This Old World Keeps Right On Turning

It's June already. Even halfway through. Shortest day of the year next week, winter solstice.

A Kris Kristofferson song is running through my head repeatedly.

This old world keeps right on turning for the better or the worse,

and if all I ever get is older and around.

from the rocking of the cradle to the rolling of the hearse,

the going up was worth the coming down.

Something close to that, I don't recall the song title. I had a memory flash that 2 June was Annette Traghard's birthday. It may well not be so. Memory flashes are unreliable. She became Annette Welsh sometime in the '70's. 5 June was World Environment Day, the theme being let's rid the oceans of plastic. I did my bit for the environment in the afternoon that day, weeding on the river reserve, as I do every other day when I can. 6 June I was in the dentist chair with Ah Ling and Trylock peering into my mouth, offering suggestions as to future crowning and possible implant where I lost a tooth extracted 3 days before our move interstate in 2021. With the bad timing of the toothache, and no time for root canal option before we moved, I opted "Take it out." ($4500 for the implant- no thanks) My next dentist appt is 19 June for a filling where a rear molar is cracked.

6 June was also DDay, the anniversary of the Allies invasion of France in WW11. That event reminds me that it is also Ann Harry's birthday. Ann used to run the Gembrook PO agency when we lived there, a delightful lady, I had sent her a greeting in the mail, and thought of her while I was mouth open in the dentist chair. She and her husband Greg have since sold the agency. 

7 June was a working bee for the Hindmarsh River Estuary Friends Group9. Lib came with me. The group planted over 100 native trees, shrubs and grasses in areas where weeds had been previously removed. Great stuff. 9 June was the anniversary of my old friend Blossom's birthday in 1937. I think Bloss died in 2014, as it is in my head she died aged 77. I didn't think she'd make that age; she was a big woman with history of illness. 10 June rings a bell, but I can't recall why. 16 June is my friend Amanda's birthday. She lived in Gembrook when we were there, in our street for some of it, and had kids at school with ours. Divorced, she lives in Melbourne now. I sent her birthday greeting also, she probably got it today. Nice to think of her getting the mail. My niece Rosie has her 42nd birthday next week. I remember she was delivered in the cab of the Toyota Land Cruiser tray ute outside the Dandenond hospital. They didn't quite make it inside. Lib and I were in the throes of moving from Wang to Gembrook and were in Emerald at the time.

As I write this, I recall that I was frustrated totally on the morning of 5 June, having been on the phone to Centrelink for nearly 3 hours. Abbreviated, the story is that some weeks previous we applied for a Seniors Health Care card for Lib, as she had reached the enabling age in March. I already have one. She already had a Low Income Health Care Card, which we had both successfully reapplied for in January (it doesn't renew automatically each year). Due to some confusion over Clink wanting to see our 2022 tax returns which don't exist as we earned no taxable income that year, it was required we had to ring them. That meant a wait time on the phone listening to music for a couple of hours, then a lengthy discussion sorting out. We are self-funded retirees receiving no part pension so I couldn't understand why it was so hard when Lib already could claim pharmaceuticals at subsidized rate on her Low Income Card. We were told Lib would get the card but I don't hold my breath. I want her to get it because the Low Income one has to be applied for every year, quite a rigmarole, and if I drop off the perch at least she'll have the Senior's Health Card, automatically renewed, if she chooses not to bother with the annual reapplication for the LI card, as I suspect she wouldn't. I do it, because if you have that one, you get a concession from the SA government off rates and water bills, which the straight Senior's HC card doesn't give you, unless you receive a government pension. That is how I understand it and I don't know why it is all so complicated.

While I was frustrated angry waiting on the line to talk to CLink, I rummaged through hard files to make sure I had what they might want in terms of Lib's retirement from work. I found an invoice from Tower Fire Arms in Doncaster Melbourne for a shotgun that Tower was to sell on consignment for me. In a hurry when we migrated to SA I couldn't organize sale of this gun, or interstate gun license in time, so I left it with Tower as a solution. Not ideal, because it really was Gord's gun, given to him by Lib's dad Bill when Gord was a boy, following the introduction of the new gun laws in the 1990's. It was a Cashmore double barrelled 12 gauge stamped on the barrell second prize 1888 Melbourne Show, with a leather case. It was a family heirloom handed down from Bill's grandfather ending up with Gord, which made it my problem. I'd had to jump through hoops to get a gun license and invest in storage lock up safe. I renewed this license a number of times over the years and eventually as we were moving interstate Gord agreed to overcome his sentimental attachment and try to sell it as the best option at the time of our move.  I rang Roland at Tower numerous times to see if he'd sold the gun. He always had some reason why he hadn't, Covid, his wife had a stroke, was always vague about the gun as if he couldn't remember it. Rather than stress about I'd concluded we'd never see a dollar for the gun, there was nought I could do. 

Bored and angry waiting on the line for CLink on landline, I rang Roland at Tower on the mobile and had to remind him of the gun and the paperwork I had in my hand about sale on consignment. He said he'd try to find out what happened to the gun and said he'd ring me back in a day or two. He'd said that before, but never did. When I came out of the dentist's on 6 June, Gord was not at the car, having wandered off somewhere. He had the keys. I looked at used cars across the road, the prices were staggering. My mobile buzzed. Bugger me it was Roland. Said he'd sold the gun some weeks ago and would send me a money order for $400 tomorrow. He asked me for my full name and address, which didn't say a lot about his record keeping. 

I still doubted the money order would arrive and said so to Gord. I forgot about it. It came in yesterday's mail, a pleasant surprise. Gord and I went to the PO and cashed it, and Gord got his money. If I hadn't got stirred up over CLink I probably never would have rang Roland again as I'd given up on it. God knows how much the gun was really worth, might have been '000's. I'm just happy it's no longer unresolved.

STREWTH

  Zali Steggall MP Retweeted

Mary Kostakidis

@MaryKostakidis

The PWC stench just gets stronger “the private consultancy of the man who was PwC chief executive at the time of the leaks has received 17 government contracts since April 2021, totalling more than $6.2 million. Luke Sayers (also the president of Carlton Football Club) is a friend of former treasurer Josh Frydenberg (former number-one ticket holder at Carlton).. (cont)

Kissinger 100

 

Henry Kissinger at 100: Still a War Criminal

Forget the birthday candles, let’s count the dead.

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Henry Kissinger is turning 100 this week, and his centennial is prompting assorted hosannas about perhaps the most influential American foreign policymaker of the 20th century. The Economist observed that “his ideas have been circling back into relevancy for the last quarter century.” The Times of London ran an appreciation: “Henry Kissinger at 100: What He Can Tell Us About the World.” Policy shops and think tanks have held conferences to mark this milestone. CBS News aired a mostly fawning interview veteran journalist Ted Koppel conducted with Kissinger that included merely a glancing reference to the ignoble and bloody episodes of his career. Kissinger is indeed a monumental figure who shaped much of the past 50 years. He brokered the US opening to China and pursued detente with the Soviet Union during his stints as President Richard Nixon’s national security adviser and secretary of state. Yet it is an insult to history that he is not equally known and regarded for his many acts of treachery—secret bombings, coup-plotting, supporting military juntas—that resulted in the death of hundreds of thousands. 

Kissinger’s diplomatic conniving led to or enabled slaughters around the globe. As he blows out all those candles, let’s call the roll.

Cambodia: In early 1969, shortly after Nixon moved into the White House and inherited the Vietnam War, he, Kissinger, and others cooked up a plan to secretly bomb Cambodia, in pursuit of enemy camps. With the perversely-named “Operation Breakfast” launched, White House chief of staff H.R. “Bob” Haldeman wrote in his diary, Kissinger and Nixon were “really excited.” The action, though, was of dubious legality; the United States was not at war with Cambodia and Congress had not authorized the carpet-bombing, which Nixon tried to keep a secret. The US military dropped 540,000 tons of bombs. They didn’t just hit enemy outposts. The estimates of Cambodian civilians killed range between 150,000 and 500,000.

Bangladesh: In 1970, a political party advocating autonomy for East Pakistan won legislative elections. The military dictator ruling Pakistan, Gen. Agha Muhammad Yahya Khan, arrested the leader of that party and ordered his army to crush the Bengalis. At the time, Yahya, a US ally, was helping Kissinger and Nixon establish ties with China, and they didn’t want to get in his way. The top US diplomat in East Pakistan sent in a cable detailing and decrying the atrocities committed by Yahya’s troops and reported they were committing “genocide.” Yet Nixon and Kissinger declined to criticize Yahya or take action to end the barbarous assault. (This became known as “the tilt” toward Pakistan.) Kissinger and Nixon turned a blind eye to—arguably, they tacitly approved—Pakistan’s genocidal slaughter of 300,000 Bengalis, most of them Hindus.

Chile: Nixon and Kissinger plotted to covertly thwart the democratic election of socialist president Salvador Allende in 1970. This included Kissinger supervising clandestine operations aimed at destabilizing Chile and triggering a military coup. This scheming yielded the assassination of Chile’s commander-in-chief of the Army. Eventually, a military junta led by Gen. Augusto Pinochet seized power, killed thousands of Chileans, and implemented a dictatorship, Following the coup, Kissinger backed Pinochet to the hilt. During a private conversation with the Chilean tyrant in 1976, he told Pinochet, “My evaluation is that you are a victim of all left-wing groups around the world and that your greatest sin was that you overthrew a government which was going communist.”

East Timor: In December 1975, President Suharto of Indonesia was contemplating an invasion of East Timor, which had recently been a Portuguese colony and was moving toward independence. On December 6, President Gerald Ford and Kissinger, then Ford’s secretary of state, en route from a visit to Beijing, stopped in Jakarta to meet with Suharto, who headed the nation’s military regime. Suharto signaled he intended to send troops into East Timor and integrate the territory into Indonesia. Ford and Kissinger did not object. Ford told Suharto, “We will understand and will not press you on the issue. We understand the problem and the intentions you have.” Kissinger added, “It is important that whatever you do succeeds quickly.” He pointed out that Suharto would be wise to wait until Ford and Kissinger returned to the United States, where they “would be able to influence the reaction in America.” The invasion began the next day. Here was a “green light” from Kissinger (and Ford). Suharto’s brutal invasion of East Timor resulted in 200,000 deaths.

Argentina: In March 1976, a neofascist military junta overthrew President Isabel Perón and launched what would be called the Dirty War, torturing, disappearing, and killing political opponents it branded as terrorists. Once again, Kissinger provided a “green light,” this time to a campaign of terror and murder. He did so during a private meeting in June 1976 with the junta’s foreign minister, Cesar Augusto Guzzetti. At that sit-down, according to a memo obtained in 2004 by the National Security Archive, a nonprofit organization, Guzzetti told Kissinger, “our main problem in Argentina is terrorism.” Kissinger replied, “If there are things that have to be done, you should do them quickly.” In other words, go ahead with your savage crusade against the leftists. The Dirty War would claim the lives of an estimated 30,000 Argentine civilians.

Throughout his career in government and politics, Kissinger was an unprincipled schemer who engaged in multiple acts of skullduggery. During the 1968 presidential campaign, while he advised the Johnson administration’s team at the Paris peace talks, which were aimed at ending the Vietnam War, he underhandedly passed information on the talks to Nixon’s camp, which was plotting to sabotage the negotiations, out of fear that success at the talks would boost the prospects of Vice President Hubert Humphrey, Nixon’s opponent in the race. After the secret bombing in Cambodia was revealed by the New York Times, Kissinger, acting at Nixon’s request, urged FBI director J. Edgar Hoover to wiretap his own aides and journalists to discover who was leaking. This operation failed to uncover who had outed the covert bombing, but, as historian Garrett Graff noted in his recent book, Watergate: A New History, this effort seeded “the administration’s taste for spying on its enemies—real or imagined.” 

In 1976, Kissinger was briefed on Operation Condor, a secret program created by the intelligence services of the military dictatorships of South America to assassinate their political foes inside and outside their countries. He then blocked a State Department effort to warn these military juntas not to proceed with international assassinations. As the National Security Archive points out in a dossier it released this week on various Kissinger controversies, “Five days later, Condor’s boldest and most infamous terrorist attack took place in downtown Washington D.C. when a car-bomb, planted by Pinochet’s agents, killed former Chilean ambassador Orlando Letelier and his young colleague, Ronni Moffitt.”

It’s easy to cast Kissinger as a master geostrategist, an expert player in the game of nations. But do the math. Hundreds of thousands of dead in Bangladesh, Cambodia, and East Timor, perhaps a million in total. Tens of thousands dead in Argentina’s Dirty War. Thousands killed and tens of thousands tortured by the Chilean military dictatorship, and a democracy destroyed. His hands are drenched in blood. 

Kissinger is routinely lambasted by his critics as a “war criminal,” though has never been held accountable for his misdeeds. He has made millions as a consultant, author, and commentator in the decades since he left government. I once heard of a Manhattan cocktail reception where he scoffed at the “war criminal” label and referred to it almost as a badge of honor. (“Bill Clinton does not have the spine to be a war criminal,” he joshed.) Kissinger has expressed few, if any, regrets about the cruel and deadly results of his moves on the global chessboard. When Koppel gently nudged him about the secret bombing in Cambodia, Kissinger took enormous umbrage and shot back: “This program you’re doing because I’m going to be 100 years old. And you are picking a topic of something that happened 60 years ago? You have to know it was a necessary step.” As for those who still protest him for that and other acts, he huffed, “Now the younger generation feels if they can raise their emotions, they don’t have to think.”

As he enters his second century, there will be no apologies coming from Kissinger. But the rest of us will owe history—and the thousands dead because of his gamesmanship—an apology, if we do not consider the man in full. Whatever his accomplishments, his legacy includes an enormous pile of corpses. This is a birthday that warrants no celebration.

 

The Moose

 

Hello Carey, A drunk moose got stuck in a tree. It sounds like the start of a bad joke, but it's actually a true story that happened in Sweden back in 2011. This moose made the poor decision to eat fermented apples and ended up highly inebriated and stuck in a tree. It's a funny story, but it also highlights the fact that alcohol can lead to poor decision-making, even for animals.

And it’s not just Swedish moose that have been known to have one too many. In Canada, a group of birds ate fermented berries and ended up crashing into windows and cars. In Germany, two hedgehogs spent the night locked up in the zoo after indulging in a discarded beer bottle. And then there’s the drunken bees. Bees can get drunk from fermented nectar, and become very dangerous flyers, often causing accidents. These stories may be amusing, but they also demonstrate that we're not alone in our issues with alcohol. We humans are no strangers to making bad decisions when we've had a few too many drinks. I'm sure we've all had nights where we woke up and thought, "What on earth was I thinking?" Maybe we sent a text we regretted, said something we shouldn't have, or ended up in a situation we never imagined we would be in. But the reality is, alcohol lowers our inhibitions and impairs our judgment, making us more likely to do things we wouldn't normally do. When we drink, our brains slow down. Like wayyyyy down. Alcohol interferes with the brain's communication pathways and can affect the way the brain looks and works. Alcohol makes it harder for the brain areas controlling judgment to do their jobs and suddenly we understand how the moose ended up in the tree. Making better decisions is something we can all use help with - even when we're no longer drinking. After all, it isn’t just alcohol that we use to numb out. Mindless Facebook scrolling, storm eating, there are so many other ways we often find ourselves making poor choices. These 3 tips can help you make choices you can live with - 1) Practice mindfulness. Be present in the moment, pay attention to your thoughts and feelings, and make conscious choices. By taking a step back and thinking about the consequences of your actions, you can avoid making impulsive decisions you’ll regret later. 2) Don’t do it alone. We all need people we can turn to for advice and guidance to help us make better decisions. It’s helpful to have a sounding board when we're feeling uncertain. And they can also offer practical solutions to our problems, and help us stay accountable. 3) Put it off if you need to. Impulsiveness and trusting your gut isn’t always the best choice. Often we need to gather more information and combine it with what our intuition is telling us in order to make better choices. The thing is - most of these animals don’t know any better. They can’t do their research or make a conscious choice to make better decisions. They need to rely on their survival instincts. We have so many more resources at our disposal yet, we often choose to be the moose. xxAnnie

P.S. Have you been the moose in the tree one too many times? Had enough?

Vale Fisky

 A couple of years ago I had a friend request on Facebook from Darrell Fisk. I remembered Fisky from my time in Wangaratta when I played footy at Greta from 1978-1981. Greta was a happy place, I made many friends there, some close, some casual, but it was great for me personally at the time to be involved in such a warm friendly environment. I was of course more than happy to accept Fisky's friend request.

I'm not a frequent poster on FB, but I do check it most days. Fisky was also an occasional poster, but I found him to be of good humour and interesting. A Saint supporter, football evoked a comment from him now and then and I enjoyed picking up on his banter with his mates.

A few weeks back with the Saints starting the year winning everything it occurred to me that I hadn't seen a post from Fisky for a while. It's not unusual for friend's posts not to come up on my feed, so I thought I must have missed his. I searched and looked at his site and saw that along with a birthday wish from me last September, there was one other that had RIP. I messaged Bill O'brien who played at Greta when I did in the 1980 premiership, Bill also being a friend on FB. A few days later Bill answered my question as to Fisky's status, to learn that he died last July. In a very sad accident, he was out cutting firewood with his sons when a tree hit him and killed him.

Fisky was born in 1958 I learned when I googled him and found funeral details. He would have been 63 years old, 6 years 5 months younger than me, so he was in the younger circle at Greta, and we didn't play as teammates in the same team to my recollection. 

It was a shock to learn of his passing by such a means, some nine months after the event. I'm grateful for every day that I lay my head down at night for the safe passage of the day. Random accidents can happen to anyone anytime. I feel for Fisky's family. I'm sorry he didn't get to see the Saints win another flag.

What is the Matter with These People?

 There are now four field umpires at AFL games. The standard of the umpiring has not improved. In fact it seems to have deteriorated.

There seems to be weird differences in games and from game to game in interpretation of the rules. Decision making on things like a push in the back, whether it be in marking contest or general play is so inconsistent that it puts me off watching. I could go on and on about other rules, incorrect disposal, keeping the ball in play (sufficient intent), dissent, protected area and 50 metre penalties, play on, "stand" on the mark. It seems to have lost all sense of reason and is beyond understanding. Now dangerous tackle. 

The killer for me was in the Port Adelaide/Western Bulldogs game. 4 minutes before 3/4 time, in a very tight game, Cody Weightman of the Bulldogs was running in front of his opponent Burton chasing a loose ball into full forward. An almost certain goal was expected at a crucial point in the game. Burton pushed him fair square in the middle of the back causing him to fall over. No free kick, and the ball was cleared. I could not believe a free kick was not paid; it was so obvious.  What is the use having a rule stating a push in the back brings a free kick if it's paid only occasionally. 

I'm not a Bulldog fan, but that one made me think the game is corrupted and the umpires are in on it big time. 

Crap is crap and the umpiring this year is CRAP.

Neighbour Helen

 It was our neighbour Helen's 78th birthday on 25 February. In the two years we've lived here she has been coming to visit on more days than she hasn't. In the beginning she'd come sometimes 3 times a day. If it was morning I'd offer a cup of tea or coffee, late afternoon a glass of wine. It became a bit much, she'd let herself in without knocking, if the front door was locked she'd go round the side gate and come in through the back yard.

We had to set some rules. I rigged up a lock for the side gate. I told her not to come in without knocking. This took a while to sink in. I had to keep the front door locked, and if I went out and the garage was open, lock the door from the garage to the house and from the garage into the back yard. I didn't let her in if she came in the evenings and knocked on the door. I said we didn't want visitors in the evenings. She kept trying now and again. 

Before Christmas I came home one day and Gord told me there was loud banging out the back. I looked over the fence but couldn't see anything, there's a big bush between where I was looking and the court where Helen's front of house is. Her house is immediately behind ours with access from the court, the house next to us on the corner of our street and the court.

About an hour or so after Gord heard the banging my phone rang. It was Helen's daughter ringing from Hobart. She said Helen had gone to drive her car out but forgot to raise the electric door. The door was totalled, and probably the car. The police and ambulance were there she said, Helen was not injured, but could I go see her to make sure she was OK. The ambos and cops, two cars of each, were still there when I got there. She was shaken but OK. They asked me to check on her in the morning. She was Ok.

After that incident had no car. She had managed to damage every panel somehow and pulled the control off the wall. She must have panicked with the noise and gunned it. I have been doing some shopping for her by way of a list, and a few times she has asked me to take her to Coles or an appointment, say at the ophthalmologist or to her bridge session. It was a nuisance, but you do this for a neighbour in need. When she called in the mornings, we'd usually do the quizz out of the Adelaide Advertiser (I kept them for that purpose), that was easier than trying to make conversation. She'd stay only twenty minutes or so, then go home to "get back to the dog." 

She didn't come in on the morning of her birthday. Lib and I went to take her a card and a block of chocolate, and some left-over curry and rice from a delicious dish we had the night before (made by Jethro, Ian Sinclair's son. Ian, Jethro and Kulan were staying with us). The dog Peppi was barking from inside, but Helen didn't come to the door. We could hear the television going. The door was not locked, I opened it and called out to her. No answer. We didn't want to leave the curry outside, so we went in, still calling out. No Helen. We put the gear on the bench and went out, but as we did Peppi bolted out and into the court. He ran towards our road. I was worried he'd be hit by a car, and we hurried after him calling. As we neared the corner who should appear but Helen, all dressed up with handbag, saying someone had been supposed to pick her up for lunch for her birthday but didn't show. I asked who it was, she said she couldn't remember. She went home with Peppi trotting after her, we'd told her we'd left stuff on the bench.

The next day, Sunday, she came in at lunch time, without knocking, shopping bag in hand, and asked would I take her to Coles. OK I said but I'd have my soup first. I offered her soup from the pot, and she sat and ate with us and our visitors. I then took her to Coles. We were there quite a while, she fussed about, and I watched from a distance while she fumbled around trying to self-checkout. when I drove back I saw a police car parked in our street opposite the entrance to her court. No cops to be seen. I drove to her driveway and there was an ambulance parked outside, not across her driveway, but outside her house. I thought there must have been a problem with another neighbour in the court, but there was no one to be seen. I offered to help Helen in with her shopping, but she said she was fine, and I saw her slowly walking towards her front door.

A couple of hours later our neighbour Deb (other side) knocked on our door saying that the neighbour next to us on the corner of the court, Sue, had seen Helen arguing with a large chunky lady and later leave in the ambulance. It hadn't occurred to me that Helen had anything to do with the ambulance as she was with me and seemed fine when I dropped her off.

A lady who knew Helen knocked on the door later and told Lib what happened. Helen had been wandering in the street and was vague when another lady who lived up the road asked her if she was alright. She was messing with her phone but couldn't use it properly. That lady took her home and found the house unclean. I had noticed the sink grimy when we were there on the Saturday, and the house smelt of dog, but I wasn't looking for problems at that point. She'd rung the police and ambulance. Helen then must have come into our place asking to go shopping before they got there, and they were out looking for her when I came back with her. She'd been taken to Flinders hospital in Adelaide for assessment. 

 A few days later neighbour Sue told me a friend of Helen's (her "boyfriend" Trevor, who was a frequent visitor to her house) told her that Helen had discharged herself from hospital, having taken $1000 from her bank account, but left her handbag behind at the hospital and was wandering somewhere, no one knew where she was. I texted her daughter a few days later, she replied Helen was found in a stranger's place and taken back to hospital where she'd be for another week for assessment, but it was unlikely she'd be able to live alone again. That week is up, we've heard no more. Oddly, after all the times we felt annoyed by her visits, now that she's gone, we sort of miss her.  I suppose we'll learn from Catherine what happens, I think she was looking for an aged care facility in Hobart.

 

Happiness

I watched a TV show recently on happiness. It was an hour-long episode, first of a series. I don't need to watch the others. It was quite scientific, with a number of University PHD people from various places in the US giving testimony to their research detailing the measurements from all sorts of experiments, on the brain and its function, using a lot of technical terms that went way over my head.

The one that registered with me was a guy who had his students write a diary for three months. Every night before retiring to bed they were required to write down three things that they were grateful for. At the end of three months when these people were tested it was found this group was way happier by the brain measurement of whatever they used to measure, compared to the control group who were not asked to do this.

I understood immediately that this is what I do in my own way. Most nights when I lie down before sleep comes, I review the day, thinking of what I'm happy about and grateful for. This is like a prayer of thanks to God or Mother Earth or whatever it is that has bestowed on me the many things I'm grateful for. Years ago, I wrote the words "Love and Gratitude" on two slips of paper. One I stuck on the fridge, so I see it every day in the kitchen, the other I stuck inside my wallet, so I often see it when I extract notes.

The TV show concluded that by writing down each night what they are grateful for, it caused a focus of thinking to be on these things rather than things you did not have and thinking that acquiring them would be a solution to finding happiness. Pretty basic. I concur precisely and was pleased I already knew what all these professors and costly research were discovering.

I hope I'm not sounding smug. I know it's a simplification, but the words "keep it simple stupid", are often most appropriate. 

 

Christmas with Lib

Lib and I were married early in 1981. Christmas 1980 I'm sure we had it with Lib's parents in Wangaratta. I was still working there, we lived in a house in Ryley St, which doubled as the Hume Hwy, trucks running past day and night about thirty metres from our bedroom. It was an older style house, probably 1920/30's build. It's no longer there. A few years after we left Wang the freeway diversion around Wang was built. The house, which was owned by Mrs Yuen in the takeaway Chinese cafe up the road, was bulldozed, as part of the K Mart construction. Where we ate, slept and made love in the front bedroom (the earth literally shook with the trucks), and extracted honey in a back room, has been a car park for nearly four decades.

Every Christmas since then has been a family affair. Initially, back in Wang with Lib's family. For some years Lib worked Monday to Friday so there were years when she could swap with someone who wanted the triple pay. There were some years later we had Christmas at Gembrook, after our kids were born and the house was extended, Lib's parents and sisters and families coming too. That was usually if Lib had to work on the day, and it would be an evening bash. On those days me and the boys would lunch with my family at the farm. Margaret and Phil had a popup van and one year Pat and Michael put a tent up, as did Marg's girls. This was the norm for a while after Moll and Bill got a bit old for it in Wang. There was a Christmas at Bairnsdale at Marg and Phil's, and one or two in Bendigo at Pat and Michaels, who usually alternated having every second with Michael's family. After Molly and Bill died, if P and M were with Michael's fam, Marg and Phil maybe with one of their daughters, it was lunch at the farm, then dinner at home with our boys.

The most memorable for me was the day Gordon was born. That year was just Molly and Bill in the morning, Marg and Phil and kids came in the afternoon. We were opening our presents at about 11am. Lib, heavily pregnant, was due on January 7, coincidentally Molly's birthday, started to get signs of labour. We loaded into my ute and drove to Dandenong hospital. After some trauma during the birthing, during which they sent me out and I could hear Lib's agony from outside, the nature of the complication I was not informed, Gord was born a couple of hours after we got there. Lib's doctor had not made it in time. They bought Lib a hospital Christmas dinner after she recovered, but she had no appetite, and gave it to me.

I went home to Gembrook, a little dazed. I put on Handel's Messiah and played it loud. For unto us a child is born. It gripped my soul. I was floating. 

Moll and Bill and Lib's sister Margaret, husband Phil their three kids had a standard Christmas dinner with me that evening. Lib missed that one.

Today, it's just Lib and me. Gord has gone back to Victoria to do it with my family. It would be the first Christmas since I met Lib that we have spent it alone together. She's playing Nick Cave. I'll put on the Messiah before we go out to our picnic lunch at the Bluff, or the little nearby beach. I'm not tired this Christmas. Nice.

Happy Christmas blog readers.

Echidna Award

 We had our Christmas party today at the Nangawooka Flora Reserve, for the Hindmarsh River Estuary Group. I was chuffed to be one of two recipients of the Echidna Award. I have pictures of the day on my phone but it takes some effort and head scratching for me to get them to this blog, maybe I'll add them later, it's too late now. But one came through from one of the coordinators, of me receiving the award from another coordinator. I put it on desktop and can easily put it here.

The award is a coffee mug with an echidna picture on it. It will be well used daily.

A Fizzer

We went to Adelaide today. The idea was to go to a book signing for Nick Cave's new book. Lib said it was at Dymock's in the Rundle Mall. I didn't like the idea of Gord and Lib going there without their trusty chauffeur, so I went too. Besides, I had a gift voucher from Dymock's Meredith gave me last Christmas that I hadn't used.

As anyone reading this would know Lib was at school at Wangaratta High with Nick Cave. He was her school boyfriend for a while, she even cracked a mention in his first book. I would have liked to meet him anyway but as it turned out there was no event at Dymock's, they knew nothing about it. Lib was disappointed but thankful I made the effort to go with her. She must have got wires crossed. I missed a working bee on the river reserve that I would have liked to have attended but that's OK, there'll be plenty more. The Group's Christmas do is next Sunday. 

It wasn't a wasted day. We enjoyed a change of scenery. I bought Tom Keneally's Fanatic Heart with my voucher, and we did a reconnoiter of our hotel we are staying at next Wednesday night when we go to Nick Cave's concert. A violent wind and rainstorm swept through Adelaide while we were walking back to our car park. We had to take cover. I felt very sorry for the few vagrants we had seen before the rain, one sleeping on concrete, another trying to dry a wet blanket. It's very sad that in an affluent society with all these flash buildings and eateries there's people sleeping on concrete with blankets and coats pulled around them huddled in doorways. 

I heard Noel Pearson's Boyer lecture today on Radio National before we left. He speaks brilliantly.

Heat Pump

 We had a fairly new gas hot water service in this house when we moved here 19 months ago. I don't know when it was installed, the agent said fairly recently, I guessed that could mean anything from 2 years to 8 years. The previous owners had been here 8 years and had done some renovations.

The fuel was bottled gas, piped gas not being in our street, but is a couple of streets away. I paid for two bottles when we moved in, otherwise we'd have no hot water. Having two bottles meant that when one emptied, you switched to the other bottle and ordered a new one. The new bottle was delivered in a few days, so there was a full bottle in reserve. Cost was $106 per bottle. A bottle was supposed to last for 10-12 weeks I was told, and that was the case for us for nearly all the first year, towards the end of which the price went to $116 per bottle. It quickly went to $137 for the next purchase. I wasn't greatly concerned at the price rise; we'd been softened up by all the talk about the war in the Ukraine and gas shortages in Australia due to political mismanagement of resources and bad contracts with gas companies.

What did worry me was that the last few bottles were only lasting 5-6 weeks. This was mid- winter. Could it be that the water going into device was so much colder and needed more gas to heat? Unlikely I thought. Could it be that we were using more water? Unlikely, we each bathed once a day, and had the same habit since we moved in. There was no gas appliance of any other type, just the hot water. Could it be that there was a leak in the unit, the connections, the pipeline. Possible. Could it be that they were not putting as much gas in the bottles? Possible I thought. 

After buying 3 bottles in quick succession, I rang a company that deals in electric heat pumps for some info. They sent me some options and quotes after they asked for and I sent photos of the existing HWS and meter box. We chose the more expensive of the three, an Istore 270 litre capacity which is popular because of its quietness of operation. It was installed within a week of making the choice. The cost of $3100 (with state and fed government rebates), should be recouped in a few years as it runs on the solar power during daytime. It gives us ample hot water for our evening baths and showers, hotter than the gas one we had. The water is still warm in the morning, but the unit has a complicated setting system of timers and modes and can be adjusted to whatever. Frankly I haven't mastered it yet, haven't needed to, but this morning I did manage to turn on the booster early to get hot water before the thing turns itself on at 10am. Rob is here staying with us and likes to shower in the morning.

Apparently heat pumps are an energy efficient way of heating water, and the energy going into that hot water is better than being paid a miserly 5cents a kw for our excess solar electricity produced. I'm happy not having to buy gas bottles, except the little one for the barbie.

The Health Shop

A couple of weeks ago I went to the health shop in the mall here to look for something that may help Lib. She hadn't been feeling well for weeks. Nauseous, tired, mild headache more pressure than ache, she described it. This affected her mood. You could say it was like she was in a mild depression.

We suspected it was long Covid symptoms. Lib had Covid in June, as me and Gord had too. I had offered a few times to go to the health shop and ask for something that may help but Lib was not keen on this. She expected it would pass. It lingered. She relented. I'm a good customer at the health shop, I buy my vitamins and eggs and other stuff there. For a fee of about $20p.a. you get membership and 20% discount of most things.

I was at the desk talking to the son of the elderly couple that own it, asking about some saffron tablets that were said to be good to lift mood. He said yes that might help after I explained a little of the Covid suspicion and Lib's history with the breast cancer, chemo and radiation, hormone drug, painkillers etc. He agreed it would be worth a try and suggested a thing called 'Zeolife'. Micronized zeolite, it's said to aid removal of heavy metals and toxins, balances pH and promotes a healthy gut and boost the immune system.

As he said this a big, tall bloke walked from behind me to my side and held up a container of Zeolife and said to me with a big friendly smile, "That's exactly what I came in looking for." He went back over to the display. He reminded me of someone immediately. I thought he was a bit like Doc Roet who played In Melbourne's 1964 premiership team, who later became a friend of mine. But Doc Roet is in his eighties, and lives in England, this chap would have been half that age. Nevertheless, I thought, footballer. I got some Zeolife and paid for that too with the Saffron capsules. The big guy was over looking at stuff on the shelves, so I went over to him and apologized for intruding, asking. "Did you play football? You would have been a ruckman." 

"Yes, I did." He looked hesitant to continue.

"Who for, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Pt Adelaide, Carlton."

"What's your name?"

"Barnaby French"

"I remember you well, I somehow knew you were a footballer. Are you still involved?"

"No, I'm a fireman now." I think he said at Goolwa. He said he was shopping to help his daughter who had lingering virus trouble. A very nice bloke he was. I thanked him for his help and wished him well.

Lib has been on the saffron and the Zeolife for a couple of weeks and has definitely improved. She went to the doctor, he said it's long Covid, her symptoms are exactly like those of so many. I'm taking it myself too. A third of a teaspoon in liquid two or three times a day. We are exposed to so much pollution and crap in daily life, it's worth a trial, not that I have symptoms. I do feel fit and well.

Saturday Market

 As is my habit I went to the market yesterday. I go most Saturdays; it sort of makes the weekend different to every other day, now I'm retired. Lib came with me, she wanted to go to the chemist to get some medication, so I dropped her off in the main street and we agreed to meet later at the market. I had a few things to buy in Woolworths and the health food shop, so I parked in the Woolworth's car park, did my purchasing there, then walked across the road to the market. 

It's a small market, not a lot of stalls, but each week I usually buy a bar of coffee chocolate from Kate the chocolate lady, a tub of eggplant dip and/or cheese and spinach rolls from the Greek ladies, and a jar of Kimchi when the Kimchi Club is there once a month. other times I might buy a jar of honey when he's there, or a plant or two, maybe a few vegies. It's fun. As a regular the people know me and greet me warmly.

I went straight to Kate as there were no other customers there. She saw me coming and picked up my coffee bar ready for me. We exchanged pleasantries. I said I was looking for Lib, we were to meet, she should have been there by then. "Have you seen her?" 

"I have met your wife but I'm not sure I'd recognize her, what's she wearing?" she said, as she looked around.

"I can't remember, maybe red cardigan. I dropped her at the chemist in Ocean St. She tends to go walk about."

"Tell me about it," she said. "Marriage is like that. I've been married four times".

This surprised me. I've been buying chocolate from Kate at the market for over twelve months. I've met her husband Charlie and a daughter. It would never have occurred to me she'd had three previous marriages. There were no customers approaching, so I stood wondering where Lib got to and asked Kate was it her or the husband that made her marriages not last, tongue in cheek, adding that I didn't want to be intrusive. She laughed. I'd say she'd be in her forties, maybe near fifty.

She said she didn't mind talking about it and proceeded to give a rundown of her history, in the space of a couple of minutes. She bought an apartment when she was 18, after starting work young. Her parents wouldn't let her move into the apartment with her boyfriend as she wasn't married. So, she married him. Never should have, it didn't last one year, they were too young. A couple of years later she married again. He pulled a gun on a policeman and got six years jail, but the marriage was already falling apart. This was in England where she grew up. She migrated to Australia and married an Aussie. He turned out to be an alcoholic and violent. She had him locked up and divorced him. She has been married to Charlie only a couple of years and got into the chocolate making through him. I asked her what she worked in before chocolate and she said for most of her life she worked for oil companies, that's why she came to Australia. She was a business development officer for Exon Mobil after previously working for Total.

"That would have been a male dominated industry," was my comment.

"Was it ever. The last place I worked my boss was a Greek guy. He'd yell at me every day and just about bring me to tears. But I could take it. I was unmercifully bullied as a kid at school, so it was not something new to me. I knew I could take it. The boss did too, so he vented on me."

In answer to my question as to why she was bullied at school, she was telling me how her parents were much older than the other kids', and she was extremely shy and introverted, which made her a target, when Lib turned up saying I was a terrible chatterbox and apologized to Kate for me. We left Kate and went over to Minky who sells the Kimchi. Lib said she'd already explained to Minky that she'd the other day bought a big bottle of Kimchi at the supermarket, so we didn't need any. Minky is a lovely Korean lady I enjoy seeing when she comes once a month. With Lib in a hurry to get home and get the food ready for our grand final lunch we left quickly, I even forgot to go to the Greek ladies stall to get my eggplant and garlic dip. Oh well, looks like peanut butter or cheese on my Vitawheat biscuits this week.

The Cats were so good in the granny, a masterful performance. Can't say I'm sorry to see Lance Franklin get his arse kicked.

 

Arkaroola

 We had a lovely trip to Arkaroola. Stayed at Rawnsley Park about half an hour out of Hawker on the first night. Nice little cabin.

Rawnsley Park Caravan Park

Then on to Arkaroola after a picnic lunch at Jubilee Creek. 

Ridge top tour to Stiller's lookout Lib's birthday

Spectacular

Morning tea

Next day- Stubbs waterhole Barraranna gorge

Home safe and sound. Spring is here.

Lagoon at home- Hindmarsh river

Note the poisoned watsonia centre front. I did a lot of "tongs of death" treating watsonia July August.

Weird Night Sky Show

It was early morning a week ago, Friday 15 July. I woke and needed a pee. That done, I poured an inch of apple cider into a glass from the fridge to fix the dry mouth. I then went to the kitchen window, as is my routine, to look at the brilliant morning star (maybe Venus) that rises in the eastern sky over my neighbour's roof.

There was a bright star, too low I thought to be my bright one, which I thought should have been much higher. But I had no real idea of the time, so I checked on the mobile phone which was on the kitchen bench, where I leave it every night for exactly that purpose. Even in the dark I know where it is, and I can illuminate the face with a touch on the side. 5.26 it showed.

Before returning to bed I thought I'll have another quick look at the star through the window. It shone brightly and seemed to flicker and it held my attention for a moment. Then, the weird show began. A little higher, and a bit to the north, a quickly moving star appeared, trajectory upwards, followed by another one, then another and another. Six or eight at time moving across the sky in a straight line. As they reached a certain point they disappeared at the high point in the line, to be replaced by another coming in at the start of the line. Totally freaky I thought. The show stopped when the last one disappeared, after they stopped entering at the beginning of the line.

I had no idea what I had just seen, definitely a first in my lifetime. I checked my phone again, 5.29, so the thing only was visible to me for a couple of minutes. I went back to bed and lay awake for a while wondering what the hell.

Next day I posted on the Facebook Victor Harbor community site, describing what I'd seen and asking if anyone else had seen it, and did anyone have a clue to what it was. There were numerous answers posted. Only one other said they had seen it, and that it freaked them out. Several others knew what it was, apparently a series of satellites launched at the same time, 46 in all, an Elon Musk communication system (Starline or something). They are launched one after the other, must be in a straight line, till they reach a certain point then they disperse to their allotted location in space. One person said there's a launch every week for a while. Apparently this is to improve communications world wide. Someone said they are being used to greatly assist strategy in the current war in Europe. Someone else said that's a hell of a lot of future space junk.

I was relieved to have an explanation, and that it was not an alien invasion or foreign drone force preparing to attack. The average Joe really has no idea what could be going on in space. The mind boggles really if you think too hard. Let's hope whatever is happening is used for peaceful purposes not warfare for example targeting missile attacks. Certainly war will never be like the old days.

July Already

Here we are 7 days into July and the idea of "Dry July" has not been a consideration until I sat here to write just now. Alcohol beverage has not passed my lips since September 25 last year, when I imbibed red wine during the AFL Grand Final, then drank another bottle by myself, slowly, watching the replay late at night in quiet solitude and celebration. Prior to that night I had taken alcohol in small quantity on 4 occasions in the preceding 21 months, since January 5 2020, when I embarked on the goal of alcohol free existence. This will be my third dry July in succession. No longer is it difficult to abstain. It's normal. There are fleeting moments when the wine witch calls, or the idea of a dry sherry appeals on a cold evening, but these are easily dismissed. It's freeing to know that alcohol is not necessary to relax or celebrate, and that life in general for me has no need of it.

The day after I had that wine on Grand Final Day I set myself to go the next 12 months without alcohol. A 12 month streak. The thing is, I did enjoy it, the taste, and the warm buzz. But next day I felt no need to repeat it, nor had any desire to. I knew that if I started to have a few now and again no worries, I would slowly, or quickly, slip back into the old lifestyle of relying on that relaxing drink. Better I stay off it. Life is great without it.

Until tonight, I had it in the back of my mind, that if Melbourne made the 2022 Grand Final I'd enjoy another bottle of red for the occasion. Tonight I watched Geelong defeat Melbourne by five goals and displace them on top of the AFL ladder. The Cats look the goods and would now be favourites to win the premiership. So be it if they do, they'll have deserved it, if they can win three finals matches away from their dunghill home ground advantage. Melbourne have lost 4 of their last 6 games and have a hard run home. I doubt they are a serious threat to win another premiership this year. That does not concern me. The win last year breaking a 57 year drought brought huge satisfaction that remains and cannot be taken from me. No matter who's playing this year in the GF, I'll not be drinking alcohol.

2021 was a big year for us. Lib and I retired and moved interstate, starting a new life. There were challenges and excitement. It worked well. Fortune favours the brave. 

2022 has been interesting. Carey started with shingles in the eye in January, no fun at all. February and March were frustrating, waiting for our roof restoration that didn't happen. We found another roof guy April, the job done within two weeks of contact. The first company threatened us with legal action, saying we had a binding contract with them. I replied the contract was voided by their unreliability. Fortunately we've heard no more from them. Carey turned 70 in April, and we took a trip to the Eyre Peninsula. May was memorable for the federal election. After an excruciating campaign the result was glorious, the riddance of that dreadful government we endured for so long being a joy almost as good as that of the Demons breaking the drought in '21. We had visitors from Victoria for a few days in the week leading up to the election. They had colds which turned out to be Covid (so we learnt the next week) and consequently Lib, Carey and Gordon in turn one after the other had Covid into June.

Last Saturday Carey decided he'd replace a washer in the tap in the back yard. It had been dripping for some time from the end of the hose. He'd put it off for weeks, tweaking the tap off very tight to stop it leaking, but knowing it needed attention. Every time someone else used the hose they didn't tweak it off hard, leaving a soggy patch on the grass. This annoyed him, so on this Saturday after a trip to the market to by his chocolate, and cheese and spinach rolls from the Greek ladies, and other normal chores, he turned off the water at the meter in front of the house and went to the offending tap with spanner in hand and new washer. Such a task, simple as it seems, always gave gave him a slight nervous edge. Experience over a lifetime, working with pumps and foot valves and irrigation fittings at the farm, and various mishaps with burst pipes and blocked drains, toilets, downpipes, septic tanks, in domestic situation, had prepared him to expect the unexpected. Plumbing was not really his go, he knew well.

All good. The tap came apart no problem, new washer inserted, tap back together, all very easy. He wondered why he hadn't done it sooner. Back out to the meter to turn the water on. Turned the lever and it came away in his hand as a fountain of water shot 30 feet into the air under great pressure. Saturated, he ran inside and rang a local plumber he'd used a few times. No Go. A Sth Aus Water job he said. He fumbled around to find the phone number. Recorded message, all sorts of useless information, your call will be answered shortly. Message repeated over and over suggesting account can be paid online etc etc. Finally a lady answered, asking for details of the property and the problem. "Is there any water coming into the house?" No, it's running down the street. "Do you have water in the house at the taps?" Carey checked. No, "That means it's broken in the off position." She then said a repair person would come and they would endeavour to be there within 5 hours. 

He tried to ignore the fact a fountain was shooting out of the front garden, not easy because people kept stopping their cars and coming to the door to ask did he know there was a fountain in his yard. A bite of lunch, a cup of coffee, watch a horse race or two on TV. He might as well go down the river and pull come weeds. About 3pm now, on the way down he checked his phone, saw there was a message from Adam from SA Water. Rang Adam, message bank said he was calling to see how urgent was the job, he was going to another job but could rearrange if mine was urgent. Carey replied on message that it was not for him to say how urgent it was, compared to other jobs that may have houses flooding, but that the water was shooting high into the air and the wastage is enormous. Adam rang quarter an hour later saying if he'd known it was urgent he could have come earlier. As it was he was 45 minutes away. Carey weeded for a while and when he got back Adam was busy at work. Job finished in fading light, Adam apologized he took so long to come, said he was told it was only a leak not a gusher.

Carey scratched his head and wondered WTF is the matter with the woman he spoke to on the phone. Maybe they all get time and a half for Saturday. He hoped he wasn't to pay for that huge amount of water that went down the street. He didn't think so. If there was no water going to the house, it can't have been going through the meter. Or could it? Next water bill will tell.

A Terrible Experience - Beware The Viper

Today I decided to cut up some chillies I had drying in my office, with a view to pulverizing them and making chillie pepper. When I cut into them they were unfortunately going mouldy inside and I realized I should have cut them into small pieces before leaving them to dry spread out on paper.

So I discarded them and and went out to the bush in the backyard and picked those remaining. Red crinkly little buggers, triangular ugly things. There was enough to fill a small saucepan. I took them inside and cut them up quite finely and spread them out on paper towel. I went off to do something else. I've been home in "Isolation" having been tested for positive Covid on Monday. After a short while I started feeling heat on my eyelids and surrounds and realized I must have rubbed my eyes and touched my face with chillie residue on my hands. This quickly escalated into the worst pain I have ever experienced. Off the charts agonizing burning. Ice packs, or cold running water, gave slight relief for a few seconds then bang it was back excruciating. I had to keep changing tactics. The running water got in my eyes and they started to burn. I closed them and was not game to open them fearing blindness. Lib was trying to help me, we tried bathing my face in milk, then raw eggs, then back to ice, running water, it was thirty minutes of hell till it slowly began to subside in intensity. 

I would not wish such a thing on my worst enemy. It was like a hundred European wasps stinging your face at the same time and not being able to stop them. That's ridiculous because that many wasp stings would kill you, but during my ordeal I thought I might have a heart attack, it was that bad.

This chillie was a single bush I bought as a small plant at the vegie shop in spring. I planted it in a planter box with capsicums. The capsicums, 4 plants, were a huge success producing many delicious fruit we've been enjoying for months, right up till now. One morning when neighbour Helen was visiting my phone rang. It was my mate Ralphie and we had quite a long chat. Helen went outside, I watched her through the window. She picked some silverbeet leaves, a sprig of basil, some parsley. That OK I often give her stuff, she's never shown interest in the capsicums so I assumed she didn't like them. She saw all the red orange little chillies and picked one. I was still on the phone when she came back in, so she waved goodbye and left. That night about 7.30 there was a knock on the door. Helen. Said she put the chillie in her dinner and it ruined it. Couldn't eat it. Burned her.

I looked at the bush the next day and found the tag. It was named 'The Viper'

Should be banned from sale. Beware The Viper.

This photo was after the pain had subsided a good while later.