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Tidying up Twitter

7/20/2018

I belong to Twitter, in that I read the tweets of people whose opinions interest me. I follow 63 people and I have about the same amount of followers – some are people I know and some aren’t.
I have never been trolled, possibly because I rarely post a comment, even when I am in fervent agreement or fervent disagreement with a tweet.
But I have seen many awful (often quite foul) comments that sometimes accompany tweets as ‘replies’.

And here’s the topic I find interesting. The worse the response, the more likely it’s written by a man.
I read positive comments from both male and female members of the Twitterverse, but negative and insulting comments are mainly from men. Hateful comments are almost always from men.
Why is this so?

Now, please don’t start thinking that I am one of those females who claim that ‘all men are horrible’ or ‘all men hate women’ and so on, ad nauseam. I’m just stating that it’s usually men whose comments on Twitter and Face Book are the nasty ones.
I won’t quote any – that would be furthering their agenda. Anyone who follows Face Book or Twitter can see them easily enough. (And they’re usually anonymous).

I will never imply that ‘all men’ are anything. This month’s news story claiming that a woman said that ‘all men are rapists’ was blown out of all proportion and it also was not what was said.
But, but…there are SOME men who are horrible, there are SOME men who (seem to) hate women and there are SOME men who are rapists.
But it is not ALL men.

In my family- close and extended, in my circle of friends and amongst my work place acquaintances I have never come across any really horrible men or men who hate women or men who are rapists. In that I am fortunate. Nor do I know any men who post crude or hateful remarks as Twitter or Face Book comments.
But SOME men do.
Again, I’m tempted to give an example, but NO. Most don’t bear repeating.

There are people (mainly men) who post negative comments about politicians, which I suppose is understandable and even acceptable, but there are some men who post nasty comments about women, just because they don’t like how they look, what they wear, what colour their skin is - more than what they say.

Are there reasons why some men seem to dislike women? And why is it often subjects concerning empathy and compassion to which men react negatively? Has anyone researched this interesting topic?

BUT...
I am so pleased to read that Twitter is deleting (some of) some people’s followers. I haven’t studied much about this new development but what a good thing to have the worst of trolls, robot nasties and anonymous abusers eliminated.

And now for Something Different

7/3/2018

To change my usual whingeing approach, commenting on the problems of the world - and the actions of politicians of late, I decided to post a more lighthearted blog. Here's something to show that I don't spend all my time complaining!

I made a little book for little people. It has cut out pieces showing the first part of a picture, such as a goat's face for ‘a goat in a boat’ or a saucepan lid for ‘a lid on a kid’. Then there's a clue for ‘a lamb in a pram’, 'a snake on a cake', 'a star on a car', 'a mouse on a house', ‘a sock in a clock’ and more. Only when the page is turned is the rest of the picture revealed.
As an educator of small children I know that the use of rhyming words helps language development. This small example also gives the chance to discuss the appropriateness of each picture, including others such as: ‘a bug on a mug’, 'a frog in a log', 'a fish on a dish', 'a bee in a tree', 'a hen with a pen' and so on. (I had included 'a bride on a slide' - but I found that little kids don't often know what a bride is!)
Because of the cut-outs it is impossible for me to self publish this little book and because of its amateurish appearance no publisher would ever take it on. But I have had great pleasure in making it - and even duplicating it for a few little friends.
It’s been fun!

To decry a single 'act of compassion' ? Mr Dutton.

6/24/2018

I had been planning to write about the increasing lack of compassion in the world but was temporarily stymied by the latest words of Peter Dutton (Australia’s Home Affairs Minister) who has made a statement so abhorrent that I was having trouble finding what to say.

“It’s essential that people realise that the hard-won success of the last few years could be undone overnight by a single act of compassion in bringing 20 people from Manus to Australia.” Peter Dutton

While Donald Trump demonises ‘his’ asylum seekers by separating children from parents with hardly a thought as to the damage it will do, our Australian Border Force controller warns of the danger of ‘a single act of compassion’ in relation to 'our' asylum seekers.
An 'act of compassion' spoken of as if it's something almost evil.

For anyone wondering what that ‘single act of compassion’ might have been – it was the act of allowing a dying man to leave his place of imprisonment on the island of Nauru to receive palliative care in Australia in his last weeks of life.
Mind you, this man had been assessed as a legitimate refugee but was not allowed to stay in Australia because he had made the journey here by boat. He was also denied appropriate treatment for his lung cancer and now it has progressed to the point where he is dying. He has been imprisoned for 5 years! And it took a petition signed by 24,000 decent Australians and a letter signed by 2000 Australian doctors (Yes, 2000 doctors!) to finally induce a bureaucrat in the Border Security department to allow this poor man to come to Australia to receive palliative care. Palliative care!

Does that make you at least wonder about the attitude of ‘those in power’?

Empathy is missing. Compassion is missing. Humanity is wanting.

One of the awful things about refugees and our country is that the media is not allowed to visit, let alone photograph what is happening in our off shore ‘processing’ prisons. There is a hefty fine for any journalist who breaches this ‘rule’.

It’s not only this blocking of media that is puzzling, it’s also the lack of reporting true facts that have many of us wondering just WHO is in charge? What part of the media is bending to the whims of the current government by not reporting what is happening - and allowing untruths about refugees to flourish?
No, they are NOT illegal!

And, who could - or should be, but is unable to - even start to work out a humane solution to this horrendous problem of refugees seeking asylum?

We know that the awful (yet obscenely costly) treatment of refugees (in Manus Island & Nauru) has not really ‘stopped the boats’ as claimed by politicians. Boats continue to head for Australia, but are ‘scuttled’ (Border Force expression) or ‘turned around’. Any information as to what happens to the people on these boats is not forthcoming, but I guess it is not a happy outcome.

But, we mustn’t think of that in case we find compassion creeping into our minds, thus undoing ‘the hard-won success of the last few years’ – that is, the mythical ‘stopping of the boats’: the method used to (supposedly) dissuade asylum seekers from seeking help and safety in Australia.

There must be a better way.

CATS: Pets or Killers? Love or hate?

6/4/2018

I don’t really like cats. There, I’ve said it!
Two reasons: My main concern is that feral cat numbers are now out of control in Australia.
To research statistics provides frightening figures: Although the number of domestic (pet) cats in Australia is estimated at around 2.7 million, it is claimed that there are over 18 million feral cats.
The figures suggest that each feral cat kills between 5 and 30 Australian native species each day.
Think about that! Conservation scientists guess that 20 BILLION native animals are being killed each year by feral cats.
That’s 75 Million a day!
Australian Wildlife Conservancy CEO, Mr Atticus Fleming, investigating feral cats in 2014, found over 40 native frogs in the stomach of ONE captured feral cat.
My other reason is from more personal experience.
A few short years ago, when I lived in the country, we used to delight in watching a group of blue wrens who visited us constantly and lived amongst the native bushes in our garden and in the overhead spreading grape vines.
When a cat-owning family moved into a property just over our back fence, their cat paid us a few visits and decimated the entire blue wren family.
So it’s not only feral cats that kill. Pet cats also kill.
And, in a red gum reserve, about 500 metres from our country house, cats were found stalking and killing little sugar gliders. These were not feral cats, they were pet cats allowed to roam freely.
Now that I live in a more suburban setting, I am not free of cat problems. A neighbourhood cat (there may be more than one) comes and digs in our front garden and leaves smelly ‘messages’ that are difficult to be cope with. It also leaves paw marks over our car, so I know it is walking around at night time. What else is it doing? What is it killing?
Many councils now insist on registering each and every pet cat – but does that happen? And, even when it does, do cat owners make sure their cat remains indoors all day and night?
I can understand people wanting to keep a cat. They are good pets: quiet and (mostly) clean. They need less looking after than a dog; no need for daily walks and they are happy to be left alone. But…but…
We need a huge public awareness campaign about keeping cats
BUT…but…but, the other day when I was shopping in the supermarket, I watched a frail elderly man stop by the cat food shelves and slowly select and examine several small containers of cat food.
To see the concentration on his face as he took a long while to choose the appropriate dinner for his pet cat almost melted my hard cat-hating heart. And I could see how important to some people having a feline companion is. To that old man, his cat may be the only thing that keeps him content; a companion to care for and a reason for living even.
Oh, boy. What a dilemma.
But please people, back the cause for eliminating feral cats and, if you do own a cat as a pet, please don’t allow it to roam free.
***
I am very pleased to discover that the world's largest cat fence is now being constructed at Newhaven Station in Central Australia.

Juicy Pear v Pack of Crisps

5/16/2018

Ah, nothing like a juicy pear… Yum!

But…Glancing through the news one morning last week I spied a story about pear growers in Australia. They are, according to this report, suffering financial loss due to the low price they are receiving for their pears. Some pear-growing farmers are under severe financial stress this season, with mounting debts - and others are barely breaking even.

The article particularly caught my attention as I had just eaten a most delicious pear for breakfast. In fact I had eaten at least one delicious pear every day for a couple of weeks.

It was not only the cheap price of the pears that had attracted me and led to my purchases (and here I now feel a sense of guilt) but I have always enjoyed pears and this year the pears seem even tastier, sweeter and juicier than ever.

I must admit that because of their remarkably low prices, I have bought even more than I can eat for breakfast and have stewed a kilogram or two, which I have frozen for later; later, when pear season is over.

Am I one of only a few who love this fruit?
Wake up, people and eat a pear!

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, in the forests of Sumatra and Borneo the excessive proliferation of palm oil plantations is causing a huge threat to the existence of not only the stunning Sumatran tigers but also to the beautiful orang-utans.

Palm oil is now the most widely used vegetable oil in the world.
And why? Because multi-national big business snack producers need massive amounts of palm oil for the production of crisps, margarine, ice-cream, instant noodles, chocolate and even shampoo – and, in fact, about half of all packaged food.

Palm oil is valued not only because it’s cheaper than many other oils but its use helps maintain the shelf life of snack foods.
So, obviously it would be in great demand.

How much is an average packet of crisps? Well, a 175 gram pack is about $3.30; a 165 gram pack of Twisties is $4.
Quite expensive for a regular snack - and how healthy are these in your child’s diet?

What about a fresh pear?

At (currently) less than $2 a kilogram, I’m sure a pear is of far more value in every way than a packet of chips.

A kilogram of pears usually gives you at least 5 pears, so at $2 per kg, that’s about 40 cents each.

So, ‘do yourself a favour’ (as someone once said) and swap snack foods for pears and experience the joy of eating a juicy sweet pear while helping the hard-working farmers.

And, by the way, growing fruit trees is far more than planting a few trees and then, later, picking the fruit they produce. It’s bloody hard work!

PS: Yes, I know… I hear you!
Everyone is ‘time poor’ now and no one has the time or patience to cut up a pear, put it on a plate and eat its deliciousness slowly - when it’s so much easier to grab a packet of some sort of snack, gobble it down and toss the wrapper away! (Sigh!)

Words to think on?

5/3/2018

It seems that the world is in a state half of ‘who cares?’ and half of ‘what a worrying time’. There is so much negativity surrounding current politics and politicians in most countries. I have been prompted to share a poem that appeared on my Face Book page the other day, (already shared by someone else) that seemed to epitomise the latest trend in hopelessness felt towards our world situation.

Here it is:

Pity the Nation
“Pity the nation whose people are sheep,
and whose shepherds mislead them.
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars, whose sages are silenced,
and whose bigots haunt the airwaves.
Pity the nation that raises not its voice,
except to praise conquerors and acclaim the bully as hero
and aims to rule the world with force and by torture.
Pity the nation that knows no other language but its own
and no other culture but its own.
Pity the nation whose breath is money
and sleeps the sleep of the too well fed.
Pity the nation — oh, pity the people who allow their rights to erode
and their freedoms to be washed away.
My country, tears of thee, sweet land of liberty.”

This poem was written by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, an American poet and painter (now aged 99; the owner of the ‘City of Light’ bookstore in San Francisco.

On researching these words, I discovered that not only was that this poem written, not this year, but 11 years ago. What I had imagined to be a comment on the US Trump ‘situation’, was written well before Donald Trump was even on the political radar. (In fact it was when George W. Bush was in office)

But how about this?
‘Pity the nation whose leaders are liars, whose sages are silenced,
and whose bigots haunt the airwaves…’
True?

The other interesting fact (and I should have recognised and known this) was that this Ferlinghetti poem, entitled ‘Pity the Nation’ was an updated (borrowed) version of the like-titled poem, ‘Pity the Nation’ written by the Lebanese/American poet and artist, Kahlil Gibran in his book ‘The Garden of The Prophet’.

It was written sometime in the early 20th century, when a more mild mannered (& behaved!) president was in charge (Calvin Coolidge) so maybe not written about that particular political climate or situation, but aimed more at civilisation in general.
It is well worth reading – and thinking about.

Here it is:

“Pity the nation that is full of beliefs and empty of religion.
Pity the nation that wears a cloth it does not weave
and eats a bread it does not harvest.

Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero,
and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful.

Pity a nation that despises a passion in its dream,
yet submits in its awakening.

Pity the nation that raises not its voice
save when it walks in a funeral,
boasts not except among its ruins,
and will rebel not save when its neck is laid
between the sword and the block.

Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox,
whose philosopher is a juggler,
and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking

Pity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with trumpeting,
and farewells him with hooting,
only to welcome another with trumpeting again.

Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with years
and whose strongmen are yet in the cradle.

Pity the nation divided into fragments,
each fragment deeming itself a nation.”

( Kahlil Gibran, ( 1883-1931) The Garden of The Prophet)

Have any words been better suited to NOW?

And…How true is this part?

“Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero,
and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful...”

And was it ever thus? We can only sigh!

In Praise of Truckies

4/18/2018

Having just returned from a 2000 km trip south from the Gold Coast, Queensland to Victoria and back, I have had cause to ponder on the abilities of truck drivers.

About four hours from home on our last day we had the unnerving experience of almost being ‘wiped out’ by a semi-trailer.

There was a huge (and I mean HUGE) truck travelling in front of us, complete with pilot vehicles, front and back, with lights flashing. The truck was carrying some sort of oversized machinery.
It was a slow ride, but we weren’t concerned as we were content to travel at 80 kph while towing our small caravan.

As we made our way northwards on an ordinary (two-way) hilly country highway, there was little traffic - and vehicles heading south (towards us) were mostly cautious when passing the behemoth in front of us.
At one stage we could see a white car on the other side of the road, heading our way, closely followed by a very large and long semi-trailer. We assumed they would make careful progress passing the ‘monster’ as they continued along the road towards us.

As the white car proceeded alongside and past the huge loaded truck and the back pilot vehicle, for some reason, the car's driver slowed almost to a stop – remember there’s a loaded semi-trailer immediately behind it.

There seemed nowhere for the southbound semi to go but either into our little Volvo or into the almost stopped white car. The truck driver hit the brakes and all 22+ of his wheels locked in a mass of burning rubber as the back section began to ‘fish-tail’ towards us.

With mighty skill, the semi driver righted his vehicle, managing to miss us by a few inches.

We had no idea where any other vehicles were after that as we were enveloped in a thick fog of black and grey smoke from the skidding tyres. Being temporarily blinded, we slowed our car and waited for the smoke to clear.

Expecting to see mayhem but grateful for being left unscathed, we were surprised to see that everyone had escaped. The truck had miraculously missed ploughing into the car in front of it as well as missing us.

The foolish driver of that stopped car merrily (?!) continued on his way as the clever truck driver gathered his rig back on to the right track and off he also went.

Oh, how we wished we could have thanked him and praised him for his driving skills. But he was on a mission to deliver whatever load he had on board and he had driven off, heading south, while we slowly continued northwards.

The driver of the back pilot vehicle pulled over to the side of the road to regain his composure and maybe (we thought) to report the close shave.

How often do we hear comments bewailing the nuisance factor of large trucks driving along our roads and highways? I know I moan about them a lot, saying that such huge amounts of goods – whatever they may be – should be carried by train and that trucks are a danger to all other road users.
I worry about the safety aspect when out driving, after hearing talk of truckies working over-long hours and the possibility of them taking drugs to keep awake and I often wonder about those truckies and their ability to react in a tight situation. Would they cope? Are they the cause of many road fatalities?

Well, the truckie who had the ability to control his vehicle in the wake of the stupid action of a car driver will forever have my gratitude. His driving skills were magnificent and all I can do is hope and pray that he is an example of the ability held by most other truck drivers on our roads.

A big thank you to ‘our’ truckie on the Cunningham Highway, somewhere near Inglewood, Queensland, on April 16th. You were amazing!

Escape Time

4/1/2018

It’s time to haul out the little caravan and take a break; a break involving a slow and relaxing trip south, through New South Wales and Victoria.
It’s time to get away from the electronic world and its distractions.

No FaceBook, no Twitter, no news feeds.
No emails – unless, of course, we are tempted to stop in at a café that has wifi…(naughty?)

My phone will be used for necessary phone calls only. If it’s really important, we’ll eventually hear.

The world seems a toxic place right now with so many political situations around the globe festering on the brink of being (simply put) bad or mad.

But for a little while (for me and the bloke), it’s freedom from news about our Australian untrustworthy and self- serving politicians and their abhorrent behaviours.
It’s freedom from news of US’s execrable Donald Trump.
It’s freedom from stories of Russian interference and poisonings.
And freedom from reports about bloody cricketers.

Instead of catching up with The News, I’ll be browsing in op shops for books to read.

Back in a couple of weeks.

What's a Bike Worth?

3/19/2018

Yearning for a bike of my own was one of my major pre-occupations when I was a child. Bicycles were a precious item and you had to really earn ownership of one.
Over time I cadged rides off other kids, including my big sister, just for the sheer pleasure of being able to ride a bike for a few minutes.
A bicycle was a valued possession and parents had to invest a substantial amount to provide their offspring with a Malvern Star or Healing.
I eventually became the proud owner of a bike on my 12th birthday. It was sturdy and reliable and very red.

As years went by bikes became more easily accessible as the raw materials used for their manufacture became cheaper and more readily available.

My 12th birthday bike remained an important part of my life for decades. It never needed repairing. It was still a solid ‘performer’ when my own daughter was nine years old and she was thrilled to have it – updated with a smart new seat & handle-bars – the frame now bright green and purple.

But chain stores now offer cheap bikes of an amazing sort, size and colour and every kid everywhere seems to own their first bike by the time they are about three years old.
As the children grow, a new and bigger bike replaces the old one and even the charity shops have stopped valuing donations of used bikes; there are just too many!
Bikes are everywhere!

Imagine (all those years ago) ten-year-old me seeing multiple bikes scattered and dumped all over the place. What an unbelievable sight that would have been!

In major cities, abandoned bikes of many hues now dot surrounding footpaths, parks, rivers and trees; left to lie idle and trip the unwary. A blot on the landscape, you might say: The result of loosely controlled bike-sharing schemes gone feral.

The intrinsic value of bicycles has gone.

From a valued and yearned for acquisition to a scourge on city streets, bikes have come a long way. And it’s not a very happy story.

PS: How many bike borrowers realise that the share bike they rode and dumped is magically nabbing detailed information from the card they earlier inserted?

Stop The Killing of Innocents

2/27/2018

To comment on the shooting of teenage students in USA two weeks ago is something I have been avoiding, mainly because the horror of it all is beyond words.

But, in the meantime, while we are reeling at the thought of guns in the US and the utter madness that permits anyone over 18 to buy an assault rifle* and the resultant massacres that are all too frequent…… meanwhile (as I said), meanwhile, what is also way beyond words, meanwhile (again), in Syria – in the same time frame, 500 civilians have been massacred in what is supposedly a justified war.
AND, of these 500 civilians, over 120 of them were children. (Take that in, if you can).

So 17 students were shot and killed in USA and almost the whole world is shaken and horrified – and rightly so. It is an abomination that this can happen in an otherwise peaceful school setting.
But, what of the children of all ages who have also been gunned down and bombed (to DEATH) in Syria? (And now, I read, have also been showered with deadly gas!)
What about those little lives? More than seven times the US toll of dead children happened in Syria – and that’s just the ‘tip of the iceberg’. These were just part of the civilian toll for the past 2 weeks. Not to mention the dead, injured and maimed people of all ages.
This is all beyond words, but I have to say it.

I am full of admiration for the young people in USA who are taking on the disgusting NRA.
It is such a shame that there is no matching movement to help the Syrians and others caught up in useless wars. And ‘USELESS’ is the operative word!

War never achieves anything! Nothing, except horror, injury and death.

My father was a soldier in the Northern Territory (Australia) way back during World War 2. He survived as he was not in Darwin when the Japanese rained bombs upon the land. And, for those almost 500 killed (just in Darwin) what was achieved? Nothing!
And now Australia and Japan are ‘best friends’. So what was that all about in the 1940s?

I have digressed from talking about the American school massacre to the meaning of war.
I’m sorry, it’s all beyond words.

And our Prime Minister wants Australia to boost its arms dealing..... Beyond words...

*AR-15-style rifles have been used in recent mass shootings at in Aurora, Colo.; Santa Monica and San Bernardino, Calif.; Orlando, Florida and now Parkland.

Dealing in horror

2/5/2018

Right now I’ve been putting off writing a blog post as I feel I should (should?) be writing about some of what is happening here politically in Australia but much of it makes me feel quite ill. It’s unpleasant even thinking about it, let alone writing about it and I have to I wonder why news journalists are not screaming in response to some of the latest ‘news’. Where are the headlines about inequality and horror?

Here’s just one instance: our Prime Minister has, this past week, announced that he would like Australia to become one of the top 10 weapons producers in the world. What? Join the arms dealing business? Does he even know the reason ‘arms’ are made? Their purpose (whether spoken or not), Mr Prime Minister, is to wreak havoc on others (not us, of course) and actually kill and maim them. Did you not realise that?

And, did you also not realise that, once these weapons are produced and sold to other nations (oh, so much rubbing of hands in glee, at the thought of the money) did you not ever think that the nation that bought these weapons, might one day NOT be our friend and perhaps decide to obliterate us? Ever think of that?
And…how about taking a look at footage of some of the worst after-effect scenes in (current) war torn countries. Nice, huh? Good thing to do? Would you like that? Would you like your luxury home to end up like that? Thought not.

The other terrible result of arms/weapons use is that, once their purpose has been achieved, the consequence is more than likely to be more and more people bombed out of their homes and their homeland and turned into homeless and terrified refugees. Dead, injured and/or without a home.

And, what does our Prime Minister think about that? Well, what he does is ‘stop the boats’ (he loves that phrase) to make sure that none of these refugees ever tries to come to Australia for refuge - to seek asylum. Nice confluence of ideas: produce and sell weapons to be used in conflicts all over the world, while refusing asylum to the resulting human detritus. Nice one! (Of course, often to help START the war in the first place!)

So, there you have it.

That’s partly why I feel unable to write anything hopeful or positive while I watch this awful approach by our ‘leader’.

I will only briefly mention other worries, such as our current politicians’ promotion of COAL, the neglect of crucial environment issues and the curbing of much R & D in universities and scientific studies.

But, it seems that to be in the world’s ‘top 10’ in the arms race is the position to aspire towards.

Where are the headlines criticising this decision? Where are the protests?

Distress is Relative.

1/15/2018

‘Natural’ disasters galore: There’s snow on the Sahara desert and rising sea levels are swallowing up the Pacific nation of Kiribati. For us, here in Australia, it’s been the hottest year on record. There has been weird weather all over the world – hurricanes, heatwaves and floods. California’s horrific bushfires decimated all the trees and subsequently, when heavy rains came, deadly mud slides swallowed up houses and people.
Looks like there’s something to this ‘Climate Change’ theory, eh? Not much fun! And Donald Trump is still in the WH, creating chaos every time he opens his mouth.

In resisting the urge to add to the awfulness of some of what we face in 2018, I searched my memory box to find a more ‘normal’ story of horror and worry; something from simpler times.
So, here’s a story from ‘long ago’:

An Unexpected Death
When we lived in the country in a rented cottage by a river, I used to love arriving home from a day’s teaching. It was the perfect place to relax after a day spent with the disabled kids in my care. Once home and out of my car the weariness seemed to just fall away and I would immediately feel refreshed.

Before I opened the back door, I would walk over to the hen house and see how many eggs our chooks had laid during the day.
They were just very ordinary white chooks – nothing special – but we were fond of them and they gave generously of their beautiful deep-yellow-yolk eggs, day by day.

On warm afternoons, they often sunbathed in the dusty driveway and I would give the car’s horn a quick toot as I arrived home and they would scatter away.

One afternoon as I happily turned into the driveway, I hit the car horn and whether no sound came out or whether I was driving a little faster than usual, one dust-bathing chook was too slow to move and the car ran into her.
In panic, I leapt out f the car to check the ‘damage’.

It was obvious; instead of a clucking, wing-flapping hen, there was a sad but rather large and messy pile of white feathers. No blood, just a dead chook.
I was mortified.

Almost worse was to come when I had to bury the poor thing. Sad and all as I was, perhaps the most distressing part of the whole unfortunate incident was discovering what a LARGE parcel a dead chook is.

That day and for many days afterwards, my happy home-coming was ruined by the memory of an unplanned chook slaying and resultant awful task of burying that unexpectedly large feathered body.

(Sad, but true!)

2018...nearly here!

12/29/2017

Ah, a new year is almost here. Hello 2018!

Quotes relating to New Year’s Resolutions offer an abundance of deep and meaningful messages relating to enriching a ‘new beginning’ and so forth. There are also references to casting off bad habits as well as many generally quite wonderful (?) words to inspire.
As for me, I have decided to be a little practical.
Here are My New Year’s Resolutions: (Try not to doze off with boredom as you read through them. Realistic they may be but inspiring they are not).
Here we go…
I resolve:

To use public transport more often.
To smile at the check-out person (there are very few left!)
To snooze in the afternoon whenever I feel like doing so.
To read at least one book a week.
To finish writing my memoir.
T o visit the beach more often.
To repaint all the skirting boards in our house. AND…
To endeavour to keep these resolutions.

Why does anyone do this? Make New Year’s Resolutions, that is. I have never before bothered to make any such promises to myself. Certainly I have never written any down.
It will be interesting to see if I manage to achieve anything on this meagre list.

You’ll notice that I haven’t included ‘climb Mount Everest’ or ‘learn to fly a plane’ or ‘try skateboard riding’. Nor have I mentioned ‘learn to not be afraid of spiders’ or ‘tidy my desk’. No use listing the impossible.

Minor as it may seem, my aim ‘to use public transport more often’ is possibly my most genuine and serious resolution. Petrol is expensive. Driving on our roads is scary and you can’t read a book when driving (see No 4). Our city has buses, trams and trains that can safely deliver travellers anywhere, so I plan to use them.

Resolution No 5 is ‘to finish writing my memoir’. This is certainly the most ambitious AND, unfortunately, the same aim I had for 2017 - and failed. So, perhaps second-time-lucky – (although luck has little to do with it) but I’m a year older and a year lazier. (See No 3) so it may be hard.

Now…I had thought of aiming to stop using cash when shopping, but (see No 2) I prefer to deal (and chat) with a human being.

As for visiting the beach more often – well I had to include something pleasant to counteract the awful aim of (No 7) painting the skirting boards. Such a horrible job but the need of a coat of paint on them is starting to annoy me. (Of course, I could simply avoid looking down at skirting boards when I clean the floor. Or maybe stop cleaning the floor?). But visiting the beach more often is do-able.

I will write these eight simple aims for 2018 somewhere noticeable and see how I go.

Yes, I know it doesn’t seem much to do, with a whole year in which to fit it all, but when I’m not achieving my resolutions I will be otherwise simply living…and living simply (Ooops, there’s another resolution I should have added).

There may even be a small holiday in the year somewhere…so, there’s and extra New Year’s resolution: to have a holiday.

Anyway, list done.
Happy New Year, everyone!

Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree...

12/18/2017

With amazement, but not surprise, I read the following: “The department store’s traditional tree is now called a “Grand Pine Tree”, the snow-coloured version a “White Forest Tree”, with other styles including the “Black Forest Tree”, “Mayfair Tree” and “Atlanta Tree”.”

Little by little, the word ‘Christmas’ is sliding out of view - and out of minds. Christmas is becoming ‘Holiday Time’ and ‘Seasonal’ whatever. The music playing in the malls and shops is mostly general noisy ‘pop’ stuff with the occasional Christmassy song - but hardly ever a carol. Well, that is, a carol that is recognisable as one of the (old?) stirring type of religious – and dare I say ‘worshipful’ - carols.

The shoppers in Westfield are intent on ‘getting’, which does indeed eventually turn into ‘giving’ I suppose, but there seems little evidence to inspire happiness, peace and love in the faces of people we see when we brave the hordes of shoppers intent on hauling those piles of glittery junk that now symbolise Christmas.

The other evening I saw a ‘holiday tree’ advertised on tv. A ‘holiday tree’? Well, it certainly looked like a Christmas tree to me, but, there you have it – it was a ‘holiday tree’! That’s blatantly ridiculous!

Every year we hear stories (rumours?) of why it’s now called ‘holiday time’ and not Christmas time. It is, ‘they’ say, so as to be inclusive and not to upset people who would like to celebrate at this time of year and yet are not Christians.
What?
Apart from the fact that I consider this notion to be an absolute fabrication, I also wonder how ANYONE nowadays considers Christmas to have much to do with actual Christianity.
Well, do you?

It seems a strange, even sad, state of affairs when whole communities are pursuing frantic endeavours to not only ‘shop till they drop’ and max out their credit cards but are being sucked into re-branding this festive season, thus removing its original premise.

‘Yeah, yeah’ people say, ‘we know the story of Baby Jesus and the shepherds and all that, but….’

But what?

But, wasn’t that what started all this hullaballoo?

That the baby born in a stable, because ‘there was no room in the inn’* (and, of course, the rest of the story) is the reason and substance behind ‘our’ Christmas?

Think about it. There was ‘no room in the inn’. There are currently hundreds of people in our towns for whom there is ‘no room in the inn’; no room anywhere. They are homeless.
They are probably even more poor and needy than the parents of Baby Jesus.
Perhaps that’s the angle that Christmas giving should be more generally aimed towards. Instead of the mass hysteria of shopping sprees, decorations, Santa Claus, over indulged children and excessive partying, eating and drinking, there should be more than just a tiny thought to that other approach; the approach of really giving to our neighbours.

Just a thought.

It certainly would be less stressful – and cheaper!

Anyone?

I’m not being a ‘party pooper’, nor am I a Scrooge or a religious ‘nut’. I enjoy giving gifts as much as anyone, but I’m also pointing out how far we have come as a society from the first meaning - and the first idea of celebrating Christmas…(a time that may soon be just known as the end of year ‘Holiday Time’ celebration with no mention of Christmas).

Just remember we are supposedly celebrating at this time of year because, over 2000 years ago, there was a baby born in a stable when ‘there was no room in the inn’.......

What’s that got to do with glitter and excessive consumerism?

Anyway, I wish you all a very Happy Christmas.
And would you like a “Grand Pine Tree”, with that?

*(Luke 2:7) ‘And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.’
(KJB)

Earworm in my brain

12/14/2017

It’s 1 am, I’ve been in bed for about 2 hours and I can’t sleep. All through my head a song is spinning, over and over: ‘South of the border, down Mexico way…’
On and on it goes: ‘…That's where I fell in love, where the stars above came out to play..’
And, then (I think there’s a bit missing here, but, who cares?) ‘…The mission bells told me that I mustn't stay - south of the border down Mexico way..’
And then something like ‘..I, yi, yi yiiii., I yii, yii yii….’ But I have no idea if that’s part of the song – probably not – but that’s what’s playing in my head.

Why THIS song?
I didn’t even realise that I knew it!
I certainly don’t like it! I have never purposely played it – either on CD, on-line, from a cassette tape (remember those?) and never on the piano. Nor have I any recollection of hearing it recently on the radio.

Where the hell did it come from?

Any WHY (and HOW?) do I remember the words – and the tune?
And why, oh why is it playing non-stop in my head?
And at 1 am?

I’d heard that this phenomenon is called an ‘earworm’, so I Googled ‘earworm’ and found that it can also be called "involuntary musical imagery", and "stuck song syndrome".
‘Stuck song syndrome’ describes it well - and that is surely what I had.

Thank goodness ‘South of the border’ is gone from my brain now. I am very grateful - and hope it never returns.

But, but…if I can remember words and music from a song I have never cared about, how is it that sometimes I can’t remember a person’s name, or the name of a place I visited and loved, or a flower I love - or even just a word?
How come I often can’t remember where I put my specs? Or what’s the number plate on my car?

Memory, you are indeed a strange thing!

So this is Christmas

12/9/2017

Yes, yes, yes….we all know that December is well & truly here and, although we have been bombarded with Christmas themes for well over a month, it is now getting serious - only two weeks till Christmas Day, with promoting, selling and buying reaching a fever pitch!

Sometimes you just have to be brave enough – or desperate enough – to visit to a large shopping complex and be confronted with the horrendous scene that greets you:
Different (& appalling) music blasting forth from each shop, flustered women (yes, mainly women), a few grumpy men, excited and squabbling kids, with trolleys laden with crappy stuff – no doubt destined to be part of the escalating land-fill awfulness by mid next year.

So, this is Christmas (so someone once said - and sang).

And here is what’s being said in the newspaper about children this Christmas:
“RMIT marketing expert Con Stavros suspects pester power is worse at this time of year. But he says parents may also welcome it.”
WHAT? Parents WELCOME their kids pestering them about presents?

It gets worse:
"I often think parents feel uncomfortable not knowing what to buy for their children,"
Parents ‘FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE’ not knowing what to buy?
What parents are so unfamiliar with their own kids that they have no idea what to buy them for a Christmas gift and thus 'FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE’?

Okay, okay, so some parents are unaware of the preferences of their own children. That may be true. Seems strange, but it may be true.

And, yes, I do remember a Christmas eons ago, when, as a small child, I received a gift that wasn’t quite what I had been hoping for. Perhaps some disappointment popped into my psyche and perhaps lingered for a day. But, from a long distance of time, I realise that it was not an earth-shattering experience and was more likely to have been part of good life education. As in:
it’s never a good learning experience to always get exactly what you want.

Back to the expert:
"Finding a gift that has some meaning, has some impact, can be challenging."
Challenging? Intelligence, anyone? How challenging can it be to find an appropriate gift for your own kid/s? And how much of an ‘impact’ and ‘meaning’ does a gift have to have?

If you really don’t know what activity your kids enjoy, ask them! But, oh, that’s right – they’re already ‘pestering’!

But, please don’t forget that it’s also bloody important for them to understand if their wish list is out of your range as far as spending ability goes.

Yet another first world problem methinks!

WWJD?

Finger print free fridge door

12/5/2017

A woman was being interviewed about a new product that made stainless steel fridge doors fingerprint free. With this wonderful new invention you could now open and close the refrigerator door and not leave marks.
“It’s life-changing!” exclaimed the woman.

Really?
No, it’s not.

If you lose a limb – that can be life-changing.
If a close family member or partner dies – that can be life- changing.
A divorce can be life-changing.
Moving to live in a foreign country can be life-changing.
Having a baby can be life-changing.
Lots of things can be life-changing but having a fridge door that doesn’t show finger marks is not, in my opinion, a life-changing situation.

I may be wrong…but if it is, then I do wonder what sorts of lives some people are living.

But, what would I know? My fridge is so old-fashioned, it’s white.

A Dollar of Pumkin

11/22/2017

Yesterday at the fruit market pumpkins were $2. Couldn’t resist buying one.

This morning I made soup. Fried up a chopped onion in the big pot, then added chopped up pumpkin (only used half), two chopped carrots, a potato and some celery. To this I added brown rice, red lentils and split peas that I had soaked overnight. (Not much – just about a tablespoon of each).

When all this started to smell delicious as it gently fried, I added about 2 litres of water and three chicken stock cubes.

From the freezer I took containers of chicken stock made from the remains of long-ago-eaten chicken and added about one litre of that and stirred in half a teaspoon each of salt and curry powder. Once the soup was gently bubbling away I left it to simmer for a couple of hours.

Later (when the soup is cooled a little) I will puree it in the food processor, together with herbs from the garden, including parsley, rosemary, garlic chives and a little mint.
Tonight, it will be served hot with a sprinkle of extra parsley and a blob of Greek yoghurt. We will eat it with a thick slice of warm buttered Turkish bread.
Yum!

Now, I know that there are only two of us to eat this, but it will do for about three meals. And yes, I know that the energy needed to cook the soup probably cost a small amount (even taking into account our solar panels) and the vegetables and other additions originally cost something – as did the Turkish bread…BUT it will be a delicious and filling meal and all for $1 pumpkin +.

Can’t help but have a feeling of smugness as I contemplate my old-fashioned frugality!

‘Yes’ or ‘No’: what will it be? The time has come.

11/13/2017

Way back in October last year, I posted a blog on the SSM debate and the proposed plebiscite. In the blog I wrote that, as it was ‘none of my business’, I would most likely just leave any voting form blank – that is, if it did come to pass that we, the populace, would get to vote on the matter.
My ideas have changed in the year since I wrote that. Although I still think that it is none of my business, I did come to see the need to vote.
And the need to vote ‘Yes’.
I learnt that there are more than a few people for whom this decision is very important; a vote in favour of SSM would give them a feeling of equality that they have missed out on and a feeling of inclusion instead of exclusion.

In the past few weeks people have been willing to disclose how they voted.
I have not pressed people for their views but some have been offered.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised by my church-going Christian friends telling me that they voted ‘No’ because it (SSM) didn’t seem right and didn’t match their Christian views on marriage. I refrained from pointing out the obvious fact that this debate concerned civil marriage and has no effect on religious ceremonies at all. I also didn’t point out that the founder of their Christian Church maintained that the most important ‘law’ of all is ‘to love your neighbour as yourself’ as well as the so-called ‘Golden Rule’ to ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you’*. Surely that means (basically) to be kind and loving towards ALL people and not just the ones who subscribe to your personal beliefs.

So… anyway, here were a couple of ‘No’ votes.

Friends of this same couple also voted ‘No’. I was a little taken aback to hear that, as they have a gay son. When I stated my surprise I was told that the gay son also voted ‘No’, because he could see nothing good in marriage. Ah, so no thoughts of compassion for his gay comrades, then?

So… that’s another three ‘No’ votes.

A close relative told me the other day that she was ‘so sick of this same sex thing’ that she voted ‘No’ – just to ‘get rid of it’. She also filled in ‘No’ for her middle-aged son who was just too lazy to fill in his own form.

So…there’s another two ‘No’ votes.

Jeepers, did anyone vote ‘Yes’?

My 19 year-old grandson was one of the very few who asked me how I voted. At my answer of ‘Yes’, he had no comment at all. I didn’t ask him what box he ticked but I guessed it was the ‘Yes’ one.

So, that’s one vote for ‘Yes’ (mine) and possibly another from the grandson.

So… what will it be? A few weeks ago, I thought that the ‘Yes’ vote would romp in with a huge swell. Now I am not so sure.

But the time has come. Tomorrow the result of Australia’s public vote on Same Sex Marriage will be announced.
And then the ‘fun’ will start!
Give me strength!

*Do unto others as you would have them do unto you definition: A command based on words of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount : “All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.” The Mosaic law contains a parallel commandment: “Whatever is hurtful to you, do not do to any other person.”

I Have Rubbish on my Mind

11/4/2017

I have seen the horror pictures of the acres of plastic pollution floating in the world’s oceans. It’s the stuff of nightmares. We are told that by the year 2050, there will be more plastic in the sea than fish. Think about that!
On recent walks with my little dog I have noticed ever-increasing pieces of litter scattered throughout the several acres of parkland near my home. So much so that yesterday afternoon I took a garbage bag on the walk and gathered up the tossed plastic drink bottles, empty chip packets and other rubbish. By the time I reached a bin, my bag was full to overflowing.
Did my small act of rubbish collection achieve anything, I wonder. Perhaps not - but I feel a great need to stop at least some stuff from being swept into the drains during the next tropical downpour.
This plastic pollution of our seas is killing fish and other sea life, including birds.
So, what a minuscule act of mine that was, compared with the problem that exists – and yet, if everyone – EVERYONE - did what I did yesterday and picked up a few bits and pieces…wait, hang on…if everyone FIRSTLY did NOT throw rubbish where they stood, but dealt responsibly with it, the problem would surely be greatly minimised. But is it too late?

I will not start on the excessive plastic packaging situation, nor will I go on about the ridiculous use of single use shopping bags, nor the production of never-ending (often useless) plastic ‘goods’.
It makes my head spin.

And yet… And yet… Is this the worst problem that faces today’s world?

My head is more than spinning when I try to follow it all and make some sense of what’s going on.
My head is almost exploding with the problems of the world and every time I sit at the desk to add a blog post, my mind feels like the ocean – filled with rubble - but this rubble isn’t plastic pieces; it’s all the awful things that are going on in this world of ours.
What is happening? Sure, there are still nice and good and helpful and positive actions taking place daily around the globe but…but…far too many not nice, not good, not helpful, negative things occurring.

In Australia we have the inhumane act of keeping asylum seekers imprisoned on Manus Island for years. Nothing short of torture.
Australian politics in general is in disarray, with stupid distractions forever keeping the government from doing its job of – yes – governing.
Australia is about to gift billions of $$$ to an Indian coal miner – instead of funding renewable energy solutions. (Can you believe it?)

In USA, there is Donald Trump. What can I say, except he is now the whole world’s problem, it seems.

Over the entire world there is the threat of global warming…It is not going away!

I keep thinking, ‘I must write about that’ and then change my mind because it’s either too horrible, too upsetting or simply unbelievable (think Donald Trump).

It’s almost like I’ve developed an allergic reaction to my computer, as each time I move towards it to write, I feel compelled to back away – too unwilling to put words into a blog.
But, here I am and I have written something.
Make sense of it if you can.
I can’t.

In Praise of Children's Hospitals

10/21/2017

Sad as it is to know that some children must spend time in hospital, it is extremely heartening to know that so many changes have taken place over the past half century or so to make this experience more bearable for both children and their parents.
Today I have been reading about the gentle and, dare I say, fun way the Monash Children’s Hospital is preparing small children to accept - and be relaxed about - having a CAT scan, by allowing them to play at giving a scan to a chosen ‘animal’ toy.
Other changes over the past decades have seen parents being welcome (and able) to stay by their child’s side as the child undergoes hospital treatment.
Many, many years ago, when I had a very ill little brother who had to endure lengthy stays in the Melbourne children’s hospital, it was not a bright and welcoming building that we see nowadays, but a large, dark, sombre and imposing edifice in what was then a rather seedy part of town. Parents were not permitted to even visit their hospitalised children but only allowed to peek at them through a window during visiting times. To say that it must have had serious negative effects on an ailing child is an understatement; a situation that would seem unimaginable to us in these more enlightened times. But that is the way it was.
Progress can be brilliant at times!

World Teachers' Day

10/6/2017

World Teachers’ Day has just happened.
Here, in newspapers and on-line, people were invited to tell of their experiences of being inspired or helped by a particular teacher during their student days.
Some of the stories that emerged were heart-warming, providing enjoyable reading but another off-shoot of this invitation was a small contribution of tales about teachers who had drastically underestimated – or undermined – kids’ abilities and ambitions.

One reminiscence that moved me came from journalist & author Julia Baird, who told of the teacher who informed her (as a 16 year-old) that “There is nothing new under the sun, Julia. No thought, no idea - they have all been said before.”
What an awful thing to say to an inquiring student. Fortunately Julia did not believe her history teacher and went on to have an excellent (one of Julia’s favourite words) career in journalism and the literary world.

These stories got me to thinking about my school days. I was a reluctant scholar in many ways, even though I quite enjoyed learning. I simply had a negative view of school – not helped at all by the many stern and rigidly boring teachers I encountered. I was not alone. A school friend, with whom I am still in constant contact many decades after school days ended, was once told by our head mistress, “The problem with you, Jessica, is that you have delusions of grandeur!” It was a statement aimed at reducing Jessica’s enthusiasm for acting in school productions, most of which turned into boring performances by being denied enthusiastic performances by the likes of Jessica.

In my memoir, I have included an anecdote from my final year at school. It goes like this:

Near the end of the school year, our form mistress, Miss Lea-Wright (I always reckoned that she made up that name) asked me, in front of the class, what I planned to do when I left school. Knowing that she held me in very low regard, I stood up, as was required when spoken to, and replied, “I don’t want to tell you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, girl. I’d like to know.”
Her smirking false smile made my flesh creep.
“I’d rather not say,” was my reply.
“And, why not, pray?” She was getting angry.
“Because you’ll laugh at me,” was my brave, but determined answer.
“I will not laugh at you, Dianna. Tell me how you are going to spend your life.”
This time it was an order.
“I’m going to be a teacher.” My voice was little more than a whisper.
“Thank you. You may sit down.”

There was no further comment and my flaming cheeks and teetering tears eventually calmed.
I DID become a teacher. I taught for about 30 years in primary schools and (for six gruelling years) in a Special School for disabled children – two of those years as Principal.
I loved my teaching career and I loved the children in my care.
Not often, but I did occasionally think of Miss Lea-Wright and wonder what she would think if she could see me now.
I really don’t think she would have been interested.

Mr Trump and Mr Kim. It's more than the hair!

9/27/2017

Donald Trump said:
"The United States has great strength and patience, but if it is forced to defend itself or its allies, we will have no choice but to totally destroy North Korea."

Dear Donald Trump,
Did you think through that statement? The word ‘regime’ (as you call North Korea) does not imply an abstract thing or a physical lump of land. Have you any conception that threatening to ‘totally destroy North Korea’ means actually KILLING millions of people? Millions of men, women and children. Not just obliterating a ‘regime’ (whatever you imagine that to be!).
And, what will North Korea’s response be if you set out to do that?
The same as what you have chosen to do to them.
Yes, we know that North Korea is not the happiest place, with starving and imprisoned (even tortured) people because of its leadership, but do you really think destroying the whole country will benefit those starving, tortured, imprisoned north Koreans? Is killing them all the answer?
It is barely believable that you two men who, on the surface have little more than utter poisonous attitudes and strange haircuts in common, can hold the entire world to ransom with ugly threats. To what end? To justify your childish wishes to be ‘top man’? To entirely annihilate civilisation - to create the end of the world, in other words?
And, guess what, Mr Trump. When the world is blown to smithereens with the help of you and Mr Kim, the outcome will not be you sitting atop an adoring world wearing a gold crown, draped in an American flag, but will most likely be you dead, your family dead and (if there are any) your friends dead.
And your beloved America that you wished to ‘make great again’ will not only not ‘be great’ but will not even be anywhere or anything. Pfft. Pain. Obliteration. A pile of rubble. Nothing.
Think about it.
Please.

PS: So good that you are finally taking heed of advisers and are at least pretending to be interested in the devastation caused by recent natural disasters.

And PPS: Stop making the kneeling athletes into something they are not. It’s you, stupid.

Still the same world

9/3/2017

It has been nearly two months since I last posted a blog. I was then leaving on a trip overseas and had made a firm decision to become (for the next month or so, at least) a ‘Liberosist’ – a person who desires to care less about things.
And I did so.
During the next month or so I watched no television at all, I read no newspapers and I only glanced a few times at Face Book or Twitter…(true!).
Over this time, I discovered that Singapore remains the fascinating place I had found it previously to be and I maintained my decision to not eat at high-class restaurants but to find places where the locals ate - and enjoy the fabulous food. I discovered the breakfast delight of Kaya Toast and am now on a mission to find an Asian grocery store where coconut jam is sold, so that I might make my home version of this delicious treat.
I found that Agean Air have just about the most uncomfortable airline seats ever.
And despite the lovely friendliness of Greek people and their delicious food (there I go again), parts of poor old Athens look decidedly down-at-heel and the air pollution (due to lack of trees, I’m told) is horrific.
In UK, I discovered how delightful a tiny granddaughter could be and nearly wore out a pair of shoes experiencing and appreciating the beauty of The Cotswolds during one of England’s most pleasant summers ever.
Having now returned to Australia, I am trying not to be too involved in television news but, even the fact that Donald Trump is still in the White House, let alone sabre rattling with North Korea is a depressing fact indeed.
Floods in many parts of the world are proving fatal for thousands, while still many in power refuse to acknowledge climate change as the truly awful future we are facing.
There is genocide of the Myanmar Rohingya people happening as we watch helplessly, it seems.
Not a happy world to enter back into.
Added to this, on a personal level, I have just returned from a week interstate due to a bereavement, involving the death of my brother-in-law, whom I had known for almost all my life. He was so loved and will be sorely missed.
About the only bright spot on my return from overseas was to find a helpful and lovely comment (on a blog posted way back in September last year) when I had written on the subject of ‘Our Better Angels’. Thank you Nigel Harrison, I appreciated your comments.
And, now, I am trying to return to some sort of normalcy, after flying to the other side of the world and back and spending precious time with my UK family.
But please someone tell me that our politicians have gained some decency in the last months.
And, how much longer does the world (no longer just USA) have to tolerate Donald Trump?
Some good news, please!

A word that means...?

7/5/2017

The word is ‘LIBEROSIS’. I didn’t invent it, it’s a real word – or according to The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, that says it means: ‘the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions.’

Well, I’m taking that word and all it implies on-board right now. That’s how I’ve decided to act or feel – for the (un)foreseeable future.

I will be a liberosist.

Thanks to a favourite Tweeter (Julia Baird) who occasionally shares interesting words in her tweets, I have thought about liberosis and embraced it.

I am cultivating (as the word suggests) a desire to care less about things.

I am heartily sick of the way the world is behaving. I am totally pissed off with the show of nuclear might demonstrated by the strange-headed leader of North Korea, who smiles and claps his fat hands while more than half his population is bereft of food and necessities.

I am heartily sick of the execrable dumbness and tweets of Donald Trump as, in his ignorance, he ramps up the anger meters of such place as North Korea and places the whole world in danger.

I am heartily sick of the Australian politicians who spend their time - and the taxpayers’ money - in futile and childish spats and inactivity.

I am heartily sick of the moronic anti-science mob who claim that global warming/climate change does not exist.

I plan to stop worrying, fretting and cursing – for a while.
I will ignore broadcast news and avert my eyes from newspaper headlines.

As I ‘loosen my grip on life’ (Not sure what that means, actually, but it sounds relaxing!) I will endeavour to act more like a volleyball, keeping up in the air.
And, as for my blogging, I will be silent for a while as I take my new floating, carefree life on a trip to other parts of the world and spend my time on such pursuits as sharing a book about Sophie the Giraffe, with my baby granddaughter.

On leaving my home in Australia – as a liberosist - until mid August, blogging from me will cease until I am once more home, with hopefully a happier world to see and write about.

Thanks for reading.