The long, slow grind . . .

I hate the packing and preparing bit of "going away". I like being away, mind you, and I generally love getting home again (to my own bed and pillows.
Packing never used to be a problem. On my own, it was simply a matter of grabbing the basics and climbing into the car. I'd still do it that way if permitted.
We're heading off inter-state tomorrow morning and the total project has been chugging along all week.
Our roses have been deeply soaked (despite man having been hired to water - within the limits we're currently allowed), myriads of potential creditors have been warned we won't be around to pay them for a few weeks, everything wearable and not being currently worn has been washed (and must be ironed before we go), and the usual amount of cooking for the local grandies has been delivered.
This process is still much of a mystery to me, after 48 years. It is very clear that I have no executive role whatever - but I can't shoot off and entertain myself either, because I'm needed for jobs like lifting things, trying things on, emptying things and, this morning, doing the vacuuming. So I do unimportant things like checking the car tyres, checking emails, and philosophising on this blog.
In the meantime, I'm fully confident that we'll start our journey exactly at the time my darling will say she planned, and that we'll leave behind only the normal number of items "without which we can't possibly manage".
Just wait 'til I'm in the driver's seat!

We're Marching away . . .

The "Hambones" are heading off, on Thursday, for the whole of the month of March. We're going for "yet another" look at Tasmania - our home state for quite a few years.
Postings on this blog, therefore, are likely to be infrequent, and probably not jam-packed full of incisive, meaningful message.
But don't go away. "Hambone's Holler" needs you all (both?).
Just check in over the next four weeks. You never know your luck!

Running out of puff?

Wife and I spent last weekend away from home. Three days, in all, at a moderately distant seaside town, as guests of the current members of our former profession.
Twelve of us "oldies" had a wonderful time of reminiscence at three heavy-eating and (potentially) heavy drinking dinners, and we sat, sometimes jealously, through business sessions showing that our successors were managing "quite nicely, thank-you" without us.
But I learned somewhat sadly, that "I ain't the man I used to be!" We've been home a day and a half now and, despite the fact that I've been asleep for at least half of that time, I'm still yawning!
Perhaps it's true that "Nothing exceeds like Excess! I just hope I'll ready for that fitness class, tomorrow morning.
Nevertheless, if they ask us again I'm sure we'll all line up again and, yes, it is nice to be remembered.

A big, exciting , world . .

.

It's a big and dazzling world on your first visit to the beach, with Mum!
No, I don't know who were, this happy couple exploring this sandy little bay along the shore at Wallaroo (S. Aust) last Saturday afternoon. But seeing the picture they made was a fine end to a near perfect day.
Over the following evening the fine weather was replaced by a 45 knot gale which, within a couple of hours wreaked havoc on a fleet of 90 ocean-going yachts, racing about 50 miles away. More than 40 had to abandon their journey, with one dismasted.
A few years ago I'd have been one of the seasick travellers.
Funny things some people do for fun, don't you think?

Still waiting

Rain's been crashing down in whopping great dollops right up and far inland from Australia's East coast. They've had/are having record-breaking floods at Emerald, Mackay's now a declared disaster area, and the monsoons are still busy over-correcting for shortages in previous years.
It's been pretty wet out West too, along with the odd cyclone up toward Darwin. They'll all be happy when "The Wet" runs down.
Here in South Oz, after years and years of "virtual drought" we're in the thick of the real thing.
Our city, and much of our industry, has depended on water pumped from the River Murray for two or three generations now, because we don't get a lot from "upstairs". Now, though, through interstate and Federal mis-management the Murray's in a mess too. The water level's dropping, the water (down our "bottom end of the national sewer") is becoming harder and more polluted and unavailable for irrigators.
But we're still waiting, and our metro supply dams have been pumped full, for now. In the meantime we're still sweltering, and figthing, through severe water restrictions, to keep our gardens alive.
But "Life wasn't meant to be easy", as one of our former Prime Ministers once said. So we'll keep watching the clouds pass us by, we'll keep our fingers crossed, and we'll keep on believing "We're in a great State, mate."

Village life

This morning
Not much time to type just now – I’m off to our fitness class in half an hour, and I’m going through my regular five minutes of wondering why I bother.
There’s not a lot of dignity within a clutch of about a dozen men and women in their 70s puffing and panting in unlovely semi unison. Any illusions disappear at speed for the hour.
And yet . . . I’ve grown accustomed to the sweat, and I’m better now at handling strain and pain (with apologies to “My Fair Lady”).
Truth is that that this weekly burst of regimented stretch and strain has made me noticeably fitter in the last year. No bigger muscles perhaps, body weight is still increasing relentlessly. But I move better, walk further, and ache a lot less these days, and that’s a real bonus.
The shame is that in a retirement village of 160 independent homes and units, only about 25 residents (in two staged groups) can see benefit in improving their health.
But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not training for the Olympics, not measuring muscle growth and have no plans to start jogging.
It’s just that there’s a worthwhile sense of satisfaction in building up an honest sweat in good company, once a week - besides which there’s nothing better than the “cuppa and scones and my comfortable chair” after the exercise ends.
This evening
Fitness session went well, in that I survived. Very fit (and attractive) young woman in charge worked us very hard, and warned “we’d hate her” tomorrow, what with all those press-ups, and stretches, and weights routines. Nothing new in that though, and we all had the rest of the day (max 37.5 degrees Celsius) to rest in air-conditioned comfort - until the power went off mid-afternoon. . . .
It was just after the power came on again when the ‘phone rang:”Can you come out at 8 am tomorrow please? We need someone to help shift sand at the bowls green?” our organiser – in - chief asked.
We’re expecting 38 degrees tomorrow, but what could I say but yes? They all saw me leave the fitness class unaided, you see!

The new slides

The current display is from our travels in the top end of tropical Queensland, with several from "way inland". I'm sorry there isn't the chance to provide detailed captions, but you'll get the general idea of the contrasts and scale of our "Top End"

"Sorry" . . . and now what?

Tuesday really was our "Sorry" day.
Federal Parliament, in virtual unanimity (some MPs were "unavailable"), made its formal apology for acknowleged multiple and grave injustices inflicted on our Aboriginal population over generations, under Federal law.
It was a momentous day for Parliament,for the new Prime Minister in particular, for our Aborigines and all of us. There can be few Australians who saw or heard the drama of the day unfold who were not moved by it.
We just have to hope that this week's promise of Government/Opposition solidarity (on this issue at least) will see real progress at last, in giving Aboriginals living conditions,security and and the sense of dignity and "ownership" that is the right of every Australian.
For us to travel any distance down that road, all of us - black white and "whatever" - will need to abandon the heavy pessimism and the prejudices that have been the standard attitude to the "Aboriginal problem" for all the years I can remember.
This just has to be our best and (hopefully)our last chance to set things right.

Advancing backwards?

Technology is a wonderful thing, but I sometimes wonder how much it improves our daily life.
Nothing I do, these days, seems as simple as was its replica 50, 30 or even 20 years ago, but I’m not going to type a whole list of examples, because I’m sure you know what I mean.
I used to write with a fountain pen (“Waterford”, of course, the one with the little rubber bladder (and I won’t go further along that line)). Then there was a progression of typewriters, all of which worked on the same system except for the fiddly bits.
Since someone invented PCs from Mr Babbage’s original cog and ratchet calculator, though, the very act of writing (let alone arranging delivery of this blog, for instance) demands that one learns (a) how to use a computer (b) how to type, (c) how to use an inevitably complicated piece of software and then (in Australia at least) how to defeat a PC centred spelling correction system that is firmly biased toward the US version of Her Majesty’s English.
Now, I exaggerate the difficulties, of course. But what about video recorders? – they’re getting so complicated that only toddlers can use them properly!
Strangely, my wife refuses to use our new-fangled (no bag) vacuum cleaner, and so I’m left to get dust over my clothes when I empty the so-called no-fuss container. I, by the way, have mastered the bread-maker, but refuse to even contemplate the complexities of the dish-washer (which I installed), the microwave, or even the gas stove.
Really, though, I really wonder if the great mass of humanity is much better off from the march of science.
Are we and our families more secure, more physically safe, now than a generation ago? Is living noticeably easier?
But then, through the wonders of technology, we still get to see re-runs of “Mash” on telly. Perhaps life’s not really all that bad.

Polarisation, at last!♦

I purchased a polarisation filter for my camera (a Pentax digital SLR) late last week and I just can't understand why I left it so long! This picture (now my desktop)was taken last Sunday.
If you have a camera and take the occasional scenic shots, "You just gotta have polarisation." The difference, in tonal range "before/after" scenes is quite startling, with shadow detail improved and delicate colors recovered through cancellation of reflection.
I'd just love to go back through my travel pic files and "fix them".

The scene is the Barossa Dam (on the edge of Adelaide)and is a lovely spot, practically hidden in a hillside eucalypt forest.

Snakes and ladders

Did you know that nine out of the ten most venomous snakes in the World are peculiar to Australia? It’s true, as I was reminded by a TV show this evening. The show, another of those “How doctors save lives” series, informed me that the Aussie Brown snake does the most damage overall, because it tends to slither into back yards more often than the rest.
Now the funny thing is that I’ve only ever seen one snake “in the wild” as it were, despite having spent much of my childhood on a well grassed sheep-raising property, and most of the rest of it in a rural town that was blessed with the normal quantity and variety of serpent for the district.
Legendry Australian author/poet Henry Lawson made his mark with stories about the hard life in the “bush”, mostly during the “great depression”. He (and the generally more cheery “Banjo Patterson”) used gallons of ink to describe battling settlers, dogged drovers and brave, mostly lonely, bush wives. The wives – apart from raising kids, tending the cows – inevitably had to kill snakes every now and then, and they used shovels or guns for the job.
Lawson and Patterson, by the way, described in graphic detail the mountain of tragedy and travail that was the Australian inland in the “bad old days”, but didn’t neglect the well of comedy and irony that came with it. Sadly, I believe their work is seldom read, these days.
My “personal” snake was big (two meters or so as my memory suggests) wandered out of a bit of long grass onto a pathway at our home of 30 years or so ago. Was I brave and determined? Of course! In fact, not having a big shovel, a crowbar, or a gun, and believing that all living things have a purpose (and all that) I stood well clear. Friend snake went off without delay, and I wonder if he realised how lucky he’d been.
Ladders, by the way,probably cause more trouble and than snakes! I learned last night (on one of those ever-popping-up gardening shows) that ladders are more dangerous to home handymen than are chain saws or even nail guns. I used to be quite OK with ladders, but I treat them with increasing respect as the years continue to race by. But I’m fairly safe, as I’m no handyman at all – just ask my wife!
We watched another “Miss Marples” show tonight. Don’t worry though, my wife’s in no danger!

A leading question

"Our country needs a leader, not a politician" according to a journalist whose newspaper column I read only a day or so ago. Is that really all we need?
The young(ish) columnist was talking about the United States of course, as its citizens endure/observe the serial drama that is their presidential nomination process.
He could have been talking about Australia of course, or Great Britain, or even Russia. All over the World, most of us seem to yearn for a "great leader" who will solve our nation's big problems (thus giving the rest of us the opportunity to have "a headache pill, a cuppa, and a nice lie down."
Most great leaders", though, rapidly change into politicians, and even the best of these soon discover that good intentions and a year or so of voice and presentation coaching aren't a guarantee of presidential or prime ministerial success.
Won't it be wonderful if our new, enthusiastic PM can fulfil more than half of his campaign targets?
How many US citizens, I wonder, really and truly believe that the best Presidential campaigner is, the really great leader who'll restore their economy,and freedom and peace (and, of course "Democracy")to a significant number of countries through the wider World.
In Australia, having made our choice, we're waiting with a degree of hope and scepticism to see if we voted well.
If I were a US citizen just now, I'd be looking very hard to see if there were any practical policies within the presidential campaign rhetoric.

Americas Cup next?

I’m a boat-builder now, and I have the picture to prove it.
She’s 16 cm long, about 5 ft high (sorry, but I’m still only half way through decimalising) and about 5 in. in beam, and I built her myself.
Well, some mob in Japan actually made the hull, and the mast, and the rigging, and the sails, the keel, and the radio control system. But I put it all together and, for a dedicated non-handyman that’s quite achievement!
She’s going to be christened (not with a bottle, you understand) “Yot”. I’d have had the name on already, but those inscrutable Asians only supplied one each of the letters and the numbers for the sail. So a 9 and an upside down 6 on t’other side of the sail was the best I could do today.
Everything appears to work OK, so the first sail could be tomorrow afternoon (perhaps) or Saturday. Trouble is, I’m not sure if there’s enough water in the two local yachting lakes. You’d be amazed how rapidly water evaporates from a shallow pool in temperatures about 32c.
By the way, the dog wasn’t impressed with the yacht, so he’s stuffed now. But before you get red in the face though – he was stuffed before!

Mother's dream dashed -

or: I played with Ludwig's concerto

My mother, for a while, thought she might have a budding musical genius on her hands, and that would have been me. Now, I don't know if she really dreamed about my potential for fame or not, but she certainly gave some thought to the prospect, and that was the fault of someone who must have had some musical authority. He'd had a demonstration of my piano playing skills at the age of about 10."He could go quite away" that person is said to have said.
I started music lessons, by the way, at age seven and must have shown some flair after a few years.
Teenagers, though, "just know" there are more exciting things than music practice after school each day and over weekends, and there's a limit to the amount of pressure busy parents can exert. Lessons, therefore, were abandoned and that was a bit of a shame.
But it wasn't the end of music for me - just the end of lessons and the provision of a fabulous, life-long mini-nag from "Mum." I'll explain. . . .
I grew to hate music lessons because they took "too long" and because I'd discovered playing "by ear" was faster. No matter, then, that my new skill was vastly inferior. But I’ve never been far from a keyboard since that first break. My skills and my memory improved, and I have been able to entertain myself and others, occasionally, over the years.
But I never was (since the last formal lesson) able to impress my Mum with my skills.
Every time she heard me play, even in her last years, I heard: "It's a pity you stopped learning when you were a boy. I was told you could have gone a long way with your piano playing."
The thing is that (while disregarding and discounting what the "expert" said). Mum was right about the lessons. I've tried, of late, to re-learn the art of reading music, but with disappointing lack of progress. It's a shame, but it isn't a tragedy, because I'm content, now, to settle for skills I have.
Re Ludwig:I've taught myself how to play the flute (sort of) over the past year or so and, today, I played it to accompany a recording of Ludwig van Beethoven's Piano Concerto No 3 – until, that is, my (music-reading) wife could stand it no more!
So there you go . . .

Friends in sport . .

Cricket's just about England's best known invention. It used to be a sport for "proper gentlemen" - many of whom were, at the beginning, probably friends.
But then the rot set in. The various teams became more competitive, and "non-gent" professionals became common and, I assume, the general level of friendliness started to droop.
Subsequent arrival of teams from the colonies rapidly made the contests a matter of national pride, and what was weekend exercise for the "flanneled fools" became serious, high revenue business. Almost everywhere through the remnants of the old Empire, television, newspapers, and radio keep millions of fans up to date with the latest scores and scandals. Here in Oz this last week it looked like we'd sever diplomatic relations with India, before an evidently badly informed judge reached a barely satisfactory conclusion.
The fact is that "big" sport, these days, means big money, and winning's what really counts.
We want our cricketers to be gentlemen and winners, but- if they aren't too good at the gentle stuff then they'll still be OK just as long as they're winners!
Friends in big sport? - You must be kidding!
NB Apologies to purists for my potted cricket history.