45 Minutes of Quiet Contemplation

Lib worked today although it was supposed to be a day off for her. After she left shortly after 6.30am I tidied the kitchen and took my vitamins and a cortisone tablet and lay down for a planned 45 minutes of quiet contemplation while the cortisone weaved its spell. At 7.30 I snapped out of my dreamy state knowing I had an hour and a bit to get the sheets and other washing done and on the line, get ready for work including load the whipper snipper and bits and pieces and then get to Nobelius Park to meet a council officer re some park business. Earlier I had said there was not enough washing to bother putting a load on so Lib suggested I wash the sheets as it was a warm day with a change coming in the evening with possible rain.

I loaded the washing machine, it was now a big load and went back to rotate the mattress. We have a wool under blanket which I took outside and shook. The under blanket drops a fine dust onto the mattress so I vacuumed it thoroughly and did the rest of the room, moving the bed and doing under it too. While I was doing this I could hear a rumbling which was audible over the vacuum noise. Ah, thunder again, I thought. Then there was another burst and it stopped as thunder does. I couldn't work out why Pip hadn't run to me in panic, but I didn't worry as I knew she was inside and therefore not doing a bolting turn up the road. A third peel of thunder, louder still, but different, then an accompanying banging which made me realize it was not thunder.

It was the washing machine having a spell of not so quiet contemplation. I rushed to the laundry to find it askew and a large amount of water over the floor. The sheets had somehow all packed on one side of the machine and put it out of balance while it was emptying spinning. By the time I got there the machine had moved about and shut its function down but had red light flashing and was making a strange alarm sound. The sheets were jammed in so tight between the central shaft and the wall on one side that they were very difficult to extract and rearrange, so I could get the blunny thing to rinse cycle and spin dry. Before I got to that I had to soak up all the water with towels.

I was 3 minutes late for my 9am appt. I had no time time for quiet contemplation for the rest of the day and by the time I got home the cool change had come. I brought the dry washing in at lunchtime when I returned and remade the bed, and the laundry floor had had a good clean to boot.

Amazing things washing machines. We take them for granted and they rarely disfunction. We've lived here for 33 years and have only had two. The first one, a wedding present from my parents, lasted 24 years. The current one has been good but has needed a repair man twice.

But before the drama today I did enjoy my 45 minutes of quiet contemplation and how good would it be if we could all do it every day, just relaxing and thinking positively about good things. Bliss.

Rain, Pain, Thunder, and Sweet Rest

It's raining outside. Rain into December is especially good. Lib has gone to work and the rain eases my conscience at taking the luxury of doing a blog post in the day time.

I caught the last half of my writing class yesterday, the final of the year. Fellow student Stuart read a piece about the Greek gods. I have always had trouble absorbing and remembering who is who and who did what in Greek mythology but after Stuart's piece and the thunder and rain this morning I think now I have Zeus nailed permanently as the Lord of the sky and the god of rain. It was an excellent class. Barb, Stuart's partner, read a piece about a lady taking in a refugee family in a country town. Julie, who has a young child she leaves next door at the Community Centre childcare while the class is on, read her piece about doing a photo session on the streets of St.Kilda for her course. And July read the first chapter of the book she has been writing about her and her Greek husband's 10 year project renovating a rundown hotel in Greece. Maria read a poem by Anne Sexton about her mother which bamboozled everyone but provoked much discussion and different opinion. Also present were Kerrie, John, Suzie and Judyanne. What a variety and what a great group of talented people I consort with on Fridays when I get there. I'm so glad I made the special effort yesterday even if I was more than an hour late.

I couldn't stay for the afternoon tea break up, I had to find bunches of variegated box for the 5pm pick up which I learned had been ordered when I dropped off my beech and variegated pitto foliage at the farm before I went to the class, as well as do my Friday afternoon fruit shop shopping and get my tattslotto on, and I wanted to go to Monbulk for shopping at the new Aldi after getting Gord to the post office to have passport photos taken (he's hoping to go to NZ with friends in January). We were home about 6.15pm. I was tired and quickly headed to the bathtub after putting the shopping away.

Now for the pain. I had a bad night with pain in my shoulder and an intermittent ache going down through my right upper arm, elbow, and forearm and into the wrist. Most unpleasant. I had little sleep having to move my arm carefully numerous times into new positions seeking relief. The most effective position seems to be putting my hand behind my head but after a while the ache returns so I have to change. I was pretty good earlier in the week but I guess after 5 solid days of work where my right arm gets a hammering pulling on the rope to cut with the cutters at the end of the pole in the air, it is no wonder that by Saturday I'm hurting and need a rest. And I don't mind if it's Zeus, Hewey or Jehovah I should thank but I'm grateful.

After Lib left at 6.30am, I took painkillers and the cortisone and went back to bed. I fell asleep to be woken at 8.30 with Pip whining at the bedroom window. She sleeps inside but I put her out earlier when I fed her, and while I was asleep the thunder and rain came. She has developed an acute sensitivity to thunder and literally goes nuts. We had a really bad night Wednesday night when the thunder went on all night and she would not stay in her bed. She scratched at the bedroom door till I had to let her in, or have all the paint removed, then she was not content to lie on the bed she had to burrow under the covers with us and go down to our feet and wriggle about. Very little sleep again.

I worked with my friends Pat and Mal yesterday morning for a couple of hours putting netting over their well cropped fruit trees and help tidy up before the fire restrictions come in next Monday. Their dog Cammie is like Pip and went nuts on Wednesday night. The difference is that he's an Irish deerhound, a very big dog. In the end Pat had to lay down with him in his bed and hold him tight but no sleep was had in their house either.

I will do little today. Maybe get some more zuchini seed in, and some basil. It's probably too wet to do a burn off as I was planning. Can't say I'm sorry.

PS Maria always starts the class with some quotes, mostly yesterday they were about Christmas. I missed that part of class but I have seen them now in the notes - here's two-

Roses are reddish,
Violets are bluish,
If it wasn't for Christmas,
We'd all be Jewish.
Benny Hill

I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come around, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calender of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.
Charles Dickens

Who Would Believe?

The phone rang. I could hear it from where I was. In the bath, 7.15pm, I was due at a meeting of the Friends of the Gembrook Bushland Park at 7.30.  I'd defrosted the freezer that morning and taken out two mini roasts for dinner. Gord and I were batching still, Lib was due home the next day.

I thought it would be secretary Merle on the phone, with some new request to bring something to the meeting. There were two messages on the answer phone from her when I got home, and there were emails that morning. Merle's printer had broken down.

Gord brought me the cordless phone with a bit of a grin on his face, reinforcing my thought that it was Merle. I can't even wash the sweat and stench from me without being hounded, was my feeling.

"Is that Carey?" It did sound like Merle. Or did it?

"Yes," I answered in my annoyed voice.

"This is JB, but I was formerly JW." The first name didn't didn't register. I was coming to grips with the fact that this was not Merle ringing me. The second name instantly made me aware who the caller was.

"You're kidding me," I said.

"No."

I had not heard from her or seen her for more than fifty years. She was my childhood sweetheart. My first love. Yes, it was love, as far as love can be for a boy of ten years old to whom such emotions were new and not understood at all. Way back in the very early 1960's we declared that one day we would marry.

J went on to explain the why and wherefore of her call, while I listened almost incredulously. Twenty two years ago I had written a letter of condolence to her mother after I had seen in the newspaper notices that J's father had died. Her mother did not pass on the letter, in which I had included some basic info of my life and situation and my contact details, until earlier this year. J had not acted straight away as she'd had a difficult year and then hesitated, as anyone would, before dialing the number, asking herself , 'Will I or Won't I?' I am so happy that she did.

Not having received a reply to my letter of 22 years ago, I didn't know if it had been received. I had no contact details when I wrote it. I sent it sealed in an envelope in a letter to the funeral director who put the funeral notice in the the paper, asking him to forward the letter to Mrs W.  As years passed I forgot about it.

But I didn't forget J. I often wondered what life had brought her, was she alive still, where did she live. I knew from the death notice that she was alive twenty two years ago and she had four children, nothing more. Our childhood romance did not endure into a new year after we were put into different classes, but for a couple of years we were close friends and shared an important part of our early lives. She told me she still had a post card I sent her from a holiday my family went on in 1961, and a handkerchief from Sydney that I brought back for her from the same trip.

For the past week we have been exchanging emails and learning of each others lives. She lives interstate and has a truly amazing story which I do not feel at liberty to speak about publicly, but the renewed contact, and the fact that I have found this lady who had  a significant impact on my life in childhood, and that my longstanding wondering is now resolved, has brought me great joy.

I'm still smiling all day long.

A Week at Merimbula

I spent last week at Merimbula. We left on the Sunday in two cars, Lib and Rob in the Hyundai and Gord and I in my van. We stayed that night at the Lakes Entrance house and next day crammed into the i30 wagon, dog Pip on the back seat between the boys and our bags and 'stuff' in the the rear cargo hold and in a bubble on the roof. I left my van at the Lakes house after we mowed the grass and got away before lunch which was had on the way, delicious it was too, lamb, from a joint we had the previous night, in rolls with salad.

We'd booked at Beach Cabins, a pet friendly park, and arrived about 4.30pm. Merimbula is in NSW for readers in foreign lands and those Australians who don't know, between two larger towns Eden and Bega, and is about half way between Melbourne and Sydney on the coastal route. The management offered us an upgrade to a 3 bedroom cabin which had become available and we grabbed it.

We had 5 relaxed full days exploring Merimbula, Bega and Eden and the various beaches and attractions. By day 3 Lib announced she had found the place she wants to live in her retirement in the not too distant future. I can understand this. The beaches are great and numerous and the general feeling of the area is one of relaxed contentment. The locals are happy and friendly and I could not but be impressed by the engaging staff in the shops, the young people in particular smiled a lot and engaged in conversation readily and were helpful.

I walked early down to the point each morning and on day 2 saw two whales. Three times I saw them spout and break the water a number times as they headed south, before giving a flick of their massive tail fin and disappearing, to come up up minutes later further along. I had a good pair of binos so I had a good look at them. Humpbacks.

After they stopped appearing I walked along the rocks watching birds flit about in the trees and shrubbery at the base of the cliffs. At one point I leaned with my back against a large rock for comfort and waited patiently for a group of small birds to sit still for long enough in my view so that I could get a good sight with the binos. I could hear them busily talking to each other most of the time and would see movement but they'd move on before I could get a good look. Just when I was about to give up one appeared quite close on a small dead branch. It had what looked like a moth in its beak and was quickly joined by two others. These new two must have been fully grown juveniles as the first bird presented the moth to one then the other, each in turn taking some of the moth from the parent. It was wonderful to see and kept them in the one place sufficient for me to have a good sight. I think the were thornbills, perhaps striated, they had streaks on their breasts and were light brown, pale underneath.

So from whale watching to catching good view of small birds, I considered myself privileged. Another day I saw dolphins. Another day while walking with the boys on the scenic walk we stopped to watch a bloke casting a lure repeatedly in the shallow river below, curious to see if he caught something. A bird flew out of the bank a few feet below where we stood on the track. The another.
These little birds darted about in the tree above us for a while the one returned to a twig about 8 feet in front of us and about five feet above the ground. It stayed there for a good minute or so, with an insect in its mouth. It was a spotted pardalote, and continued to eye us off until it flew done into a hole in the ground close to our feet. Another did much the same and flew into a different hole. Robbie got a good photo of it with his smart phone, but he and Lib are still away at Lakes, while Gord and I came back yesterday (Sunday)to get back to work. I will put up the photo when he sends it to me, if he still has it when they come home.

So we had a great holiday, dampened only by the fact that Lib got booked by the cops for speeding enroute Merimbula to Lakes E, a $180 fine plus he got her for not wearing her glasses, $140, which is a condition of her licence. She was fuming. I was having a little kip while Lib drove so as to keep myself fresh for the afternoon drive home.    

Palm Oil....Canola?

There's a strong campaign against palm oil as an additive to food products such as biscuits and cakes and snack foods, largely because the production of palm oil is taking place in Asia where native forests- habitat for orangutans and other species whose existence is threatened - is being removed at an alarming rate causing loss of biodiversity and contributing significantly to increased carbon in the atmosphere.

I looked up a website on this and it started with the following-

Palm Oil itself is not the issue, apart from the fact that it is full of saturated fat and extremely bad for your health. 

I have long been avoiding palm oil in foods by reading the labeling and not buying that which has it listed. I have done this because an acquaintance whose father died of a heart attack was told by the cardiologist (ten years ago) that he should avoid palm oil as it was deadly but it is in so many foods without people being aware it's there, or that it's bad for them.The trouble is too, that many foods just say vegetable oil without specifying what plant the oil originates from and this can be in fact palm oil. And I read somewhere that some emulsifiers contain palm oil. Apparently palm oil is cheaper and easier to use. So generally speaking I avoid cake and biscuits and try to buy only products whose labels specify what oil they contain, like say sunflower oil, in the hope that I'm avoiding much palm oil and not consuming as much bad stuff, while acknowledging that no doubt some gets to me.

Sister Meredith, married to a doctor, sometimes reads medical journals that her husband subscribes to. In one of these she saw an article written by a leading cardiologist where he advised doctors not to recommend canola oil to patients as a heart healthy alternative, as in his opinion it contributed to blocked arteries. Now if you have a look you will see that canola oil is also in so many foods and is sold as a straight line cooking oil in every supermarket and store and is probably in the pantry of 90% of households. Nowhere do I see publicity that it is bad for your heart so the public is generally unaware. Canola is one of the major crops grown in rural Australia, its cultivation and its use in food manufacture and marketing of the oil is seriously big industry.

Somewhere in this there's a question of ethics. Perhaps ethics are now non existent, or only apply with precedence to economics foremost.

Probably the solution is to eat as few processed foods as you can. Raw is good, plenty of fruit and vegetables, nuts, eggs thumbs up, and a variety and moderate amount of meat and dairy food, and fish. If the obesity problem is as bad as reported lately the general population could improve diet greatly.

Capricornia

Many years ago, probably more than twenty, I bought a book, I think at an op shop, titled Capricornia by Australian Xavier Herbert. I loved it. I came across another copy somewhere, I think again at an op shop at Maclean on our holiday in November last year. A week or so ago I started to read it again, the decades between reads enough to make it seem fresh for me.

It really is a great book. Although I'm only about 100 pages into the 500, I'm enjoying it immensely. It was first published in 1938 so the writing style is not modern but I find it easy to read. I think it's brilliant.

It is protected by copyright and cannot be reproduced in any part or form except for the purpose of review so let me say this is a review highly recommending all Australians in particular to get hold of it and read it if you have not already done so.

Below I quote a section to illustrate my appreciation, as tiresome as copying the type is, I want to do it for you. One of the main characters is Oscar who married Jasmine and they moved onto a cattle station and had two children, Marigold and Roger.

The year of the Census (1910) was an eventful one for the whole family. The first to whom adventure came was Roger, aged one year. His adventure was the greatest one can experience. He died, or, as Oscar stated on his tombstone, was Called Home. Measles had a voice in the calling.

Bitter trouble in Oscar's home followed the death of Roger. Just prior to it, Jasmine, who was in the unhappy state into which many handsome potent women fall in the early thirties through too closely considering the dullness of the future against the brightness of the past, had been neglecting her home at Red Ochre for what was a frantic endeavour to enjoy the dregs of almost exhausted youth in the social whirl in Town. Oscar had long since dropped out of the social whirl. He would have liked Jasmie to do the same as he often hinted. But when he accused her of neglecting her child and so having been to a degree responsible for its death he did not really mean what he said. He was not speaking his mind but the craziness that the death of the potential perpetuator of his name had induced in him.

Jasmine sprang out of the mourning perhaps bitterer than his and spat at him all that which she had ruminated over for years. He learnt that he was a thing of wood, a thing of the gutter sprung from stock of the gutter (distorted reference to disreputable Brother Mark), risen by chance to be - what?- to be a bumptious fool whose god was property, not property in vast estates such as a true man might worship, but in paltry roods. Bah! His very greed was paltry. He dreamed of the pennies he could coin from cattle dung! ( Poor Oscar! He had always resisted her urging him to secure more land and buy more stock, because, not being a grazier born like the Poundamores who controlled vast Poundamore Downs on account of which they were born and buried in debt, he realized that cattle raising was a business, not a religion, and that as it was he held more country and ran more stock than was warranted by the mean trade he could do. And once he had said quite idly that he wished there were a sale for the cattle dung that lay about the run in tons.) And she spat at him something that would not have hurt a few years earlier or later, namely that he was already old and flacid, while she, who was eight years his junior, was young - yes - young! Young - and Oh God - aflame with life!

Stung to malice, Oscar jeered at her for a faded flower blind to its own wilting through pitiful conceit. She fled from him weeping. Poor blundering ass, quickly stricken with remorse, he went after her and begged forgiveness, and thus only made himself more hateful to her by being weak and her more desireable to himself by causing her to be inexorable. They were never reconciled. A few weeks after the scene, she eloped to the Phillipines with the captain of the cattle steamer 'Cucaracha', accompanied by a cargo of Oscar's beeves. Oscar was shocked, firstly by having lost her, secondly to have lost her in a manner so unseemly, thirdly by having lost her to a man he had regarded as a friend. He had taken Captain Emilio Gomez into his house as a Spanish gentleman. The fellow had turned out to be nothing more than a Dirty Dago.

Without going into detail, the book is about the early social history of Australia's north and the racial  and half caste problem. To me, a privileged white born of middle class far removed from the book's setting, it is insightful and alarming. There's tragedy, brutality and prejudice as well as honesty and humour at every turn. The picture of life in the top end a century ago portrayed by the story line is enlightening and educational.

An Australian Classic.

Aunt Hatsu

A letter came from my Aunt Hatsu today. She said she was thrilled to receive my recent letter. Meredith gave me Hatsu's address (and a letter Hatsu wrote to her last March) a few months ago. Hatsu lives alone in Adelaide. She corresponded with Meredith once a year for many years, but stopped some years ago, because she was seriously ill, Meredith thinks. We thought she may have died.

Hatsu may not be my aunt in fact, I'm unsure how it works, after a divorce. She was my aunt once. She was married to my uncle Ron, Elvie's brother. The marriage produced two children. I was in Adelaide in 1977 for a Bee Congress and stayed with Hatsu in her flat. She had left Ron by then. The kids were secondary school age. That was the last time I saw them. Hatsu remarried. Her second husband has since died.

In her letter she said she's 81 now and came to this country 54 years ago, so it must have been 1960. it was exciting for us to have a Japanese aunt. After they married they lived at first at Nanna Wilson's in Ashburton. My mother had the florist shop in Sth Yarra and left Meredith and I at Nanna's place on Saturday mornings. I remember Ron and Hatsu taking us walking along Gardiner's creek and sitting on the grass. Hatsu was friendly and warm despite her limited English and we liked her. Ron was uncommunicative and always gave me the feeling that I was an irritation to him, like everything else.

They moved to Narracoorte in SA where Ron took up a teaching post, and later Adelaide. Hatsu's son, now aged 50, is an airline pilot who has not lived with her since he finished high school, I think he did a cadetship with the RAAF. He has lived mostly in Europe, and in Dubai for the last five years, and visits Hatsu about once a year or so. Her daughter lives in Melbourne but Hatsu has had no contact for a few years. Neither of these cousins of mine married. They have strong loathing of Ron.

Uncle Ron remarried to a Filipino lady and had a daughter who would be in her 20's now. His second wife left him, but the daughter was in Ron's care and they visited us a number of times at the farm over the years. I could offer a lot of information and opinion about Ron, but it would be a long post and I don't have the energy. To summarize... Ron was a very odd turkey. When I stayed with Hatsu in 1977 she told me of the bad treatment she and the kids were subjected to over a long period. It took her a long time to build the courage to leave him with nothing and no one to help her. She worked then as a casual waitress in a local hotel.

A few years ago on our Adelaide holiday I visited Ron in an aged care facility where his daughter had told us he was now resident. He was suffering from dementia and was full of paranoia about being locked up and stripped of his assets and money... Could I get him out? Lib, who was with me, says this is a common thought process with dementia onset.

After I brought this news back to Elvie, Meredith wrote to Hatsu at the old address she had to let her know where Ron was, in case she wanted to know. Hatsu resumed the correspondence and thanked Meredith. That is how they came again to exchange letters. Hatsu says she has a few good friends in the Adelaide Japanese community and she enjoys a peaceful and happy life. In her letter to me that I read this evening, written so neatly and carefully, she says she hopes I come soon to see her and invited us to stay with her and she would love to meet my wonderful wife Libby.

It was a beautiful thing for me, to read those words, having connected with Hatsu again. There's something magical about hand written letters. I had to go to Melbourne (Dingley) today and stopped at Fountain Gate for lunch and shopping on the way home. It's a total mad house, the traffic, the city. I couldn't believe the number of young people smoking outside the mall- in this day and age! The radio and TV news is full of bad news and talk of war and bombing strikes and paranoia about muslims and burquas and terrorists and fear. The only fear I feel is my little dog being killed by some big mongrel. People can wear what they like and pray to whomever they like, this is supposed to be free country, the law applies to all and that's all that matters. I'm sick of the bullshit.

My aunt Hatsu was born about 1933 in Japan and came to a country in 1960 which still had very strong anti Japanese sentiment, understandably after WW11. The cities of her country were bombed almost to oblivion. She says she can hardly wait to talk to me. Well I can hardly wait to talk to her after a break of 37 years, now that I have 62 years under my belt and a different way of looking at the world than earlier in my life.

Busy Week

Last Sunday Lib myself and Gordon attended a family gathering at the Box Hill Cemetery at the grave of my grandparents Edgar and Annie Wilson. Poppa, as we (me, Jod, Meredith) knew him, was officially Walter Edgar Wilson, and he died in 1956, and Nanna was Rhesa Annie Wilson. She died forty years after him in 1996.

Edgar served in WW1 and our cousin Bruce organized this get together of some of the Wilson clan to place a tile with a poppy on it on Edgar's headstone. The tiles were available through the RSL to commemorate the service of those soldiers who returned home and got on with their daily lives. Bruce who served in Vietnam learned of the tile through the his involvement with the RSL and the idea came to him to invite descendants of Edgar and Annie to the grave to stick the tile on the headstone.

The idea was well received and five of Edgar and Annie's grandchildren attended and some of their spouses, children and grandchildren. We had lunch at nearby hotel and it was a rewarding day for us all to catch up with family we hadn't seen for many years.

Meredith, her grandaughter Evie and Lib are obscured at rear.
 

It was the first time I had visited my grandparents' grave. I was most impressed by my relatives that I had not seen for many years. It was a great day for me and I'm sure Edgar and Annie would be proud of us.

Last night I attended the inaugural Gembrook Beekeeper's Club meeting, the Bee Gees. It was to be held in the new restaurant, The Independent, but they could only give us a reservation at a time later than we wanted and only at minimum price of $50 a head for a meal so we had the meeting in vet Tom's clinic and Tom bought us all pizzas. it was an interesting night and I'm happy to be part of it to share my delight of the natural world.

Today I had my van booked in for a service at Berwick in the morning and had a doctor's appt in the afternoon followed by appt for ultrasound scans on my shoulders at Casey Hospital. Tomorrow Lib and I are attending a lunch celebration in Monbulk for a friend's 80th birthday. I had a gout attack Tuesday and Wednesday which I think is caused by the new RA medication I'm taking, hence my visit to the doctor today (I see the specialist again on 15 Oct). On top of all this I have been busy workwise so I've hardly had time to scratch myself.

Where Have 45 Years Gone?

I drove back from Lakes Entrance today, by myself, listening to CDs, and sucking on a new Life Saver every thirty km. That's my tactic to stay awake when driving a distance. It gives me some focus on the odometer as I make the Life Saver last as long as I can, so that there's less k's to wait till I can have a new one.

I went down to Lakes on Thursday evening after a busy day working. I was by myself because Lib and Gord went down on Tuesday. I listened to a 'Gordon Lightfoot Live' CD on my way down for starters, followed by Anne Murray, singers who go back to the late sixties and my adolescence, and whose songs evoke such powerful memories when I have some solitude and the time to listen, two blessings that I rarely have in recent memory.

It was 'If You Could Read My Mind' that kicked me off into a weekend of nostalgia and overview of my life. A self indulgence? Yes. But it was like an uncontrollable force that took hold of me and held me captive right till this very moment, and will stay during the coming night I'm sure, alone again as I am. It will take the urgency of Monday work and responsibility to snap me out of it I think.

My mate Rickyralph and I broke the chains of our conservative middle class family and educational institution and sought adventure, driven by adolescent romantic love we did not understand, having fallen in love with the sisters Morton, and rebellion against the nutty constraints, rituals and prejudices of the society of the time. We could not conform to the expectations of us. We sought excitement and experiment, and found trouble without meaning to. It was a turbulent time we were both lucky to survive. Popular music was big at the time and our generation tapped into it as an expression of awakening and freedom. There would be dozens of songs from the time that could spark such feelings in me, but 'If You Could Read My Mind' would be right up there.

Anne Murray had a hit song around the same time, 'Snowbird', which was not a favourite then, but after buying a number of her LP's in the late 1970's and becoming a big fan around the time I met and married Lib, when I hear 'Snowbird' now it takes me right back. And the fact that we lost our little 'Snowie', whom I often referred to as 'Snowbird', recently, no doubt added to the emotions that flooded me. Anne Murray's 'Highly Prized Possession' gives me goosebumps still.

I left home at 4.30pm, and after 3 and a quarter hours driving/think time remembering girls I loved, now ladies I still love, despite not having seen them for decades and probably never again, arrived at Lakes for dinner of lamb and salad wraps. I thought of friends whom I rarely see but will remain friends forever, and several who have passed on, some well into old age, others far too young. My father, Lib's parents, my friends' parents, most of whom have gone. I thought of football teams, teammates, the great fun I had at Ormond Cof C with a special bunch of people, and again at Greta after a break of five years while I pursued beekeeping.

I first went to the Lakes house on Feb 1 1981, the first day of our honeymoon after the wedding the previous day. We went there with our babies, our children, our friends, we have been going there every year since. All of these memories flooded me for three days. We went for a walk to Lake Bunga on Saturday morning. I have never seen the trees and shrubs and birds looking so beautiful... multiple shades of green and flowers of yellow white and pink on wattle, clematis and aristides?, and pea flower and craggy old banksia stumps with amazing bark and shape. We cut the grass and did house maintenance, all joy and pleasure not work. I could hear the sea in the background, a profound sound that did nothing but enhance my mood.

On the drive home I listened Simon and Garfunkel who continued the spell over me. The herds of cattle looked fantastic on the back road. The grass has never seemed so lush. The red gum trees and yellow box warmed my heart and along with the flowering red box and roadside capeweed made me think of my fortunate involvement with beekeeping and the many wonderful people from that part of my life. I cannot recall enjoying driving so much. It's great to be moving through the countryside seeing so much beauty and forgetting all the nutter stuff of politics and war and propaganda and elections.

Forty five years have passed so quickly. When I was 17, I wondered what it'd be like to be old, there's a line in S+G's Bookends.."How strange is to be seventy". I'm not all that far off finding out first hand. I always thought it'd be great to have a whole lifetime to look back over. Let's hope I keep my mental faculties so that I can.

Good Luck

Lib was helping me pick bunches of forget me not flowers in Gembrook Bushland Park the other day as she is on holidays.There was a crimson rosella chatting away and feeding happily on the flowers of a pittosporum bicolor as I worked underneath. Then the unmistakable splat on my head came and Lib said "What's up," in answer to my muffled expletive.

"A rosella dropped a big one on my head."

"Oh," Lib replied, That means good luck."

A little while later I heard a cry of anguish from Lib, and an expletive."What happened," I courteously inquired.

"I walked into a branch while bending over picking, it went straight into the sore on my head."

"That means good luck," I said.

I thought of this today while I was picking there, on my own this time as Lib has gone to Lakes for a few days. On the way back I called at the PO to collect our mail and there was a lovely card from a friend in Melbourne for whom Gord and I did a gardening favour a few weeks ago. As well as some kind words of gratitude there was a couple of Tattslotto tickets for next Saturday's superdraw so I hope there is some good luck in the wind.

Vale Snowie

Our little Snowie was killed on Sat 6 Sep by one of a neighbour's great danes/cross? She was thirteen and a half years old and had a wonderful life. She's the third dog we have buried in our garden over the 33 years we have lived here, and another, Pip Mk2, a blue heeler German pointer cross, simply disappeared one night at 14 years old and was never seen again. She must have gone off to die, knowing her time was up. She was arthritic and incontinent and I was almost to the point of taking her to the vet for our final goodbye, instead waiting as she was still enjoying her food and basking in the unseasonable sunny August days. But the nights were cold with heavy frosts and it was on the third of these in a row that she took off.

That would have been 2003 which I know because we got Snow in October in 2001, on Robbie's 14th birthday. We did this because Pip was twelve tears old and looking like she was nearing the end of her life and we were concerned that losing her would be a body blow to the boys who had grown up with her as a rock solid reliable companion. I saw an ad for JR /Japanese Spitz cross pups in the supermarket window and she was six months old when we picked chose Snow, the runt of the litter, and brought her home.

Snow settled in instantly and got on great guns with old Pip, who became rejuvenated. It added some valuable time to Pip's life I'm sure. After Pip disappeared we were a one dog family until Lib brought Pip Mk3 home as an eight week old pup on the 2nd August 2007 ( That's a good thing about blogging, you can go back and check things like I just did).

The two little dogs have been very much a part of our lives since. Snowie was never any trouble other than going AWOL a couple of times during severe thunderstorms when we weren't home, both times she was taken in by kind hearted people who cared for her till they could locate us. She was an outside dog, she didn't ever really want to be inside (except during thunder storms or on fire cracker nights or when shooters were discharging shotguns fairly close to our house).

She was a free spirit who stayed close to the house but did take a little walk in the street most days, harmlessly. In later years she took to visiting our friends Steve and Ann across the road regularly, a habit which contributed to her demise. Steve and Ann moved out last January and the new owners have two massive dogs which are usually confined in their back yard. On the fateful day last Saturday week these dogs were with their owner in the front yard when Snowie wandered in. The large dog grabbed her before the owner had realized what was happening. I was out. When I came home there was a note on my front door to ring my neighbour's mobile. They had had to go out but he told me the bad news and I went and collected Snow who was in a cardboard box at the top of their drive. We gave her a ceremonial burial in a beautiful place in our garden and I'm forever grateful that we were blessed with Snow as a family member for 13 years.

Rheumatoid Arthritis

My GP, not happy with my blood test results after many months of treatment with prednisilone for the polymyalgia, referred me to a specialist some weeks ago. I fronted a few weeks ago and he increased my medication which gave me some relief and new energy and I returned for a second appt yesterday afternoon, after having more blood tests on Monday in preparation.

He had no hesitation telling me yesterday that the tests show I have rheumatoid arthritis. He prescribed another drug, methotrexate, which takes 6 weeks to kick in so he left me on the prednisilone also for the time being. Apparently the methotrexate has less side effects long term than the prednisilone, and may not have any if I'm lucky. It can damage the liver and I'm advised to have only light alcohol intake.

I have not yet had time to research all this properly yet and so I don't know how I will be affected into the future. RA can be aggressive with rapid degeneration of joints and muscle tissue causing severe cripplecreek, or it can be mild and go into remission and flare up here and there. I don't think I have much choice but to follow the medical advise and hope that early intervention will prevent serious deterioration, as I'm told can be so. Nobody can be sure where we end up from here, especially in the longer term. I'm on the way down it seems but aren't we all really, it's just a case of when.

I'm not complaining, there are people given terminal diagnosis every day for all manner of cancers, I'm fit and well except for some pain and some lack of agility which is manageable.

My next appt with specialist is in six weeks - I promise not to talk of this till then, it bores me witless so it must you too and I would like to write about other things. I have been very busy as usual but have managed to gather enough firewood for next winter already as well as catch up on some pruning and tidy up. So much more yet to do and no doubt I'll always be very busy until I have a radical change of circumstances which could happen within months or may not for a few years. We just have to see how we go, there are many considerations.

Awesome

A famous golfer once said of his day's work at the British Open, something like,

"I was in awe of myself today."

I can't say that I have ever been in awe of myself, but I have been in awe of nature and the beauty around me as the sun comes out and the birds sing lately. It's great to hear bees humming in the blossom and see buds swelling and bursting with flower and new growth. There's colour on the ground and on trees and shrubs and the blue sky is exquisite, and so was this evening's sunset.

Awesome beauty indeed.

AS WINTER BECOMES SPRING

The days grow longer, there’s more birdsong, lawnmowers come out, and many footballers put away the boots till next autumn, while others prepare for last games in finals in a frantic bid for the premiership.

Due to Gordon’s involvement I had occasion to see several local games this season, the first being an away game for Gembrook/Cockatoo at Powelltown a couple of months ago. We left home early in misty light rain to reach the venue by the time requested by the coach, 10.30am, a tad early I thought given the 12.10 start for the reserves. The oval, behind a huge sawmill with mountains of sawn stacked timber, was easy to find.

An U18’s game was in progress, between Mt. Evelyn and Powelltown, as Gembrook/Cockatoo did not field an U18 team. Intermittent rain and sleet fell as I watched the lads from Mt Evelyn give the locals a good touch up by about thirty goals to two. I could not help but be impressed by the endeavour of both teams which continued right through the final quarter despite the freezing muddy conditions. I asked myself, who would do it? But then I’m over sixty.

The Ressies warmed up on a patch of grass outside the ground as the U18s kept it up till the final siren. It was raining steadily and they were all getting thoroughly wet before the game even started. The rain eased then stopped and the game got underway with great enthusiasm and yelling and calling. Soon it was obvious that the Powelltown Demons had the upper hand and they slowly mounted a winning lead that continued to a one sided win. Again, I could not but be impressed by the Brookers who kept trying to the very end despite the lopsided score line, and the camaraderie and good sportsmanship evident between the teams at the end of the match.

We stayed for the senior game, the rain holding off for a while. Both teams showed good skills in another spirited contest. As the game wore on Powelltown got the upper hand, the rain came back, and the skill level dropped off as it became a muddy slog.

Over the next weeks there were games at King Lake with snow around the ground and kids throwing snowballs, more rain and blizzard winds, and games when the Ressies did not score at all. Through all of this the players continued trying their hearts out, and shared moments of joy and celebration, at scores or good efforts, and always congratulated their victorious opponents. Fittingly, they won the last game at Thornton with only 17 men on the field and no interchange.

In one of the coldest and wettest winters I can recall, I am full of admiration for the young and not so young men who braved the elements and showed their obvious love of footy, which plays an important role in our society.

It's a Dog's Life

This little one is about the luckiest dog in the world I reckon. A great mate. I sing to her,

"I love how you love me"

She gives a wag of the tail.

Coughing Up

We, that is Lib, Gord and me, all have head and chest colds. Gord's is the worst, he's had it for many weeks and his cough that must be driving him crazy. Lib and I aren't so bad and have only been overcome this past week or so but the cough is irritating and detracting from good sleep.

I heard on the radio that it's been the best snow season since 1981. I remember 1981 well; we came to Gembrook in July from Wangaratta to a house without carpets and curtains and indeed no electricity for two weeks. It was freezing and I would say this winter has been the worst since for prolonged cold and wet. We've had lower temperatures and more thick frosts in other years but this winter has been cold and wet for a long period. Hard on man and beast. I was fortunate to have a good stock of firewood including some really old dry stuff.

The days are stretching out a little now and birdsong in the mornings is building. The temperature was a little warmer yesterday and today with some sunshine, even a few blowflies down the chimney to buzz and bang on the windows. it'll  be 4- 6 weeks till I close the chimney vent and finish with the open fire till into next autumn when the cold returns. I'm gathering some wood for next year as I prune and remove some trees at the farm and tidy up here.

Cough and splutter we may well and suffer aching muscles and crook backs, but the work goes on. As does the paper work. I've spent late nights catching up on three months book work to do the BAS and end of year collation.

I'm not complaining. To use a popular saying going round at the moment, it is what it is. I picked wild violets today and some daphne and geranium. It was total pleasure. I'm proud of my work and my family's work, especially Lib.

PS. I heard today that Tony Abbott said any Australians going overseas to fight in conflicts would be punished.
Surely he doesn't mean ADF people, so he means, I suppose, depending on his endorsement or condemnation of the conflict, Australians are lauded or punished accordingly.

Violence is violence, it is what it is. Murder is murder. 

Heritage Walk

Emerald's Heritage Walk was launched on Wednesday this week. A joint venture between the Emerald Community House and the Emerald Museum it came about through the energy of the ECH who applied for a small grant in the Museum's name and did the planning, while our museum committee provided the information and worked with the graphic designer to produce the brochure and signs.

The end result was excellent. I had little to do with the nuts and bolts of it but as president of the committee I was required to make a small speech at the launch, one of four speakers the last of whom was the Mayor of Cardinia who then cut the ribbon.

In my talk I thanked the attending MPs and councillors and all who contributed, using a list of dot points prepared for me by our wonderful part time museum officer employed by council (for six months only, probably one off). I had been away at Lakes Entrance in the two days prior, building a post and rail fence on top of the new big retaining wall for safety reason, and would have struggled preparing a talk in those circumstance as my mind was fully engaged with friend carpenter Willy from Phillip Island who met me down there. It was a small job only but by the time you get down there and organize and buy the timber, do the job and tidy up it was a two night stay. Men off the leash, fun, but I returned Tuesday night exhausted. Gord came and I needed him to share the driving on the way home, I was falling asleep.

I added a personal experience to my talk. In 1999 (I think) We were on holiday at Lakes Entrance and to cut a long story short Gord had a burst appendix and peritonitis after ill health for two weeks and visits to doctor and then hospital which was not picked up by the varoius medicos till I took him to the clinic in LE after his condition was worsening not improving. He had to go to Sale hospital where he had emergency surgery that saved his life. We stayed in Sale for a week, and got to know the town quite well, having previously only ever driven through it.

Because of this, we stopped in Sale on future trips for meals or shopping and a bit of nostalgia. Some years ago I came across a Heritage Walk there, and took the brochure back to our committee, who were impressed but already had plans to do this in Emerald. Finally it has happened which is rewarding. When I saw the Heritage Walk in Sale my thoughts were immediate - the people of Sale are proud of their town, their community and the history. This is an important thing to demonstrate to visitors and the new generation coming through.

The other speakers on Wednesday talked of how this heritage walk is stage one. The RSL and the Village Committee are working on an ANZAC Walk to be completed for next year's centenary. The RSL has a grant from the federal government of many $thousand.

Since my talk I have done more thinking. I remember being in the Sale hospital waiting anxiously while Gord was in surgery and seeing a plaque on a donation board for a wing of the hospital built in I think the 1920's or 30's, something like, Donation by Margaret Lyon in memory of her only son Leonard who was killed at Albertville France in 1916. I was moved by this, that this lady in commemoration of her son had made a donation to a hospital that was at that moment saving the life of my son.

We already have Avenues of Honour, the shrine of remembrance and a War Memorial in Canberra. I would prefer to see the large amount of public money spent on a better purpose such as a hospital. God knows how many millions are being spent on centenary ANZAC Day and I think the example of Margaret Lyons would be a good way to go.

Wet and Cold

I hear rain on the roof. A familiar sound commonly heard over the past four weeks since I last posted. It has been an extended wet and cold period, broken only by the odd day or two when there has been no rain or drizzle. At these times the wind has cranked up ripping through like a scythe of cold chilling man and beast.

Suffer I have with the polymyalgia not abated. I have had awful days, and nights, interspersed with some good ones, usually after treatment of one sort or another including five sessions of acupuncture, the latest today, and more chiropractic. The lady who gave me the Shiatsu massage four weeks ago has not been available in July and my booking for a soft tissue massage after hot sauna in Emerald was aborted due to power failure during a blizzard with gale force winds.

The rain tumbles still, heavier now. Through all this I have continued to work to the my best capabilities, slowly and carefully of course. Mornings are painful till the panadeine and prednisilone kicks in making afternoons easier.

With this tale of woe you will see why I haven't blogged. It's not any fun at all to talk about it and it robs you of the interest and desire to share thoughts. I know I am a pain in the arse and the whole event bores me to tears.

So let me tell you about my acupuncture man as he has become a friend to me. He lives in Berwick and works from his house.  He's university qualified and has worked learning also in China. He is of Chinese father and Maltese mother. At some point his father met his mother in India. He is married to an East Timorese lady and he has two daughters. His wife was a refugee. He was born in 1977 and he barracks for Nth Melbourne. He has an interest in the punt. We discuss all these things and more while I lie on a table in my underpants as he sticks 18 needles into me, in my arms and legs and chest and shoulders, before he leaves me in quiet dozing and dreaming. It's most pleasant. He comes back and heats up some of the needles with some sort of burning stick, although he did not do this today, he left me for twice as long as usual.

When I first rang him I asked him did he think he could help with polymyalgia.

"I think I can help with anything," he replied.

How many visits will I need to make?

" Three to six," he said.

"I'll give you three for starters," I told him.

I have booked in for a sixth next week. I want to trial this right through. Nothing has cured this weird affliction but I am coping and working and fulfilling nearly all my commitments if falling behind on work at the farm which doesn't really matter when I consider the stage my career is at - nearly at the end.

I am disgusted with politics and many things outside my sphere of influence so I choose not to waste one minute of  my time on them.

Rickyralph is five ahead of me in the footy tipping. There's still enough rounds for me to catch him, remembering last year I swooped in the last round from 3 behind to do him on the post. Extraordinarily, Lib is leading and twelve ahead of me and I concede that is an unassailable margin.  

Massage

I had a Shiatsu massage today by a local practitioner ( my friend Hanna's daughter). It was wonderful. I fell asleep and dreamed but was fully aware of every touch. Amazing!

I cancelled my scheduled chiropractor appt to do this and I have to say that I have not felt so pain free for six months. Pain free is not right perhaps, there is still discomfort /pain but my whole being seems to have loosened up. It is a great feeling and I hope it lasts.

Off to bed now, hopeful that I will have a good sleep undisturbed, and wake up feeling as good as I do now. Mornings are usually pretty crappy and I'm tired of it. I was going to try acupuncture but bumped into Sue while I was digging over some ground at Hanna's to plant garlic, the discussion about my polymyalgia leading to the appt today.

I have not had the time or energy to blog much lately, i have many things to attend to all the time and my condition slows me, so that I cannot do all that I wish.

But let me assure my friends that read that right now I feel FANTASTIC, and have renewed belief that I will soon, or a little later, be shod of this thing that has dragged me down.

Robert Flower

I just now watched a highlight reel of Robert Flower.

There have been many great footballers I have seen. There has been none better than Robert Flower.