tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47124323665440469872024-03-14T03:59:34.732+11:00The Occasional Adventures of BettyCranky middle-aged chilli-loving scared-of-spiders author/artist looks for adventure in some strange places.Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.comBlogger276125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-32922480060572145412021-08-06T10:53:00.003+10:002021-08-06T15:56:24.363+10:00Lockdown 6: can we please can the protests?<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">I just finished watching a frustrated wedding business owner from Melbourne expressing his support for the anti-lockdown protest after yesterday’s announcement that Victoria would lock down again (Lockdown #6.)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">His complete lack of logic destroyed any scrap of sympathy I may have had for him. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">A year and a half into this pandemic there are still people doubting its existence and treating mitigation/suppression measures as a human rights issue rather than a public health issue.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">FARK! I’m losing patience with the media giving air-time to every single person who wants to have a whinge about their dreadful business prospects during this global pandemic.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">We get it. We know times are tough. We know.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">WE KNOW!</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">In case people hadn’t noticed, we’re ALL going through it. Everybody’s family life has been disrupted. Our bank balances & mental health have been affected. Our lives have changed. Some of us, sadly, are dead. Some are in hospital on ventilators, and we all find ourselves unable to plan ahead. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">ALL. OF. US. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Does anybody <i>really </i>believe that having a whinge on the telly, protesting in a city street, punching a horse or chucking ink on a policeman will change anything for the better for ANY of us?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Perhaps Mr COVID-19 Virus, Esq., is sitting at home in front of the TV with the missus. Perhaps he’s hearing the sob stories, seeing the frustration and anger of the people acted out in public. Perhaps he’ll have a change of his little viral heart and will turn to Mrs Virus with tears in his little viral eyes.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">“Geez, love, I didn’t think this through, did I? I didn’t realise I was being such a thoughtless bastard. I think it’s time we packed up and left. I just wanted to make a connection, but nobody likes us. This was a bad idea.” No?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Well maybe this virus really <i>is</i> a truly Evil Overlord. If so, it must be delighted by all this chaotic protest! It’s probably turning to the missus right now with a giant<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Muwahahahahahahahaha!</span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Sweet! Look at those dumbarses suffering! This is great!!! What can we do to make things worse? Outdoor transmission? Check. Short transmission time? Check. ” No, I don’t think that’s any closer to the truth either.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Mr and Mrs Virus aren’t saying either of those things because guess what? COVID-19 is a VIRUS. It has no brain. No feelings. It’s not alive. It’s not a plot to steal human freedoms. It doesn’t vote Labor or Liberal or anything else. It doesn’t give a shit about your business or our economy or whether we’re happy, or even whether we live or die. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">IT’S A VIRUS, FFS!</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">We human geniuses have become so comfortable, so complacent, so much the centre of our own universe that we demand governments fix every little thing that goes wrong – even a virus. When they DO try to fix things, we argue, we whinge, we tell them it’s inconvenient and uncomfortable and hurting us and “not fair”. We want things fixed at zero cost to ourselves and we aren’t prepared to put ourselves out one iota.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Grow up, people.</span><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">I’ve made some lists - first, here’s a list of protests that MIGHT make a difference.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: left;">Protests against governments that cut medicare, that imprison children, that tax the poor and give the rich a free ride, that ignore climate change, that cut welfare, that love coal. Protests against government corruption and systemic discrimination.</p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">And here’s a list of things that it’s just plain dumb to think you’ll solve with protests:<o:p></o:p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Bad weather, brittle fingernails, onions, a lumpy mattress, pineapple on pizzas, your cat waking you up at 4am, hangovers, the word “moist”, blisters and oily skin. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">And COVID-19.</span><o:p></o:p></p>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-77497115055310225762021-04-22T08:56:00.000+10:002021-04-22T08:56:27.423+10:00Cashing in - a rant<p>Yesterday a book came into the library where I work. It was a children's picture book by someone from Melbourne; a self-published, rather poorly-written, extremely trite tale, as it turned out, about a summer holiday in Mallacoota that goes all wrong when a bushfire arrives and inconveniences a tourist family by burning down the narrator's holiday accommodation. I felt like throwing it across the library and jumping up and down on its glossy pages. The visceral nature of my reaction surprised me.</p><p>Mallacoota's time in the spotlight goes on. And on. And on. Hardly a day goes by without Mallacoota popping up in this or that news program or newspaper. Our real estate market has gone a bit mental and our long-term rental market is pretty much non-existent. </p><p><i>Some</i> unscrupulous landlords (local and non-local) have made an absolute killing since the bushfire. The cash-grab has been quite an eye-opener.</p><p>It's embarrassing. It's changed the way I see the place where I live. It's changed the way I see catastrophe - it's become very evident that one person's catastrophe is another person's cash-cow.</p><p>At work we've had to put up signs asking tourists not to question staff (some of whom lost everything) about the fires. Insensitive comments and questions probe like pointy sticks into deep wounds. Some tourists seem surprised when they come here and find regrowth and rebuilding - "you'd hardly know there was a fire," they say, filming new houses and lush new greenery with something akin to disappointment. What were they expecting? Bodies in the street? The real scars of the fire, while still evident in some of the scenery, are inside the residents of this town, plodding along every day, rebuilding lives and minds and homes and businesses while looking after tourists.</p><p>Those real scars, it has to be said, are also inside the residents of towns up and down the east coast of Australia; towns that haven't received anywhere near the media attention, focus or financial help that picturesque Mallacoota has. Add guilt to the list of bad tastes in my mouth.</p><p>Oh dear, it would appear I have disaster-fatigue. I wonder whether other people feel the same way?</p>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-66796262683058710422021-03-07T16:23:00.002+11:002021-03-07T16:29:52.301+11:00The Porch Project<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHyE-DDDz4G6HCo8KDbK5R7ZKQTf21XndShoe8CCNTJKy5Yrc6Cq2_lYcq-GmAB_2__V665hyphenhyphenKt-T23VYiWw-KOn3tkepM9NugZqoMUNZ_wtPOfsA9TuI0ZBWgzA0iC7yldgMHSKZqAVz/s918/front+of+house.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="918" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHyE-DDDz4G6HCo8KDbK5R7ZKQTf21XndShoe8CCNTJKy5Yrc6Cq2_lYcq-GmAB_2__V665hyphenhyphenKt-T23VYiWw-KOn3tkepM9NugZqoMUNZ_wtPOfsA9TuI0ZBWgzA0iC7yldgMHSKZqAVz/s320/front+of+house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Porch is a rather pretentious word for the smallish, tiled
concrete slab outside my front door. The grey tiles that covered it have been
cracking for years. It looked rather tired, dreary and run-down (perhaps in keeping
with the rest of this little house, to be honest. Or its owner...). When I first had the thought
to try my hand at mosaics, it was the “porch” I actually had in mind, but it
sat in the too-hard basket for two or so years while I dithered and dallied and did Other Things.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After the success of the Snake Mozake earlier this year, I felt ready to give
it a go. Also, I had a huge bag of cement that needed using before it turned into a Scummo* <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My front yard is very much a green space, filled with fairly
overgrown shrubs – many of them native – doing their own thing. These days there’s nothing
very ordered or manicured about it, although it was very neat when I bought it
9 years ago. There’s also a gorgeous flowering gum, beloved of fruit bats,
birds and bees – that has been known to house the odd feather-tailed glider. It
showers the “lawn” with enormous gumnuts that regularly try to kill the lawnmower. I
wanted the porch mosaic to have a bit of that untamed bush greenery feel – to be
an extension of my unruly garden.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So I pulled up the old tiles and chalked a design on the
underlying<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>surface.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUDtrsWqAEmL3LNtze4N1ZwGdjlNbteTnQcwiGzDa_gZZSWXg0dGAQ_NijH1Beg-9iHEGwv-GBlMimBF52zYHXtTGA6dx7FqPxD_wJAL5C78AmQYGlgP4IqOtDGPz30V5MTVNug_5_zh8/s1293/porch+before.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1293" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUDtrsWqAEmL3LNtze4N1ZwGdjlNbteTnQcwiGzDa_gZZSWXg0dGAQ_NijH1Beg-9iHEGwv-GBlMimBF52zYHXtTGA6dx7FqPxD_wJAL5C78AmQYGlgP4IqOtDGPz30V5MTVNug_5_zh8/s320/porch+before.jpg" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">In many ways this project was harder than the snake – the overall
area was a little larger; I had to use proper tiles rather than smashed
crockery, which often has a bit of a curve on the surface; the old tiles, some
of which I left on the slab, and some which I broke up and reused, were much thicker
than the new tiles. Aaaaand - I had to trust, despite serious misgivings during
the construction process, that the grouting would pull it all together and give
the design some form. The mosquitoes and wasps were bloody annoying, and once again,
my back and knees were crying for mercy after about 3 hours.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On the plus side, the site was less exposed to the midday
sun than the cat palace.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wanted to try and capture the feel of looking up through
the trees to a light, bright morning sky. Something like this: </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzC1zJT8OXFhUgLCuxgyufbpFoWHW8w1hxihNd6nV6o4ZXIu1oVQtpbrM4JMHjlkTksZVENx-vDLQK8k7hdyrF0D-OnRI6Bcyo_aFBpdlOONTz67cmvoWbgUmd_zCUV4j2xD-Kgje_t_Ks/s913/20210307_140901_resized%255B680%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="913" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzC1zJT8OXFhUgLCuxgyufbpFoWHW8w1hxihNd6nV6o4ZXIu1oVQtpbrM4JMHjlkTksZVENx-vDLQK8k7hdyrF0D-OnRI6Bcyo_aFBpdlOONTz67cmvoWbgUmd_zCUV4j2xD-Kgje_t_Ks/s320/20210307_140901_resized%255B680%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Here’s what I ended up with after about 2 or 3 weeks… An
Australian Bush Morning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What d’you
reckon? I like it!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-E8aoun2-kCu8JraVLbKOw-h_dDYfomWGcBRGTznOyrj6wlh-QTJ_7PCiUo_j4x7tiOSlEHwOo20xnxwj-Ek8uPsyi_erEj1-XhhyphenhyphenRyEv2mCDKYM68KOuNasrIcB5G-6hyphenhyphenQVYBjBisYfI/s1380/finished.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="918" data-original-width="1380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-E8aoun2-kCu8JraVLbKOw-h_dDYfomWGcBRGTznOyrj6wlh-QTJ_7PCiUo_j4x7tiOSlEHwOo20xnxwj-Ek8uPsyi_erEj1-XhhyphenhyphenRyEv2mCDKYM68KOuNasrIcB5G-6hyphenhyphenQVYBjBisYfI/s320/finished.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">There’s still a LOT of cement powder in that 20kg bag…
whatever shall I do next?</span></div></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> *big, heavy lump of uselessness. Pure coincidence that it's the same as the nickname I use for a certain Australian politician...</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-31228767088260606692021-01-30T16:50:00.000+11:002021-01-30T16:50:31.933+11:00The "Snake Mozake"<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Because cleaning all the gravel and digging up all the pavers during lockdown wasn't back-breaking enough... </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When I finished all the gravel work and looked at the cat palace I thought it was a bit bland...that big expanse of boring (but clean!) gravel and those plain, boring old pavers. The layout of those boring pavers, however, suggested one thing to me (especially living in Mallacoota, where such things abound!) - the wriggle of a snake across the ground - so the plot was hatched. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b><i>I know! I'll make a mosaic of a snake!</i> </b></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYVWvn8eC2zEk1SqGH0b2lUODbW1VFRPtgEI-fppo4HQFqpmdkph1GlJLWDdGr2KqV219bhbqgu-yGYwsaWXzlrut8VvvLjZbSkom6PLdJRff71ZRIp0-6__6z2BhfIYSt7EBcTeHHaP5/s2542/before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: arial;"><b><img border="0" data-original-height="2542" data-original-width="1237" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYVWvn8eC2zEk1SqGH0b2lUODbW1VFRPtgEI-fppo4HQFqpmdkph1GlJLWDdGr2KqV219bhbqgu-yGYwsaWXzlrut8VvvLjZbSkom6PLdJRff71ZRIp0-6__6z2BhfIYSt7EBcTeHHaP5/s320/before.jpg" /></b></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: arial;"><b>Look at the way those pavers wiggle - <br />it couldn't be anything else, could it?</b></span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I rather liked the idea of a giant Red-bellied Black snake. While the living version is highly venomous, folk wisdom suggests they are the "good guys" of the Mallacoota snake population. They're certainly preferable to brown snakes or tiger snakes, at least.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But back to the mosaic...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Apart from the heat and the flies and the ouchiness of the granite gravel, I didn't realise how hard on the body it would be. I've never made a mosaic before. I completely underestimated the amount of work it would entail. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: arial;">"Oh, it's just a few pavers", said I. Eight, to be exact. I discovered, during the clearing of the cat palace, that each paver weighed around 16kgs, so I decided to leave them <i>in situ, </i>and found myself a piece of board and a foam kneeler to kneel on as I grovelled in the gravel at all sorts of weird angles.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Sooooo..... Eight 40 x 40cm pavers. Laid end to end that's 3.2m long, and 1.28 square metres. or, in the old currency, 13.7 square feet of back-breaking, knee-bruising, plate-smashing, tile-nipping hard labour.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I've smashed more plates than a guest at a Greek wedding. I've endured insect bites and arthritic aches, sunburn and broken fingernails. Oh, and twice I got so engrossed that I was almost late for work, and had to dash to the library, unshowered and with cement under my fingernails - but it's done and it was soooooo worth it! The Snake Mozake is now a beautiful colourful reality, and I love it!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPf0e8FV4Jn5iTnR_dY-vahWIHIprV0VuXvAnC9sFz3urEts-vLmQwOyiqnhEqvF6wme46Jqy3XFqMjTJHH2gM12Bsj7C1PC16zUv5i0GgIgflCKloR0PYS25PHwNYcwgN698cKlyW3kJ6/s2542/after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2542" data-original-width="1237" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPf0e8FV4Jn5iTnR_dY-vahWIHIprV0VuXvAnC9sFz3urEts-vLmQwOyiqnhEqvF6wme46Jqy3XFqMjTJHH2gM12Bsj7C1PC16zUv5i0GgIgflCKloR0PYS25PHwNYcwgN698cKlyW3kJ6/s320/after.jpg" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: arial;"><b>Here's a closer look at each individual section</b></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNe2VZTvCzSlkVkgG-FyT_vfahuuXlhOq2IC_mQEjGoIhQrpnWlR5sONbDcfzgUrZTxnqlZeFSgVroPkTd0TwYy5L4c6X5ikQoArOkmrUkXyizlCPEpJZQzQPIPcl2X4xGKpri2MmY0ga/s2796/collage2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="908" data-original-width="2796" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNe2VZTvCzSlkVkgG-FyT_vfahuuXlhOq2IC_mQEjGoIhQrpnWlR5sONbDcfzgUrZTxnqlZeFSgVroPkTd0TwYy5L4c6X5ikQoArOkmrUkXyizlCPEpJZQzQPIPcl2X4xGKpri2MmY0ga/w394-h128/collage2.jpg" width="394" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4tAWKq1ie80Wte5JawZUQHv3hcj_Vq97Y43K5avnaqJhFm_cNLAUwF4axY2GqxqmTMwop1mh7HBHCYQUTXODgAB7wUh0pk2giF_BYwA1YSR1zjWpyudtqqXrZ8ym7_Kisi2HW-4Uy6S0l/s2509/collage3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="908" data-original-width="2509" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4tAWKq1ie80Wte5JawZUQHv3hcj_Vq97Y43K5avnaqJhFm_cNLAUwF4axY2GqxqmTMwop1mh7HBHCYQUTXODgAB7wUh0pk2giF_BYwA1YSR1zjWpyudtqqXrZ8ym7_Kisi2HW-4Uy6S0l/w385-h139/collage3.jpg" width="385" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGr8y5oX118fJ0B6hBozC_SFLWBvQG3LOR_R9cM5mLrQBkpCP6CauVowSzH-ZM2EOGRFoh_onWTUT3SmGR5YzMtpBAntIBBaXeP2iF9X13kF9QvynApqIM6mOsnsM2a5TTuhX5huQCFMsY/s1740/collage4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="908" data-original-width="1740" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGr8y5oX118fJ0B6hBozC_SFLWBvQG3LOR_R9cM5mLrQBkpCP6CauVowSzH-ZM2EOGRFoh_onWTUT3SmGR5YzMtpBAntIBBaXeP2iF9X13kF9QvynApqIM6mOsnsM2a5TTuhX5huQCFMsY/w233-h122/collage4.jpg" width="233" /></span></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: arial;"><b>And - in case you're wondering about the cost of making this - </b></span></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Pavers:</b> nothing - they were already there.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Cement:</b> $30 - silly me, I bought a 20kg bag when 5kgs would've been plenty. Live and learn, (Not to worry though - now I have lots left over for any future projects - I have my eye on the front porch...</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Grout:</b> $22. I used just under 2 x 1kg boxes</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Tiles:</b> $12 The tile shop in Pambula sells small (95x95mm) tiles for mosaic artists @ $1 each. I used about a dozen</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Plates:</b> $20 old crockery from Vinnies, the Salvos and the Mallacoota op shop was $1-2 per plate, and I reckon I used about a dozen (and also scavenged a couple of old chipped ones from my kitchen cupboard.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Little round glass marbles </b>- about $2 from the "bling" shop in Eden.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Total cost </b>- somewhere around $85, and that includes plenty of leftover material, so you could probably knock at least $20 off the total. Say, $65...</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Doctor's bills and Painkillers: </b>(just kidding!)</span></div></blockquote><div><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Time: </b>About 35 hours, spread over a couple of weeks and with time off during a heatwave and wet weather.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b style="font-size: x-large;">Verdict: </b><span style="font-size: medium;">Challenging,<b> </b>fun, worth doing, will do again once I've recovered, ha ha ha! Oh, and I'm hoping it's the only Red-bellied black snake (<i>Pseudechis porphyriacus</i>) that I ever see in my cat palace!</span><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-77541542735173045662020-12-17T12:04:00.005+11:002020-12-17T20:01:56.724+11:00What I Did During Lockdown<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> It's tempting to say "2020 - what a WASTE of a year!" but that would be very lazy thinking - not to mention completely untrue. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">That's what today's post is all about - I realise, looking back, that I can stop beating myself up over this "wasted" year - it hasn't been wasted at all, and I'm really amazed at what I've achieved. Instead of focussing on all the things I DIDN'T do - (I had no heart for painting or making a calendar this year, not knowing whether I'd ever recover the original outlay if lockdown went on and on and on) I've gone through the photos on my phone and looked at all the things I HAVE done. And I'm quite surprised!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Over the course of the 2 lockdowns this year I've:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Learned to give myself a passable home haircut - just don't look too closely!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Baked banana bread (hasn't everybody? Delicious, but I got over it pretty quickly - the old Covid waistline just keeps on keeping on, I'm afraid.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Written and delivered an 11-part children's radio series (complete with weekly craft activities and a Facebook presence) called Elvis the Lockdown Dog. Nearly killed me, and I was pretty relieved to see the end of Lockdown #1, and to make sure Elvis "left the building".</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Done "wildlife tours for myself" around my yard, photographing large and small visitors of all kinds.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hung a screen door all by myself.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">...and the biggie... weeded and re-landscaped a huge section of my yard totalling over 120 square metres. It could only have been done during lockdown. The thought of cleaning 120 square metres of gravel, armed only with a cheap peg basket and a couple of buckets, while "having a life", is a bit daunting, and should not be attempted by anybody intending to hang onto their sanity. Hot weather, wet weather and work gave me an excuse to stop now and then, and rest my shrieking muscles.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgUc66omVNQJNbTRJfLisG2GO9qvg47aPXwsjBEYg4NoLPhtz-5zoQR5kcQY3f_KQiB5zQ1PqYhr_suJm2XzdxdozV-wtG-P1N9e5JKoDmwOW488vuzOa4-8W6y5szVgjFitl6Lew3W7z/s1632/20201217_104314_resized.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="918" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgUc66omVNQJNbTRJfLisG2GO9qvg47aPXwsjBEYg4NoLPhtz-5zoQR5kcQY3f_KQiB5zQ1PqYhr_suJm2XzdxdozV-wtG-P1N9e5JKoDmwOW488vuzOa4-8W6y5szVgjFitl6Lew3W7z/s320/20201217_104314_resized.jpg" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">In reality, it was quite an hypnotic task. Gravel starts to "dance" in a sort of wave pattern as you shake it in your little improvised sieve, so you forget your aching back and the trickles of sweat that drip from the tip of your nose and chin. I listened to podcasts as I shovelled and sieved and cleaned and/or replaced the weed-mat as well. Anyway - enough talk - the before and after photos speak for themselves.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: #fcff01; color: #cc0000; font-size: medium;">First - the Tibbs Memorial Garden</span> (I had help from Tibbs the Literary Chicken for this one, so it's only fair, after her demise during lockdown, that she is memorialised in the space she helped create.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNecx4V5JfOCxxkP5zj_sB3vOobgIbTgamQu8sWrXXlNHwWwcHX6pgTJ13fIx4MgeyW3kvYIU0ltUeWoxW1Pe_PHhcgaLwZiMhC1X9F7y22HcKYGs3wmPSUmtp1zPk-ij3UDIw8hXBYPvO/s1536/20200918_112416_resized.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNecx4V5JfOCxxkP5zj_sB3vOobgIbTgamQu8sWrXXlNHwWwcHX6pgTJ13fIx4MgeyW3kvYIU0ltUeWoxW1Pe_PHhcgaLwZiMhC1X9F7y22HcKYGs3wmPSUmtp1zPk-ij3UDIw8hXBYPvO/s320/20200918_112416_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtwZOTr9oHSkgQFIgtFgckoAkf3GAGTZLJOVmSVBbQ8tT8y6hihhWVNa30suuJqUtse_XGISDfzeykR4RELAds4tg1z3_U7XRN4VYt61K9FOpLER6uDfb8uwJmw0Lb032ksqDbvoT_h0F/s2048/20201217_091520_resized.jpg" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtwZOTr9oHSkgQFIgtFgckoAkf3GAGTZLJOVmSVBbQ8tT8y6hihhWVNa30suuJqUtse_XGISDfzeykR4RELAds4tg1z3_U7XRN4VYt61K9FOpLER6uDfb8uwJmw0Lb032ksqDbvoT_h0F/s320/20201217_091520_resized.jpg" /></a></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #fcff01; color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Next - the gravel patch between the woodshed (far end of Tibbs Memorial Garden), washing line and the cat palace.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXOmJYhjYl5KVaJXfg6RQ1reyIfaGHO1BzPlC1JNY5Szohym20vhXC1GGRlL7lDEeEkqCVcIy1O4ZwF-FHpsVbfizIP6xkPyQsIe1fppcEMw00pVVU5SM_KlZ4gG7uGNZr9VdM-AqQjxS/s2048/20201217_091006_resized.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXOmJYhjYl5KVaJXfg6RQ1reyIfaGHO1BzPlC1JNY5Szohym20vhXC1GGRlL7lDEeEkqCVcIy1O4ZwF-FHpsVbfizIP6xkPyQsIe1fppcEMw00pVVU5SM_KlZ4gG7uGNZr9VdM-AqQjxS/s320/20201217_091006_resized.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: #fcff01; color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And finally, the most difficult bit - the cat palace itself</span>,</span> where the weed-infested pavers had to be dug out, piled up and subsequently relaid. Of course, I ran out of gravel after having pinched it for Tibbs' garden - and couldn't get the matching river gravel, so had to resort to granite chips. Harder on the cats' paws, not to mention a different colour (vive la difference???) so I've created a little cat-friendly network of stepping stones as well by relocating those 16kg pavers. Ugh, my hands are trashed, not to mention my shoulders.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuacb9j1zuyY3IowMi9yqt49qPhBaBbS9dy03UdMuxJQ99GYN8nnd6lFVmsDKqsCinSGgOQSnKyyy7pSY32xiaK6wArqyTMdyNmBNzdLuPxXJVy4JkGA6-Edwtm28Y1DROV2VYDz2Z-R_l/s1536/20200929_180905_resized.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuacb9j1zuyY3IowMi9yqt49qPhBaBbS9dy03UdMuxJQ99GYN8nnd6lFVmsDKqsCinSGgOQSnKyyy7pSY32xiaK6wArqyTMdyNmBNzdLuPxXJVy4JkGA6-Edwtm28Y1DROV2VYDz2Z-R_l/s320/20200929_180905_resized.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGhmMpWcBUD-mvpSUEwMUESkgQvvAyLZDpaLPV6oMNgDpyE7FjDYnP_XXj6t3jznf7JIm9pvDeGDOA2ggVmjhyphenhyphenVD5UsD3bRttcL_N7JxKaAyOD2dYCMqCkb_TSEAe0pxG4I7F_iq_utVP_/s1536/20201122_152857_resized.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGhmMpWcBUD-mvpSUEwMUESkgQvvAyLZDpaLPV6oMNgDpyE7FjDYnP_XXj6t3jznf7JIm9pvDeGDOA2ggVmjhyphenhyphenVD5UsD3bRttcL_N7JxKaAyOD2dYCMqCkb_TSEAe0pxG4I7F_iq_utVP_/s320/20201122_152857_resized.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOoUUNeAJkvNmnCuMQducN7l_4J2GOfOM78BhMmVatgRgenwG76Ym9Ki3ue_foUjgqN50T4aR3o-w2N4xTONzQJawR9oCwuJe7w5EBYzSefJ6spihk4ZZouw99SP7QQ8oyx7nzTzI6Vwnh/s2048/20201217_090941_resized.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOoUUNeAJkvNmnCuMQducN7l_4J2GOfOM78BhMmVatgRgenwG76Ym9Ki3ue_foUjgqN50T4aR3o-w2N4xTONzQJawR9oCwuJe7w5EBYzSefJ6spihk4ZZouw99SP7QQ8oyx7nzTzI6Vwnh/s320/20201217_090941_resized.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I will never ever EVER attempt to do such a thing again - but I'm really glad I did it just this once.</span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><span>The rehabilitation of about 50m of weed-infested gravel driveway<i> should</i> be the next project, but at the moment I'm a bit over gravel. Maybe I'll try my hand at mosaic, and give those pavers a pop of colour...</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Pollywobble has given my work in the cat palace her stamp of approval. Basil, of course, is being his usual curmudgeonly self, and declined to comment.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALs2P_RP6-wj6P0Bibi5APgOCyz2jVZESIUTOvopBQUxfapF7grA1hulEoFVtEQJFn0xih9O19HkDhMkujNgk6NqXlF2ebFGq3fL4YFX7Z1guDQ0ABwta1f7YNhW8LCA8QwXO-lVO0ebr/s1632/20201217_122922_resized.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="918" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALs2P_RP6-wj6P0Bibi5APgOCyz2jVZESIUTOvopBQUxfapF7grA1hulEoFVtEQJFn0xih9O19HkDhMkujNgk6NqXlF2ebFGq3fL4YFX7Z1guDQ0ABwta1f7YNhW8LCA8QwXO-lVO0ebr/s320/20201217_122922_resized.jpg" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #fcff01; color: #cc0000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">EVENING UPDATE: BASIL RELENTS, GIVES GRUDGING APPROVAL. HAHAHAHAHAHA!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Mo8qzpUWQjE8GR30NTg26IgiRz9ieCtN1NPXLgRb7VR_zL-TyxIoKwN9PzNotJbsO8x44NTWf7n9P5VJ_EzlXUmalFzE3L2gA-ucERJ_Zk0710Dg1JcYYe8p0sFRn20A-BphArruuyC0/s1021/20201217_191409_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="1021" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Mo8qzpUWQjE8GR30NTg26IgiRz9ieCtN1NPXLgRb7VR_zL-TyxIoKwN9PzNotJbsO8x44NTWf7n9P5VJ_EzlXUmalFzE3L2gA-ucERJ_Zk0710Dg1JcYYe8p0sFRn20A-BphArruuyC0/s320/20201217_191409_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-40971858754880062232020-11-11T12:52:00.000+11:002020-11-11T12:52:06.233+11:00Random Ramblings and not-quite-a-rant - Masks<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTb1w4nlQeywy8uAiij977Qz0sdfYYnrq_jJPX8r7_DVUsIlztqNe8QXTgK2lGBmKma_P28f8q_9Dj0bsckzE9Lg7ZP568c9oAGb-Px6CCNJ5lTsJ39QglJiXtZPgRookWbgnz0ljfbDY8/s786/20201111_122727_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="694" data-original-width="786" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTb1w4nlQeywy8uAiij977Qz0sdfYYnrq_jJPX8r7_DVUsIlztqNe8QXTgK2lGBmKma_P28f8q_9Dj0bsckzE9Lg7ZP568c9oAGb-Px6CCNJ5lTsJ39QglJiXtZPgRookWbgnz0ljfbDY8/w320-h283/20201111_122727_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">I pondered this earlier today as I hauled gravel and rocks and pulled out weeds in the cat palace - garden work provides wonderful opportunities for contemplation - did learning to wear underpants cause as much complaint as being asked to
wear a mask? People happily keep their sweaty bits entrapped in undies without
whingeing. When we had the bushfires and could SEE the enemy (smoke) we couldn't get enough of those tight, hot and heavy masks. People wear a dust mask when weed-spraying/installing
insulation. Surgeons wear them when they cut people open. Why the widespread
whingeing over this precautionary measure against the spread of a deadly and
invisible enemy? (And don't get me started on the politicisation of masks!)</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #eeeeee; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Here’s
another thought – people appear to be quite happy to follow the <b>dictates</b> of fashion (those heels are SO
last year, dahling!) or interior design (remember Mission Brown trim?) or the
way your food appears on your plate at a restaurant – who can forget the deconstructed
cheesecakes of 2019, piles of ingredients served on breadboards or in slippers
or some such bullshit?) As long as a vapid, vacuous celebrity tells you to do it, it’s ok. And yet – and yet – when epidemiologists
and public health experts outline measures that should be taken <i>for your own safety and the safety of those
around you </i>– people want to whinge and bleat and sook about rights and
freedom and sovereignty. Why is that? It's been something I've pondered for months now. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">This awful
pandemic has exposed a lot of ugliness and inconsistency in the people we share
the world with. </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">I
haven't forgotten the callous calls, early in the pandemic, to lock down oldies
because "only oldies die from this" (and then the irony, in the
Victorian experience, at least, of those oldies in aged care being sitting
ducks because of the casual workers who unwittingly took Covid to several
workplaces where those vulnerable oldies were living.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder whether the mask-refusers are the
same “lock down the oldies” people, or whether they’re a whole different group
of selfish jerks?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #eeeeee; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">It’d be nice
to be able to rely on people to do the sensible thing – but we apparently all
have different definitions of “sensible”. Unfortunately, this means the
government has had to make a bunch of rules to try and stop the spread of
Covid, and to keep us as safe as possible – and it’s using the “one size fits
all rule”.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #eeeeee; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Is there
anything wrong with that, when you’re talking about a public health emergency?
I don’t think so. Here in this far-flung outpost of regional Victoria, we are
expected to observe the mask rule, despite having had zero cases of Covid since
the pandemic began. Fair enough. Making exceptions for every self-interested
group is fiddly – and also leaves the government open to charges of unfairness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #eeeeee; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Think about
this: one rule for all means people don't (or shouldn't, at least!) moan about
being left out or singled out. Yay, we’re all equal! Rich, poor, young, old blah
blah blah blah. Isn’t that a good thing?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #eeeeee; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">I'm having a
lovely time, as I weed the garden, thinking about "what-ifs"... What
if the government had said that everyone over (insert arbitrary age here) must
wear a mask and everyone under that age had to take their chances? What if only
those in "essential occupations" were allowed to wear masks? (Remember
the early shortage of PPE, when the general public was advised that health care
workers needed the masks more than we did? Bit of ill-feeling erupted over
that.) What if only the employed were issued masks? What if only casual workers
were allowed them, because they couldn't afford to take time off work? I'm still thinking of the loophole-seeking by some of those so-called journalists at Dan Andrews press conferences. (Everybody's special. Everybody has a compelling reason to argue and be non-compliant. Oh. please!)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #eeeeee; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">If people
were denied masks, I suspect they would suddenly all insist on having them!
Perhaps a bit of reverse psychology could’ve been employed, tee hee - humans
are such contrarians. We want what we can't have. We want what other people
have (in fact, we want MORE – and we’re prepared to fight people in the toilet
paper aisle to ensure we get it!) When we're told we must all have masks, we
don't want them because we won't be told what to do. Our first response to so
many problems in society is "The government should ___" but on this
very important matter of public health and the common good, we want to ignore
the government and make our own rules, because theirs make us uncomfortable. Boo hoo. (Personally,
I’d rather wear a mask than a ventilator, but anyway…)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #eeeeee; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">As we in
this part of the world talk about opening up, easing restrictions and so on,
those in other countries are starting to mask up, lock down – and far too many
are dying. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #eeeeee; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Humans.
Endlessly fascinating and so so frustrating, don't you reckon?</span><o:p></o:p></p>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-21385054063772396912020-10-06T17:36:00.003+11:002020-10-06T17:36:26.061+11:00Stand down, Tofu - your services are no longer required<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"> Tibbs has left the building.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUxEFYNBxEE1HZ2yGu3DPr8V5E3zOrEiume0lfIT5E9kvdRrK5_tSOC8fJLoiUUblXfNtbWLUTU4SgDYBcDfPjCj4In2ErMfavUUxpnRaV4hKS8rSF96LgTh1vF8krc9k4Rf-aT9DBexdx/s2048/20200927_092352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUxEFYNBxEE1HZ2yGu3DPr8V5E3zOrEiume0lfIT5E9kvdRrK5_tSOC8fJLoiUUblXfNtbWLUTU4SgDYBcDfPjCj4In2ErMfavUUxpnRaV4hKS8rSF96LgTh1vF8krc9k4Rf-aT9DBexdx/w240-h320/20200927_092352.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">My life as a chicken-substitute is over. No more chooking in
the woodshed on cold days with Tibbs the Literary Chicken, who liked anything by Ernest Henningway, but was particularly fond of <i>The Crows of Kilimanjaro</i> and <i>A Farewell to Farms</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I’m heartbroken.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">As a tribute to my little feathered friend, who was helped
from this world by the vet today, let me show you the last garden project
that we worked on together.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Before the new fence was built last year, there was a dead
space along one side of the house, bounded by a gate and the woodshed and
populated by a couple of straggly dead trees. some rocks and hundreds of
fleabane weeds. My spare room looked out upon a brand new 6-foot fence and a bleak
and cheerless wasteland, so Tibbs and I decided to revamp it a bit.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBJXWQLqgaxX8yF9UJbXj35TAJd0Lh-lp9Jchlz7_GdAG50JNB-5mFm2q8edTmHCzmm04JteamXnqhjS59wixB3wE700ceCIs4StLwhN-qsGTtn28PspJ6gZLQNGxJd19SDfmQaurO2d4y/s2048/20200918_112432.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBJXWQLqgaxX8yF9UJbXj35TAJd0Lh-lp9Jchlz7_GdAG50JNB-5mFm2q8edTmHCzmm04JteamXnqhjS59wixB3wE700ceCIs4StLwhN-qsGTtn28PspJ6gZLQNGxJd19SDfmQaurO2d4y/w320-h240/20200918_112432.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">So.... first of all we dug out the rocks (and ate worms).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlkL4efPAqaj3VYfZrnmqNYmdJwgDxnAsriiQM8SLfzs0mayB2eKfWP6_YmP4GddOXyJT_3PMOqqBm4bBGAZZ-o1wv0DswdzooDDcvjQT1oAWg8JtwzWx8TOypFDZtWoS6nOIqbluMMHg/s2048/20200918_112515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlkL4efPAqaj3VYfZrnmqNYmdJwgDxnAsriiQM8SLfzs0mayB2eKfWP6_YmP4GddOXyJT_3PMOqqBm4bBGAZZ-o1wv0DswdzooDDcvjQT1oAWg8JtwzWx8TOypFDZtWoS6nOIqbluMMHg/s320/20200918_112515.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Step Two: we pulled out the remaining weeds and patchy grass (and ate more
worms)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqo3TWOAYBNmTvhEO5O2_CQSYwASOxStPxsflmlPgFVnB-O4lqqT7mbJyR8yZ657-TYQ-lKzk2kcnySKn51vH9dd8aaMGnYWYBg2f9sJTdPmovcxZ6VT-NbXj4U4acuXgmyH_P6HwAAz9l/s2048/20200922_145318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqo3TWOAYBNmTvhEO5O2_CQSYwASOxStPxsflmlPgFVnB-O4lqqT7mbJyR8yZ657-TYQ-lKzk2kcnySKn51vH9dd8aaMGnYWYBg2f9sJTdPmovcxZ6VT-NbXj4U4acuXgmyH_P6HwAAz9l/s320/20200922_145318.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Tibbs posing: “All my own work”. What? No it wasn’t! (although she DID eat all the worms.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">She temporarily lost interest when I put down weedmat, but was happy
when I got the gravel down. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWW9rm_0jey9OQ7Gr3OjhXU_Q0HfKPMYJafIfk64McxmBx1cu1Qz-EhlAhgHK_MNX5Bk4IrNyGS3TDqLs2Aw8lRQXv6hbAJ_meXExhOKqI9GdKAkQhOgBPn8lH23AMhjwgubo4jr7ydlF/s2048/20201001_180632.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWW9rm_0jey9OQ7Gr3OjhXU_Q0HfKPMYJafIfk64McxmBx1cu1Qz-EhlAhgHK_MNX5Bk4IrNyGS3TDqLs2Aw8lRQXv6hbAJ_meXExhOKqI9GdKAkQhOgBPn8lH23AMhjwgubo4jr7ydlF/s320/20201001_180632.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">She was even happier to see the birdbath and rocks
appear, some potted plants, and the new coat of paint that transformed the
woodshed. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREBwoyffEI4gsAmr1KE8FrpnStTVF4uxs4YpvEDisEt2QkZ55Zb7-AmH2tuvkHYVjOOoT-z6YASkHluuWvYVceptKiMGDBX0ALZgW0hkJ0yrXPh34dgEKbxZ1lJAJw5YbGk4Jk4VTf_Qe/s2048/20201003_123219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREBwoyffEI4gsAmr1KE8FrpnStTVF4uxs4YpvEDisEt2QkZ55Zb7-AmH2tuvkHYVjOOoT-z6YASkHluuWvYVceptKiMGDBX0ALZgW0hkJ0yrXPh34dgEKbxZ1lJAJw5YbGk4Jk4VTf_Qe/s320/20201003_123219.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJwokfcc8q9zygG9aRpYkPZunEQDE_38AkYPs7XUGrBK2ZJf5bXrTxW2dD44gZGo9E9yY3gPiAag8FGsHh15uv463EqDVuFXHKysi4lZ7z20yy3PpPCuxOIvV_HcHjwmhumWXvw2C9-9eP/s2048/20201004_183237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJwokfcc8q9zygG9aRpYkPZunEQDE_38AkYPs7XUGrBK2ZJf5bXrTxW2dD44gZGo9E9yY3gPiAag8FGsHh15uv463EqDVuFXHKysi4lZ7z20yy3PpPCuxOIvV_HcHjwmhumWXvw2C9-9eP/s320/20201004_183237.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">In the photo below she is inspecting the new space - admittedly, still a work in progress, but vastly improved - and giving it her seal of
approval.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhadHyxz1O3p8StVNbXUcZBht1j-xfS1DF6Hp5ju2HCcRy1mEzSsRmuUWny8Cfx9Jbj-MQRkkbHc9he8Rcp6rlhavJzzVi2kd5TiSOJj4dM7hrJOTwrNHochRstS5kSiNGK8AyCJ4peVI/s2048/20201004_155009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhadHyxz1O3p8StVNbXUcZBht1j-xfS1DF6Hp5ju2HCcRy1mEzSsRmuUWny8Cfx9Jbj-MQRkkbHc9he8Rcp6rlhavJzzVi2kd5TiSOJj4dM7hrJOTwrNHochRstS5kSiNGK8AyCJ4peVI/s320/20201004_155009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">On Sunday she started making strange noises now and then, a bit like a
sneeze. This morning she had her beak open to breathe, was wheezing, and wouldn’t
come out of the nest box.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Coincidentally, the wonderful vet from Orbost was making a
house call to vaccinate the cats today, so I asked him to take a look at Tibbs
while he was here. I told him about her recent oviduct infection, and my home
vetting treatment – and he said I’d absolutely done the right thing. What was
ailing her today was a respiratory infection of some sort – and with the recent
outbreak of Avian Flu near Bairnsdale, he thought it prudent to euthanase her,
notify the Ag dept and take her remains for testing. I cried buckets, sniffling
inside my mask and thanking her for her company and her great help in the
garden. I stroked her feathers as her eyes slowly closed and her consciousness ebbed away. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Poor Tiblet the Giblet doesn’t even get to rest in the chook
cemetery, here at home with her old buddies. Sigh. She always <i>was</i> the Outsider of the flock. I think it's appropriate, then, to rename her final project
the Tibbs Memorial Garden.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bye, my Tibby, and thank you for everything you taught me about digging in the dirt, enjoying simple things like a little sit in the woodshed - and the joy of hanging out in the yard with a feathery friend.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyPdgk8-uCX34N1C2xWSZYtBtDvCD55d5JdeC2p5MuZPKTypiYc1kI00kYpSdHU2hMaNUOaatVtdSfTLhv_NH6RlGhyTzyfTVKkOCrJ6QKXgxX9lJPYhS6W6hNgRIt-8x5f1CfoshhDsT/s2048/20200922_133702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyPdgk8-uCX34N1C2xWSZYtBtDvCD55d5JdeC2p5MuZPKTypiYc1kI00kYpSdHU2hMaNUOaatVtdSfTLhv_NH6RlGhyTzyfTVKkOCrJ6QKXgxX9lJPYhS6W6hNgRIt-8x5f1CfoshhDsT/s320/20200922_133702.jpg" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-91920320104387765872020-09-29T16:09:00.000+10:002020-09-29T16:09:18.941+10:00No such thing as a dumb question?<p> <span style="color: #14171a; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Actually, there is. Tune into Daniel Andrews’ daily press
conference and you’ll hear plenty of them, usually from Rachel Baxendale – an
obnoxious “journalist” for <i>The Australian</i> who sits starry-eyed at the knee of
Peta Credlin to deliver breathless revelations on SkyNews about the Eviltude of
Dictator Dan in the fight against the Victorian Covid-19 outbreak.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was a high school teacher for about 2 decades. When I say
that the behaviour of some of the “journalists” at Daniel Andrews’ press
conferences gives me flashbacks to some of my worst Year 9 classes, believe it.
Year 9s can be really obnoxious.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The particular breed of obnoxious Year 9 student that morphs
into a Baxendale-style “journalist” at an Andrews presser <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they
are smarter than the teacher. They know that every smart-arsed comment is a
mark of their genius. Their main aim in the classroom is to impress their peers
by scoring points against the teacher in pointless petty argument, and to waste
as much of a lesson as possible.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">No teacher has ever heard the sort of excuses or clever
questions they can come up with and no teacher can fail to be impressed by
their cleverness and ultimately cowed into submission by it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like a dripping tap, such students are relentless in the
quest to wear down the teacher, badgering and haranguing until they achieve
their goal, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the bell goes, or the
teacher snaps. AND – they think they’re the only one ever to do it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Is it any wonder teachers become jaded? I am flabbergasted
to see Daniel Andrews show up day after day after day to answer the
increasingly ridiculous questions respectfully and with seemingly infinite
patience. I’d have sent the little shits to the Principal’s office by now, or
slapped an after-school detention on them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This morning in a Twitter thread about the repetitive, ignorant
and time-wasting questions posed by Rachel Baxendale, somebody responded to one
of my tweets with “It’s always ok to question things”.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So I questioned her – “Have you always been so disingenuous?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She got a bit annoyed – “<span style="color: #14171a; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It’s a fair question. I
was raised to be polite, think for myself, and ask questions where i needed
clarification. It’s perfectly ok to do that. You don’t need to blindly accept
everything and anything. That’s dogmatic. I was polite to you, leave it now.</span>”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #14171a; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sigh. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #14171a; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Here’s the thing, If you’re still asking the same
questions over and over, many months into a pandemic – questions that have been
answered several times already – you haven’t been paying attention. You don’t really
want an answer. Your intention is to disrupt and distract and be a general pain
in the arse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #14171a; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Off to the Principal’s office with you.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-91861265739561391302020-09-08T13:00:00.004+10:002020-09-08T17:55:44.601+10:00Just call me Tofu<br /><br /><div class="separator"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3WKz7rFY4VwMQwEt86cBmCWfxxd5XCO29y8FC_VVfhMUQLdY4jnMOjJ4CyQt5GX0KtE2zdgS5FX07nNU_fHvOaO96mJHNUTChdVJN-r-LRBxY96fXaHHq1Wqh2jlxYu_KNWqaTm4Pgt8/s320/2017-02-22+11.26.07.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The formidable Sybil<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>One half of the dynamic duo, (my pair of Kikuyu-pulling garden
patrol buddies), is no more. Boss chook Sybil departed this life last Friday,
leaving Tibbs, her partner in crime, all alone in the world.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Feisty Sybil (named for Sybil Fawlty, in case you were
wondering), with the top part of her beak shorter than the bottom, had a sort
of bulldog look to her that went well with her bossy personality. She sometimes
mounted the other chooks, just to let them know who was boss, and once she even
attempted to crow. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One by one her loyal subjects dropped off the perch until
only Tibbs, the outsider – the Omega chook – was left to keep her company. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I discovered the dearly-departed Sybil and prepared her
for interment in the chook cemetery, Tibbs came up close, uttering quiet respectful
clucks and chitters that brought me undone. I didn’t think she cared, but if a
chook has ever looked concerned, it was bottom-of-the-pecking-order Tibbs.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Chooks are sociable creatures who enjoy the company of their
own kind, and don’t take kindly to being alone, so I made the decision to
rehome her as soon as possible (after determining her good health). The
last thing I need is a psychotic chicken who’s been driven mad by loneliness. I think my chook-keeping days are at an end.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Until such time as she is rehomed, though, I feel obliged to
keep her company. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day after Sybil’s
demise, Tibbs wouldn’t come out of the nest box. She wanted to stay and mope.
Uh-oh.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I put a mirror in the nest box (a strategy that really
helped when Sybil was grieving the demise of her best friend, Manuela the
Jumping Chicken) and she perked up a bit. Spending the long lonely days
free-ranging in that big garden, however, was a step too far for poor Tiblet the Giblet. She
relocated to the woodshed and wouldn’t come out. Sigh. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Soooo.... guess who’s been spending a lot of time in the yard with her
since then, making inane conversation and making chicken noises? Evidently my Chookish is understandable as she’s started following me
everywhere and talking back. She even lets me pat her (unheard of for this skittish girl!) <o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLxDFbwVSqxCNpWiGaeStxWFe6LG8189qZfcNQyKAv4O3X542jPLwHUncNTb2h61-SY6OKsTtHdl0OoscfMr_FJhP_kWNaMzKjTHpDStQixbUiFTFqKFzxFHQI9Xltbal8ppgCkeq29Q-T/s320/chooking+2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chooking with my girl Tibbs<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkhPuLYBLRJoVf54OeNtfMrdr3il0dXZL2KA755jsozjmkY7UUkklJR6jXtdLhSNubF2aRbjyA7akRsMInYZCozszt2HJTT6OlUVIViyKBWmQ0miEall2aq8PAVX2w8D5-VXtaCA7Ljb8/s320/chooking+1.jpg" /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We are continuing the excavations she and Sybil (and the
others, before they shuffled off this mortal coil) began, and are currently
shifting about half a tonne of dirt back to where it once was in what may one
day, in a chook-free household, be a vegie patch again. Tibbs and I have bonded
over Kikuyu-pulling and weeding – activities now known as “chooking”, as we
work together companionably in the yard until my hands and back can take no
more. Tibbs is, I fear, far better equipped for chooking than I am – but I’ll
give it my best shot for my poor lonely girl.<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So - for now, just call me “Tofu” – a well-meaning but not-very-effective
chicken substitute. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">RIP Sybil.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8QX3tjOVypjIWaiiPmR3vbiqVxLE9PwgizfW4OZo4J9z6rrWRwCziYp0e6jpMXiHGH6G0FuNRSqOQt1idBpnAvGa4GxuV2GYZ3gYBN3m7oAMrSA6fVpqBhh7CNm_UgZsIUMv0LehgtMp7/s2048/DSC_7447.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Tibbs" border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8QX3tjOVypjIWaiiPmR3vbiqVxLE9PwgizfW4OZo4J9z6rrWRwCziYp0e6jpMXiHGH6G0FuNRSqOQt1idBpnAvGa4GxuV2GYZ3gYBN3m7oAMrSA6fVpqBhh7CNm_UgZsIUMv0LehgtMp7/w320-h213/DSC_7447.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tibbs<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-42810124873339846842020-05-31T18:23:00.000+10:002020-05-31T18:23:06.126+10:00Team Chook and the Kikuyu Project<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdjaECfPYqy6LtxA_emNjkc_201X85hp4F3g4BbJcVvZE8gTItqv2TDbiJh9tNuxw42Hv4rhtEYzVu4XBe4hCLkvYxhplKn89RV4RT8LTSL5PBVtd-DzG2CScATLQlr4DYvgtNLh4zoqF/s1600/DSC_7449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdjaECfPYqy6LtxA_emNjkc_201X85hp4F3g4BbJcVvZE8gTItqv2TDbiJh9tNuxw42Hv4rhtEYzVu4XBe4hCLkvYxhplKn89RV4RT8LTSL5PBVtd-DzG2CScATLQlr4DYvgtNLh4zoqF/s320/DSC_7449.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000;">Team Chook: focussed and ready for action</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I alluded, in an earlier post, to my insane and largely futile attempt to get on top of the Kikuyu takeover of my yard.<br />
<br />
Kikuyu grass is an impressive adversary. It snakes along under and above ground, pushing out pointy stabby runners and grabby roots. Do not turn your back on it, seriously! It crawls over and under things at the speed of - well, Kikuyu grass - inexorable and unstoppable in its quest for world domination. Forget lizard overlords - Kikuyu is worse than any crazy megalomaniac reptile.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6e6ldwJ8EGSwKd2P9McvwEOyex916er7hHKOnA-32LUg4VhQjuZ7LRBf63xNgNEajiyVU3BOGjGqF__-s3xNbZ2IZ6uraQa8zG4Meq0L2X2SVz9lBhMvAQa7RvZkQHi_DqQKY0GXoE8Ie/s1600/DSC_7436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6e6ldwJ8EGSwKd2P9McvwEOyex916er7hHKOnA-32LUg4VhQjuZ7LRBf63xNgNEajiyVU3BOGjGqF__-s3xNbZ2IZ6uraQa8zG4Meq0L2X2SVz9lBhMvAQa7RvZkQHi_DqQKY0GXoE8Ie/s320/DSC_7436.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;">Nasty pointy stabby runner looking for some ground now that it's <br />managed to burrow beneath the rocks of the retaining wall</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgauCYZ11VdeMYTsILKovhm8z4jiLF9D1aolbQIfepX4rMI6HzUpJHC5RTlyYzwpJDjsq3xjXapVNPmyddDxcFEOXZ2pA65Qyd44_bW5_nb1AOHm7g1wLGTeKOiRTZ8ZrN-J-IlEFQKKkrs/s1600/DSC_7437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgauCYZ11VdeMYTsILKovhm8z4jiLF9D1aolbQIfepX4rMI6HzUpJHC5RTlyYzwpJDjsq3xjXapVNPmyddDxcFEOXZ2pA65Qyd44_bW5_nb1AOHm7g1wLGTeKOiRTZ8ZrN-J-IlEFQKKkrs/s320/DSC_7437.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;">Rocks are no obstacle to this stuff - it just powers on underneath</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieyDDinqO3gHbTKgXLyPSdg5GqEz_v91fD1VZtolEqHdDW_WXWpHRExsJG7xYgQRzn08TR4wIqQ5RIBboYBYNZISsWTPPYhyWUJBXa70AY_BbsNzjiu-2N0esYwMwnxVvPEdrUMQuUQ44e/s1600/DSC_7438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieyDDinqO3gHbTKgXLyPSdg5GqEz_v91fD1VZtolEqHdDW_WXWpHRExsJG7xYgQRzn08TR4wIqQ5RIBboYBYNZISsWTPPYhyWUJBXa70AY_BbsNzjiu-2N0esYwMwnxVvPEdrUMQuUQ44e/s320/DSC_7438.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: small;">If it can't go down, it'll go up and over...</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7g8XwMUbFuUFvFsYyGMPiSZ9-uSeAu2zVRjy5-foXFSucDTzEaZpRdZiyCFmZ9768sUR8tLSiaMhMFUAX7vLRZa1qQixFU-gCGUbHblYyZqJ_fZKbm5r8_omNLTyzUNMybG57ZOlc3ml-/s1600/DSC_7434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7g8XwMUbFuUFvFsYyGMPiSZ9-uSeAu2zVRjy5-foXFSucDTzEaZpRdZiyCFmZ9768sUR8tLSiaMhMFUAX7vLRZa1qQixFU-gCGUbHblYyZqJ_fZKbm5r8_omNLTyzUNMybG57ZOlc3ml-/s320/DSC_7434.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;">...and down the other side.</span><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This stuff is monstrous, I tell you!<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Wikipedia says: </span><span style="font-size: 14px;">The tropical grass species <i>Pennisetum clandestinum</i> is known by several common names, most often kikuyu grass, as it is native to the highland regions of East Africa that is home to the Kikuyu people. Because of its rapid growth and aggressive nature, it is categorised as a noxious weed in some regions.</span><span style="font-size: 14px;"> (Hear hear! Here here! say I)</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Lawn Solutions Australia says: Due to its vigorous growth patterns, </span><span style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold;">Kikuyu</span><span style="font-size: 14px;"> is a very invasive </span><span style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold;">grass</span><span style="font-size: 14px;"> and doesn't tend to want to stay put in its designated area. (And <i>that</i>, my friends, is what's known as an understatement!)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #4d5156; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span>
I say: DAMN YOU, Kikuyu, you will not win!!!! Well, a slightly modified version of that - you will not win ALL the garden. Some bits are MINE!<br />
<br />
Right about now you should be hearing the theme music from<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> <i><b>Mission: Impossible</b></i></span> in your head. It's what I hear whenever I look at the expanse of Kikuyu-infested gravel.<br />
<br />
To launch this major operation, I enlisted two experienced excavators:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOk48vKcFDag8jjJJCc5EEf_H-ibwZnzVJsrQaX2bWR031O5GbA07D6Vjre7eCpHDw-Vhm34Da5byS0AP_hCeEwAboyn8Ki3Ju23e3j9S0F2rw1Y9-V5UjL8Vd3uEEVEVvWtZWlKlL3W3/s1600/DSC_7442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOk48vKcFDag8jjJJCc5EEf_H-ibwZnzVJsrQaX2bWR031O5GbA07D6Vjre7eCpHDw-Vhm34Da5byS0AP_hCeEwAboyn8Ki3Ju23e3j9S0F2rw1Y9-V5UjL8Vd3uEEVEVvWtZWlKlL3W3/s200/DSC_7442.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><b>Agent Sybil...</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZNYVleSF1WJWOc7KVX0G8eFUFKJbMbQZoStdxqFZNuKXGZfe2Aa3ktsWxWPrYju4VIVHH-yB8hYyiDBbbXd03Zora8B9z2PjyoZzh0V0LX8WuoPwjey_Ghk45HbblY5zBE5PFU1a72eKI/s1600/DSC_7439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZNYVleSF1WJWOc7KVX0G8eFUFKJbMbQZoStdxqFZNuKXGZfe2Aa3ktsWxWPrYju4VIVHH-yB8hYyiDBbbXd03Zora8B9z2PjyoZzh0V0LX8WuoPwjey_Ghk45HbblY5zBE5PFU1a72eKI/s200/DSC_7439.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: small;">...and <b>Agent Tibbs</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As these girls have been largely responsible for creating the environment in which Kikuyu can thrive, I thought it a nice touch of irony to enlist their help with the clean-up. Not that they were unwilling. Any chance to get beaks and claws into the dirt.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSN2HlPcAv4_e5PBlzxkKKVDfhInZaXdC-E-3LOChprA5wyRVuVo602a7YwCSDHa23KorjU3lJ9-gklbz5rH731CfqX2Ed2VrGlZ0donNw-c59OMgl12dq7eWvc97rLYaoYh-NyAn7RIj/s1600/2013-03-18+07.54.50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #990000;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="1059" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSN2HlPcAv4_e5PBlzxkKKVDfhInZaXdC-E-3LOChprA5wyRVuVo602a7YwCSDHa23KorjU3lJ9-gklbz5rH731CfqX2Ed2VrGlZ0donNw-c59OMgl12dq7eWvc97rLYaoYh-NyAn7RIj/s320/2013-03-18+07.54.50.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000;">The area of the gravel patch and retaining wall, circa 2013 - pre chook</span></td></tr>
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This is how we work: I identify a runner or a deeply-rooted flatleaf weed and start pulling or digging it out. Team Chook joins me in a flash. The girls start pecking, scratching and kicking. Repeat. Over and over and over.<br />
<br />
When my back starts to ache or my weedbag is chockers, I call it a day. I return to the site a couple of days later to find that Team Chook has excavated a whole new lot of runners for me. And so it goes on.<br />
<br />
I feel a bit like an archeologist. The team has excavated enough Kikuyu to expose what I think may be the foot of the retaining wall. What appeared to be about 12cm high is easily 30cm high.<br />
<br />
How was this deplorable annexation allowed to occur in the first place? The first thing you need to know is that I have a long, sorry history of garden incompetence, interspersed with sudden bursts of frenetic activity. The second is this: the chooks, scratching about in the ex-vegetable bed (I ceded the territory to the chooks after a long and fruitless (also vegetableless!) battle), kicked lots of lovely soil out onto the gravel. Weeds and Kikuyu leapt onto it. Layer upon layer kept being added. Eventually the Kikuyu (and minimal soil) provided a fab false "ground" for weeds to set roots into. (TAKE NOTE: This is how world domination begins - with a small corner of the gravel patch.) Compounding factors included a human (me) too flattened by Ross River Virus or other nasty ailments to do anything more than sit and watch helplessly during the last couple of major growth seasons. Sigh.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, the pandemic lockdown has given me the time and energy to Fight Back. I will not be vanquished by grass! One day this small patch of garden will be mine again. With the judicious application of carefully shaped chook wire I may even grow lettuces or something.<br />
<br />
In the meantime I'm refusing to think about the evil Kikuyu Empire's expansionist behaviour at my borders. That's a battle for another season.Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-44930295863050657142020-05-20T13:31:00.002+10:002020-05-20T13:31:13.719+10:00Memorial...and random ramblings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Today is a very weird day.</span></div>
<br />
It's 142 days since The Fire hit Mallacoota.<br />
<br />
Today, in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, and almost 5 months after the fire changed life for everybody in this town, the Grocon cleanup crew have been demolishing what's left of the homes of my next door neighbour and her next door neighbour, and I've been hit by a huge and unexpected wave of grief. Wow.<br />
<br />
On the roof of my <i>other</i> next door neighbour's house stands a tradie with what looks and sounds like a giant hairdryer, drying off the grouting (or whatever it's called) on the roof tiles.<br />
<br />
In the middle of the two, armed with one of those weeding implements, I battle Kikuyu grass, ably assisted by my two chooks, Sybil and Tibbs. Overhead - quite low, really, two Wedge-tailed Eagles circle. It's surreal.<br />
<br />
I don't know quite what to make of it.<br />
<br />
In the months since the fire I've been keeping an eye on my neighbour's place. It'd be a pretty low act for somebody to rob someone who's already lost everything - but it happens, so I've been the archetypal stickybeaking neighbour, dashing outside to check out any unexpected noise coming from "the ruins". Usually it's just a bemused kangaroo hopping over the downed roofing iron, but I also startled the insurance assessor, early on...<br />
<br />
I learned, early on, that rubble doesn't sit still. In the strong winds that we get here, the roofing iron has flapped and danced, shifting its position on the land. I used to worry that it would become airborne, but it didn't.<br />
<br />
I learned that weeds don't mind creeping underneath the rubble, inching their way across the landscape , and I pulled out great swathes of Thunbergia as it crept under the shifting sheets of iron.<br />
<br />
I learned that the ruined landscape, the longer it sits there, starts to look normal. I am no longer horrified by it. When my sweet, thoughtful neighbour says she feels so bad that I have to look out at it every day, I don't know how to react, because my first inclination is to shrug and say "nah, it's ok" - but that sounds so callous. It's not ok, but it's become the New Normal and I've stopped being horrified by it.<br />
<br />
When Grocon first arrived to start the job, there was a sense of relief. And yet, this morning when they put up their temporary fencing and the demolition machine moved in, its long articulated arm lifting and shifting screeching piles of roofing iron, I was overcome by completely unexpected grief; grief for my neighbours and the homes they've lost, because until today, those "homes" were still there in some form. Now they, and everything they contained, will be cleared - erased from the landscape. It's so awfully sad.<br />
<br />
That started me thinking then about how those of us who haven't lost anything, actually HAVE - and on top of the "survivor guilt" is the guilt I feel when I dare to acknowledge the fire's effects on me - the loss, however temporary, of a fabulous neighbour; the feelings of security and safety I used to have; the loss of the town I know and love - while I sit in my still-standing home.<br />
<br />
Saying "well I lost something too, you know" sounds whiny and pathetic in the face of other people's overwhelming losses, so you don't say it - and you try not to even think it - and that comes at a cost too, I suppose. I am one of the lucky ones, after all. And as I watch the excavator lift armful after armful of twisted furniture - there goes a bedframe, and a sofa-bed - and listen to the men in Hazmat suits raking over broken glass and crockery, that is reinforced.<br />
<br />
Trying to look anywhere but next door, I think again about the Wedgies. The other day, when Grocon was occupied cleaning another ruined property just up the street, I noticed the pair circling very close to the road and quite low over the clean-up area. It was quite a buzz. Imagine my surprise, then, to see a pair circling quite low over the current clean-up area this morning.<br />
<br />
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Perhaps the rubble has been a temporary home to all sorts of little critters - rabbits, antechinus, bush-rats - and the Wedgies have learned to follow the excavators, whose giant pincered arms resemble the curved beaks of carrion-eaters, pecking away at the wreckage. Those clever Wedgies must've learned that the giant orange machines mean a potential easy meal for them as the little critters flee the giant scything beaks.<br />
<br />
Encroaching rain chased me indoors after about an hour of Kikuyu-pulling teamwork with the chooks, and afterwards, this:<br />
<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As I said - it's a weird day.</span></div>
<br />
Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-51370416534174312782020-04-09T10:01:00.000+10:002020-04-09T10:01:11.374+10:00Behind the Barricades - Stay at Home, Day#??<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My Isolation Hair is a fright and I don't even care!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My daughter says I look like a mad scientist - I'll take that as a compliment!</td></tr>
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I actually forgot it was the Easter Weekend this weekend. By the Thursday before Good Friday there's usually excitement and activity building over the big Easter market and the influx of Easter visitors from all over. The place is usually hopping. Not this year.<br />
<br />
We saw our tourists depart, almost in convoy, about 2 weeks ago, after government orders to close caravan parks. While part of me was very glad to see them go, I also felt terribly sad for them as I watched the caravans roll past. They were heading back into an uncertain and fragile situation in their own home towns and cities, and it must've been frightening.<br />
<br />
Mallacoota is a ghost town, coming into what would be our second-busiest time of a " normal" year. This entire year has been anything <i>but </i>normal! Most of the shops are closed. The library is closed. COVID-19 sanitiser stations have been mounted outside our supermarkets, where valiant staff continue to keep the shelves stocked. The Post Office arcade has 1.5m lines painted on the ground. The volunteer-run community radio station, which is also the local emergency broadcaster, has seen some changes as a few of our older or more vulnerable presenters go into self-isolation.<br />
<br />
My April calendar image seems strangely appropriate as we are all "confined to barracks" and isolated from our normal lives. Many people don't meet your eye when you pass them in the street, as if they think infection might be spread at a glance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtP2gqIEZNSaXaCz6As_xjaPX011XdL8czFsXT7j8K4kAMiqaDS0QeZS3LaFmKu30kjxU4Za3OzwRhIQ67Mo6S-VpulnzOnnXswC-OcAfhCD8-0vtnPazTuBKNkZCFe9PUtMx21_Hn2MW/s1600/20190722_163613.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtP2gqIEZNSaXaCz6As_xjaPX011XdL8czFsXT7j8K4kAMiqaDS0QeZS3LaFmKu30kjxU4Za3OzwRhIQ67Mo6S-VpulnzOnnXswC-OcAfhCD8-0vtnPazTuBKNkZCFe9PUtMx21_Hn2MW/s320/20190722_163613.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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The District Health Service is overseeing deliveries of medication, groceries and newspapers to those in isolation. Dr Sara from the Medical Centre keeps the community up to date with a weekly radio interview.<br />
<br />
I don't know whether the school will re-open next week (must find out). The Sanctuary - a youth centre set up during the fires, is operating in a virtual world, making the most of ZOOM for its activities.<br />
<br />
Anxiety over the threat of pestilence and a sense of impending doom underlie the gentler rhythm that life currently thrums along to. Everything has slowed to a dreamy snail's pace. It's like mid-winter, only warmer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBhSHVcjYK0hoJD6bojzG7eBkYqVegRV9FzWSDgeKTo_supoQw0pF9mX4umJNNtrPpbsJG1dsanQMhZFjCONlJq_ghkm0jxZe6JL2jz7PIYzxJbKkDRLD64xEVXPO_t5yos90xWHQNDoU/s1600/20200408_172012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBhSHVcjYK0hoJD6bojzG7eBkYqVegRV9FzWSDgeKTo_supoQw0pF9mX4umJNNtrPpbsJG1dsanQMhZFjCONlJq_ghkm0jxZe6JL2jz7PIYzxJbKkDRLD64xEVXPO_t5yos90xWHQNDoU/s200/20200408_172012.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whopper fungus!</td></tr>
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<br />
The quietude at home is punctuated by the rumble of supply trucks rolling past. The bushfire clean-up continues. As far as we know, we are COVID-19 free, but we are cautious.<br />
<br />
Personally - I'm loving the serenity, and as an almost-hermit anyway, things haven't changed all that much for me. I haven't succumbed to any crazy urges to clean the house, although I'm attempting to get out and weed the garden a bit more. Unfortunately the mosquito population is as healthy as ever. Mini "nature walks" at home have yielded some interesting things, and the armchair birding has been fruitful.<br />
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<br />
A good deal of my usual "spare" time is being gobbled up by an imaginary dog called Elvis, whose adventures in Lockdown Land have been airing on the local radio once a week. A twenty minute program takes me a full day to write, although I hope I'll get quicker as the pandemic rolls along.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyAM4Jn5Maa_v8okyhe9ziG18FHdZYLIQE9UyOWIQr38TYaJeD8PpuIRAX_V664X2a45UBo2Au4m-si3ELSpSIJVJluwSqq6wSepgURqK_qwun36OMcGus3K2tdK8qvgbViNaJeETXu-b/s1600/20200407_123607+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyAM4Jn5Maa_v8okyhe9ziG18FHdZYLIQE9UyOWIQr38TYaJeD8PpuIRAX_V664X2a45UBo2Au4m-si3ELSpSIJVJluwSqq6wSepgURqK_qwun36OMcGus3K2tdK8qvgbViNaJeETXu-b/s200/20200407_123607+%25281%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elvis the Lockdown Dog</td></tr>
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<br /><br />
<br />
I've realised how often I touch my face without even thinking, I'm sure my hands have actually changed colour and I don't think the end of my nose has ever been so itchy.<br />
<br />
We live in weird times. Come for a walk in the garden.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSE7Eow-4rjwEM8ECA2GFlX73_lSCgV9YowL1LzfzrREBVQnTIqOOW336lmqf2aXCTvqojn1awh8gypXRzHisjejjp5RFOlqBdO1-VIsnKV7ixveMkpfGmQrPUcJRCIaywKGT-sCkZuNI/s1600/DSC_6820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1600" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSE7Eow-4rjwEM8ECA2GFlX73_lSCgV9YowL1LzfzrREBVQnTIqOOW336lmqf2aXCTvqojn1awh8gypXRzHisjejjp5RFOlqBdO1-VIsnKV7ixveMkpfGmQrPUcJRCIaywKGT-sCkZuNI/s320/DSC_6820.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Common Bronzewing, looking anything but common.</td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiYHNkXI-3pbJLHOi6wnE4RqQ01DCj-Gdl90rkrPLuOeSu7wvvHF4XmSdicQb0gyva-o1Et2g9YMzADWlm7Qw8z3jJOv580ltK2cvXKTrn87kVjCNzpbm3RYNdcgIr7ZxNyMPzHBiQm1a/s1600/DSC_6812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1123" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiYHNkXI-3pbJLHOi6wnE4RqQ01DCj-Gdl90rkrPLuOeSu7wvvHF4XmSdicQb0gyva-o1Et2g9YMzADWlm7Qw8z3jJOv580ltK2cvXKTrn87kVjCNzpbm3RYNdcgIr7ZxNyMPzHBiQm1a/s200/DSC_6812.JPG" width="140" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red-browed finch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifk8oWF9DQvxUEQS9yy1MQcSyI9aiQgGEVeEhyvrawrPqVdt7TtVbF0WMdEaTABvOtf4hh1WCAuULjH4mTKj-IgXz8Do-uEO5kYCPc4VhL3Dp8iRUphXBFJSjWLH_s7sQuftETtqAg8k-i/s1600/DSC_6840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifk8oWF9DQvxUEQS9yy1MQcSyI9aiQgGEVeEhyvrawrPqVdt7TtVbF0WMdEaTABvOtf4hh1WCAuULjH4mTKj-IgXz8Do-uEO5kYCPc4VhL3Dp8iRUphXBFJSjWLH_s7sQuftETtqAg8k-i/s320/DSC_6840.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">King Parrots</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoM7OC60C63iEDjML9lgIwHp3JGu_2_6NDUCsmLyHysUs194wz-yf0mik8ogWsKEkGQ1aNKUnYKdYVBB37btXMQobvTA4SI9HZiI9xrHz1d1yx_fpyj7hkQat_ZWlPcvJmiTi_IWy6O4ZW/s1600/DSC_6849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="1600" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoM7OC60C63iEDjML9lgIwHp3JGu_2_6NDUCsmLyHysUs194wz-yf0mik8ogWsKEkGQ1aNKUnYKdYVBB37btXMQobvTA4SI9HZiI9xrHz1d1yx_fpyj7hkQat_ZWlPcvJmiTi_IWy6O4ZW/s320/DSC_6849.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainbow Lorikeet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRl2tYEmBqsNZhHWxq1BCvdxGBZrwQLHb2lvm4Z-uWC4AypfOf-1WFHVsiDuDnEtJp1-WiM1CTommGu7eFHjzakNeccFS8ENvf-7m3tuIll0iOGdZRWHBcMhDOesBw_F-nijv1-XrIA-li/s1600/DSC_6864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1382" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRl2tYEmBqsNZhHWxq1BCvdxGBZrwQLHb2lvm4Z-uWC4AypfOf-1WFHVsiDuDnEtJp1-WiM1CTommGu7eFHjzakNeccFS8ENvf-7m3tuIll0iOGdZRWHBcMhDOesBw_F-nijv1-XrIA-li/s320/DSC_6864.JPG" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crimson Rosella</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmg3-fo5IOJ3fQF79KFsS0v3xGPDHnVjpo6dOH-lznfWyp15U3jYJkq7ReX1Bj6dgwpj0X5pJuooLC3w_p4AWHjPJK-zFEDo7iyxOByialb_Hxf2L-GbW5ruMFsp-wLb8FYV79M2OHibR4/s1600/DSC_6876.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1021" data-original-width="1600" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmg3-fo5IOJ3fQF79KFsS0v3xGPDHnVjpo6dOH-lznfWyp15U3jYJkq7ReX1Bj6dgwpj0X5pJuooLC3w_p4AWHjPJK-zFEDo7iyxOByialb_Hxf2L-GbW5ruMFsp-wLb8FYV79M2OHibR4/s200/DSC_6876.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brown Thornbills</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiICr83OLXBN66oNAOy3r1gM8k4YMTjhtrDVwVcX3zfNKuuX0AGVip32vn0fEn28N-Kpu71NxMwWGfZ6WV_kcHJxCh2GQvBBFNF7V0wjWf9RtQixHWQGY-dh3w4oNdQRFjbLxh-sIyW1iAK/s1600/DSC_6910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiICr83OLXBN66oNAOy3r1gM8k4YMTjhtrDVwVcX3zfNKuuX0AGVip32vn0fEn28N-Kpu71NxMwWGfZ6WV_kcHJxCh2GQvBBFNF7V0wjWf9RtQixHWQGY-dh3w4oNdQRFjbLxh-sIyW1iAK/s320/DSC_6910.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Satin Bowerbirds</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihYXzxiAvN1SWw3kUsSq9ZvLXoNxN0dVf1CElGr3WgGPp8-RCboCi0aSk2IDI1HkJ6ft71xlPDi5BPG1wJ53Bgo7E4_FdYDzPjnb8v_23_r3NLboiXCqxbBgtn9UGm6lvR_fgcuizGJERT/s1600/DSC_6929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihYXzxiAvN1SWw3kUsSq9ZvLXoNxN0dVf1CElGr3WgGPp8-RCboCi0aSk2IDI1HkJ6ft71xlPDi5BPG1wJ53Bgo7E4_FdYDzPjnb8v_23_r3NLboiXCqxbBgtn9UGm6lvR_fgcuizGJERT/s200/DSC_6929.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Australian Wood ducks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBpYotcM4ZtD05wlMALX39tHS0HkcEw5hrb_sVp21OAKdjPJ1SGBg7Vhn4KVynBBcPYVBxXm22ZgziRBMHBYpXfBvgkBVLMICBW-3FoPIgVFsHNgBm1nvKQl3BGQKAf0Jqy9QcBXmTzpy/s1600/DSC_6952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1586" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBpYotcM4ZtD05wlMALX39tHS0HkcEw5hrb_sVp21OAKdjPJ1SGBg7Vhn4KVynBBcPYVBxXm22ZgziRBMHBYpXfBvgkBVLMICBW-3FoPIgVFsHNgBm1nvKQl3BGQKAf0Jqy9QcBXmTzpy/s200/DSC_6952.JPG" width="198" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome Swallows</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX7dlMZX499Vh5CgzTZs-7vix_vm-sA0-ZCAcbbx3b19E9yqS3up4SzX0TAb9CN06QWa5S9_WDeILN_ly6DXLOO1gzXA6f46j2uPUj5bFhcoHOrY5npFDac5GtoSOlXakkFIk5z55kF5fK/s1600/DSC_6939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX7dlMZX499Vh5CgzTZs-7vix_vm-sA0-ZCAcbbx3b19E9yqS3up4SzX0TAb9CN06QWa5S9_WDeILN_ly6DXLOO1gzXA6f46j2uPUj5bFhcoHOrY5npFDac5GtoSOlXakkFIk5z55kF5fK/s400/DSC_6939.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emu - yes, really!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Boredom? Not a chance! Well, not so far, anyway. </span></div>
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Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-66515899162212667662020-03-21T13:10:00.001+11:002020-03-21T21:22:25.862+11:00WTF is happening to the human race? A rantI haven't had a good rant for a while. Today's the day.<br />
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WTF is happening to the human race? Where did the love go? Why, all of a sudden, is an "I'm all right Jack" attitude pervading every aspect of life, from shopping to travelling to working and touching?<br />
<br />
During the recent bushfire catastrophe there was such an outpouring of love from those who hadn't burned, to those who had. What happened to that?<br />
<br />
Millions upon millions of dollars were donated by people around the world. People cared. Food, clothing, bedding, all sorts of goodies poured into fire-affected towns, burying us in mountains of love and "Licorice Bullets" (it's true - those chocolate treats turned up in Mallacoota by the pallet load) ... We saw the birth of the Empty Esky movement and the roads reopened and people who hadn't burned visited towns that had, to spend money there and help boost the devastated economies of fire-ravaged towns.<br />
<br />
Ah - my furiously-turning cogs are seeing the common denominator. I think I get it now.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEj1u7R0bKd276IxoXtWyP-xS4LaTntiRvaxHCUmI4dSnT6djOJDt35lBlTWw6fZCt9QGYtDKYu_6Ww7jGxAdxUWTSVkLTR7DPiHcnZZo9zHJXmcfajlYuQC01Ky8gDAQWYF0ZErsMpe9V/s1600/idea-clipart-canstock15210914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEj1u7R0bKd276IxoXtWyP-xS4LaTntiRvaxHCUmI4dSnT6djOJDt35lBlTWw6fZCt9QGYtDKYu_6Ww7jGxAdxUWTSVkLTR7DPiHcnZZo9zHJXmcfajlYuQC01Ky8gDAQWYF0ZErsMpe9V/s1600/idea-clipart-canstock15210914.jpg" /></a></div>
During the catastrophic fires there were 2 very distinct groups of humans: those who hadn't burned and those who had. A Helper group and a Helpee group. An "Us" and "Them" (this is something we humans do a lot). Or, pardon my cynicism, a group that could feel virtuous about their "altruism", and a group that should be grateful to be the beneficiaries of that "altruism". (Here's a hint, people - that's not real altruism.)<br />
<br />
With the advent of COVID-19 that division has disappeared, my friends, and that is what has changed:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">All of a sudden we've <i>all</i> been dropped into this toilet together and some people believe they have more right to the toilet paper than everybody else.</span></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
News footage of Aussies returning home last night - the final flights before the closing of our borders - showed people arriving from overseas destinations and being hugged and kissed by those meeting them at the airport. I'm hoping their next destination was wherever the traveller had to go for their 14 days of self-isolation - and I hope their happy huggy greeters went with them to isolate themselves as well, rather than dropping them off and heading out to the shops to pick up extra supplies.</div>
<br />
These overwhelmingly younger people so easily and thoughtlessly abandoned current social-distancing principles - making an exception for people returning <i>from overseas</i>, FFS. Oh, that's right - there's this belief that young people will only get a mild dose of COVID-19, if they get it, so they're not afraid of catching it. Has it not occurred to them that they are very capable of SPREADING it to those who may not be as young or healthy as they are? Evidently not.<br />
<br />
Don't get me started (oops, too late!) on those alleged busloads of city-folk who have been raiding the supermarkets of small country towns - because evidently, once they have stripped everything from their own city shelves, they have some sense that they are entitled to strip ours as well. Not only are they leaving remote places without supplies - they risk bringing whatever germs they may have to remote places.<br />
<br />
Especially insidious are those who are trying to justify their selfishness by clothing it in Empty Esky virtuousness and self-congratulation. "I just spent $426 at your supermarket. Yeah, I'm helping you recover from the bushfires by buying up all your supplies - aren't I great?"<br />
<br />
As for those who have hooked up their caravans and headed <i>en masse</i> to places like Lakes Entrance and Mallacoota - because we have had, as yet, no cases of COVID-19 in East Gippsland - their stupidity and selfishness know no bounds. A single case of COVID-19 in the holiday park here will spread like the fire we had at New Year. I shudder to think of the shared amenities blocks and the soup of pestilence that could be cultivated in them - or the way our already stretched health services will collapse under the increased burden of a COVID-19 outbreak here. Or the way that our high number of vulnerable, elderly or immune-suppressed local people will be affected.<br />
<br />
Nationally, of course, teachers, once again, are losers - from comments made by our sloganising PM that suggest they are still viewed largely as babysitters, they are being expected to keep the streets safe from allegedly COVID-carrying children. Fuck what happens to teachers in the classrooms or playgrounds of the nation - as long as the rest of the country doesn't have to be responsible for keeping the young occupied and at bay for 6 or so hours a day. As an ex-teacher, I'm disgusted. Once again, the government fails to support teachers. (On the plus side, I have seen comments from parents who are sensibly schooling their kids from home, that "teachers should be paid a billion dollars! This is harder than I thought." Imagine doing that with thirty of the little darlings all day every day, love, not just your own tiny tribe...)<br />
<br />
Last weekend I developed a foul headache, and by Monday afternoon I had a scratchy sore throat and a cough. I imagine it's something I caught from local children, who've had some kind of unidentified lurgy go through the kinder and school like a dose of Epsom Salts. As far as I'm concerned, just now, any bug is suspect - and a large number of our library patrons are elderly - so I put myself into isolation. Since then I've realised, after observinging the behaviour of so many human beings in the media & social media that we are clearly approaching this pandemic from very different places.<br />
<br />
What a lot of people seem to be forgetting is that we are ALL in this together. Every single one of us has a responsibility to OUR COMMUNITY as well as ourselves. It's really what we should be thinking at any time we get a communicable illness, not just at a time where so many lives are at risk from something virulent that we have no immunity to and no cure or vaccine for.<br />
<br />
In these COVID-19 times:<br />
Don't think to yourself "I'm young, so it won't affect me. It doesn't matter. Business as usual."<br />
Don't think to yourself "by running to a remote town I can outrun the virus and keep myself safe"<br />
Don't think to yourself "the government will save us".<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Don't behave only as if you don't want to<i> catch</i> COVID-19 - behave as if you don't want to <i>spread</i> it.</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Repeat after me: </span></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cc0000;"> <span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;">It's not all about me. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">I am a part of the universe, not the centre of it. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh - and keep your distance. Stay well, friends.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-80336071345997043542020-03-16T21:24:00.001+11:002020-03-16T21:24:07.504+11:002020: the year of catastrophe<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">What a shit-storm 2020 is turning out to be!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We saw in the New Year in smoke and ashes, flames having
licked away the landscape. Catastrophic fires, the likes of which Australia has
never seen, gobbled and howled their way down the east coast of Australia,
spitting out broken houses and towns as they went, turning livelihoods and
economies to charcoal, incinerating wildlife in unimaginable numbers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For week after week after choking week, major Australian
cities were cloaked in thick smoke that stung the eyes, seared the lungs and
set off smoke alarms inside office blocks. The pall circumnavigated the globe.
It turned NZ glaciers a dirty brown and the blood-red ball that was the sun,
rising and setting over a black and grey landscape, drove some people to the
brink.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, hard on its heels, flooding rain that washed ash
into the waterways, poisoning and choking life that had survived the fires, and storms that took off roofs, and hail the size of tennis
balls that smashed windscreens.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then – simmering away in the background while we dealt
with all the shit that Nature could dish out – from a country far away came The
Pandemic - COVID 19. At first it crept in, on planes and cruise ships, while governments
prevaricated, pointed fingers, sat on their hands, told everyone to calm down, nothing
to see here. Then they screened, isolated and quarantined, and finally
legislated, and one by one the lights went out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lockdown in Italy. European borders closed. Extreme
measures. Sadly, too late to halt the exponential spread of the sickness in
places where the health of the economy was deemed to be more important than the
health of citizens. One anonymous PM, whom I shall call the Evil Overlord, decided
on Friday that mass gatherings of more than 500 people would be banned from
Monday – when his happy clappy Hillsong conference (3000 attendees in Sydney,
Australia) would be over. On Friday he had vowed to go “to the footy” on
the weekend, to show there was no need to worry about the virus. The Friday afternoon diagnosis of COVID 19 in one of his close cabinet colleagues dashed his footy
plans, but the Evil Overlord did not put himself into quarantine, the way he
required the contacts of other COVID 19 victims to do. Another example, in
glorious living hypocritical colour, of the two sets of rules he has - one for us and one for
himself and his ilk…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY8VxTgqLEZv_OWeA15eG499ka4O7YvuVPeTOI5XC54BMrtc0-JS5Zf18sYewCf5ccXhXlO1_3PpkbjKUMAb3ANjaJFsW-axMOkQ6BpsnAyBDSh686Gq9YJEwsqUWdJMaB7oYv9R857r4v/s1600/C-L-1UGU0AAs11t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY8VxTgqLEZv_OWeA15eG499ka4O7YvuVPeTOI5XC54BMrtc0-JS5Zf18sYewCf5ccXhXlO1_3PpkbjKUMAb3ANjaJFsW-axMOkQ6BpsnAyBDSh686Gq9YJEwsqUWdJMaB7oYv9R857r4v/s320/C-L-1UGU0AAs11t.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image source: Twitter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For several years now, scientists have been warning that the
world is ripe for a pandemic. Just more science for governments to under-react
to. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, they’ve developed Pandemic Response plans – but they’ve waited rather a long time, during this pandemic, to enact anything that
seems like a serious response.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our particular evil overlord, who ignores Science (and common sense, many would agree), is one of the villains of the disaster movie
that is 2020. There are others like him in some other powerful <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>nations – those who will always choose the
interests of the rich over the rationality and common sense of science and the
evidence of their own eyes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There’s a photo that’s been doing the rounds of the internet for quite some time –
a young woman is holding up a placard that says “at the start of every
disaster movie, there’s a scientist being ignored”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s the disaster movie we’re living in the middle of
right now – there’s no end in sight, and no sign of Bruce Willis. Fuck.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-69840147909891855342020-02-23T12:32:00.001+11:002020-02-24T07:54:43.909+11:00After the Fire 6 - The Silence of the Bush<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfi2FB9I7bKlDHlN-Pbi9GH3qmbOnYBaY2pWoVvrq_OsNdUVQM3thdOEzb2QO6x-P8uwkny8eH06zSysB_7B7tSFgoFhfwyWRUiVPazolh0fUZeKXfiM13rwVWhn-9q5HEwLJo7gTZbNm-/s1600/DSC02732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfi2FB9I7bKlDHlN-Pbi9GH3qmbOnYBaY2pWoVvrq_OsNdUVQM3thdOEzb2QO6x-P8uwkny8eH06zSysB_7B7tSFgoFhfwyWRUiVPazolh0fUZeKXfiM13rwVWhn-9q5HEwLJo7gTZbNm-/s320/DSC02732.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near Betka Beach. 3 weeks post-fire. Smoke haze has hidden the ocean in the background</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; text-align: center;">The bush was never meant to be silent</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The
trill, squawk or chatter of birdsong, the buzz and twang of insects, the
reptilian rustle in piles of leaves, the sudden <i>thud thud</i> and crackle of wallabies or roos fleeing through
undergrowth – the bush is usually a noisy place. To walk through the bush with
only the crunch of your own shoes and the sound of your own breath in your ears
is an unsettling experience. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s
devastating to creep along silent trails that were once so familiar and that
rang with life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Even worse - the trees, those solid, dependable guardians of
the paths and trails, may be absent or unrecognisable. Familiar landmark trees have become unfamiliar, if they're there at all. Sometimes it’s
worse, somehow, to recognise them - old friends unclothed, blackened, crippled
or felled. That big tree out near the Pony Club – a Grey fantail scolded me once
from a branch that is no longer there, and there I watched a pair of Spotted
pardalotes harvesting lerps. That empty space overhead, near the water storage facility, is where a pair of Mistletoe
birds enchanted me in the spring, and the Eagle Tree behind my house - a tall skeleton that provided an excellent lookout spot for raptors - has been completely
obliterated. Gone without a trace.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLtzMQQK5IEFH24ILtDCy6FIrZOiAE7KD4fk7nMBtsetdUkogTeJjWeu5VnKeWt31pJXblVqWRhChAUsbc-BJ4hICRlQusccm82V30TbdKBuLy3B0KG8HfacvrmFoIOsSrFhReNgaLBQ-m/s1600/DSC02800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLtzMQQK5IEFH24ILtDCy6FIrZOiAE7KD4fk7nMBtsetdUkogTeJjWeu5VnKeWt31pJXblVqWRhChAUsbc-BJ4hICRlQusccm82V30TbdKBuLy3B0KG8HfacvrmFoIOsSrFhReNgaLBQ-m/s320/DSC02800.JPG" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's not without a an eerie, pared-back beauty but it's not how it's supposed to be.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpgOc9Yq4-ttAEc9u01jcnXvHLsDU0MvyGSbRqk_wmEjahdOyXXt7B27Dzv9VWUImFExnDSjvWLT9s3pDWANz-TNJY11lARQZxqkC__5OP8qUfKDd4cKy32VP8qpZiWUA9uDbGpUDi7U8R/s1600/20200127_194254.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpgOc9Yq4-ttAEc9u01jcnXvHLsDU0MvyGSbRqk_wmEjahdOyXXt7B27Dzv9VWUImFExnDSjvWLT9s3pDWANz-TNJY11lARQZxqkC__5OP8qUfKDd4cKy32VP8qpZiWUA9uDbGpUDi7U8R/s320/20200127_194254.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">The stark black lines of a charcoaled melaleuca forest thrusting upwards from silvery ash-covered ground </span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The bush, however, is full of surprises. The regrowth of vegetation is almost magical. Buds and shoots are bursting through blackened bark. Insects are returning. The birds that eat insects are returning. With the birds comes the birdsong. It's happening, slowly but surely - resurrection in action.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NcHz4ncJ4B_yskP6dALjJSTmw7VHEOiwnNhhbGxpcnS4t5s5THQaVFSYPWtG7cPgnK0dLbFiiCLdRQ6KcaDiFKKDJj2i23WAYJy6l5bLzzA4Uiln4qfSM-ulf3GE9Deycpd2WuPTZfAS/s1600/20200211_163736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NcHz4ncJ4B_yskP6dALjJSTmw7VHEOiwnNhhbGxpcnS4t5s5THQaVFSYPWtG7cPgnK0dLbFiiCLdRQ6KcaDiFKKDJj2i23WAYJy6l5bLzzA4Uiln4qfSM-ulf3GE9Deycpd2WuPTZfAS/s320/20200211_163736.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Tree ferns sprouting on Genoa Road</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9Z99N2Zv3KX4w6SMr6o_60M1yOZZnrycpl4sXUw2ZMWeKrjocgsTo_WnusiIGV6GLq_OQz73gXiJZvvYN6cCVmM8ElAPKDtPCVQ6iypfMlPOht_l2BJsO4ZuIjYdZzYjWVONqFUIwfWl/s1600/DSC02828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9Z99N2Zv3KX4w6SMr6o_60M1yOZZnrycpl4sXUw2ZMWeKrjocgsTo_WnusiIGV6GLq_OQz73gXiJZvvYN6cCVmM8ElAPKDtPCVQ6iypfMlPOht_l2BJsO4ZuIjYdZzYjWVONqFUIwfWl/s320/DSC02828.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Grass trees re-emerging</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Epicormic buds sprout differently on different types of trees – some appear in random clumps, others like the even fuzz along the length of a man’s arm, so that they look a bit like large furry pipecleaners - and still others appear to encircle a trunk in a delicate spiral pattern.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI5JT7SSWhTqRIFNFj7ITWxZrnzm2X5YWdQpZgb5fS9Ul60M2OIzCiD5-OQNbNdmIFMq47SuGJ_cqppNLziXjgwZiig-ROfG3LtfcedW_kZ9ka1nyZkeGzo-J44xM2LbEHnfyzamD5Pvz-/s1600/DSC02794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI5JT7SSWhTqRIFNFj7ITWxZrnzm2X5YWdQpZgb5fS9Ul60M2OIzCiD5-OQNbNdmIFMq47SuGJ_cqppNLziXjgwZiig-ROfG3LtfcedW_kZ9ka1nyZkeGzo-J44xM2LbEHnfyzamD5Pvz-/s320/DSC02794.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbrYoFIUxXInPGQWH0mxb3X8xwjo8dmrNa9L80nPjdN19yw8iYE0Z4sPrF3XP-UA7uPOwzV1Ncqj2Srl4Ykd5pgymHtLx8LFiYYtWvRNF5QsNd45rhzPkw5oTkJpXynUrKm_OhbEtP1ccL/s1600/DSC02822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbrYoFIUxXInPGQWH0mxb3X8xwjo8dmrNa9L80nPjdN19yw8iYE0Z4sPrF3XP-UA7uPOwzV1Ncqj2Srl4Ykd5pgymHtLx8LFiYYtWvRNF5QsNd45rhzPkw5oTkJpXynUrKm_OhbEtP1ccL/s320/DSC02822.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">When Banksia cones burn, the seed casings open like golden mouths to spit out the seeds of their rebirth.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltkrrh5K7gqB5Aft_fZAvjprdXUoBYnaYg1eQVm6Ip9UFi9InfHWi7tKSDv1FpQZfYF8yYblNpqJa4piUcV9JR3yR-a1lO0yfxZbVIj7PsnZZtyB5K8g1luD2r4DyNrsVgbuIrqE8C9jM/s1600/DSC02804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltkrrh5K7gqB5Aft_fZAvjprdXUoBYnaYg1eQVm6Ip9UFi9InfHWi7tKSDv1FpQZfYF8yYblNpqJa4piUcV9JR3yR-a1lO0yfxZbVIj7PsnZZtyB5K8g1luD2r4DyNrsVgbuIrqE8C9jM/s320/DSC02804.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Swathes
of burnt bush add layers of colour across the landscape in broad strokes of
umber, gold, rust, sepia and deep black. Burnt vegetation has more subtleties
of colour than you can imagine, and I’m pretty sure there are more than fifty
shades of brown.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKLqQmJVTLNLIZc2rBs3tgUZpYyny5oPffX79tsoPMB0eIix-JmUGs9qpLC60eTLricMFtpyraGTQAAF5aL7wwo62q0Sm-t9PTiJ5Hsj9k9_OprKsp8fOBnCmK8q6mR5elUXdzfcAqi6B/s1600/20200212_074144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKLqQmJVTLNLIZc2rBs3tgUZpYyny5oPffX79tsoPMB0eIix-JmUGs9qpLC60eTLricMFtpyraGTQAAF5aL7wwo62q0Sm-t9PTiJ5Hsj9k9_OprKsp8fOBnCmK8q6mR5elUXdzfcAqi6B/s320/20200212_074144.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhgFKeMpzIcQI0eiRDOIxg1b-GpVZTG_ozkywY21t6ZzMTz1_JJV7PUpM2Q_SkU2RC1ZByBKgr-81GIDeXChRN23IlLFHND6EkXODP-C2hD3ETV39JtDtw7MNaMqRNb8nOE9keEenhhj8/s1600/20200212_075234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhgFKeMpzIcQI0eiRDOIxg1b-GpVZTG_ozkywY21t6ZzMTz1_JJV7PUpM2Q_SkU2RC1ZByBKgr-81GIDeXChRN23IlLFHND6EkXODP-C2hD3ETV39JtDtw7MNaMqRNb8nOE9keEenhhj8/s320/20200212_075234.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The beautiful Betka River</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The
spicy smell of regenerating bush – that warm eucalyptus scent with just a hint
of smoke behind it - is actually exquisite, especially if there’s a waft of
morning dampness to give it a bit of tang. It's enough to put a smile on anybody's face.</span> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03_LqB-6Z_NwzSp8I1IRbXvN_0rRgaokDBs-f1j9m-Wrs9TYMbLaHPapa9S43HpEZNVfFsgG3rjQ4pCPrALPadjlTPFmvqtKTmYIKcshy68CdMZmnoCpYv_Ebe8zt-bSTiFTZSqVqudAf/s1600/DSC02832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03_LqB-6Z_NwzSp8I1IRbXvN_0rRgaokDBs-f1j9m-Wrs9TYMbLaHPapa9S43HpEZNVfFsgG3rjQ4pCPrALPadjlTPFmvqtKTmYIKcshy68CdMZmnoCpYv_Ebe8zt-bSTiFTZSqVqudAf/s320/DSC02832.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-52257054617049444842020-02-21T11:46:00.000+11:002020-02-21T21:00:46.314+11:00After the Fire 5 – Stickybeaks, Show-ponies and Others<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSKxJiYK8swJLUmn5bNG5po7Jevxot8bLTNNfpUU051upPiG1f7VPg-xZNYtaWYgm7U-VzjwMH6yrmvAgptRaG8X6IpGzIkCNFzkigB10BpL1mXvJXHzEIMqNr87Q7BC0upaJspVO7cOV8/s1600/20200208_165117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSKxJiYK8swJLUmn5bNG5po7Jevxot8bLTNNfpUU051upPiG1f7VPg-xZNYtaWYgm7U-VzjwMH6yrmvAgptRaG8X6IpGzIkCNFzkigB10BpL1mXvJXHzEIMqNr87Q7BC0upaJspVO7cOV8/s200/20200208_165117.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">As always, this is personal opinion, and my way of trying to respond to and make sense of recent and current events - I make no claim to be representing the opinions of others in my community at this difficult time.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span></b></div>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">CAUTION<b>:</b></span></span></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;"><b> SHOUTING (and a bit of </b></span><span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;">BLUE </span><span style="color: red; font-weight: bold;">language ) AHEAD</span></span></span></h3>
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<b style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></b></div>
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This is a hard one to write, just over seven weeks into the
year and just over seven weeks post-fire (seriously, is that all it is? It feels like forever!) People are flowing into town now that the roads are open. Some of
them are caring, kind-hearted people with a genuine desire to help broken town
economies try to recover by spending a few dollars here and there in places like Mallacoota. I applaud their efforts. This piece is not about them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s about those who are combining what I will
charitably try to believe is a desire to help with an opportunity for
self-promotion – and those who are just insensitive fuckwits.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here’s a tip. People are still raw. Many remain dazed and
numb. Many are trying to process the loss of everything they own as they
negotiate the bureaucratic minefield that faces people after a catastrophic
event: a mountain of bewildering forms, government departments, charitable
organisations, insurance companies (or the lack thereof), rules and regulations.
Friendships and relationships are put under stress - boundaries shift, tempers
flare, tears flow at odd times – nothing is as it was as the entire community tries
to find its way again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTJAsmvQngrCCFqeW_NM6wjayj74qeUwAb9sMJ_pJk5mMRO0FVNVdze-iCjvcj718de8H-1kOJey9nT8L0ci42Lbm1Ns7Xf9_dwr737SIoqVSfAj7ybXoOsJcSrj0Gsd9J7qZPpfGjPze/s1600/20200208_165622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTJAsmvQngrCCFqeW_NM6wjayj74qeUwAb9sMJ_pJk5mMRO0FVNVdze-iCjvcj718de8H-1kOJey9nT8L0ci42Lbm1Ns7Xf9_dwr737SIoqVSfAj7ybXoOsJcSrj0Gsd9J7qZPpfGjPze/s200/20200208_165622.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is not the time for out-of-towners to cruise around in
their cars taking videos of devastated people picking through the remains of
their lives and homes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is not the time for out-of-towners (no matter HOW far they drove to get here) to inflict<b>
unasked-for </b>hugs on locals. Remember the righteous outrage all over the country when our insensitive
clod of a Prime Minister forced those people in Cobargo to shake his hand as
the cameras rolled? I'll leave that thought there with no further comment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is not the time for thousands of out-of-towners who joined
a “community” Facebook page to be whingeing and moaning about their holiday
bookings, or pontificating about the way the caravan park ought to be operating
(do you know what's involved in running an extremely large caravan park after a major disaster, or how many abandoned but gear-filled campsites there might still be, or how many of the staff there lost their own homes, you insensitive
fuckwits?) or accusing locals of being sooks because nobody has responded to
an online question they posed about the fishing or the fucking entrance, or
about how the town’s recovery ought to be progressing right now. Loudmouthed
armchair experts, all of them the centre of their own universes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not the time for out-of-towners to get themselves on
the local radio, drop names and personal details about locals – details that
are nobody’s business – and comment expertly that “Mallacoota’s definitely
recovering, but it’s a bit slow”. FFS, it’s been SEVEN WEEKS! Over 100 homes
were burnt to the ground, you idiot. This is a community in crisis and you
waltz in here from Melbourne knowing NOTHING and judging EVERYTHING. HOW DARE
YOU!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also believe it’s not the time for fledgeling reality TV “stars”
– 15-minute celebrities - to turn up on our doorstep, ostensibly to “help
Mallacoota rebuild” - and stage a highly-publicised media opportunity at Betka beach - the same beach where
our not-quite-fledgeling hoodie chicks are trying to survive despite the odds. Our Lions Club is quietly doing a splendid job of rebuilding much-loved infrastructure - with or without media "stars" elbowing their way into the spotlight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYR6dEBTEzWb_3AJ5W80ulJRd-kysVB05FoA4OgIF5NwFFtnVY5JuUtR-NNT8C0v-EVHdxMYBZu04qRvEuF_dDHbPDzAcBt-zTsyeU17OWu0OUfnchSKKvWoh2ZtTZ0sVvSUf8JWIUTK-k/s1600/20200118_110541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYR6dEBTEzWb_3AJ5W80ulJRd-kysVB05FoA4OgIF5NwFFtnVY5JuUtR-NNT8C0v-EVHdxMYBZu04qRvEuF_dDHbPDzAcBt-zTsyeU17OWu0OUfnchSKKvWoh2ZtTZ0sVvSUf8JWIUTK-k/s320/20200118_110541.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The remains of the stairs at Bastion Beach after the fire. Oops! The Lions Club has since built a set of temporary stairs - thank you Mallacoota Lions!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those images of people huddling on the foreshore, terrified
for their lives; of the HMAS Choules anchored offshore to send in supplies or
take out evacuees; of Chinooks at our airport – made picturesque Mallacoota media
hot property – but it’s still a community of traumatised people at
different points on their own personal paths to recovery, whether they lost their homes or not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a message for every single one of those stickybeaks, show-ponies and others: it’s not about you! IT’S. NOT. ABOUT. YOU! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Am I being over-sensitive? I don't know - but if I am, I doubt that it's "over" enough to dilute the great fucking sea of insensitivity that I feel like I'm drowning in right now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God, I can’t write another word. My keyboard may not survive
the pounding.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-4999076988626159052020-02-07T13:28:00.000+11:002020-02-07T13:28:44.667+11:00After the Fire 4 – Refugee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUatB1to-Hr7ihsfLzDGa5N2x283xfWkXiERVSfvw5x_TkcdHQuq2GaaOTHNuWRcIXwQ2OZTvaLSJjpjTmQ5O-bVx2oAUddr8GUEGRSRwQZmG1GhwAQNOpJYhgk2AesKqVk6EuVw9nkYGY/s1600/burnt+leaves1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUatB1to-Hr7ihsfLzDGa5N2x283xfWkXiERVSfvw5x_TkcdHQuq2GaaOTHNuWRcIXwQ2OZTvaLSJjpjTmQ5O-bVx2oAUddr8GUEGRSRwQZmG1GhwAQNOpJYhgk2AesKqVk6EuVw9nkYGY/s320/burnt+leaves1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
Like many other Mallacoota residents, I was not in Mallacoota when the monster fire hit. I viewed/listened to the horror from a distance, tears rolling and heart hammering, through the filters of mass media and social media. I usually make a point of staying home over the Christmas holiday period, so it was a stroke of extreme good fortune that I wasn’t huddled in the hall or on the foreshore with the rest of the terrified summer population.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My ordeal – and it was an ordeal, make no mistake – was to become, effectively, a refugee. My life, my home, my pets, my “happy place” – all of it is in Mallacoota – and all of a sudden I was locked out of it indefinitely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I put something on Facebook that day, along the lines of<o:p></o:p></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>If anything good can possibly come out of this shit, I hope it’s an acknowledgement that it’s very easy for ordinary people to become refugees - there but for the grace of God etc etc - and this country ought to rethink its stance on refugees.</i></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Australian government bad-mouths, mis-labels and tortures asylum seekers. It lets them rot and die in offshore detention centres rather than giving them proper medical care. It calls them “illegals” when there’s nothing illegal about seeking asylum (and sheep-like, too many Australians adopt that “othering” attitude and language.) There’s a feeling that “these people” are trying to take something from us; jump an imaginary queue; take jobs from Australians (at the same time that they’re taking benefits from Australians(!)); a feeling that there must be something inherently wrong with these people, and it’s their fault they’re in the situation they’re in. They are somehow inferior, lesser, less worthy, less human than we are – and therefore the inhumane treatment meted out to them is ok. It’s no more than they deserve.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a shameful indictment of Australia: the smug superiority, the government spin, the gullibility and easy inhumanity of far too many ordinary Australians who refuse to share their great good fortune with vulnerable, frightened, displaced people who just happen to not be Australians like them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While the 2019/20 summer fires devoured their way through millions of hectares of eastern Australia, terrified people huddled terrified on beaches and in showgrounds and evacuation centres; numb people returned to the twisted ruins of their homes. They needed, expected, hoped for – and were shown – kindness and compassion. (Well, apart from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kePvZkV-Zcs">those poor Cobargo people whose hands were forcibly shaken by the Prime Minister </a>before, photo opportunity over, he turned his back on them and walked away).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent my refugee time with dear friends in Michelago (one of whom, ironically, is an ex-Port Hedland/Baxter detainee) and family in Yass. I felt cared for and welcomed – but even so, I was desperately sad, and keen to return to Mallacoota as soon as possible. I cried all over anybody who would give me a hug (thank you, lady at Yass Visitor Information Centre! Thank you random strangers who went out of their way to be kind and helpful.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a couple of very long and frustrating weeks I was able to return on one of the police-escorted convoys from Eden, and found my home town and my community completely changed. BUT – I<i> was able to return home – and I had a home to return to. </i>I am very very fortunate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s a shitload of lessons we need to learn from this bushfire experience, and this is just one:<o:p></o:p></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
All it takes for an ordinary person to become a refugee is for their home to become so unsafe that staying there is life-threatening. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
--Rising sea-levels, raging bushfires, falling bombs, overwhelming oppression/discrimination/violence sanctioned and systematised by governments.-- These things are not the exclusive province of "others" - brown or black or foreign people...</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We cannot afford to be smug. We cannot afford to look the other way. What goes around, comes around. Rediscover your humanity, Australia - because the next wave of refugees and asylum seekers could be us.<o:p></o:p></div>
Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-23027979887492855402020-02-04T10:09:00.000+11:002020-02-04T10:09:43.967+11:00After the Fire 3 - A tiny miracle<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHlBIBv4DAPQb9SlAMgdWYUMsmqSyD0DRjZhhcCpiMW0IjPso2GHipuFOcjkBcMTR19xlEAhPFeplPZ2-apbt-LQl3YKsptxm5AiaO8t56erD2qbcOX5INtHSUKqjLmgfE4rk-h22gTNQ/s1600/20200204_092321_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="369" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHlBIBv4DAPQb9SlAMgdWYUMsmqSyD0DRjZhhcCpiMW0IjPso2GHipuFOcjkBcMTR19xlEAhPFeplPZ2-apbt-LQl3YKsptxm5AiaO8t56erD2qbcOX5INtHSUKqjLmgfE4rk-h22gTNQ/s320/20200204_092321_resized.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000;">In the midst of the chaos, the bickering, the anger, the
grief – a tiny flicker of light.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A couple of days after the New Year fire in Mallacoota,
birds of all kinds began to wash up on the beaches. <a href="https://www.theage.com.au/national/victoria/it-s-a-sorry-sight-dead-birds-wash-up-on-mallacoota-s-beaches-20200107-p53plm.html">Here’s a link</a> to one of the news stories about it. Not for the faint-hearted.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m so glad I wasn’t here to see that.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last Saturday morning I went for my first beach walk with my
friend Jenny. We walked<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>through the
charred remains of bushland that surrounded Betka Beach…<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3_2dZZ4Qyulx0RPgL30Eh4duVgvzW4okIBu6a2Fo7_iOK85P8c6NXNTXixJlgPR1pzTJFialeNqJa08W8jQSodh_Sy8cPijIDr75JAL4Yp-xwD24mu5tZEoy8kSWRAMXPq429YsX9wis/s1600/20200128_125940_resized_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3_2dZZ4Qyulx0RPgL30Eh4duVgvzW4okIBu6a2Fo7_iOK85P8c6NXNTXixJlgPR1pzTJFialeNqJa08W8jQSodh_Sy8cPijIDr75JAL4Yp-xwD24mu5tZEoy8kSWRAMXPq429YsX9wis/s320/20200128_125940_resized_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
…through evidence of heat so intense that it split and
sliced rocks…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJ4XBCODObe0LRFYHOBP-CxslXRMtJNQjrC2NIoo0oXqeU0B2K9unB0hygSW2LzTase7iq7KMJ0F57yt67y_3nidMA5B549Ib67rRwVC2MVquuE2v5ZUV_S0_MzS6ULfUV1jTKv7ys75L/s1600/20200201_091324_resized_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="512" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJ4XBCODObe0LRFYHOBP-CxslXRMtJNQjrC2NIoo0oXqeU0B2K9unB0hygSW2LzTase7iq7KMJ0F57yt67y_3nidMA5B549Ib67rRwVC2MVquuE2v5ZUV_S0_MzS6ULfUV1jTKv7ys75L/s320/20200201_091324_resized_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4Dw-0GvtwbE-FJ4-XrfzeJSrYg-wm0irUtF9FTmxfFdAN7M5BJ7LtoA5f-N0g2KvACY04ObrlSY0wJI0YgnkoWvTDe2YbXFHYc5sfeGoaDVqVPTA3Bt0A3mQntiOwCCXjyWZnEs1P3iu/s1600/20200201_091659_resized_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4Dw-0GvtwbE-FJ4-XrfzeJSrYg-wm0irUtF9FTmxfFdAN7M5BJ7LtoA5f-N0g2KvACY04ObrlSY0wJI0YgnkoWvTDe2YbXFHYc5sfeGoaDVqVPTA3Bt0A3mQntiOwCCXjyWZnEs1P3iu/s200/20200201_091659_resized_2.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;"> ...so intense that it shattered the men’s toilet and melted the paper holder.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-bPGi5-ieUNMIPkkBWI96NJ8UrIap1ZccKHgGd6STMHSYVeNiZkpoEc7rZgN5rJnzxWkL0HZ-GtimDbhcla_bqtYv61b56PatG5TkCdrvc2V96vUUghtCq_WTbbHAGODs2ltUkflLkCyn/s1600/DSC02740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-bPGi5-ieUNMIPkkBWI96NJ8UrIap1ZccKHgGd6STMHSYVeNiZkpoEc7rZgN5rJnzxWkL0HZ-GtimDbhcla_bqtYv61b56PatG5TkCdrvc2V96vUUghtCq_WTbbHAGODs2ltUkflLkCyn/s320/DSC02740.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And down on the beach we discovered a tiny miracle. Two tiny
miracles, in fact, running gaily about on the beach with their devoted parents.</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Look closely!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mlTYs78wYi706deho0LlRAsQWsxjNWTVb_LgEHal8v_WvhP5lPrlr-BaTm06Nrd4HneRrn7g24gSSLb0KHp20ut-CxaMNamsfEwxcOWuTm-d03hnAhe9IKOq07ghtFRi2gEkE9QVEAIU/s1600/85124932_10157104692950678_6680556835604267008_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="1000" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mlTYs78wYi706deho0LlRAsQWsxjNWTVb_LgEHal8v_WvhP5lPrlr-BaTm06Nrd4HneRrn7g24gSSLb0KHp20ut-CxaMNamsfEwxcOWuTm-d03hnAhe9IKOq07ghtFRi2gEkE9QVEAIU/s400/85124932_10157104692950678_6680556835604267008_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Photo by Leonie Daws. Used with permission)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Why is this so miraculous? Because the Hooded plover
(<i>Thinornis rubricollis</i>) struggles each year to survive. Its declining numbers
reflect its annual struggle to overcome overwhelming odds. It’s endangered. It’s
a beach-nesting bird and its breeding season coincides with the height of our
tourist season. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://suehineswrites.blogspot.com/2018/02/for-hoodies-on-learning-of-deaths-of.html">Vulnerable chicks are routinely trampled </a>– often by dogs – or taken by predators. They lose their
eggs in king tides and storms. They lay clutch after clutch after clutch, often
futilely. Their pluck and perseverance are magnificent.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year the horrifying fires cut short the tourist season.
The beaches are almost deserted. Perhaps many of the Hoodies’ regular predators
perished in the fires. But somehow during the fire – as the bush around them burned
to ash, as the rocks split, as birds in their thousands perished from smoke or
heat or exhaustion from their escape attempts – our little Hoodie parents sat
steadfastly on the eggs that produced these chicks. Hunkered down in the sand,
they must have been low enough to avoid the worst of the choking smoke,
sheltered by the natural undulations of the sand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My point here is that the Hooded plover is possibly one of
Mallacoota’s most vulnerable creatures – and yet it survived this.</span></blockquote>
<o:p></o:p><br />
To me, it’s a symbol of great optimism against almost insurmountable
odds. That’s something we all need at this awful time, as the hard slog of
recovery begins.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-31367176737638167862020-02-02T13:55:00.000+11:002020-02-02T13:55:28.336+11:00After the Fire 2 - Ordinary Heroes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98x6P5ww0yo5PDlwLDwexIaML8rescMU2fraxAuxeoY-wc3OCeWf_x3DH6RRpPiqrx30XNsyDtdx3sCHIfff11_Ge9O8-xpJ2Lzz1jU7GOlYiOY9WvKyoxw7Gf7S5177-qilBzXgCWfAH/s1600/20200201_191003_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="372" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98x6P5ww0yo5PDlwLDwexIaML8rescMU2fraxAuxeoY-wc3OCeWf_x3DH6RRpPiqrx30XNsyDtdx3sCHIfff11_Ge9O8-xpJ2Lzz1jU7GOlYiOY9WvKyoxw7Gf7S5177-qilBzXgCWfAH/s320/20200201_191003_resized.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #990000;">When catastrophe strikes, people’s reactions can surprise.
We see the very best (and sometimes the worst) in people. I think everyone in
Mallacoota will have stories about ordinary heroes. <b>Here are mine:</b></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>My next door neighbours</b>. One, who thought of my chooks’
safety before evacuating, lost her home. My neighbour on the other side fought alone
to save our homes. Amazing courage and determination. I’ve wracked my brain trying to think of
appropriate thank you gifts, but honestly, what material gift can ever truly be
an adequate reflection of the gratitude I feel for the heroism of these lovely
people?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I finished my last post with mention of my two cats. Basil
and Pollywobble spent Christmas in the <b>Genoa Boarding Kennels</b>. I was due to
collect them on the morning of 31 December on my way home. From my place of
refuge outside Michelago I mourned their almost certain demise. About 36 hours
later I got a phone call from Jacquie, one of the owners of the kennels.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Do you want to talk to your pussycats? They’re not very
happy with me after I shut them in a box within in a box while all the colours
of hell rained down around us.”</i></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve cried a lot of tears over this terrible time. They flowed
pretty freely just then, and still do every time I think about it. <i>The Age</i> published a story about a week
later – <a href="https://www.theage.com.au/national/victoria/two-great-danes-a-cat-quartet-and-a-couple-ride-out-fire-in-shipping-container-20200105-p53owx.html">here’s a link</a> to it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t imagine the courage it took for
Ron and Jacquie to shut themselves, their own pets and their furry “guests”
inside a modified shipping container as that monster fire approached. The heat,
the smoke, the darkness and the freight-train roar… The thought of it gives my claustrophobic self
conniptions, even writing this – there’s that knot of anxiety again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Mail Van David</b> is another “ordinary” hero. Basil got his
prescription cat-food because David retrieved it from the Post Office in
Mallacoota and drove through a devastated landscape to deliver it to that
bushland setting while I fretted in Yass.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The extraordinary kindness of <b>one of our local police
officers</b> used a medication delivery run to the kennels to reunite me with Basil
and Pollywobble a few days after my return. The road between Mallacoota and
Genoa was still closed, as was the Highway (and the bush access road to the
kennels, undoubtedly). I’m sorry carsick Basil pooped in your car as you drove
him home. I wish I could say that Basil is sorry too, but he’s a cat and a
curmudgeon and was possibly delighted with himself. Thank you thank you thank
you (cue more tears).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Heroes are the ordinary people who do extraordinary things
in extraordinary times, and I am so very grateful to have so many of those
wonderful people in my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-89424031754615562222020-01-30T11:42:00.001+11:002020-02-04T10:12:28.257+11:00After the Fire<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLKiz80U3Wk8nm4IzHCE5bg2txCsywT7usuhtiDrhGZIHu2cqmpBiiTQJ3eJ6PRENRHbkFgsHAW4Kfs2I2wbJKwPw93p2jO4a3p-amIsi3iOE4De7TfaYM8esNwjw9Pcxgwjbvn4pkyKF2/s1600/20200130_112950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLKiz80U3Wk8nm4IzHCE5bg2txCsywT7usuhtiDrhGZIHu2cqmpBiiTQJ3eJ6PRENRHbkFgsHAW4Kfs2I2wbJKwPw93p2jO4a3p-amIsi3iOE4De7TfaYM8esNwjw9Pcxgwjbvn4pkyKF2/s200/20200130_112950.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #783f04;">I’m calling this series of posts <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">After
the Fire</i>, although that’s not strictly true. The fires are still burning,
and will continue to devour vast swathes of this country, probably for some
months yet. For me, it’s a month since fire consumed much of my home town and I’m
trying hard to untangle the maelstrom of disordered thoughts drumming inside my
head, to make sense of the awfulness. Is such a reflection therapeutic? That
remains to be seen. I just know that it’s something I need to do - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to set down some sort of record of my own
experience of this life-changing event. Anyway, here goes...</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<h3>
<b>After the Fire - Part 1</b></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This time exactly a month ago I was on a plane home from
Perth. I’d spent Christmas with my grown-up kids. As I boarded the flight in Perth,
Mallacoota was foremost in my mind. Huge bushfires had been consuming the east
coast of Australia for many weeks. A warning for all tourists to leave East
Gippsland had been published the previous day. A notification came through, as
I caught a ferry across the Swan River, that a fast-moving fire had begun at
Wingan, and that the Princes Highway was closed. Too late to leave Mallacoota,
it had said. The next day I began my journey “home”- to Mallacoota. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiry7BWNW4I6TLKcgWE0hBUds7N4O_gYfbodYoJyZO2freY9m80DFVcnJcNYcSWcZzvt0R8Y-dzPVXOsCUpQoVcF4C96xsv4vkPWRb_jqEX9QvIRegyw2KWw_tvKThvRHSrOw6Df0bpmnFG/s1600/2019-12-30+13.36.51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiry7BWNW4I6TLKcgWE0hBUds7N4O_gYfbodYoJyZO2freY9m80DFVcnJcNYcSWcZzvt0R8Y-dzPVXOsCUpQoVcF4C96xsv4vkPWRb_jqEX9QvIRegyw2KWw_tvKThvRHSrOw6Df0bpmnFG/s320/2019-12-30+13.36.51.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I changed flights in Melbourne under an apocalyptic sky.
While I waited to board, the VicEmergency app on my phone beeped. The Wingan
fire was expected to impact Mallacoota between 5-6pm. The Genoa-Mallacoota Road
had been closed. Mallacoota, at the far end of that road, had been cut off. I
sat alone at the airport, sweltering in failed air-con, crying helplessly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My wonderful friend Jane collected me from Canberra airport
with news I already knew: “You can’t go home tomorrow”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My house is on the Genoa-Mallacoota Road, a couple of
kilometres outside town. My next door neighbour sent me a text before she
evacuated – what did I want her to do with my chooks? We decided putting them
in the house would be best – a place of last resort. Thank you, neighbour – the
fact that you even thought of Sybil and Tibbs while you were preparing to leave
your own home still amazes me and makes me teary. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning – New Years Eve – I woke early after a
night of broken sleep, knowing that my friends and neighbours had probably
slept far less, if at all. How the hell do you get to sleep when you know that a
monstrous fire is heading straight for you, devouring everything in its path - and
that there’s no escape? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The ABC coverage of events on the TV, up and down the south
coast of NSW and across the border into East Gippsland, was terrifying,
compelling viewing. The fire still hadn’t impacted Mallacoota, but it was
bearing down on my home town as “thousands huddled on the beach”, ringed by firefighters
determined to save lives first, and whatever they could save of my small,
beautiful, remote town, nestled in the bushland by the sea, next.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The world knows how events unfolded, so I don’t need to
repeat them. What I can tell you is how I felt, watching and listening to the
voices of friends and neighbours being interviewed, hearing that the morning
sky had turned blacker than night, that “the sirens just went off”, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that people were preparing to jump into the
water if necessary. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a knot of anxiety in my chest. I found it hard to
draw in a deep breath. I didn’t want to watch or listen, but I couldn’t not. I
should’ve been there. I was glad not to be there. I was watching a bigger
picture than those in Mallacoota were watching, but from a distance. All they
knew was what was right in front of them and coming for them, what they could
see and hear and smell and feel. I felt grateful, but oh so guilty for feeling
grateful. My imagination will never be able to grasp the reality of that terror,
but I can understand every little bit of the helplessness they felt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I had in common with those who were there was a sense
that my world had changed forever. Like them, I didn’t know whether my house
was still there. I was certain that my poor cats had been incinerated in the
boarding kennels at Genoa, a beautiful bushland setting where I’d left them 8
days earlier. I imagined their final terrifying moments over and over, the loop
playing in my head refusing to be shut off. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was devastating.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-63099874777124191892019-04-16T09:04:00.000+10:002019-04-16T09:04:46.309+10:002019: so far, so crap - and loving my community.Well, I had every intention of making 2019 a good year, but 4 months in, I have to say it's a bit shite.<br />
<br />
Most days for the last 2 months it's been a struggle to get out of bed. No, not the Black Dog, although the <i>click click</i> of its nasty little claws patter about in the recesses of my mind now and then as I haul myself up, gingerly place my feet on the floor and wonder <i>how much will it hurt today?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Most days, the answer is - a lot.<br />
<br />
So..... this is what Ross River Virus feels like. Its other name is Epidemic Polyarthritis. Ouch.<br />
<br />
The mozzies this year have been dreadful - clouds of them, nasty bitey little monsters who attack in squadrons and leave victims flapping helplessly (and futilely) at two or three simultaneous bite-zones. Bastards. And it only takes one of them to bring you down. I hope I managed to splat whichever one it was that got me.<br />
<br />
I used up all my sick leave in the first 2 weeks, way back in late February, so now I hobble in to work, thankful that my shifts are short. Sometimes holding a pen is difficult. Bending down to reshelve books on the bottom shelf is - unpleasant - and keeping the smile on my face when all I want to do is cry, or go home to have a little lie-down, is getting harder every day. Nerve pain in my right arm and hand - the joint swelling appears to have exacerbated my not-too-bad carpal tunnel problem - wakes me up in the night, most nights.<br />
<br />
It's cruel. There were two consecutive days last week when, for the first time in 2 months, I had NO PAINS in my feet! I was so sure I'd "turned a corner". Perhaps I had, but there was another brick wall waiting there for me and I splattered headlong into it. Fuck.<br />
<br />
The pains and swellings in my extremities are one thing, but the blow to my energy is perhaps the most cruel. My calendar painting is very behind schedule. My house and garden are a mess. I get hungry but have zero energy or motivation to cook. I eat a lot of biscuits. I've gained three kilograms. I miss my walks.<br />
<br />
I've painted a fairly bleak picture, haven't I? Come on, shines, where's the silver lining? <br />
<br />
This is the bit where I tell you how wonderful it is to be part of this small community. Wonderful friends have leapt to my aid, mowing the lawn, pruning, providing meals, firewood and a hot water bottle; offers of errands and shopping have abounded, and I've never had so many hugs. I love you all, my lovely, kind-hearted friends.<br />
<br />
Abundant birdlife, visible from the kitchen and lounge-room windows, has been extremely entertaining. This is the time of year that the bowerbirds descend, stealing the chook pellets, splashing in the birdbaths and doing all sorts of interesting things. And I've read a LOT of great books.<br />
<br />
Another thing that makes it bearable, believe it or not, is dispassionately observing the path of this stupid ailment as though I'm somebody else - an outsider watching with a sort of weird fascination as a rash appears and disappears, as random fingers swell and subside, as knuckles or ankles disappear and reappear. [<i>Side note: this may not a good thing to tell a GP, especially if you are a middle-aged woman. It could go either way, really - you might be thanked for your accurate observations because they've been helpful in the eventual diagnosis of your debilitating, rapid-onset mystery illness, but you could just as easily be accused of neuroticism or somatisation.</i>]<br />
<br />
One more good thing - Ross River Virus, while incurable, is self-limiting. This too, will pass. I still have high hopes of 2019. Pass the aspirin, please!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-63756136606473459722019-01-01T08:28:00.000+11:002019-01-01T08:28:27.139+11:00As 2019 Begins...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXzWt7K7ZX6FBRvPRlPizGF9goV0cD_GIUSms04QG1D5HbO-Z1APeDCQa7-IoXg5BGuPtMTfJODV5aW3VG1DhrmmeXJyjlBnexfQjOLgtRdfCS5pdlu3tzbOaLWza_x31-xkZX7pMYMlNY/s1600/2018-10-09+10.49.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXzWt7K7ZX6FBRvPRlPizGF9goV0cD_GIUSms04QG1D5HbO-Z1APeDCQa7-IoXg5BGuPtMTfJODV5aW3VG1DhrmmeXJyjlBnexfQjOLgtRdfCS5pdlu3tzbOaLWza_x31-xkZX7pMYMlNY/s320/2018-10-09+10.49.11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy 2019 - a year for more watercolour birdies!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
A friend asked me whether I'd made any resolutions for the new year. As I never keep them there isn't really any point - why build in failure before the year even begins? Besides, I've already given up the things that generally feature in New Year's Resolutions - smoking and drinking - my weight is more or less where I want it to be and I'm mostly happy with the person I am.<br />
<br />
I can live with the level of mess in my house and the lack of organisation. Ditto money. So don't make promises to yourself that you can't keep! Gosh - can I be getting older and wiser (or at least, more realistic)?<br />
<br />
Then I thought about it some more. Bugger. There <i>are</i> some things I'd like to have a go at this year. Here they are, divided into "more" or "less" sections:<br />
<br />
<h3>
<i>MORE</i></h3>
<br />
<ul>
<li>learning - try to learn something new each day (that sounds wanky, doesn't it? But it's fitting for a New Year's resolution, right? They're often pie-in-the-sky wanky...) In any case, learning new stuff may stave off brain deterioration as I get older. And face it, I spent enough years burning as many brain cells as I could. I need all the poor struggling ones that are still left!</li>
<li>painting (or drawing) -<span style="font-size: large;"> art </span>in general, really. Maybe get started on the mosaic I've been threatening to do. And poetry - more poetry! Words are fabulous. Enter a short story competition. Whoa, take a step back - actually <span style="font-size: large;">write</span> a story first. to enter into a short story competition. That's better. Aaaaaaand - planning for the<span style="color: #cc0000;"> <span style="font-size: large;">2020 art calendar</span></span> is already underway - that's a good start. So far, so good!</li>
<li>salad (no point resolving to cook more as I loathe cooking and would be dooming myself to immediate failure!) Can I at least TRY to get excited at the prospect of salad....<i>thinking thinking thinking</i>... nope. No excitement - just do it!</li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">saying 'No' </span>- it will ensure I go into 2020 less tired and less cross with myself.</li>
<li>anger - at the <span style="font-size: large;">right</span> things!</li>
</ul>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Ue__OaEatzf0cWT-_hYzcgt3lqfjfMjqAChTlQag7NRBa8jdVbdJrL6HKnHKuS3ui3BwVwMYVsp5ow6oFK5GC3hH26YLa2w2YBZF62D95Hq4spthWTZ0KIVGqCQdNloTdFoqXC73PaAs/s1600/2018-05-26+17.19.26-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Ue__OaEatzf0cWT-_hYzcgt3lqfjfMjqAChTlQag7NRBa8jdVbdJrL6HKnHKuS3ui3BwVwMYVsp5ow6oFK5GC3hH26YLa2w2YBZF62D95Hq4spthWTZ0KIVGqCQdNloTdFoqXC73PaAs/s640/2018-05-26+17.19.26-1.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Mollymawk" - watercolour/mixed media and original words © Sue Hines 2018</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
<i><br /></i></h3>
<h3>
<i>LESS</i></h3>
<br />
<ul>
<li>plastic</li>
<li>pessimism</li>
<li>procrastination - that will definitely make the "more" list easier. No more last minute rush to get the last painting finished to get to the printer for the next calendar, ok?</li>
<li>stuff - I will turn 60 this year, and ought to be culling, not collecting; streamlining, not swelling (confession: I started this one already, with beneficiaries being the Community Op-Shop and the Sea Shepherd garage sale.) Good start, Hinesey. Big tick for you <span style="font-size: x-large;">🗹</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">arseholes</span> - (oops, bad grammar - that should be "fewer", not "less"). Begone, all those who would bring me down, make me sad or fearful, frustrated or feeling inadequate. I am perfectly adequate, thank you very much!</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Onwards and upwards.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Happy 2019!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHN92iHOzZOhkGVwpEXxkwn5ER2407InVdhLluBvxv1x0oiw3l3i4x9v1xkRrUQ9N-4GegGOP51MQZPQWZrLXyoAaPIHSwcIWZcY_9ahnN1-zLaAQwmyhVX8UpD5a5ackHjNEmJirJxsh/s1600/2017-12-19+05.22.44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHN92iHOzZOhkGVwpEXxkwn5ER2407InVdhLluBvxv1x0oiw3l3i4x9v1xkRrUQ9N-4GegGOP51MQZPQWZrLXyoAaPIHSwcIWZcY_9ahnN1-zLaAQwmyhVX8UpD5a5ackHjNEmJirJxsh/s320/2017-12-19+05.22.44.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
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<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-65021040154156906892018-02-13T12:41:00.001+11:002018-02-16T11:40:05.653+11:00For the Hoodies<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglyZM1wlKqMBrTsYeWIWuB9m3cpg2oH1hxMlFzQ5WEPS9uKz50VNU1APkv1gtTTjd0tiiqIUNxO-wltwp-faYJDF5vjgXDOyrMl8a4upLcDOHZHJD-SFDoREgGUqi30SgzmVClDmhHQPvs/s1600/DEC+-+hoodies3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="1600" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglyZM1wlKqMBrTsYeWIWuB9m3cpg2oH1hxMlFzQ5WEPS9uKz50VNU1APkv1gtTTjd0tiiqIUNxO-wltwp-faYJDF5vjgXDOyrMl8a4upLcDOHZHJD-SFDoREgGUqi30SgzmVClDmhHQPvs/s320/DEC+-+hoodies3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For the Hoodies<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On learning of the deaths of MK’s
chicks at Betka Beach, Mallacoota.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s something about these tiny courageous creatures,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some imperative of instinct, some inescapable miracle of
persistence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Year after year they come to the beach. They scrape, they
lay, they sit<o:p></o:p></div>
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At the mercy of the tides (which are incapable of humanity).<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the flailing fists of storms and the beating of the
summer sun they sit bravely<o:p></o:p></div>
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Between the trampling feet of tourists and locals alike and<o:p></o:p></div>
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the thundering paws of all those dogs who “never chase birds”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They hatch, defend, almost inevitably mourn<o:p></o:p></div>
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The tiny souls whose lives they cannot protect.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They can be forgiven for following their bird nature,<o:p></o:p></div>
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The pull of place each season, however hopeless it turns out
to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And we?<o:p></o:p></div>
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We who are capable of change and choice, who choose to
ignore the signs, <o:p></o:p></div>
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Who choose not to leash our dogs,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Who choose not to walk somewhere else for a brief,
life-giving time -<o:p></o:p></div>
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We who pat ourselves on our highly-evolved backs, full of civilised
self-regard - <o:p></o:p></div>
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We will never have half the courage and sweetness of these
plucky little birds<o:p></o:p></div>
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Who struggle in the teeth of adversity.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We cannot be forgiven.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(c) Sue Hines 2018<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-47215164899606416372018-01-17T10:10:00.000+11:002019-01-22T17:37:28.521+11:00Littering over Summer<div style="border-bottom: solid #4F81BD 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-themecolor: accent1; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0cm 0cm 4.0pt 0cm;">
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<div class="MsoTitle">
<span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">LITTER: A PERENNIAL PROBLEM IN
A TOURIST TOWN <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the midst
of tourist season I’ve a most compelling reason<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To put forth
a proposition to the people of this town<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To avoid the
awful bummer that confronts us every summer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We could bring
in prohibition just to keep the litter down<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Almost every
can and bottle scattered freely through the wattle<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And the
Mallacoota beaches and the Mallacoota streets<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Was once
full of beer or bourbon and it’s messing up our urban<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Grassy
verges and the reaches of the natural world so sweet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tourists
spend a lot of money but it isn’t very funny<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When the
trade-off is a heap of litter halfway to the sun<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It seems the
summer drinkers are the dirty rotten stinkers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Groups of
bottle-dropping creeps with no respect for anyone<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Every year
when they’ve departed, groups of locals, broken-hearted<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Get together
to clean up the filthy mess that’s left behind<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s our
home, we want to share it - but we have to then repair it<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After boozy
litter-droppers of the grubby thoughtless kind<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This harsh
message I should soften, for the folks that visit often<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Love this
place for all its wild and pristine loveliness, it’s true<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s the
litter-chucking scum who should feel free not to come<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back to places they’ve defiled – and take your litter back with you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">© Sue Hines 2018<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4712432366544046987.post-16652028892038407292017-11-23T11:03:00.001+11:002017-11-26T07:49:32.490+11:00Air Mail - the new snail mail: A RantApparently Australia Post has done well enough to pay its CEO squillions, while reducing the efficiency of services and increasing the cost of those increasingly inefficient services. What a business model - it says so much about the times in which we are living.<br />
<br />
That CEO, Ahmed Fahour, has quit AP now - check out this fat golden handshake as you bemoan the increase in the price of a fucking stamp: <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-08-25/ahmed-fahour-walks-away-from-australia-post-with-$10.8-million/8841226">http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-08-25/ahmed-fahour-walks-away-from-australia-post-with-$10.8-million/8841226</a><br />
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One of the cost-saving measures touted as a possibility by Australia Post a few years ago was not, as you might expect, reducing the astronomical six figure salary of the CEO, but reducing the number of postal deliveries from one per weekday to 3 per week. Poor Australia Post was losing money hand over fist. Nobody writes letters any more (although everyone sends parcels, it seems, and I'm quite certain that is a very very lucrative part of Australia Post's business.)<br />
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The three-deliveries-a-week thing, thankfully, did not happen here, and now that Mr Fahour has taken his money and ridden off into the sunset, the new Australia Post CEO, Christine Holgate, will take home a considerably smaller six-figure salary, saving Australia Post several million dollars per year. That is a Good Thing.<br />
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BUT (there's always a 'BUT', isn't there?)<br />
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Across the ditch, our Kiwi cousins have not been so lucky. NZ Post delivers thrice weekly. What that means, for anybody who posts anything from Oz, is that delivery times have slowed. A lot. I'm not altogether sure of the finer details, because really, you'd think it'd only mean a one-day delay, wouldn't you? (No delivery on Tuesday? No problem - deliver on Wednesday instead.) Instead, it appears to have added <i>more than a week</i> to the delivery time. Yes, I'm serious.<br />
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Once upon a time, posting something via Airmail - which used to be the speedy option - took just a few days to get from Canberra to Christchurch - add a day, perhaps even two if you're posting from Mallacoota, because Mallacoota mail takes a day or so to get to Melbourne before it can fly to NZ.<br />
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This year, my Dad's birthday card arrived late. I made sure I posted his Fathers Day card earlier than usual - it still arrived late. I posted another card MORE THAN TWO WEEKS before a special event AND IT WAS FUCKING LATE!<br />
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It would appear that our postal non-services would like us to pay extra for "EXPRESS AIRMAIL", adding several dollars to the already high cost of airmail. It's true - your letter/parcel to NZ can now fly cattle class, just like you, or you can pay through the nose for it to fly (probably on the same flight) the equivalent of First Class. Unless its getting a bed to sleep in and complimentary in-flight champagne, they can shove that up their inefficient bums!<br />
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So - I posted a SMALL STANDARD item AIRMAIL WITH TRACKING to my Dad on 14 November. It weighed about 320gms, went in an A3 sized tough-bag and cost me $17.76 to post. I've been tracking it - you bet I have - to see why it takes so bloody long.<br />
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So..... looks like it's been cooling its heels in Auckland since Monday morning after being cleared through Customs. And now it's Thursday.</div>
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Why, NZ Post?</div>
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I know that Thursday is not a delivery day, but does every single person involved in the postal process only work on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays as well? Even if that were the case, why wasn't my item happily whizzing from Auckland to Chch on Monday, which IS an NZ Post day? Or even Wednesday, which is also a delivery day? Why is it still in Auckland on Thursday?</div>
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In Chch, a private document delivery service has sprung up to fill in the gaps left by NZ Post. We Australia Post customers, however, are stuck with AusPost and NZ Post's abysmal non-service. I'm angry.</div>
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I'm thinking of getting a carrier pigeon. Or learning to swim. It'd probably be quicker.</div>
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UPDATE: Dad texted to say a courier had delivered his article around the middle of the day on 23 November. Something in the "tracking" was evidently awry, with no notifications between Auckland and Christchurch. So - 9 days to travel airmail from Mallacoota to Christchurch. This article arrived more quickly than cards I have posted - does this mean parcel post is taken more seriously/quickly? (for all values of 'quickly' equal to "not very quickly" or "pretty slowly, actually, but it's all relative"?) You're still not off the hook, Aus- and NZ Post.</div>
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<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18299889655130518417noreply@blogger.com1