: And also to the friends of FoHRE along Wattle Drive who have offered access to their water so our members do not have to cart water to the sites: and of course to CVH for watering the bulk of the plants in the reserves during this dry season.

                                  💥 Get ready for a WOW!  👀💥

83 kangaroo thorn, 87 christmas bush , 102 drooping sheoaks, 80 pigface 23 cup gums, 10 pink gums, 10 sideroxylon

to name only a few but add up to 440 so far of our very own plants (seeds collected, propagating to seedlings and then planted)

All of the above plants have been planted to build on the existing tree communities, to enhance the biodiversity of the reserves, to improve the entrances / exits of each reserve and to fill in some bare areas.

Again, a big thank you to all.

Co Coordinators 

Marching On

 Nearly we are at the end of March, and what a busy month it has been for me. The Ides bought me no foul. I was concerned, as on the 15th I was to make a trip to Flinders Hospital to have the vascular team examine the ultrasound pictures of my carotid arteries, which were taken a week earlier at the Sir Mark Oliphant building on the other side of the Expressway to Flinders Hospital.

At my consultation a lady doctor, not Thaven, the man who did my surgery, told me the pictures were all good. I could henceforth drop the Clopidogrel blood thinning medication but I should continue the 100mg aspirin for life. Also the Atorvastin. I asked her could that dose be reduced from the very strong 80mg with time. She said she wouldn't if she were me, but I could if I wish, reduce to 40 mg when I'd finished the 80mg stock that I have. I have a few repeat prescriptions so as of the15th I have been cutting them to have half a tablet each day.

Interestingly, on my way out of the hospital, when I was wrestling with the pay machine in the car park to gain exit ticket, my phone rang. It was the lady doctor. She said they'd had a close look at the images and there was some residual narrowing in the artery they cleaned out and she was going to organize a surveillance ultrasound for six months' time. I have since had a letter telling me I'm booked in at the Victor Harbor Medical Centre for ultrasound on the 11th of September (another significant date). I reckon Thaven had come in and asked how I went and took a look at the images and overruled her which caused the phone call so soon after I left the vascular clinic. Anyway, I don't mind. A future check is a good safeguard. And because it's 6 months away, the Victor Harbour place where they come to do them once a week is not booked out, as it was when I had to go to Flinders on the 8th.

We had another trip to Adelaide on the 23/24th. Gord had bought a ticket to go to a music festival at Seppeltsfield in the Barossa Valley. One of his favourite all-time bands was performing there, Cheap Trick. Gord organized and paid for hotel accommodation at the Rose and Crown in Elizabeth. It had a sportsbar so Lib and I could watch Melbourne and Hawthorn playing while Gord was at his concert. After checking in at the hotel we took Gord to Sepplesfield about 30 minutes away. It took us 50 as we took backroads by mistake. Then Lib and I got lost on the way coming back through Elizabeth, wrong turn again, and it was over an hour. Still, we caught the last half of the game on the bigscreen. No sound, as music was playing, and a table with a bogan family next to us, grandparents down to feral children made increasing noise as the pots went down, making them more pissed and louder. Footy finished, I went off to buy pizzas up the road, while Lib had a crack at the pokies. I gave her $20 and she came back with $50 so that about paid for the pizza, as Gord reimbursed me for his. He ate his back in our room after we picked him up at the festival in darkness at the arranged time and place.  The hotel accomm was like an apartment with 2 bedrooms and a fridge and microwave in a kitchenette. All good, a nice weekend and a break from normal routine. *

Another trip to Adelaide was this Wednesday gone, to have our Skoda serviced at the dealer where we bought it. Lib stayed home and cooked a casserole and had a bit of quiet time by herself, while Gord and I enjoyed our day out in the city, lunching in the Rundle mall and shopping at the central market.

 

We had two lots of visitors from Victoria during March. Old friends John and Nicky Bridges from Moyhu stayed a couple of nights at the Port Elliot Caravan Park in their A-Van and Annie Hiskins and her friend Margot stayed a few nights in an Air B&B, also in Port Elliot. These friends go back to the 1970's so it was wonderful to see them and have them for dinner and see our environment.

On March 5 I had a crown fitted to a screw that was implanted in a gap in my lower jaw late last year. It works well, I can chew easily and confidently on both sides now. When I got in the chair I asked dentist Ah Ling, a delightful young lady, how she was. She said she had a bad start to the day. She left home in her VW Golf at 7am to pick up two other dentists, they drive share rotate, but not a couple of hundred metres from her home she somehow clipped a car parked in the street and her car tipped almost to rolling over and came to rest badly damaged all up one side, probably totalling it. But here she was fitting my crown that she'd measured up the previous week. All computerized, the measuring and the machine that makes the crown.

Between all this happening when I can I walk down the river late afternoons, I water some of the river group's young plantings by water bottle, and I've made good inroad into 2 large boxthorn thickets, cutting my way in and sawing off the stems near ground level and painting the cut with roundup. I also cut my way into the base of a big olive tree and drilled holes around and filled with the herbicide. It may take another go or two, it's multi trunked from the base and I therefore couldn't get the drill to a few places on the inside of the meeting trunks. These tree weeds are on the council's and the Friends' group list to be removed, and on my list to do this autumn, so it's satisfying to get it done. As I get about, I also pull out any persistent African daisies I see, and cape ivy and boneseeds. They keep appearing. Most of these weeds are Sth African in origin. I'm led to believe the first came here as ballast in sailing ships that was unloaded in ports to make way for wheat etc for the trip back.

February and March have been bone dry, bar for a light shower at night a few weeks ago that barely wet the ground. We badly need a good rain now. One of our Friends' group members was killed on 21 Mar, hit by a truck while riding on the Nullabor in the Fremantle to Sydney race. He was 62, an ex Kiwi, a lovely bloke I had enjoyed working with at a working bee. It was his 6th time in that race, and he had ridden his pushbike completely around Australia.

An event of significance for me in March was my sister Meredith's 70th birthday. I could not participate in person, but it was nice reflecting that my little sister had reached 70. I'm soon to be 72 and Jod turns 75 later this year so we are fortunate. April Fool's Day Monday. I'll try to avoid putting my foot or mouth in it.

* When we stayed at the Rose and Crown hotel we were given two complimentary drink cards to the value of $10 each. After we returned from taking Gord to his festival we made use of these, a pot of beer for Lib (Hahn super dry) and for me I meant to order a soda lime and bitters, but in a slip of the tongue I said brandy lime and soda, at least that's what came. I explained to the bar lady I'm off alcohol and had made a mistake. I asked her to get me the AF drink saying I was happy to pay for it. She made my drink no charge and commended me for going alcohol free. I was most impressed. Later I ordered another pot for Lib, it cost $10. I wondered at the bogans who were making all the noise, sitting there knocking pots down. At $10 each pot, they must have plenty of money.

I

The Ides Are Not Yet Done

 Julius Caesar was assassinated on the 15 March 2068 years ago, in the year 44BC. Legend has it he was warned by a soothsayer in the days prior to "Beware the Ides of March", but maybe this is because it was included in Shakespeare's play Julius Caesar.

I have long liked March as a month. Whilst it can be excessively hot, have big rain events and storms, it often has lengthy spells of lovely stable weather. The days are shorter than in the often-brutal heat of February and an evening dew commences bringing some calm to man and beast. The beginning of autumn. Deciduous trees and shrubs begin to colour as the leaves transform from growth to senescence. It's a time of rich harvest in the garden and farms. For me in recent decades, March has been the time for many family holidays, chosen because the changing season gave me some relief in work commitment.

The good thing about having written this blog is that I can go back and see what I was doing at a point of time, with the tap of a few buttons. I scrolled through March each year today.

2023 - Last March I wrote about neighbour Helen's dramatic departure around the time of her 79th birthday. Our friend Ian from Canada and his sons were staying with us at the time. It was Helen's 80th birthday this year. I visited Estia Nursing Home to see her, but she wasn't there. She'd checked out with one of her daughters for 5 days that very morning. I left in her room a card signed by us, a bunch of flowers from our garden, a block of chocolate, and a container of pineapple from one I'd sliced that morning (when I cut up a pineapple in the past, I'd always give her some when she called on her daily visits.

2022 - Raging floods in Qld.

2021 - We moved to McCracken from Gembrook.

2020 - We were on holiday at Henley Beach in Adelaide. Covid taking off.

2019 - Blocked septic drain Gembrook, 40C, effluent flooding back into bathroom through shower outlet.

2018 - Rain after prolonged dry spell. Thomas the Tank engine cancelled in Gembrook. Ha Ha!

2017 - No blog post, because we were on holiday Sth Island New Zealand. Caught up on blog about it in April.

2016 - Holiday lakes Entrance. Full on Rheumatoid shit, abatacept injections.

2015 - Trip to Canberra with Gord to watch cricket. Holiday to Adelaide.

2014 - Wrote to Melbourne Football Club telling them I was not renewing my membership because of largesse in the AFL, snouts in the trough, Demetriou leaving with payout $2mill after salary similar. This didn't last long, I renewed the next year. (Glad I came across this, I told my friend Graeme Forster the other day I had continued my membership right up to the 2021 premiership. I was wrong, I stopped one year).

2013 - Holiday Nth Island NZ.

2012 -NHPEM turmoil. Big storm. Old butcher shop at Silverwells flattened by huge pine tree down full square on.

2011 - Floods Western Vic, biggest in history memory.

2010 - Big rain early March, more later.

2009 - Holiday Normanville SA after a few days at Lakes Entrance.

2008 - Holiday Lakes, visit from Ian Sinclair and Kulan.

2007 - Father Lyle died 24 March. Prior to that we did a trip to Lakes and Cape Conron.

On his way to the Theatre of Pompey on the Ides of March Julius Caesar encountered the soothsayer and said, "See, we are at the Ides of March." the intonation being that no harm had come to him. The soothsayer replied, "The Ides are not yet done."

A Stroke of Luck (4)

 While writing this post, for some reason all that I'd written was lost and the draft reverted to a blank. Frustrating. Starting again, this is to be a precis version, I'll cut to the chase and get quickly to the story I wanted to relate without some of the explanatory preamble.

 

After coming home from Flinders Hospital on 28 Jan, I had Gord drive me to my doctor clinic Tuesday 30 Jan so I could make an appt. for late Feb to (1) Doctor to clear me to drive again, as it's mandatory after a stroke, you can't drive for four weeks. (2) Get new prescription for the Atorvastatin and Clopidogrel blood thinner the hospital put me on. I went there in person as I thought a doctor or nurse may be able to check my wound and change the dressing. There was a lot of swelling in the neck wound area, we were aware this would happen, but were not sure how much is too much. I was not in pain. The receptionists made an appt. for me for 23 Feb and told me to go to outpatients to have my neck checked as I'd had a procedure a public hospital and had started my adventure at Victor Harbor, all the info would be there.

 

So I did. Next day, Wednesday, was our 43rd wedding anniversary. We had a piece of eye fillet beef planned for a celebratory dinner. Lib drove me to outpatients about 3pm. We should have gone up in the early morning, I may have been attended to quicker. As it happened. I was not called in till about 7pm, and then only because I approached the triage desk and told the lady I was checking out. She asked me to wait five minutes, the nurse really should take a look at my wound. In a few minutes the nurse came out and I was taken in and sat in a treatment room. Here I waited another half hour. They brought Gord in to sit with me, I'd rung him earlier to come get me when I'd decided I'd had enough waiting. 

The good part of this episode was, prior to my impatience and decision to leave, I approached an old bloke sitting on the other side of the room. He'd come in after me with his daughter and like me they sat waiting for hours. At one point he was called in and was away for about 10 minutes, as I had been, before coming back. This initial call was just to have a student nurse check the blood pressure and ask a few basic questions, date of birth etc. Everyone in the waiting room had been called in for this. The old guy and his daughter were conversing in increasingly agitated tone, and I heard him say to her that she should go home, as she had said she was needing to buy things for her family's dinner and get home. He said he'd catch a taxi home after he'd been attended to. She left and the old bloke sat looking sad and lonely.

With the example of the lady Sarah in Flinders hospital in mind, when she approached me to ask how I was, and how she later explained she was helped greatly by the other lady with MS who'd approached her leading to her resolve to help others when she could, I went over to him. I asked him if he was OK, could I get him a drink of water or something or something else from the vending machine. He politely declined. I went back across the room. Ten minutes later he came over and sat next to me and started a conversation. He was an interesting man. After about half hour of conversation, a nurse came out and asked for Robert, which he had told me was his name. With relief he got up and went to her and they went in through the door. A minute later he came back and sat down next to me and laughed as he said they wanted Robin not Robert. A lady then went in with the nurse. Lib rang and said she was waiting to put the meat in the oven till I called saying I was ready to come home. This is when I decided I'd had enough and went to tell them I was checking out.

After I'd been taken inside and had been waiting a while I went to the loo, and walking past other rooms there was Robert sitting in one patiently waiting. I stopped and we laughed in a quick chat. Robert had told me he'd be 89 in May. He lived in Goolwa, worked on the barges before retiring, out in the sun most days. He had evidence of skin grafts round his eyes as a result of he said a lot of trouble with melanomas. He played tennis most of his life at Goolwa so he'd had plenty of sun. He lived alone, his wife had died some years earlier. He still watched the local footy and tennis, after he retired he had a little sideline restringing rackets. He'd lived in Goolwa all his his life, his father was a commercial fisherman on the lake.  He loved where he lived, he had a big lounge room window where he could sit and watch walkers and joggers going past along the track, and the Murray River flowing by.

It was nearing 8pm when I could leave, a doctor having checked my neck wound, and a nurse putting on a new dressing. On my way out Robert was still sitting there by himself in his treatment room. I stopped to say goodbye and good luck. I said I'd like to visit him in Goolwa and have a cuppa while we watched the Murray River flow by. He told me his address and surname, Davis. Easy, he said, Bob Davis. I said Bob Davis used to play and coach Geelong  in the VFL. He said "Yes, I used to play there." Then with a laugh, "I'm joking."

I'm sure Bob had joked that many times. I look forward to visiting him. He said to bring Gord and my wife. The roast beef was good, but the gloss of the day was gone.

A Stroke of Luck (3)

 Lib and Gord visited me the next day, Tuesday 22 Jan. Sarah and William had both left the ward the previous day, their beds filled by others. To have clean clothes was pleasing. I was scheduled for an ultrasound on my carotid arteries and was taken in a wheelchair in lifts and long corridors. I said I was able and happy to walk but they insisted I go in the chair. I'd well learned by this time that in hospital everything worked to a procedure which couldn't be varied. Everybody drilled in their role. A bit robotic. Lib and Gord went off for lunch while I did the ultrasound.

 

The lady doing the ultrasound took heaps of pictures of both left and right carotids. I asked her what she was seeing. She said she was just trained to take pictures, not interpret them. I had to wait for the vascular team to come later in the afternoon to tell me my right carotid was 75% blocked and I'd be booked in for surgery either Thursday or Friday, after which I'd be two or three days under observation, then I'd go home Sunday or Monday probably, barring setbacks. Lib and Gord had gone home by this time, so I rang them with the news. Lib had brought me a Tony Park novel, 'Silent Predator', and Gord gave me a biography of Paul Lynde the actor comedian. Two contrasting reads so I determined to switch between them, something I don't normally do, usually it's one at a time for me. The Australian Open tennis was on TV night and day, meals came like clockwork, and the nurses were at me every hour so with their monitoring. There were a lot of TV channels to choose from and I watched the classics station a bit. Shows like My Favourite Martian, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeanie, The Beverley Hillbillies. I really laughed at these, fifty years on, I realize the satirical brilliance they were.

 

A lovely young lady named Bronwyn from the vascular team came again on the Wednesday. She was of South African origin she said when I inquired as to her accent. Said her family came from Capetown when she was 13. She ran me through the pros and cons of the operation, the sequence, and gained my permission for it, and detail that would happen while I was out to it. It was not without risk, there was a 2-4% chance I could have another stroke during the op. She said she'd see me again prior the operation. Another group of three came to talk further about my wishes/instructions should things go wrong, like a formal delegation attending to paperwork. Apparently, there are 3 stages of resuscitation, did I want 1,2, or 3. I chose the wrong one going by their raised eyebrows, I didn't really grasp what they were saying. I changed my answer to say give me the whole hog to which they said "Good, that's the right answer." I added that if I came out a non-compos banana wife Lib could tell them to switch off the machines. The anesthetist's assistant James came to see me and run me through the process.

 

I was then told I was booked into theater first cab off the rank Friday morning, Australia Day, a public holiday. There were two surgical teams who could do my operation if it was Thursday, the emergency team and the other, which didn't work public holidays. So, I'd be done by the emergency surgical team. About 8am I was scheduled, but if there were emergencies on the morning, mine could be delayed. I was to fast from midnight the night before, so my last meal was Thursday dinner. I slept well, packed my stuff, into bags then one big plastic bag a nurse gave me and sealed it with my name three times on it. After theater I'd be going to recovery for four hours, then a high dependency ward for a day. They'd put me in a hospital gown. I waited a couple of hours, something must have come up to jump me in the queue. I was wheeled down to the prep area. I waited another couple hours. The anesthetist, an Irish guy named Morgan, with assistant James came and talked to me. I told them I hoped they would have a good day. Bronwyn from the vascular team came again. Then the surgeon/doctor, Taven Ramachandren, a youngish guy, very pleasant and reassuring, ran through what he was going to do. Cut the artery and seal it, blood would go to my brain through the other carotid and veins so I'd be OK. Then he'd slit the artery where the blockage was and remove the plaque blocking it. When finished that he'd place a patch on the slit so that it could heal up with less risk of attracting more plaque and starting the blocking process again. I told him also I hoped it was a good day for him.

The nurses in the prep room were excellent, I can't remember the name of the main one who attended me.  We talked about family and kids. She was divorced she said with two teenage boys. Her husband some years ago refused point blank to have a vasectomy, and their relationship deteriorated from there. I said that was a pity. Sex loses its importance the longer you go. With a lot of think time I concluded if I died on the table, it was OK. I believed in voluntary euthanasia; I was past my best and had had a good life, it would be nice and neat with no pain and suffering into crippledom. I was wheeled into theater about midday. The theater nurse Kate was brilliantly comforting and competent. Doc Taven was there, so were anesthetists Morgan and James. They peeled the gown off me and placed a warmed blanket on my legs and torso.  As I looked up into the faces and the lights, I realized there were $millions of equipment and training about to perform on me. They were there to get me over this, not kill me. They told me to breathe deeply. The next thing I know I'm in the recovery room. I was there four hours and a bit tired and groggy. The doc came in, said he'd ring Lib and tell her it went well. He said he did have complication as the artery was crossed over/twisted with another vein or such when it should have been straight. Why? He knew not. The nurse there was nice, said she lived at Aldinga, her husband worked at Coles in McCracken. I said I'd look him up, I shop there often. His names Ken and he's tall and has a bushy beard. She said he's qualified in horticulture but tired of working outside in all weather.

From there I went to the high dependency ward for 24 hours. The nurse taking me there said Ash was brilliant and would take good care of me. Ash, a big chubby guy, had earrings and a nose ring and bright green hair and was as camp as you like. He was good though. He said Lib had rung wanting to know how I was. He said he'd ring her and say I was good, the operation successful. Apparently, the number the Doc had was wrong on the hospital records, I'd given them the wrong number when being treated for shingles a couple of years earlier. I'd told him to ring the landline as Lib's mobile often played up. When he did, he was told it was disconnected, he told me later. I apologized to him. Nice guy, I'm booked to see him March 15 when they do an ultrasound to check the artery. Ash knocked off in the evening and was replaced by Debbie. It was one on one nurse to patient in the high dependency, so she was there on an off all night. It was most uncomfortable there. I had a catheter up my penis draining the bladder to a bag, a draining tube from my neck wound removing bloody fluid, tubes in both wrists. One feeding me antibiotic, the other I'm not sure. Blood pressure was monitored constantly and for a while I was getting oxygen by tube into the nose. ECG wires hooked up to monitor. I couldn't move much, my cock got stingy, I worked out by moving it and the tube the draining would restart and the feeling I wanted to pee stopped. All most unpleasant. I didn't warm to Debbie initially, I thought she was a bossy boots. By the next morning as the tubes and wires were disappearing, I was feeling better, we got on fine. As she pulled the catheter out, I said it must be a bigger tube and a harder job for women patients. She said no, men need a good tube to get past the enlarged prostate. It's more difficult. I was glad they did mine while I was out to it in theater. She said there was blood in my urine, probably because of some trauma getting past the prostate.

Debbie came with me as the orderly wheeled my bed up to the next ward for me, the observation one before discharge. We'd both loosened up. She'd let her hair down and I noticed how attractive she was. She said she was a bit sunburnt from her day off the previous day. She'd had drinks with her partner in the backyard with friends, and she was sensitive to the sun. I told her she should be careful with that. She said she only had a couple of drinks, she's not really a drinker, but her partner had lots, he's a binge drinker with company. I told her to be careful of that too, and that I gave up alcohol four years ago and was so glad I did. When she handed me over to the next lot of nurses she stayed a while. I thanked her for being so efficient and also being so delightful. I said if I was thirty or forty years younger, I'd be asking for her phone number. She farewelled me warmly with best wishes for the future.

Lib and Gord picked me up about lunchtime the next day, Sunday 28 Jan. My neck still oozed a bit of blood and fluid, but the nurse Gina Ok'd me to go. She was mature age, of Polish origin, said she escaped what was then communist Poland, in I think 1987, with husband and young child. They went on a supposed holiday to Italy but never went back to Poland and came to Australia via a refugee organization. I exchanged stories with her of Polish people I had known. We bought some lunch in the cafeteria in the hospital foyer. Man o man, was my mideast lamb and salad roll thing grand after two weetbix and a piece of untoasted brown bread for breakfast, after no food for the 30 hours prior to that. We stopped at Morphetvale at a 24/7 chemist to fill my prescription for Atorvastatin and Clopidogrel blood thinner and the over the counter 100mg aspirin they've put me on. so I'm on the drug train now for a while. It was great to get home and see Pip and walk down the river, then sleep in my own bed again.

 

 

Stroke of Luck (2)

 I drifted off to sleep at some point after learning I was going to Flinders Hospital for an MRI. I'd told Lib on the phone about it, I told her I'd be in touch when I got there and knew something. I was woken at about 1.00am and told there was an ambulance there to take me to Flinders. I had brought a bag with a change of clothes and a toothbrush when I went to the hospital, so I was good to go. The ambos were good. Ken rode in the back with me. Before we left, he had some trouble getting the machines working after hooking up the wires for the ECG to the tags still on my chest and abdomen. The young lady Ashleigh was the driver. Tall and pretty, I'd seen her shopping in Woolworths in her Paramedic gear. Ken and I talked all the way down. Hell of a nice bloke, he lives in Goolwa, late 40's, played soccer mostly, says he didn't have enough courage to play Aussie Rules, got cleaned up going back into a pack for a high ball in his early days try out. I told him not to confuse courageous with stupid. I was stupid once and dived on a footy when a bloke was charging through from side on and was concussed with a broken jaw. *

We arrived at Flinders in what seemed like no time. Ken kept me talking. I think he found what I was saying interesting, either that or he was very good at keeping me going to break the monotony of a trip he'd done often. We didn't go to a ramping queue, as I was booked in, so we went in a side entrance with no delay. It was 3am as I was wheeled into the stroke ward, to bed 1 of a four-bed ward. It was quiet as a young lady delightful in looks and manner and of Asian appearance rattled of some details and asked questions. I was feeling fine, the question she asked me about whether I consented to be resuscitated should it be necessary seemed a bit over the top, but she explained it was a question she had to ask everyone. I was then hooked up to the ECG machine again and repeatedly a nurse came in and checked blood pressure and temperature and shone a little torch into my eyes to see if the pupil contracted. They always started this check with the question "Do you know where you are?" Then "What month is it?" followed by "What day of the week is it." This whole checking thing went on hundreds of times in the 9 days I was there.

I was in territory foreign to me and resolved to comply and be an easy patient. I was tired, and began drifting off to sleep, only to have the partition in front of me suddenly swiped across to reveal an elderly gent with a beard and a hospital gown looking at me quizzically. He stood still for a few seconds then said, "Sorry, I thought it was my bed", and he slid the curtain closed. I the heard someone I assumed was a nurse directing him to his bed. A little later I heard him calling out he was lost and didn't know where he was. There didn't seem to be nurses around, so I thought I'd better get up and help him. It took a little time for me to unplug my jack connection from the union to the ECG and when I did and opened the curtain I had a huge surprise. There in front of me was a young lady in short pyjamas telling the old guy where his bed was and speaking in the gentlest tone. She turned to see me and smiled a sweet smile but quickly focused back on the old guy. She was very beautiful. I had to pinch myself that I wasn't dreaming. I kid you not, I thought what on earth is a beautiful young lady like that doing in a stroke ward with old men. She seemed like an angel. I slept or at least dozed then till the next round of checking by nurses, which was never far away. Then it was breakfast, brought on a tray and placed on the wheeled table next to the bed. I was hungry not having had dinner the previous evening. That was my introduction to hospital food that I was to have as my sustenance for the next week. I'm not complaining about it, but it really doesn't warrant me spending time describing it.  

So now Sunday proper 20 Jan, is underway. Nurses kept coming in testing, monitoring the machine. A doctor came in and introduced himself. He told me I'd be having an MRI, but it wouldn't be till Monday, they weren't doing them Sunday. I didn't see him again, after that it was the vascular team who talked to me about what was happening. I had visits from an occupational therapist, and a physiotherapist, talking exercises and recovery. Through all this I felt fine, fully ambulatory and able to go to the toilet and shower myself. My hand movement felt almost back to normal, I was still a bit wobbly in the left wrist and elbow.  All the medical staff that talked to me emphasized that the first couple of weeks after a stroke was the critical time when a second stroke would likely come if it was going to, that's why I was being monitored so closely. Who was I to disagree? But I did feel a bit like a guinea pig in a testing laboratory.

That Sunday morning a doctor and others, maybe assistants or students, came and were talking to the young lady in cubicle 3 whom I'd met during the night. Wondering why she was in there I couldn't help but try and tune in to the conversation. I heard mention, I think, of steroid injections, family, fatigue. Great warmth in the voices. I heard sobbing. I heard laughter. It's hard not to be an eavesdropper in a public hospital ward. The medical team left and not long after the lady had a group of visitors and left with whom I assumed was her husband/partner. They walked slowly past my bed, he with his hand at her elbow and she seemed to shuffle a little. That was my first hint of what her ailment was, but I didn't know. She came back a few hours later with family, who stayed a while then left. Before long she was across from me talking to the old guy who'd had the orientation troubles during the night. She spoke so gently, referred to him by name, William. He spoke of his carer coming but hadn't yet. His carer was his son-in-law. She knew his birthday was in May, she said, she'd heard him answer the nurses' questions. Hers was in May too. He'd be turning 97. She was so kind and gentle with him. As she left him, she turned, our eyes met, and she smiled a wonderful smile and came over to me. "Hello, I'm Sarah. How are you feeling today? She walked slowly.

"I'm fine, thanks. I'm Carey. Nice to meet you. I have to say how good it was, the lovely way you talked to William helping him last night, and today." 

"I'm glad you're feeling OK, it's hard to sleep in here, there's so much coming and going. I thought saying hello and welcome may help you settle. It can be daunting when there's something wrong, but you don't know the extent, and you come into the hospital environment." This lady was right on every count, with everything she said.

She continued, "When I came in the other day, after the doctors had told me the MS diagnosis and left, a lady in bed 2 came over to me, and said she'd overheard. She said it was almost word for word what she heard ten years ago, when she had the same diagnosis. She said she's in here now because of a minor relapse, but the ten years have been good so don't be too down about it. It gave me great heart to have her encouragement. She gave me her phone number and we have contact." 

I thanked her for her concern and well wishes. I was moved to think this lovely lady has multiple sclerosis. I half heard her in a number of phone conversations with friends and colleagues. I could tell she had a senior position somewhere and was talking of reports and meetings. With everyone she spoke to she had the same warm, caring tone.

I was told the MRI would happen Monday, and depending on what it showed, I may need surgery. The day passed with a couple of meals, some reading, some television. That night, or more precisely early Monday morning, the calm was shattered by a new patient arriving. Apart from the nurses coming by every hour or so to wake you for BP and the other tests it was quiet until a commotion cranked up out in the corridor as they were bringing in a newbie. It was an old man's voice at full volume, "Get you fkg hands off me, don't touch me." Repeatedly, as staff tried to calm him. "Get off me." Eventually they got him into the cubicle next to me, and the drama continued. I think they injected him with something to calm and restrain him. Quiet came, but a security guard sat outside his cubicle for the rest of the night and all Monday until he was moved on somewhere. From what I could gather he had a urinary infection making him go nuts. In the calm after the storm, I wrote a note to Sarah thanking her for her kindness and included my email address and I said that I would write up my hospital experience on my blog when I got home and felt I could do it. I took it to her in the morning, first clearing it with the security man who was sitting back to the wall with Sarah's and the nutter's cubicle either side of him. I just handed it to a smiling Sarah and retreated without saying anything.

A doctor team saw Sarah in the morning again and she went out with family. I was taken to have the MRI and came back to see Sarah back with a big family group with her. There was a note from Sarah on my little wheeled table with my books. The note wished me well and said how meaningful my note was to her and she would keep it forever as a memento of her time in Flinders. It included her email address. She was obviously leaving. She talked to William and gave him a kiss, and introduced her son Leo, a small boy, to him. As she did this, she hugged and kissed Leo. Her family had gone out and before she left, she came to me, thanking me again and wishing me well. So nice. I refrained from hugging her and kissing her, but I wish I hadn't. Who but Carey could have a stroke and go to hospital and fall in love in three days? But the best kind of love. Love with no expectation or desire. Seldom if ever, I have I met anyone so fleetingly that has impacted me so strongly.

The vascular team came in and showed me pictures of brain from the MRI. There were three small spots of brain damage which had caused my arm and hand difficulty and the temporary loss of vision. I was then scheduled for an ultrasound on my carotid arteries for Tuesday, to establish the extent of the blockage in the right one and check the left. Later on Monday I went the toilet when the coast was clear, there being one bathroom for 4 patients. It was not a large room, somewhat cluttered with a frame over the toilet giving disabled people something to sit on, and a chair in the shower and another chair on wheels. I'd lifted the frame off the toilet when I used it previously but this time, seeing I had to sit, I didn't bother, thinking what's a few extra inches of drop.  Happily, I did what I had to do and went to pull my dacks up, tracksuit bottom, only to find them and my undies all wet with urine. What had happened was that because of the frame there were in fact two toilet seats a few inches apart. When I weed, it had gone between the seats because my willy must have been pointing not straight down which wouldn't matter if sitting on a normal seat, it would be inside the pan. So. I'd pissed in my pants which were round my ankles. Embarrassed, I had no clean clothes and had to ask a nurse for a plastic bag for my wet ones. She gave me a gown and some hospital underpants which were the nappy type. I felt a right goog. I rang Lib and asked her to bring me some clothes if her and Gord were visiting next day, which they'd indicated they were.

* That blow to my right upper jaw 52 years ago is very near the carotid artery. I'm wondering why my artery blocked. The medics keep talking about arteries like pipes and cholesterol build up, a bit of plaque breaking off and travelling to the brain and blocking flow. As a gardener I know if a hose is kinked it can develop a weakness. Same as a copper pipe under our house once that burst. It was explained to me that if kinked when installed, where it's kinked it becomes thinner there and wears through eventually with abrasion from the impurities in the water. I'm told cholesterol goes to repair an injury or some damage. Then can slowly build up too much. The surgeon said my surgery was complicated because there was cross over with my artery and other veins when there shouldn't have been. I asked him how this would have happened. He said he didn't know. I'm wondering could that severe blow to the side of my head stretched kinked or otherwise had something to do with this blockage. Maybe I think too much.

A Stroke of Luck (1)

 It was 17 days ago, Friday 18 Jan, that I woke up with a sleepy left hand that wouldn't work properly. My thumb and index finger were quite immobile. Wouldn't meet at the tips. Weird. I made a cup of coffee for me and a tea for Lib and took it to her, then went to my computer to check email. I ignored the left hand, thinking I'd slept with my arm strangely positioned and the nerves had gone to sleep, and movement would return soon. 

As I sat at the computer, I noticed difficulty hitting the shift key with my left forefinger. Then I had a bit of squiggly vision, so I shut my eyes for a few seconds. When I opened them, fully expecting the squiggles to have passed, I was alarmed that I had no vision at all in my right eye. Completely grey sheet was all I could see from it. Having seen many warnings about signs of a stroke and how time lapse is important, I went to Lib and said I think maybe I'd better get to the hospital. The vision thing only lasted a couple of minutes, I didn't time it. She agreed straight away saying it seemed I was having a TIA(transient ischaemic attack). We dressed; I had difficulty doing up the buttons of my shirt. Lib drove me to the hospital.

We were there quite early, and the emergency department had few people waiting. Lib told me later that as she left an ambulance arrived with a patient, and it was not long before it was a busy morning for the staff. I heard a lot of activity from my cubicle, it seemed there were other patients with more serious problems. A lot of noise and hustle and bustle. I was hooked up to an ECG, blood taken for tests, and my blood pressure was monitored regularly, and nurses repeatedly asked me my name and where I was, and what month and year it was. I was in no pain; all my faculties were in order except the movement in my left hand was still restricted. After a few hours of this monitoring, I was wheeled down somewhere to have a CT scan, before being returned to my ED cubicle. After a while a doctor came in and said the scan showed a blockage in my neck and they were conferring with Flinders Hospital in Adelaide as to what the next step was. I was told the doctors at Flinders were flat out busy which was cause for delay. I was moved to another ward in the general hospital and given a most welcome sandwich. I had not eaten at all and it was afternoon. Soon after the same doctor who had attended me in Emergency came in and told me I could go home. I was to make an appointment with my doctor and get a referral to a specialist. I would probably be required to get another scan. I dressed, rang Lib, she picked me up. I rang the doctor; he couldn't fit me in till a Sunday appt.

Next morning, Saturday I drove into town to the market to buy my eggs and dip and produce at RAW wholefoods adjacent the market site. Driving was a little less comfortable than usual. The indicator lever on our car (European build) is on the left of the steering column and my touch of it wasn't precise. I knocked it rather than touch moved it. Movement in my hand had improved but the arm was a bit wobbly at the wrist and elbow. I was clumsy putting things away when I got back and did a lot of knocking of plates and cups on the sink sides when washing dishes. I wasn't happy waiting till the next day to see our local doctor, so after discussing with Lib she took me back to outpatients at the hospital. It was afternoon by this time. More ECG, more blood taken and monitoring and waiting. I was told I may need to go to Flinders for an MRI, they were waiting for blood test results and decision by doctors after their conferring at both hospitals. I was unhooked from the ECG. A few hours passed. I got dressed and went out to find nurses in casual conversation that I'd been listening to for an hour or so and told them I'd had enough and was going home, could they please take the canula out of my arm. They said I couldn't go without signing a discharge form absolving the hospital if my condition worsened. Bring me the form I said. Please wait five minutes they responded. 

Within minutes a team of them were at my bedside with the form. They explained they were concerned I may have a further stroke and may be permanently incapacitated. I said, "Well that's why I came in here, two days in a row, and you sent me home yesterday. My blood tests must have been alright yesterday. I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. If we are waiting on my blood tests, if they're not alright you can call me back in." They asked me to wait while they consulted with Flinders and came back to say I was being sent to Flinders by ambulance where I would have an MRI to determine the extent of any brain damage I may have suffered. So, I waited and waited. At least I had a destination ahead. It was the lying there not knowing that I couldn't handle. A sailor without a destination port finds no favourable wind. 

And Next Year?

Today on this New Year's Eve I went down the river for my walk, as I do most days. In the carry box the friend's group gave me I had my hand tools and herbicide and gloves and also 2 two litre bottles of water. That was the main purpose of the walk, to water a few little plants along the way that I had planted fairly recently, things I'd propagated from seed that were not doing well in their pots. I thought I'd give them a chance out in the ground, even though it was early November when I planted them. They should be planted in winter, as were the others that were better plants, but fortunately we had good rain after I planted them in November, then more again in December. Little rough barked Manna Gums.

The path to the river starts a couple of hundred metres west of our house, at the bottom of Cudmore St. When I got there a deep blue Audi sedan was parked. It had a man and a woman sitting in the front. The lady in the passenger seat had her window down and I nodded to her as I approached, as I had to pass by the car close to it. She said something like "Going to do a bit of work?" 

I had my carry box in my left hand and a Roman hoe in my right and a flouro friend's group vest over my shirt. "Yes." I explained that I was going to give a bit of water to a few young plants, and that I often do some weeding and watering while I walk. I said I was in the river friend's group and collectively we'd planted many hundreds of trees and shrubs over a couple of years, and they were doing very well.

The man leaned across and said "Natives?" He said that was good, the land needs repairing. I explained, wattles, paperbarks, tea tree, red gum, hop bush, lots of other things. He was dark skinned. I asked him was he local and did he know his way around the river reserve and about the plants, I'd like to take a walk with an indigenous person who could tell me more about the flora. He said he couldn't help me with that, he was from Adelaide and most of the indigenous have long left this area. He asked me did I know of Archie Roach. I said, "Yes, he was quite famous and died fairly recently, didn't he?"

"He was my uncle," he said.

"Really," I replied. Then he said. "I know who'd help you. Moogy Sumner. He knows about the rivers. He's well known, he leads a group of young people in a singing group.

"Could I find him on google, do you reckon?"

"Yes, I'm sure you will."

As I left them, I felt a little empowered and pleased after the lady said I was doing a good thing. She didn't look indigenous. I always try to explain what I'm doing to people who ask. Most are comforted to learn what the friend's group does. The odd person has a negative comment like "Why don't you just leave nature alone to do its thing." But that's on the rare side, most are pleased to see weeds going and new plantings.

I watered my plants and found some weeds to pull. Over a hundred African daisies ranging in size from a few inches to a few feet. Very few in my patch reaching flowering stage as I've been getting them before they do mostly.  A hundred mightn't sound like much but add that to the over 900 I'd got in the previous 5 days and it's significant. And also, I would have done a few dozen small olives, boneseeds and sweet pittosporums as I've seen them too. And some persistent Ivy that's seeded after the rain. Not bad for the last week of the year.

Next year, more of the same. I do feel I'm making an impact and being useful in my retirement. And I'll be in touch with Moogy Sumner at some point. I see he's on Facebook.

Liquorland

I was in Liquorland this afternoon. Lib asked me to buy her a sixpack of Carlton Draught stubbies and some wine while Gord and I were out shopping. I was a little disappointed, as Lib had done a dry November and I hoped she'd go on with it and join me down the alcohol-free path. 

I bought two bottles of Reisling and a couple of reds as well as the Carl Draught and was approaching a queue of people at the checkout. A bloke pushing a trolley came from a different angle and I gestured to him to go ahead of me. He looked at my armful and said, "Party at your house tonight?"

"No, this is for my wife, I gave up drinking alcohol a few years ago. Glad I did, it's a costly habit."

"Never mind the money," he said, "It's no good for you either, healthwise.

"You're dead right there I replied, I suppose I'm a lot better off in that regard too."

He was a friendly sort of bloke. He looked about my age, probably older I thought, and he didn't look too well. Rough skin in the face, poor complexion really, grey hair and moustache, a bit scruffy looking. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking? If you are like me you started drinking in your teens, so have been drinking for a long time."

He said, "I'm 63, I started drinking young too. I went to the doctor yesterday, my liver readings were not good. I've got cirrhosis of the liver."  He was then called to the counter. A second service person arrived so we were being served at the same time and as I finished, he said, "See you mate."

I was glad that I've reached 71 in good health. I felt sorry for him as he walked out with his trolley containing a carton of beer and two two litre casks of red. I'm happy to stick to my Coopers AF beer, one a day. A six pack of that is $9 tastes great once your taste buds adapt. The Carl Draught sixpack was $22. I drink alcohol free wine which I buy on special usually for $8.50 a bottle. One glass a day, a bottle does about 5 days.

Nearly December

 Christmas Eve is 4 four weeks away. Christmas Day will be a Monday event. The question for me is where I'll be. My preference is that I'll be right here, like most days frying up my eggs for breakfast. I have fried onions with them, a couple of cherry tomatoes, sometimes mushrooms, corn cut from the cob topped with fresh basil.

 

I used to have muesli and fruit for breakfast. If Lib wants that I do a bowl for myself while doing hers, but I put it in the fridge and don't eat it till lunchtime or afternoon tea. Sometimes Lib selects to go with eggs like me. Sometimes an omelet. Occasionally an Aldi Kransky sausage with the eggs, in which case Lib just has a little bit of the sausage. Or occasionally a bit of bacon. Now and again she just wants a bit of toast, but I still cook up for myself.

There's a reason for me writing about this. I can imagine some people who may read this thinking, as I've heard them saying about blogging, "Who wants to read about what someone has for breakfast?" I suppose they would rather read about my opinion on world affairs or politics or some family or neighbourhood gossip, something they are more readily entertained with. Fair enough, each to his own.

We are trained to be triggered, by any means possible to get our attention. The fascination with celebrity is a case in point. The headlines in newspapers, the grabs for future TV programs. The louder volume of TV ads, the crazy high-pitched voiceovers, the mad vision in the ads for banks and insurance companies with birds flying off with houses down the street. There are triggers everywhere all day to gain our attention, the aim to gain a response from us, usually the bottom line being to get us to spend money or act/behave/vote in a certain way or accept a situation or philosophy. Fearmongering is a big tool for triggering.

We are conned and manipulated. Watch out for the triggers. They come at you all day. I like to think and write about simplicity. It relieves me from the nutty world. Christmas is part of the nuttiness. It's a huge trigger. Gord has been in my ear about it for weeks, working on me to make a trip with he and Lib to Victoria to have Christmas with Lib's sister Margaret, once we know of arrangements at that end. I've told Gord to talk about it with Lib and once arrangements are made that will suit everyone else, I'll then decide if I want to participate. I stated clearly that my preference is to stay home and look after our plants in pots and the vegie garden and our little old dog who is too old to be left in the care of somebody else. She would have to come with us if I went also. Lib hasn't discussed it with me, but Gord has told me that she has had some communication with sister Margaret, and that maybe Christmas will be at Lakes Entrance (Marg owns the Lakes house that the trio did after Moll and Bill transferred it to them, way back in the 90's. Marg bought out Lib's and Pat's share a couple of years before we moved to SA. Lib's share went into our retirement transition acc) or maybe at one of Marg's girls. Lib's other sister Pat usually has Christmas with husband Michael's family, but if we did go over, we would surely be visiting before or after at Portarlington.

So, watch this space. I'll do my best to fit in but if it all seems too hard for poor old Carey I'll refuse to go. If I did go, I have no desire to visit my family or the farm. Funny that, but the effort to leave after so many years of struggling with so many things has left me with no desire to spark emotions. If I went to Victoria I would like to visit a few dear friends, but I don't think I'd have the autonomy to do that, having one vehicle only and the focus of the trip being Lib's family.

My simple life revolves around my joyful breakfasts, the herbs and vegies in the backyard, working on weeds down the river and nurturing plantings there. A hot bath in the evening, reading a good book, a bit of telly. All the while trying to recognize triggers and avoid responding in the manner intended for me by the trigger.

I used to have my fruit and muesli for breakfast every day. Then my egg lady Sarah at the Saturday morning market, a trained naturopath, suggested I have protein for my first meal of the day. She asked what was in the muesli. I said, "Oats, fruit, lots of good gear" 

Oats are full of starch. Better you have protein, like eggs and meat.

You mean like bacon? I thought it was a Nono. Nitrates and such.

A little won't hurt. We've been eating preserved meat for centuries. Too much is bad. Have your muesli later. If you have protein early, you'll find you eat less and feel better.

I liked what I was hearing, and that's what I do now. In any case, I'm glad I don't live in Gaza, or the Ukraine. I'm able to decide what I have for breakfast and whether I go somewhere for Christmas.

By the way my egg lady is amazing. She told me on Saturday she has a degree in construction (when we were discussing my new boots, she asked if they were steel caps). She met her second husband at a university orientation day, she had 4 kids in tow, and he thought she was their young, employed nanny. Her older kids from first husband start in the 20's in age, and she has 2 boys under 10 with her current hubby. 6 kids total, two of whom have left the nest. She and hubby run their chicken farm in the Inman valley, and she comes to markets Saturdays in VH and Sundays in Goolwa to sell the eggs.

 

The Harsh Realities

It was a clear morning when I set out on a little road trip at 4.35am yesterday, having set two alarms for 4.00am, both of which went off on the dot. One was a battery clock I hadn't used for years, giving me no confidence, the other my mobile phone, again no confidence, that I'd done it right. A cup of coffee and two crumpets and I was on my way, only 5 minutes after my planned departure. I was surprised that Lib had also woken and showered and climbed into Gord's car with me for the trip to Mt. Barker, a destination about an hour from McCracken give or take five minutes depending on various road conditions. You never know what lies ahead really, but logic said I should be there close to 5.30am when Gord was scheduled to alight from the bus on his return from Victoria. 

As we departed Middleton on the Strathalbyn road Lib reminded me that kangaroos would be out and about. A few minutes later a big red stood in the middle of the road, and I was glad I'd kept my speed down to 80k's and could slow further and veer out of its way. From then on, I was doubly conscious of the possibility of a roo bounding into our path especially when visibility of the roadsides was not good due to trees and shrubs and dips and rises. I kept the speed below 100kph, thinking Gord could wait a bit if I was not there on the knocker. At that hour we were the only car on the road just about, nothing behind us and only an occasional vehicle coming the other way. We went through a deserted Strathalbyn and on to the Mt Barker road.

About 10 minutes out of Mt Barker a car came up behind me, sitting a little too close, the headlights annoying me. The road was a bit up and down with a few bends. With hindsight, if I could press rewind, I'd have slowed right down and pulled over so that he went past. A few minutes later, another big roo appeared on the road. I braked and veered left, missing it. The driver behind me came very close to hitting us I think, his headlights loomed up large and he veered right as I went left to avoid the roo.

There was an ugly WOOF SPLAT sound behind as he ploughed into it. I felt very sorry for the roo. Beautiful big one it was. The car that hit it dropped back but came up again behind and sat close again. He hadn't stopped to check damage. I was thinking, I hope your vehicle is badly damaged, you fuckwit, if you had left good space behind our vehicle you wouldn't have hit it. As we made our way through Mt. Barker he was close behind again and when the road turned into double lane after a roundabout he went past us. It was a tradie ute. Unfortunately he had a big bullbar which probably prevented any damage to his vehicle. I wonder how many roos he's killed on his way to work over time. 

As it turned out Gord's bus had been ahead of schedule. He'd been at the stop since 5.10am. He didn't mind us being a little after 5.30, I'd told him to wait there till 6.00 in case I was delayed then make his way down the hill to Red Rooster joint. He didn't have a mobile phone, his had packed it in on the trip to Mt Barker a week earlier when I took him to the bus to start his holiday. He'd used a phone Robbie lent him to keep us informed while he was away. He visited family at the farm and friends in Emerald and Gembrook, and went to the MCG to watch a cricket match.

On the way home we drove past the dead roo. Wildlife suffers a terrible road toll.  

Couple of Steps Back

 Collingwood won the '23 premiership. The No vote won in the referendum.

I really have nothing to say about either event. Best to move on. I'm pretty good at it. Had lots of practice in my 71 years plus some months.

Get this one though. Gord went to Aldi a couple of weeks ago, on a weekend. As is his habit, he parked at Coles McCracken and walked to Aldi, killing two birds with one stone, getting some exercise while shopping. (Funny saying that, killing two birds, Who would? Who did? Origin?)

He made a minor purchase at Aldi, paying with cash, and walked back to Coles and came home. He didn't have his phone with him. Sometime later, a message/notification came through on his phone from Aldi/Google asking the question, "How was your shopping experience/visit at Aldi today."

I ask. How did they know he shopped at Aldi? I can only assume it was by face recognition by a camera that filmed him, as he used no card that would identify him, no phone, nor had a vehicle with registration that may have been recognized. 

I don't like it.

Herbie Lamble

I see on my Facebook feed that Herb Lamble died. Herb was always warm and welcoming to me. I did a Signpost article on him some years ago. I copy it here.

Tractors, Racing Bikes and Tourist Coaches

In 2013 Herbie Lamble visited the Isle of Man, between Great Britain and Ireland in the Irish Sea, to see the ‘Isle of Man TT’, an annual motorbike championship regarded by many as the most prestigious in the world. It was something Herbie had always wanted to do, and he was one of thousands of bike racing fans from far and wide.

The bikes race on the island’s roads and Herbie stood outside a hotel watching the competitors flash past when a man approached him and said, “Herbie Lamble? How are you these days?”

Herbie had no recognition and had to ask who he was.

“I was Harry Hibbert’s sidecar passenger that day when we could have been killed.”

Amazingly, decades after the day they cheated death, having not seen each other in the interim, they had met again on the other side of the world.

Herbie explains, “Harry Hibbert and I were rivals. On that day I knew I had Harry’s measure. Graeme Biggs was my main threat, so I sat on his tail on his right side. I had a little more power and knew I could outbrake him on a particular corner and get past. Lap after lap I waited patiently, not wanting to move too early. There was a small rise before a sweeping corner. Graeme could see ahead but I couldn’t. He veered right, so I veered left to avoid him. Suddenly right in front of me there was Harry Hibbert‘s bike stopped in its tracks, having spun out.”

Herbie was travelling at perhaps 230-240kph and his bike with brother Ken in the sidecar ploughed straight into it.

“In the instant there was nothing I could do. I thought that’s it, we’re all dead. We went over the top of them; I came off the bike and slid along the bitumen, the leathers saving me being torn up. I was dazed and it took me a while to realize my eyes were open and I was alive. I looked over to see Ken slowly getting up. I was relieved to see him alive. As it turned out we had no broken bones, miraculously, and Harry and his passenger escaped serious injury too. The bike was wrecked though.”

Herbie had broken each of his arms in separate accidents racing in Tasmania and South Australia previously. He raced all over Australia at major events and was regarded as one of the top three sidecar riders in Australia. He came second in the Australian titles and third in the Malaysian Superbike Round, and second in many other events in Australia, being dogged by mechanical bad luck to deprive him of victory a number of times. He started racing bikes in 1969 and gave it away in 1974 and took it up again in 1984 for 8 more years.

Herbie was born in 1946 and grew up in Cloverleigh Avenue Emerald with three younger brothers, Robert, John and Ken. Their father Bert worked locally in the Forest Commission and their mum was from the Jones family who were early settlers in Emerald. Her grandfather owned Jones’ store around 1900 on the corner of Monbulk Road where Woolworths is now.

Herbie went to Emerald Primary School and Ferntree Gully Tech. His first job was at Hasset’s Machinery in Ringwood which sent him to David Brown Tractors for training, giving him the mechanical background used through his working life. After 2 years he went to work at Herb Sherriff’s garage in Emerald for three years before returning to Hasset’s.

In 1969 he bought the ELTO garage, near the Emerald Lake turnoff, where he stayed till 1974, coinciding with his first bike racing stint. In 1974 he went into business with his friend John Tolley as mowing contractors ‘Tolley and Lamble’ on a handshake agreement successful for 22 years. They had a contract with the City of Knox mowing roadsides, ovals and parks and did extensive work for the Board of Works through Melbourne’s eastern suburbs.

In 1992 Herb and wife Vicki bought an ’87 Custom Coach with the intention of using it as a mobile home to travel around Australia, but first took it on a trip to Birdsville with seventeen local blokes who contributed to the costs. The trip was so successful it gave rise to a new venture, ‘Lamble Tours’, which this year celebrates 20 years of business. Herb and Vicki have driven and escorted coach tours extensively through Victoria and New South Wales and all over Australia including southwest West Australia, north to the Kimberleys, Alice Springs, the Flinders Ranges, Cairns, Townsville, the Sunshine Coast, the Gold Coast. They have also conducted tours to Canada and New Zealand where they hire coaches, and Vicki has done river cruises in Europe.

A remarkable road travelled since Herbie’s days at the single building Emerald Primary School in the 1950’s.

Not long after I wrote that Herb sold up in Emerald and moved to Benalla in retirement. Brother Jod worked for Herb driving tractors slashing for some years. Herb owned Elto when we were first in Emerald in the early '70's and was always friendly and helpful whatever problem we presented to him at the garage. 

 

 

Spring

The first Prelim final is tonight. I hope the bounce favours the GWS and I can finally be rid of Collingwood for the year. Can't see it happening though. A GWS victory would mean probably a Brisbane/ GWS Grand Final, given that Brisbane are strong favourites in the 2nd prelim. That seems a preposterous idea/eventuality. 

It's been a while since I last posted on 15 Aug. Lib and I did a trip to the Yorke Peninsula for a week or so. Loved it. Broad acre cropping. Wheat, barley, lentils, canola, all looking like a good year, paddocks stretching to the horizon. A lot of small towns on the coast, obviously it's popular for summer holidays. In late August it was peaceful and uncrowded everywhere we went. I hadn't been there before. Most impressed. 3 nights at Moonta Bay, 2 at Edinburgh, and 2 at Balaklava on the way back.

Jimmy Buffet died as September kicked off, aged 76, after a three-year battle with cancer I think. I liked Jimmy. I became a fan of his music in the 70's after enjoying Come Monday and buying an LP at Disclocation (record shop) ran by Des Sheridan and his wife Carol in Wangaratta. I wonder if Des and Carol are still alive.

The Demons sealed a spot in the top 4 while we were in Balaklava, beating Sydney in Sydney. Not that it did them any good, as they lost the next week to Collingwood. An agonizing game for a Melbourne supporter to endure after Brayshaw being poleaxed in the first 10 minutes taking no further part, and several easy shots for goal missing in the last quarter giving C'wood victory by 7 pts. Then Carlton the next week getting up in the last minute, again after several easy shots at goal missed, and dreadful field kicking. If the C'wood one was agonizing, the Carlton one twisted the knife.

Then that night or next day, Ron Barassi died, aged 87. For what seems like all my life, at least in the conscious memory, RDB has been such a prominent figure, a revered figure, a tangible link to the glory years of my childhood when Melbourne won 6 premierships in 10 years from 1955-1964, four of them beating C'wood in the Grand Final. He went on to coach 4 premierships, resurrecting Carlton first then Nth Melbourne.

Then this last week Roger Whittaker died. Aged 87, he died of a stroke. I was a fan of Roger Whittaker back in the 70's after he shot to fame with Mexican Whistler and Durham Town. I had several albums over the years and his voice somehow conveyed optimism and love of life. He was like a good friend I turned to when Music and song could give me what people couldn't. Gordon Lightfoot died last May 1. He was 84. He wrote some brilliant songs, probably The Canadian Railway Trilogy ranks at the top of my all-time favourite songs.

It's a strange thing, being this age. It's like a progression, waiting to hear who's next. I wonder how Bobby Skilton's travelling. Maybe I'll hear something of him on Brownlow night next Monday, if I can bear to watch it. Kris Kristofferson is in his eighties, Paul Simon? All these larger-than-life figures make wonder. Lib and I were talking. Carly Simon? Anne Murray?

On a bright note, the sun is shining on this glorious spring day and the veggie garden is jumping for joy. 

Go GWS tonight.

Presence

 I came across a quote, I think on a Facebook feed, by John Eldridge. I didn't know who he was, so I googled, to find he's an American author, writer of Christian themed books.

The gift of presence is a rare and beautiful gift. To come unguarded, undistracted - be fully present, fully engaged with whoever we are at that moment.

That's how I feel when I work down the river reserve. My focus is on what is immediately around me. I hear bees working in the flowering wattle. See fairy wrens flitting about in the understory. Crows and magpies in the distance. Young ducks swim on the lagoon.

Perfect Peace.

No thought of war in the Ukraine. Referendum. Cost of living. Housing crisis. Brody Grundy. Score review. Julian Assange. Interest rates. Addiction.

Just trees and birds and seeing results of previous work. 

The Ashes (2)

 I was very pleased to wake to the news that England won the fifth test. Two all for the series.

England should/would have won back the Ashes by winning the series were in not for rain depriving them of victory in the fourth test.

Pity about that. Really though, I couldn't give a stuff about the cricket.

The days are slowly stretching out as we enter the last month of winter. The predictions are for El Ninio to belt us in summer, and the heatwave in Europe and America, along with bushfire, does cause some anxiety for what lies ahead.

Putting aside that, I had some anxiety of my own with some weird sensations in my fingers and hands recently. Tingling in finger tips, spreading to hands generally, a numbness with loss of feeling. It went away and came back a few hours later. Was this some sort of warning sign of an impending stroke, or even a slight stroke in progress?

I asked Lib what she thought. Should I go to the doc and get checked, or to the Em Dep as a precaution? The doc would probably refer me to neurologists or others and there'd be expense and wait times. We decided if it persisted, I'd front up at hospital and ask them to run their gadgets over me.

Lib did a bit of googling and found the solution to this dilemma we think. A while back a friend (in Qld) in conversation on the phone, told me he makes marijuana butter with M'a that he gets from his son. I told Lib this and she said she'd like to try it; it may help with her long Covid which has been persistent. So, I asked around and sourced some and made some butter. I didn't strain out the solids as my friend does, they were finally chopped in the butter and ingested with the butter and biscuit. Lib wasn't happy with it, said it made her dizzy. It was sitting there in the fridge, so I started having it on a bickie when I had a bath, as I usually do with my dips from the Greek ladies.

This morning the numbness in the hands came while I was talking to Lib. With the help of google she found that a common side effect of edible M'a is exactly that, pins and needles and numbness in the hands and feet. I don't like it so that's the end of that experiment. The source where I got it said he'd take the rest back and make an oil out of it (he has a still) that you take by one drop under the tongue.

Life is a learning experience. I'm relieved I'm not having a stroke or heart attack. Or am I? I'm having trouble using my left index finger to push the Shift key. Good thing I married a nurse.

Seriously, I'm sure I'm fine. We are going to visit ex-neighbour Helen this arvo. She's in Estia Aged Care here. We visited a few weeks ago and I have some nice orange chocolate for her. It was enlightening to visit her. She recognised us no prob, seems well and happy, and we joined in the carpet bowls with the residents for their activity session. The sad thing was seeing so many old people in wheelchairs, on frames and in various stages of dementia.

There but for the grace of God. There's something to be said for going out quickly with a stroke or heart attack. Better that than a partial freak out that leaves you severely incapacitated and at the mercy of what may be.