American in Oz

Midnight Across the Equator

2012-01-30T22:42:00.004-06:00

Wilderness, within and without, challenges Demi as she seeks her inner child, Stephanie, in California's Sierra and Australia's brilliant Outback.

Chapter 1 — Wilderness

(The first 100 words)

I banged on the front door and shouted in the quiet southern California suburb, 'Merrie, school’s over; graduations done and my backpack is in the trunk. Say good-bye to your hubby and let’s go.’

Opening the door, Merrie set her backpack on the porch. ‘You are an ebullient soul. Where did all the energy come from?’

‘And you are a poet. Where did ebullient come from?’ I leaned against the door jam and urged, ‘Let’s get under way before I cave. All of this energy is about fear — of snow, of bears, and of the spring thaw.'

Foggy foggy dew

2012-01-28T20:17:00.003-06:00

Sitting on the back veranda attempting to finish off a soduku — no chance 'cause my glasses kept fogging up and I couldn't, of course, see the numbers on the page. Yep, that's just how humid it is right now in the great green south.

I finally gave up and settled into my computer chair to jot you all a note about the circumstances of this week.

Sunday morning and we were off to James Street in the Valley for our scrambled eggs and the best cuppa of the week. No one makes a mug of flat whites as tasty as Faye at Harvey's.

Then home again, home again, jiggidy jig.

The Master of the house is down in the cellar arranging, sweeping and generally making space for all of our most valued items — you know the stuff — no financial value, but lots of emotional riff raff...so that the kids who are renting the house don't have to worry about breaking or scuffing my tax records or his no longer useful lighting tools. There's always the tiny gifts given by students when I graduated high school, one or five of them. And naturally, the wine glasses that were a gift from his mom on the day of his first wedding.

And all the paint and stain cans from bringing the hundred year old doors into the 21st century and the goods necessary to protect the front and back veranda from the elements for one more year. Both look spiffy at the moment. The mold from last years flood monsoon washed away and the surfaces repainted. The little black ants evicted from crevices between boards and wood protection applied. The charcoal of the two of us in love transported to its own wall, covered and hung in the deep dry depths to keep it safe until we return and hang it again above the bed.

A week before our departure and I'm packed and ready to climb into the taxi. The Aussie monster will soon be in the same condition. Cleaners come on Friday for an eight hour bout with the house to make it spic and span for renters.

Why is it that we clean as we leave? According to my ex, that's a pattern I've been following for an awful lot of years. One more time, I'll follow the pattern, only this time I will return for at least another twelve months of Brisbane cafe life before finding a new Australian home.

In the meantime, hopefully, February which is sticking it's short little head over the horizon, will be a celebration for all of you. We think it will be for us.

Monsoon Bedtime

2012-01-24T05:27:00.002-06:00

Raining again!

Rained last night, rained the night before; gonna rain tomorrow like it never rained before!

Don't know any other place I've been in my life when rain fell so hard for so long...not a steady drizzle, but a pounding, resolute storm cloud that covers the entire east coast of a continent, albeit, the smallest continent.

I'm tired of the downpour, praying for sunlight on the morrow. I have a set of stairs to paint before I leave the 'down under'. Managed to finish the yellow uprights just before the storm started yesterday, but have the red handrails to finish off.

Let there be a drying of the cloud cover, dear god of the skies. Let moonshine and sunlight cover the land for a bit so that my chores can be completed before I sail off into the up over!

Summer Saturday

2012-01-20T21:49:00.002-06:00

Happiness is a quiet Saturday, bright sunshine, a powerful fan, a comfy seat, and a laptop ready to load with all the news that's fit to print and take back to America.

True, we're coming north very soon.

Looking forward to seeing ya'll. With very little snow on the mountain hoping to make the three mile trek to the cabin for a week of Sierra madness.

Then we're off to Arizona to visit with friends and family.

Catch you soon.

"CONGRATULATIONS TO MY NEWLY MARRIED FRIENDS"

2012-01-15T04:02:00.002-06:00

Ah, an announcement has just arrived in my down under mail box alerting me to the 18 December marriage ceremony of two important friends from southern California.

Congratulations to you both. I know that it is not proper to congratulate the bride, but when have we ever been 'proper'.

the Aussie and I wish you the most delightful, fulfilling, thoroughly exciting 2012 and many years beyond. May bliss follow you both all the years of your relationship.

It is a joy to see the picture of the two of you legally entwined !

Love you!!

Feeling a tad superb this early morning

2012-01-11T13:36:00.003-06:00

Woke at 4:20 this morning. Isn't that supposed to be 'toke' time...oh, yeah, that's 4:20 in the afternoon :)

Am feeling just a tad superior — no inferiority complex here. Yesterday I painted the whole front wall of the Brisbane house. It looks spiffy and I feel damn good for the effort. But, it did take me 7.5 hours to complete the job in 100 F heat. So engrossed in my task was I that I forgot to feel overheated. I think that's a good outcome. And I'm a tad impressed with my focus and growing skill with paint brush and 10 litre cans of paint. double :)

Now, it's time to do the trim around the doors and move on to the veranda railings and front steps. Temperatures today are supposed to only reach 81F. We'll see. Often those who are supposed to know miss by a mile .. er kilometre ..

The Aussie will be painting the northwest side of the house today on very high painters' scaffold. Some of you may remember that the northwest side of the house is three stories high. I won't look or even go round that side of the property til he is safely returned to ground zero and my waiting arms or maybe his waiting afternoon tea.

Hope your world is as full of good works as I am beginning to feel mine is. Catch you on the morrow.

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

2012-01-10T16:41:00.002-06:00

Eleanor Roosevelt

90.5 F at Midnight

2012-01-09T16:27:00.003-06:00

'not happy, Jan.'

Ye gads, try sleeping in a house with no air con when it's 95 F while it's light and 90 at midnight with a sky full of almost precipitation. Sound a tad like tropical living? You bet. And this happy camper turned into a crab!

Ended up stretching out on the lounge room floor with the biggest fan in the house blowing air..not cool air, but air... across my body. Hate having fan air curling around my ears, disturbing my back with gusts — hate hot at night! Not fond of hot in the daytime especially when it's accompanied by huge almost storm clouds.

Yep, I'm whinging! Counting the days til the plane with me on board leaves this summery climate bound for winter in the northern hemisphere. Global warming? Not my choice, promise you.

North Dakota friends — Take a Look!

2012-01-07T23:47:00.002-06:00

North Dakota's RPA Training

The state of North Dakota is trying to position itself to become a leader in unmanned aircraft. Two years ago, the University of North Dakota became the first civilian school to offer a four year degree in unmanned aircraft systems operations. . .

The new UAS training centre in Grand Forks is located off campus at Grand Forks Air Force Base. The centre includes a small room that's essentially a cockpit on the ground. Pilots and sensor operators can watch what's happening in the air through cameras on the plane.

The undergraduate students studying unmanned aircraft systems begin their coursework by leaning about aerodynamics as any traditional pilot would. Then the classes branch off to study the specifics of unmanned aircraft.

The students aren't in the military, but they'll likely end up working as military contractors when they graduate. That's where the jobs are.

Associate Professor Ben Trapnell set up the US degree program here. He used to be a Navy pilot,but he says that unmanned aircraft are the future.

'And if you do any research with the army, the air force, there are people that will tell you they may hve produced or are producing their last manned fighter.' Trapnell sees a lot more than just military applications for unmanned aircraft.

'I've got about 90 different uses for unmanned aircraft. But some of the big things: agricultural uses — we can get imagery to farmers a lot faster than having to wait for satellites to do the same thing — pipleline patrols, power line patrols, there's the possibility of flying organs one place or another to get them there faster for transplants.'

The state of North Dakota is an ideal place to experiement with this new tchonology — wide open space and few pople.

Source: www.uasvision.com

Click on the title to today's blog to go to the uasvision web site. We found the article on page 7 of Australia Flight Safety Magazine, Issue 84, Fan-Feb 2012. I typed up the article because FlightSafety is NOT on the web.

Enjoy the read..worth taking a moment to consider which of the young persons in your life might find this information of interest.

30 Things to Start Doing for Yourself

2012-01-05T14:03:00.002-06:00

New Years Resolutions, did you say?

Yeah, me too. Never make em cause I never manage to keep em. Seems a tad self defeating.

However, here's a web page with some excellent ideas for ways to take care of 'self' without calling down the devils who love to tell us that we're being self centered. Oh, yeah! Been there, been called that. And it's probably true, but only in the most positive way am I self centered. Bet the same is true of you.

Here's a glance at some of the 30. If you want more info click on the title to today's blog entry and you will morph onto the website for Marc and Angel on which the others can be found.

1. Start spending time with the right people.
7. Start valuing the lessons y our mistakes teach you
8. Start being more polite to yourself
12. Start believing you're ready for the next step
25. Start being more open about how you feel.

In the meantime Happy New Year to one and all. Life is good here in my corner of the planet. Painting the front veranda after G-man installed a new ceiling. Kookaburra klan has returned to our neighbourhood — busy cackling at all the rest of the bird life in our vicinity. Sun is on the eastern horizon. Another good day. May it be so for you, as well.

Time Flies

2011-12-28T18:12:00.000-06:00

Where ever does time go? It is Thursday in Oz. The date at the top of the previous post is Monday - boxing day in Australia and all the other British colonies.

Of course, it's entirely unimportant where time slips away unless one needs a lost element. Then, it's helpful to know precisely where the past now resides so one can go and find what is needed.

Silly, I know. What is really on my mind is an email I just received from a dear friend who wrote to share with me that her mother, age 94, died on Christmas Eve. A difficult time to say good-bye if one is Christian and my friend is.

To add to the emotional load of the holiday, her husband died on the first day of Kwanzaa, boxing day in Oz and all the other British colonies.

To lose one's mother and one's partner of more than 40 years in three days of what is usually festivities strikes me as an emotional load that would be very difficult to bear or is it bare? I mean, one's emotions are raw leaving one with a minimum of psychological cover behind which to hide. And then there is the whole expectation of community to manage one's self in an appropriate way—to bear up, if you will.

My temptation under these circumstances would be to tell everyone to go away. I'd want to take a long walk in the wilderness, to be left alone with beauty to remember whatever comes to mind about my life with the two loved ones who have departed this plane. I'm not sure my friend has that option, but certainly that is what I wish for her.

The greatest loss I recall in my life was the death of my sister on 4 December 1973. The funeral services took place in the midst of a Michigan winter storm—vicious wind swirling a silent snow through the night air. I walked out of the service, unable to cope with the Christian nonsense, and bundled my core with heavy wool scarves, hat, and coat and walked into that wind, tears streaming down my face - furious with my little sis for abandoning us, for abandoning me. The storm was my helpmate. It gave me something against which to rail, a barrier to penetrate with all the energy I possessed.

I suppose that's the gist of the issue, isn't it. Death leaves us with so little against which to push. It's final. I hate it when a battle is entirely finished and there is nothing in hand to prove that I have tried my utmost to solve the issue or win the day.

Restoration/Renovations

2011-12-26T19:15:00.003-06:00

Whatever you call this fix-it up phase of our lives, we're busy at it. Two new ceilings - one on the back veranda and one on the front. Paint, paint, paint. The house needs a new or seven new coats to freshen up the overall ambiance and we're fast at it. Back veranda is entirely repainted, even the railings which are buggars..if you know what I mean.

As soon as the Aussie spray-paints the front veranda ceiling and the surrounds, I'll do the koala green front of the house and the Stradbrook mustard beams and the red veranda railings.

In the meantime, staining all the veranda doors and there are (let's see) there are fifteen of those, has been my job. Tomorrow the stain will be dry and it will be time to apply the final coat of clear to keep all that work safe from critturs of which we have many in our subtropical paradise..and it is subtropical today.

Which reminds me, did you read about the lemon sized hailstones that covered the north end of Melbourne yesterday...a midsummer storm complete with tornado. Although the tunnel shaped cloud did not touch down, it was entirely visible in pictures I saw.

So far this has not been a summer to remember although it was the driest November on record in Queensland and the coolest Australian December in 48 years.

Why all this info on weather? Don't have much else to share with you and realized I have been out of contact for a few days - you know..holiday responsibilities like drinking wine and filling my plate with Christmas prawns on Di's back veranda for Christmas Eve lunch and then travelling 100 miles west to Toowoomba to have Christmas lunch with my sister and brother-in-law...lovely..Above are the three of us. Somehow we managed to let the Aussie take pictures instead of being in them..he's good at that: ;)

So to you all, may the holidays be full of laughter and good will; may your sleep be filled with dreams of the best kind of future; may you prosper in friendships and love; may you relax and releases stress to the cosmos that deals with it infinitely better than we do.

The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

2011-12-20T20:23:00.003-06:00

In this holiday season that is often full of emotional crisis I offer you the advice of Sogyal Rinpoche, who instructs us in one way to awaken love and compassion:

Loving kindness: unsealing the spring.

When we believe that we don’t have enough love in us, there is a method for discovering and invoking it. Go back in your mind and recreate, almost visualize, a love that someone gave you that really moved you, perhaps in your childhood. Traditionally, you are taught to think of your mother and her lifelong devotion to you, but if you find that problematic, you could think of your grandmother or grandfather, or anyone who had been deeply kind to you in our life. Remember a particular instance when they really showed you love, and you felt their love vividly.

Now let that feeling arise again in your heart, and infuse you with gratitude. As you do so, your love will go out naturally to that person who evoked it. You will remember then that even through you may not always feel that you have been loved enough, you were loved genuinely once. Knowing that now will make you feel again that you are, as that person made you feel then, worthy of love and really lovable.

And here is a ten year old memory of just such a moment remembered during this holiday season I spend away from family here in Oz.

As I harken back to my childhood, there was only one person who treated me with that love, my Aunt Dorothy. There was one instance in particular that I could resurrect from my young childhood, but only one.

However, far more recently there was a person and a moment which seemed crystal clear, a moment when I was overwhelmed with the sense of being loved and of loving.

That moment occurred on my backpack with my Aussie, the late afternoon after you climbed the ridge line in search of the trail to Baxter Pass. I recall the enormous anxiety I felt about your safety, but more importantly, I remember your expression of concern to me in terms of a little incident..my handling a hot pot..as we were cooking our dinner. It was a fleeting moment, but somehow immensely important to my sense of feeling loved by you, of feeling valued and valuable.

As I recreated that moment just now, I once again feel the sense of being a lovable and loved entity. I simply wanted to thank you, not only for that moment, but for many others which culminated somehow in that instant.

Solstice

2011-12-20T16:23:00.002-06:00

Good morning on the longest daylight of the southern hemisphere...

I wish all of you northerners a most intriguing shortest daylight of the year. To most Americans that wish comes for the morrow since we are, after all, a day ahead of you or more accurately eighteen hours ahead of California, Oregon, Washington, Las Vegas, and Arizona. Strange that one city somehow ranks with entire states :)

Slept in today. Seemed appropriate since it won't be dark here til quite late. My walk on Mt. Cooth-tha can wait til almost 7 tonight and I'll still have enough daylight to trip the fantastic rather than trip over the closest outcropping in the quarry through which my path moves downhill.

Please remember that this day is one the CHURCH stole from the pagans in an effort to make a buck. Seems Christ was born in the spring, but you go ahead and put him in a winter manger - why not! and hope for higher than normal temperatures so the little image doesn't freeze his tush.

Whatever it is you celebrate this time of year, I wish you a joyful holiday. We'll be at the beach enjoying some banana prawns while you munch on heavier fare. We'll be thinking of the rest of summer ahead of us while on holiday as you contemplate new winter booties and neck scarves to keep you warm..

A crispy merrimus to all...

Robert McCrum on Books

2011-12-18T21:20:00.002-06:00

Don't miss this Guardian commentator. His column: Fifty things I've learned about the literary life is worth the time. Delightful.

My favourite item:
45. Writing can't be taught; better reading can.

All the teachers I know will probably echo this item. Happy week before Christmas to one and all. Cool with white puffys and a breeze from blue skies in the great green south

A Small but Very Important Holiday Story

2011-12-16T18:15:00.001-06:00

The Silence of the Stars

"When Laurens van der Post one night
In the Kalihari Desert told the Bushmen
He couldn't hear the stars
Singing, they didn't believe him. They looked at him,
Half-smiling. They examined his face
To see whether he was joking
Or deceiving them. Then two of those small men
Who plant nothing, who have almost
Nothing to hunt, who live
On almost nothing, and with no one
But themselves, led him away
From the crackling thorn-scrub fire
And stood with him under the night sky
And listened. One of them whispered,
Do you not hear them now?
And van der Post listened, not wanting
To disbelieve, but had to answer,
No. They walked him slowly
Like a sick man to the small dim
Circle of firelight and told him
They were terribly sorry,
And he felt even sorrier
For himself and blamed his ancestors
For their strange loss of hearing,
Which was his loss now. On some clear nights
When nearby houses have turned off their televisions,
When the traffic dwindles, when through streets
Are between sirens and the jets overhead
Are between crossings, when the wind
Is hanging fire in the fir trees,
And the long-eared owl in the neighboring grove
Between calls is regarding his own darkness,
I look at the stars again as I first did
To school myself in the names of constellations
And remember my first sense of their terrible distance,
I can still hear what I thought
At the edge of silence where the inside jokes
Of my heartbeat, my arterial traffic,
The C above high C of my inner ear, myself
Tunelessly humming, but now I know what they are:
My fair share of the music of the spheres
And clusters of ripening stars,
Of the songs from the throats of the old gods
Still tending even tone-deaf creatures
Through their exiles in the desert."

~ David Wagoner ~

Are Corps really People?

2011-12-14T04:18:00.000-06:00

If you are as disgusted with the Citizens United case (making corporations people) as I am, Bernie Sanders has a petition to amend the Constitution overturning that case. Here's a link to the petition if you're interested:

http://sanders.senate.gov/petition/?uid=f1c2660f-54b9-4193-86a4-ec2c39342c6c

Sounds

2011-12-12T19:53:00.003-06:00

'The tintinnabulation of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells. . .' Poe had a penchant for creating mood. In The Bells he provides a word sonata that recreates the various pitches and tones of sled bells, wedding bells, fire bells, and finally the death knell. The poem resonates in my mind whenever I think of the effect of sound on my life.

Sitting here in my castle keep, the back veranda of my hillside inner suburb colonial home, there are a variety of sounds that capture my attention. The children at play around their back yard pool three houses down the block, the grinding gears of the puddy-puddy cement mixer on its way to a renovation site up the hill, far away the air brakes of the city commuter train coming to a stop at Milton station, and just now the chortle of the Butcher Bird hunting for his breakfast lizard.

Behind all these sounds, nattering away inside my right ear is the tinnitus of my old age humming away like a high tension wire expressing it's turbid electricity. Only this electricity is inside my inner ear, keeping me aware that I indeed have a private song that no one else in the world shares. Oh, others may suffer the effects of tinnitus, but each of us has a particular brand.

In reality some sounds in daily life have a much greater impact than others. We each hear what matters even if the 'matter' is one of distaste rather than of delight.

One that currently grabs my attention is the high-pitched whine of the crosscut saw emanating from the front veranda where my husband renovates. Behind that whine is another, softer only because it comes from the building site down the block. Unexpectedly, every now and again, the scream signalling the contact between blade and Australian hard wood disturbs my concentration. The loud whine reminds me of Out. . . Out, a poem by Robert Frost about a young boy who loses his hand to a 'hungry' cross cut saw on a winter's morning

Closer, a mud wasp settles into the corner of my office windowsill looking for a cranny in which to build her nest and interrupts my reverie.

I shoo both of them away, the mechanical whine and the resonating soft whiz of the insect wings hoovering in search of a home to procreate. Both give my day form; frame it, if you will; one with the skills of a master craftsman, tall, strong, determined, patient and the other small, the size of my fingernail with diaphanous wings whirring to make the small but decipherable interruption of the air around her body, looking for a space into which her perfect self can safeguard the next generation. If I didn't know better, I'd think both were creations of a goddess.

All of this discussion reminds me of the short essay The Lives of a Cell from the book with the same title by Lewis Thomas in which he compares the planet itself to a living, procreating cell. The circuitry of the brain brings such unexpected connections.

But the sound that resets my circadian rhythm each day is the sound of my husband as he returns from his 5 a.m. bike ride along the Brisbane River cycle trail to Kangaroo Point where he climbs the wickedly steep stairs up the Cliff face from River Level to the park in front of the Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints Church. There is something holy, something spiritual, about a 63-year-old man who chooses to rise from his bed early on a summer's morning to cycle along the River in order to stay healthy.

And the sound of his return along with the knowledge that he has completed one more circuit through the earliest morning city traffic through the tunnel under Coronation Drive, a six lane thoroughfare along the River, along Railroad Terrace to the tunnel under Milton Road, the second entrance to the city proper, along Baroona Road and the massive five way intersection with Hague Road, up the steep hill the puddy-puddy will follow later in the day.

Our back door has an electronic lock with a keypad, an ironic addition, since the door itself is made of green steel rectangles plenty wide enough for a slender arm to reach through to press the switch on the inside to release the locking mechanism. Nonetheless, we dutifully play the keypad with appropriate numbers in order to open the door and bring groceries and bicycles into and to take trash bags and gardening tools out of.

As I lay in my bed, almost awake in the early morning, the slight electronic ring of the keyboard and the releasing sound of the chime slice through the quiet morning and alert me to his return. Stretching, I swing my legs out from the edge of the bed, slip into my clogs and move to gather my morning hug and kiss from the fellow who makes my day buzz with a sense of serenity and excitement all at the same time.

HELP..

2011-12-12T00:02:00.004-06:00

Yep, time has come. I've sent the manuscript out a few times ( call that Aussie understatement) I'm not very good at understatement as many of you already know. I'm the 'F' personality type, the one that emotes all over the floor at the slightest scratch to my ego. Yeah, some of you already know.

So..anyhow, I've taken what for me is a pretty big step. I googled Wilderness Publications and pretty much found 'nada'!

And why am I so busy looking for wilderness sites?

I want to find a publisher or an agent who loves wilderness, loves mountain adventure, thinks that slopping through snow after the biggest snow fall in thirty years in the eastern Sierra in December is thoroughly 'fun' and wants to read about it.

New York City agents generally are NOT those folks. I fantasize that their size 3 shoes with 6 inches heels just wouldn't cut the five foot of snow through which we slipped and slid last Christmas.

Hell, I still have a frost bite scar on my left cheek just below my eye.

You're right.

The Aussie had to insist I get up after I fell the twentieth time. I just wanted to lie there and go to sleep. (in the middle of the lunar eclipse) I am convinced, by the way, that death by freezing is absolutely the best way to go. Just get tired enough and it's a done deal.

Anyhow..off topic again..story of my life.

So, I'm sending out emails to those who publish wilderness, adventure literature of any kind and asking them to recommend publishers/agents who love this sort of FICTION. You just know I can't tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. It is essential to label my stories FICTION -

I remember that the USA is populated by a corp of legal beavers..and who knows who might be offended by truth or by lack thereof.

So..enough for this day. Love you all..looking forward to some answers to my QUERY...

Who love wilderness fiction?

Farmers and Occupy Wall Street

2011-12-10T18:31:00.002-06:00

Published on Wednesday, December 7, 2011 by CommonDreams.org

Put the Fat Cats on a Diet: Stop Buying Tainted Food From Billion Dollar Corporations

It’s time for the Great Boycott of Big Food Inc.

by Ronnie Cummins, a veteran activist, author, and organizer. He is the International Director of the Organic Consumers Association and its Mexico affiliate, Via Organica. http://www.organicconsumers.org; http://www.viaorganica.org

Check it out. Click on the title to today's blog. Having lived even a short time in North Dakota, the oat and wheat capital of Nordamerica, I can attest that Cummins has a valid point.

“I have not spoken to one farmer who doesn’t understand the message of Occupy Wall Street, the message that so many people keep saying is nebulous. It’s very clear. Because of business and corporate participation in agriculture, farmers are losing their livelihoods… And if it goes on like this, all we’re going to have to eat in this country is unregulated, imported, genetically modified produce. That’s not a healthy food system.” Jim Gerritsen, a Maine organic farmer.

“A Farmer Speaks to Wall Street,” The New York Times, December 5, 2011

The Sheltering Sky

2011-12-07T15:02:00.005-06:00

Paul Bowles' The Sheltering Sky is one of my favorite African novels - descriptions of North Africa that compare well to those in Ondaatje's The English Patient. Both have commentary on the social milieu similar to Alan Paton's Too Late the Phalarope about the other end of the continent, South Africa.

Here is a quote by William S Burroughs that could well be the prologue to all three novels.

“Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape.” —William S. Burroughs

Don't you just know that Burroughs is absolutely correct in every instance!

Occupy Wall Street is on this road; they just haven't reached the junction where the ultimate decision has to be made, but they will reach that point and America will be better off as a result.

Home Alone

2011-12-06T18:43:00.002-06:00

Always a psychological event for me - I'm home alone! That's supposed to be the mantra of the very young; but I must admit that the older I grow the more I realize I have in common with the young. Who would've thot it?

Raining in this corner of Oz and it's a tad cold for summer..mid 70s F. Queenslanders are not particularly happy about this turn of events..the coldest December days on record..but for those of us who wintered in Nordacotah, it's pretty damned comfy. Just rug up with a good book and a bottle of wine and all's well.

The good book today is Midnight Across the Equator: A Wilderness Tale, a transpacific love story full of wilderness, ex pat adventure, stunning central Oz, Great Barrier Reef, and Tasmanian wilderness as well as the most beautiful corner of America - The Sierra Nevada of California.

Doing the spelling and punctuation check today. Details - yep details.

be well...catch you on the morrow..and if it's cool or raining in your world..stay dry and do a couple sets of jumping jacks..works wonders :)

Mornin

2011-12-05T15:38:00.002-06:00

Ah, 7:30 Brisbane time: 1:30 California time and I'm a happy camper.

First cuppa of the day reveals that it is -12F in my prairie house's corner of North Dakota this morning.

Brekkie of oatmeal and rubbarb enjoyed on the back veranda in temps about 74 F. surrounded by bird song - the Magpies are attacking the Fig Bird nests this morning in the huge forest surrounding my back garden - that I am pleased to be enjoying summer over winter for the time being.

Night Time - I'm Crabby

2011-12-05T05:10:00.004-06:00

I just don't do night time well.

By the way did you realize that the Aussies spell it nighttime...how awkward is that?

And double by the way, it's time for me to go to bed. I'm hungry and I'll eat if I stay up any longer or worse yet, I'll have another glass of the grape. Neither of which is a good idea tonight.

Double urgh! All is well; I'm just tired. Worked all day on Midnight Across the Equator: A Wilderness Tale.

Now if I could just find a publisher. I do have five wonderful Aussie women, members of a book group, who have volunteered to read it for me. How lucky is that? I just got back from Office Works where the six copies are being printed..single spaced double paged to save money..still costs $12 each. Still, it's worth the cost and effort to have some feed back from disinterested readers.

Be well..I'm on my way to bed.

National Geographic Photo Contest

2011-12-03T18:02:00.003-06:00

Stunning photos for your enjoyment. Varied photos to spark your interest on this lovely Sunday morning. Try em; I'm betting you will enjoy.

You can click on the title to today's blog entry or copy and paste the addy below.

http://www.theatlantic.com/infocus/2011/11/national-geographic-photo-contest-2011/100187/

Hope your day is full and delightful.

Catch you laters....oh, and can't find the Australian report of Israel bombing Iran nuclear facility in any other news source. One wonders about the accuracy of Rupert Murdoch's news outlets.

Israel Bombs Iran ??? Maybe..take a look...

2011-12-02T19:01:00.003-06:00

The Australian quotes their reporter based in Israel to note the following:

Update, December 2, While this story has not been caught by any of the major wires, The Australian’s Jerusalem correspondent Sheera Frankel reports something quite disturbing: “All eyes on Israel after second Iranian blast. CLOUDS of smoke billowed above the city of Isfahan – evidence that the latest strike against Iran’s alleged nuclear weapons program had hit its target.” (Source: ZeroHedge.com)

Click on the title to today's blog for more info.

I surely hope that it is not true. China threatens WWIII in support of her primary oil supplier.
trouble in paradise, I guess!!

PICCSY

2011-11-27T02:08:00.001-06:00

Incredible, creative, fun, thoughtful, beautiful, ironic, truthful, delightful —

click on the title to today's blog or use the addy below..promise you'll be glad you did..:)

http://piccsy.com/?popular=month

The Shocking Truth About the Crackdown on Occupy

2011-11-27T00:18:00.002-06:00

Didn't I wonder what Obama was doing in Australia a week ago? Certainly he didn't have to come here to woo the Parliament about his sending 1500 American G.I.s to train in the Northern Territory. He was headed for Bali...and while he was away he sent the WOLF - Department of Homeland Security - to teach the American Nation's mayors how to 'clean up' the OWS Sit Ins. While he was gone, of course so that he could deny culpability....

Do you realize that HE is part of the program of denying that Wall Street and their compatriots in the Federal Legislature are in cahoots with one another to defraud American citizens of their financial welfare?

Do you realize that the 'buck stops at HIS desk when it comes to the actions of the Department of Homeland Security?

How could you even consider voting for a man whose second obvious move to support the military-industrial complex comes on the tails of his refusal to honor his commitment to the U.S. Constitution when he ordered the death of an American citizen who was living in Yeman and then bragged that the deed was done.

In case you missed the connection to the Constitution. The 4th Amendment guarantees 'due process' for all American citizens. The President does not have the right to order the death of any American citizen without 'due process.'

Maybe someone ought to give Obama a civic's lesson.

Below is a small part of Naomi Watts excellent article on The Shocking Truth About OWS. Click on the title to today's blog if you wish to read the entire article.

"The mainstream media was declaring continually "OWS has no message". Frustrated, I simply asked them. I began soliciting online "What is it you want?" answers from Occupy. In the first 15 minutes, I received 100 answers. These were truly eye-opening.

The No 1 agenda item: get the money out of politics. Most often cited was legislation to blunt the effect of the Citizens United ruling, which lets boundless sums enter the campaign process. No 2: reform the banking system to prevent fraud and manipulation, with the most frequent item being to restore the Glass-Steagall Act – the Depression-era law, done away with by President Clinton, that separates investment banks from commercial banks. This law would correct the conditions for the recent crisis, as investment banks could not take risks for profit that create kale derivatives out of thin air, and wipe out the commercial and savings banks.

No 3 was the most clarifying: draft laws against the little-known loophole that currently allows members of Congress to pass legislation affecting Delaware-based corporations in which they themselves are investors.

When I saw this list – and especially the last agenda item – the scales fell from my eyes. Of course, these unarmed people would be having the shit kicked out of them.

For the terrible insight to take away from news that the Department of Homeland Security coordinated a violent crackdown is that the DHS does not freelance. The DHS cannot say, on its own initiative, "we are going after these scruffy hippies". Rather, DHS is answerable up a chain of command: first, to New York Representative Peter King, head of the House homeland security subcommittee, who naturally is influenced by his fellow congressmen and women's wishes and interests. And the DHS answers directly, above King, to the president (who was conveniently in Australia at the time)."

The Tasmanian Coastline

2011-11-20T17:30:00.006-06:00

On the second day of our visit to the great green south, we drove out to the ruins of the most infamous penal colony in Tasmania. Port Arthur was established in 1834 as a convict readjustment center by the Brits. Later this same geographical location was the scene of a 1996 one man massacre of 35 people that lead the federal government of Australia to limit the private ownership of handguns and rifles.

I respond strongly to the ambiance of 'place' and so decided not to visit the scene of the atrocities.

However, the coastline of this part of Tasmania is invigorating and calming all at the same moment. The seas were reflective, the sun brilliant ( ozone layer here is limited) and our walk from the car park full of spring blooms.

This part of Tasmania reminds me of California's Big Sur coast line - wild, untamed, serene and at the same time utterly dramatic.

On this particular day the waters were an exquisite blue, but on days when the winds whip across the island from the open Antarctic Seas, I'm sure wildness reigns. A blanket of storm clouds would change this place from a haven into the hell of convict life if one had been transported by the Brits to this antipodean land.

Later that evening, we were dining at Ciuco, a busy Italian restaurant in the middle of Salamanca Square in Hobart. Delicious duck tagliatelle, superb Tasmanian wine, welcoming friends, and the loveliest pearl necklace - a birthday gift from the jeweler.

Indeed, life is good!

MONA 2

2011-11-19T19:12:00.004-06:00

One more entry on MONA, please, before we venture into the beauty of the countryside of Australia's southernmost state. Here's a view from the forecourt of MONA out over Claremont, Tasmania, on the Derwent River. Mt. Wellington, the high plateau in the background, protects Hobart from the blustery antarctic weather as it blows north across the Antarctic ocean towards the Bass Strait and mainland Australia.

Turning to the right, one stands immediately in front of the museum. Polished stainless steel reflects the scene - Claremont and Graham with me tucked in beside him as he takes a picture of the two of us in the forecourt. Isn't it delightful ?

And then also located in the forecourt is this nifty putty putty cement mixer - a delight of steel in an entirely different manner..Filigree rusted by the marine climate into a most amazing and absolutely playful full sized vehicle with the polished stainless steel reflecting wall in the background.

It is this sort of juxtaposition that continued throughout the museum and made the journey there not only amusing, but thought provoking in the extreme.

For instance, one chocolate sculpture was a finely detailed upper torso, arms, shoulders, and head of a handsome young man in a puddle of his chocolate entrails.

The terrorist - heaven and hell.

Having just blown a portion of his world into hell, this suicide bomber looks onto the heaven promised by those who convinced him that his life was worth the possibility of an eternal heaven. In chocolate!

Sigh.

The Monthly has done a superb article on Walsh and MONA. You can find it here or click on the title to this blog post.
http://www.themonthly.com.au/arts-letters-amanda-lohrey-high-priest-david-walsh-and-tasmania-s-museum-old-and-new-art-2918

Tasmania - an endangered jewel

2011-11-17T18:36:00.004-06:00

Virgin Australia flew us home to rather muggy and very warm Brisbane on Wednesday afternoon. It is now Friday - rather muggy, but not so warm. It is good to return to our cozy cottage on the fringes of the Big City.

This introvert had the opportunity to visit the cocktail hour of rather bustling Hobart on Wednesday and Thursday of last week. Gladly, we were back to open country or the wheat fields and vineyards of central/north Tasmania when the real crowds descended on Salamanca Square near the Hobart Harbour.

While enmeshed with people, I took a good long look at what 'fashion' includes in this most southern isle. The crowds were copesetic and we managed for most of the evening to be outside sipping good Tassie wines, both red and white. Then we trundled into a busy Italian restaurant for subtle but very tasty duck sauce over wide noodles - superb.

MONA was our next stop. Just enter my email addy in Oz to see a portion of my tour at this web addy: http://mona.net.au/theo/

For some reason the entire tour didn't make it on line. No worries. It was a joyful endeavour in the underworld. The museum is three stories deep, dug into the sandstone of the Derwent River bank. Stunning is insufficient to describe this edifice.

The 'Fat Car' is the first of many exhibits. Picture at the top of the post.

One of the perks of visiting MONA is that one is given an IPOD complete with GPS so that as one stands before an exhibit with ear phones on, the artist or some commentary on the art work can be listened to or read. Then, one can vote LOVE or HATE...Meyer-Briggs P personalities hate this option, but folks like me, strong J, love on the spot decision making - and one can't be wrong when all that is expected is that one react. No one around to question or debate the issue.

My fav exhibit is not pictured. I must not have selected it on my Ipod..darn!..the private collection of Walsh, the owner of MONA, is a tad nilistic, but never boring.

Go - Hobart will welcome you; the museum will delight; the wine will soften the jet lag; the food will please; the people in Australia's safest capital city will entertain.

Tomorrow I will share more of our tour of Tasmania. Be well until then..

Ok, Ok, So I've Been Missing in Action

2011-11-07T20:24:00.006-06:00

'Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps on this . . .'

Nah - Tomorrow we fly to Hobart in Tasmania - the not so sunny southernmost capital in Australia. Life is moving very swiftly.

And, pray why do you travel there, you might ask?

Because, dear reader, this week is my birthday and the stalwart Aussie bloke is giving me a trip to MONA as a present.

Yes, I am a lucky ex pat.

Do click on the title to today's blog entry if you want to know more about this most unusual private art museum.

This afternoon I will have a pedicure and a waxing of the brows. One cannot visit a most unusual private art museum without preparing properly. Oh, and late last week, I went shopping - not just shopping, but MaggieT shopping - which is a very different phenomena. You can check out this link to see what I mean. And consider as you look at the fashion, should you choose to do so, that I prefer timeless structures rather than rash current stylista stuff.

http://www.maggiet.com.au/

Oh and should you also wonder - We are flying Virgin Australia - not Qantas. What Australian or ex pat Amerikan would ever consider flying the Irishman's airline again. What a loser he has turned out to be - little Jack Sprat - CEO extraordinaire...

So..not that you will be surprised, but I will be absent for the next week and will return with photos galore to entertain you. Do enjoy what would be election week for the Americans if it were 2012. And on 11-11-11 remember that it is not just a computer schemata, but it's also my 71 birthday...love you all

Qantas - The Flying Kangaroo - Is Grounded

2011-10-29T18:58:00.005-05:00

What kind of crazy, self-centered, egotistical CEO would agree to be the spokesperson for a Corporate Board of Directors who would call a wildcat strike of one of the most successful airlines on the planet?

His name is Alan Joyce. He's an Irishman, a leprachan of the worst sort; a fellow who sends comely women out to report his dirty work with the media. He's a man who grounded six planes in Melbourne last week because he was in the midst of selling them to another airline and then blamed the grounding on the airline mechanics union. Grounding the planes was not an issue; canceling the transportation of thousands of Australians without any forewarning was.

Doesn't he sound a bit like his fellow countrymen who almost devastated Ireland's economic underpinnings by cheating those with savings deposits in their banks?

Actually, he sounds very American; corporate governance is NOT good for anyone except those who serve on corporate boards and are paid NOT to guard the investments of stock holders, but to make billions for themselves.

We'll see how it plays out. The Australian government is now engaged in the fray...not a good sign, I promise you.

btw..always a laugh behind every dark cloud. Check out this link....to the famous Qantas advert

http://youtu.be/6WSJop5sG2c

If you want to read the journo's point of view, click on the title to today's blog entry.

Overcast - Two Days in a Row !!!

2011-10-27T19:44:00.003-05:00

The weather goddess..Jennie, in my world, needs to pull the plug on all this cloud cover.

Doesn't she realize I'm southern California raised. Not precisely a positive image, is it?

I know, I know. There were daily repetitions of smog in that crowded land, but the sun managed to sneak through more often than it has in the past two days here in Brizzie.

The low ceiling is beginning to create that hemmed in feeling. As a back drop all it lets me see are the shrubs growing right outside my window. I mean I can see them grow, extend their tendrils reaching for my office window - bridges on which ants travel to once again invade my computer screen.

Remember when we came home after being gone for a year, the damned ants had set up a colony inside my computer screen. Warm and cozy, dry and dark. Perfect for all those little white eggs.

To top it all off, I had the circular dizzies yesterday. The world swirled round behind my eyes, keeping me in a prone position most of the day. My tummy thought we were aboard a ship at sea in a cyclone.

Took my Boiron Oscilliccocconum and am better today, but it was a wild ride beneath the cloudy skies, I tell you.

Just thought I'd fill you in on what's most important today which includes my morning two kilometre walk back from Fundies, our local whole foods store, where I bought some non laural sulfate tooth paste.

I refuse to put industrial solvents in my mouth. Found a Kiwi brand, lemon-myrtle, botanical oral care toothpaste to use instead. Absolutely nothing without laural sulfates was available in my local pharmacy and my local supermarket.

Be well..I hope to join you in that happy state very soon.

Who Are YOU

2011-10-21T19:05:00.004-05:00

David Brooks column in the New York Times today is worth your attention - that is, if you think your rational self controls who you are and what you do.

Brooks comments on Daniel Kahneman's new book Thinking, Fast and Slow, an intellectual memoir. Kahneman, according to Brooks, shares evidence of something I have thought to be true for quite some time. My subconscious is far more important than my conscious mind in determining my actions and positions on just about everything.

For this 'J' Personality, that's tough. I used to think I had the whole world in my hands..you know the song - However, in the past ten years I have discovered indisputably that I have very little if any conscious control over my world or the people in it, including myself. URGH!!

Check out the link. I'm gonna see if I can buy the book on my Kindle..my fav reading platform these days.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/21/opinion/brooks-who-you-are.html

Rules for Everyday Senseless Joy

2011-10-14T19:20:00.001-05:00

*1. *After all clumsy, embarrassing moments, you must curtsy.

*2. *Call up your best friend once a month—and play her favorite song,
anonymously without one word—making sure that you hear her rustle,
sit-dancing in her office chair.

*3. *Close your eyes when you drink orange juice. It makes it taste better.

*4.* Make up a lovable name for your least favorite body part. Like Irene.
Nobody hates a thigh named Irene.

*5.* While you're driving behind a school bus with kids at the windows
waving to everyone in cars, you must wave back—and honk three times.

*6.* When in doubt, add extra garlic, extra butter or extra bubble bath.

*7. *Always scan your dimes for the date. Dimes, unlike pennies and
quarters, do not tarnish. One that's three times your age gives you a whole
new perspective on how to get older—without losing your shine.

*8. *To-do lists and angry letters to the phone or electric company must be
written in silver glitter ink.

*9.* You may not leave the house without smelling the top of the head of
your child, partner or pet. Inhale their scent (even if it's unwashed) for
at least two breaths.

*10. *Once a year, take yourself out for a mandatory lunch at a restaurant
with fancy waiters. Sit at a table for four. Order three courses, including
wine and a dish that must be set on fire.

*11.* If you're watching a comedy, laugh. If you're watching a tearjerker,
cry. If you're watching a ballroom dance show, dance—preferably in some kind
of spangled, neon, rhinestone-bedazzled, midriff-baring outfit.

*12. *Keep your cat, childhood teddy bear or even one of those microfiber
cleaning cloths (which, by the way, do work better than plain old rags) in
reach at all times. Studies have proven that soft, fuzzy objects defeat the
blues.<http://www.oprah.com/blogs/Why-Sadness-Makes-Us-Susceptible-to-Shag-Carpets>

*13. *Prior to visiting your parents, you are required to watch Bruce and
Esther Huffman from McMinnville, Oregon, test out their new
webcam<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcN08Tg3PWw&feature=player_embedded&noredirect=1>
.

*14. *All stickers offered to you by someone under the age of 13 must be
accepted, slapped on and worn for at least one hour. Preferably on your
cheek.

*15. *Never delete accidentally dialed voice messages from family. Listening
to your nieces and nephews sing "Jingle Bells" as they walk to school, for
example—complete with thumps and breathing and indecipherable muttering
about haircuts—turns a boring afternoon at work into a visit home.

*16.* Saying no to cotton candy 'fairy flosss' is strictly forbidden.

*17. *If you hear a person crying in the bathroom, pass them a wad of tissue
under the stall—without a word.

*18.* Each time you pass a street musician playing the instrument that you
quit as a child, place one crisp, full dollar in the cup and wait until the
absolute end of the song to applaud.

*19. *Always note how the foam on a cappuccino magically parts when you add
sugar, then closes right back up.

*20. *At least once in your life, pour a bottle of dish soap into a bubbling
outdoor public fountain.

*21.* Never go to bed without looking up at the ceiling and thanking it for
keeping out the rain.

-- Leigh Newman

Whom Does Government Serve?

2011-10-10T21:10:00.002-05:00

Written by, Ian, an Aussie of considerable acumen.

In the Arthurian cycle, there is the myth of the Fisher King who lies in bed, maimed by a wound that cannot be healed.

The land outside is blasted, the archetypal Waste Land.

The King will only be healed, and the Waste Land regenerated, by a knight who shall ask the question "whom does the Grail serve?"

In our context, the question needs to be "whom does the government serve?"

We know the answer that Lincoln gave - I've quoted it previously.

'If government is to serve any purpose it is to do for others what they are unable to do for themselves.'

Let's try "there shall be no exercise of government without the consent of the governed " - it's a paraphrase of thoughts going back to John Locke, to the rebellion that saw King John forced to sign the Magna Carta, and - noting that women were not allowed a voice - to the democratic nature of Athens.

Does the government act for the people?

To the extent that government allies itself with powerful sectional interests, no, it does not.

As Dwight Eisenhower pointed out in his famous speech, we see a shadowy alliance between the military and industry - his "Military-Industrial Complex". Eisenhower was speaking of America, but the Japanese Zaibatsu (including Mitsubishi) were instrumental in the 1920~30 industrial colonisation of Korea/China, and were very ready to demand that the Japanese Imperial Forces invade to protect Zaibatsu assets.

Even before that, Cecil Rhodes had manufactured a conflict with the Boer government in South Africa, and was able to call on the British Army to support him, leading to the Boer War.

C. Wright Mills, in his seminal "The Power Elite" describes how easy it is for powerful figures to journey between government, the military and industry. Mills spoke of America, but we see the same phenomenon in Australia.

To Mills' observations, we can add the Fourth Estate, giving us a cosy, shadowy society of military, industry, government and media. Australia has a former Labor power broker, Graham Richardson, occupying media as a political commentator, and with his own radio show.

Mining companies and timber companies here in Australia have done - and are continuing to do - great and long-lasting damage to farmlands and to ancient native forests. When they are shown to be clearly in breach of our weak laws, they are either exonerated, or slapped on the wrist with minor penalties.

At the local level, we hear stories of political parties "stacking" branches with their favoured type of member. Meanwhile, the politics of negative campaigning cause us to become more and more cynical about politics, and more and more unashamed about our voting for the least bad of a pack of bastards.

Idealism and vision are absent from Australian politics, and the notion of government acting for the people has been transformed into doing what is possible.

One of our large hospitals has an emergency department running at about 180% of capacity, treating people sitting in chairs due to lack of beds.

The hospital needs only about 30 million dollars to extent facilities. This money cannot be found, but we will blow some 50 million (the figure is never disclosed!) on a car race - the Australian Grand Prix.

I think the Occupy Wall Street movement is one part of that grand question, also being asked by Arab Spring protesters" "Whom does the government serve?"

Read the New York Times lead article today

2011-10-09T23:18:00.003-05:00

The Rule of Law in the USA is dead in the water, a stinking corpse among the flotsam begun by George Bush and added to by the current President.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/09/world/middleeast/secret-us-memo-made-legal-case-to-kill-a-citizen.html?_r=1&nl=todaysheadlines&emc=tha2

Narcissist - Perhaps

2011-10-09T23:02:00.001-05:00

I can't give up knowing that I am important in the general scheme ofthings. After all, I'm a cell in the midst of a mighty organ, the organ ofhumanity. And, I know that one day I must slough off from the human maelstrom and mingle with thefibres of the flannel sheets in the dead of night.

However, right now I am important. I do serve a purpose. I do what mustbe done and a whole lot that probably ought not be done. I work in conjunctionwith all kinds of other cells. Together we make life more interesting,smoother, more energetic than life would be if we were not present.

I am not a cell in an organ like an arm or leg. More like a liver cell,I think. I am responsible for filtering out the flatulence, the fat, thealcohol, the stuff without which the body deals with reality in a fairlycomfortable manner.

My job is to assure that life flows smoothly, that the unit itselfdoesn't have to give much conscious thought about how to operate. I amself-directed and at the same time a genuine necessity.

However, I am decidedly not essential in and of myself.

If I were to decide tomorrow to sleep in, the organ would continue tosift through the detritus of life, but the other cells who did show up on timemight have to expend a tad more energy.

I am not narcissistic although sometimes it may seem so. On the otherhand, I do take credit when credit is due and I do whinge when things don't gowell. I hate it when the organ of which I am a part breaks down and I am notable to do the best job possible because someone else in the scheme of thingsfails in her duty.

And since I suspect my main motivating force is to do unto others as Iwould want them to do unto me, I will cooperate, even though often I think Iknow better than my peers and despair of their ever coming to terms with lifein the way that I have. Did I say I was not narcissistic? Well, obviouslythat's not true. My existence is essential and I don't mean to allow the organto forget that.

Pinch!

Occupy the Centers of Power

2011-10-09T00:30:00.000-05:00

I think FDR would support Occupy Wall Street.

"For there is nothing mysterious about the foundations of a healthy and
strong democracy. The basic things expected by our people of their political
and economic systems are simple. They are:

Equality of opportunity for youth and for others.
Jobs for those who can work.
Security for those who need it.
The ending of special privilege for the few.
The preservation of civil liberties for all.
The enjoyment of the fruits of scientific progress in a wider and constantly
rising standard of living.

school kills creativity - ken robinson

2011-10-08T22:18:00.001-05:00

Teachers!!!!
Take a look...this is so damned important....besides..it's funny and entertaining as well...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hkPvSCq5ZXk

Confronting the Malefactors - Paul Krugman

2011-10-08T19:13:00.000-05:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/07/opinion/krugman-confronting-the-malefactors.html?_r=3&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss

Check it out! Great Op Ed article in the NYTimes.

Spring Thunder Storm

2011-10-07T22:29:00.000-05:00

Saturday mornings, we rise early and head to the Kelvin Grove Farmers Market. The fragrances of fresh bread baking, masses of veggies stacked along the walkways, and just brewed Merlo coffee filter under the brilliant colors of bouquets of flowers, only in Queensland fabrics made into flowing summer dresses and hats, all of which are accented with just a bit of Chinese dumplings, Spanish Paella, Turkish sweets, and German sausages.

But, this morning as my sleepy head left the soft down pillow, rackets of rain stormed through the house. Rain is a different commodity when it comes atop a metal deck roof, I promise you. Thunder followed.

My thought were with the busy folks who must have just set up their stalls in the darkness of a spring morning in readiness for shoppers. Hopefully, their goods stayed dry.
We'll wait til next Saturday to find out. Such good gossip and stories await us for our next visit.

Looking for Blasts...

2011-10-05T01:17:00.002-05:00

Sorry, folks, I've been missing in action. Work on the manuscript has once again come to an end. I have just completed the nth edition of DAS BOOK which is now entitled..

Crossing the Pacific: An Expat Love Story

But who knows, it may manifest in another form at some time in the future.

I am in search of an agent, but have been in search for the past year.

Soon perhaps I can finagle a third person into reading the entire manuscript. Thus far only two folks have had that honor - the author and a fine fella named Robert, who kindly read the whole thing in about three days.

It now is 49,000 words and 262 pages long...it takes that long to recount the adventure and create a healthful ending, you know..

Anyhow..I am feeling energized.

I would, could ask each of you to maybe send 'blasts' of encouragement into the cybersphere for recognition of my creativity, courage, and really hard work.

That means, you could stop for a moment before going off to sleep tonight and ask the universe to remind some really talented agent to say 'yes' to one of my QUERY letters....you get the drift..the more energy expended in a positive manner on my behalf, the better my chances of finding an agent.

love you all...farewell for now..

U.S. Constitution - Article 2 and Amendment 5

2011-10-02T02:32:00.000-05:00

No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamouscrime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in casesarising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual servicein time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put injeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to bea witness against himself, nor be deprivedof life, liberty, or property, without dueprocess of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, withoutjust compensation.

U.S. Constitution Article 2

Before he enter on the Execution of his Office, he (The President) shall take the following Oath or Affirmation: — "I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

What happened? How could the President of the United States condone and/or order the assassination of an American citizen?

The Guardian

2011-09-28T19:01:00.001-05:00

The sentinel of the Sierra, a Ponderosa, guards the trailhead to the mother of all mountains - Whitney - at 14,500 feet, the highest peak in the lower 48 states. In the spring of 1986 I caught this scene one mid morning on my way to Lone Pine Lake, a mere two and a half miles up the trail.

Since then, this photo reminds me of the halcyon days when my then 44 year old legs would carry me into the back country of some of North America's most pristine wilderness. This lovely pine has served as a reminder of the peaceful, regenerative wilderness that is so important to those of us who are often far too busy to take time to breathe high country ambiance, a joyful reminder of why being alone can be a celebration.

Goldman Sachs Rules the World

2011-09-27T18:15:00.000-05:00

http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/get-prepared-goldman-sachs-rules-the-world-trader-warns-bbc-viewers/story-fn7kjcme-1226148440353

Is this trader for real?
Check out this video and see what you think.
As for me, I'm about to do some Google searches on 'how to make money from a bear market' cause I prefer to hedge my bets.

And then there's this response to the interview:
http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/cutline/bbc-victim-hoax-no-yes-men-154724196.html

I'd be interested in what you think about the video if you feel like posting below.

Otherwise, I do hope the comments give you pause to consider your own financial provisions for the future.

— Mind —

2011-09-24T19:13:00.005-05:00

Quietly, desperately he searches

Hisrational mind attempts reconstruction of previousity

whilebrain waves snag on hillocks of stress.

Kookaburra gargles.

Butcher Bird whistles.

Fig bird flits among the tiny fruit.

The rational ONE has forgotten the automatic gesture that storedglasses in a

safe place beneaththe right node

overthe middle dendrite!

Who remembers such a circuitous route? In the careful walk backover the previous route, no glasses reflect the sun.

Loriketes mimic screaming brain searching for memory

Not half way,

onlyat full bore,

the amazing human brain hides us fromourselves.

A frustrating companion,

a partnerin deception,

itsecrets ‘need to know’confidentialities in deep crevices

wherelost items are stored within the information revolution

topsy turvey

instantaneouslyconnected to the present by tenuous tendrils

recorded,

filed,

crossreferenced

andsilently lost in the labyrinth of gray matter,

storedin no apparent rational order.

The automatic systemrefuses to cooperate with conscious Intention

No rationality in this filing system,

Only the unconscious knows where the glasses await their owner.

MBTI AND WRITING STYLES

2011-09-23T18:37:00.002-05:00

http://andreajwenger.com/2010/11/05/punctuation-personality-type-fiction/

Wenger has a blog that, among other things, discusses Meyers/Briggs Personality Preferences and writing styles. Great information for teachers and for singular individuals who know who they are on the Personality Sorter and more importantly, care what that means about themselves and others.

Enjoy. . . Enjoy - - ENJOY!! :)

Yard Guys

2011-09-22T20:02:00.000-05:00

Dueling weed wackers greeted the dawn! Urgh..what an awful way to greet the dawn.

Not to be outdone, the noisy leaf blowers came in for the finale'
As I stood in my pjs on the front veranda hissing remarks across the street, waving my arms like an orchestra conductor, the yard guys just laughed.

A Knack for Bashing Orthodoxy

2011-09-20T18:14:00.000-05:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/09/20/science/20dawkins.html?nl=todaysheadlines&emc=tha210

Ah, NYTimes, you've done it again. An excellent article on Richard Dawkins, bane of my favorite science writer, Stephen J. Gould who died of cancer in 2002.

You may wish to take a look at this article...link included herein.

A couple of quotes to whet your appetite:

"From that experience he drew a dislike of the current establishment insistence — bordering on mania — for standardized tests and curriculums. (He views this as antithetical to true learning.)"

"Our glory as a species is that we can overcome our genetic impulses, he says, acknowledging that the book’s title “perhaps lent itself to misunderstanding.” The Selfish Gene

“Religion teaches you to be satisfied with nonanswers,” he says. “It’s a sort of crime against childhood.”

"But it would not be a school for atheists. The idea horrifies him. A child should skip down an idiosyncratic intellectual path. “I am almost pathologically afraid of indoctrinating children,” he says. “It would be a ‘Think for Yourself Academy.’ ”

$150

2011-09-19T19:30:00.000-05:00

You thought I had disappeared?

Well, it rained and you know about the bigwet and witches! I melted!!

Now, the sun has come back out and dried upall the drains and witchetty grub me has re-formed again! How's that for aninternational story?

Anyhow, today while I was busy playingsolitaire on my computer waiting until it was time to head off to lunch, Iheard a male voice calling, 'Hellooo,' from the front of the house. I live inthis rather large Queensland Colonial and my office is in the very back on whatbecomes the second story because our house is located on a hillside.

I knew that my housemate, Emily, wassleeping cause she worked the graveyard shift, so I scurried down the longfront hallway to see what the racquet was all about.

Leaning on my front gate with his armsspread from one gatepost to the other was a square man with a Tongan accent. 'We'reworking in the area today. Would you like your palm trees trimmed?'

He waved both of those long arms to encompass the four verytall palm trees growing in the front garden. All four had window dressings ofpalm nut bundles all tied up in a date like arrangement, ready to fall to theground where I would later be picking them up.

Below the palm nut bundles hung dead yellowseven foot palm fronds. An underdressing that would also eventually fall in the next big wind andbounce off the fence or topple one of the lovely shrubs growing beneath them inthe garden.

From the top of the front veranda stairs, Iasked, 'How much would you charge me for all four?'

'Humm, that one is extra high, more than a25 feet, cost more to climb up that one. $180 for all four and we'll take it tothe dump.'

I really wanted those palms trimmed, butthat was just too much money.'

I thought immediately about the old dyingmango tree in the side garden. I might be able to get a deal from him fortaking it down too.

'Do you trim other trees?'

A nod of his head. 'We may be able to trim these for $150.'

DIET

2011-09-19T00:58:00.000-05:00

So, the dr. has prescribed a white bread and puffed white rice diet for me. Yikes!

I think I prefer to have the disease/irritation.

Instead I bought rice cakes and rice crackers. Can't even imagine a brekkie of puffed nothingness.

Will try boiled eggs instead. Still, seems a waste of calories, doesn't it.

I'll report later to let you know whether it makes any difference at all.

His last cure didn't have any effect on my system. I think he knew it wouldn't. He prescribed it just to convince me that I need steriods. I'd rather be sick than take steroids. Really, I would. Well, right now I would. We'll see how I react in a few days.

I love Government - Paul Begala - Newsweek

2011-09-14T20:50:00.000-05:00

Witheveryone from Rick Perry to Barack Obama bashing Big Gummint, the time has cometo defend it.

Wildfires have consumed 3.6 million acres in myhome state of Texas since December 2010. That’s about the size of the entirestate of Connecticut. At least 700 homes have been destroyed, and four peoplehave been killed. Of the 10 largest wildfires in Texas history, six haveoccurred this year. Think about that.

Now think about this: Texas governorand GOP presidential candidate Rick Perry has cut funding for volunteerfirefighters, who are the first responders to 90 percent of all wildfires inTexas, by 75 percent.

Conservatives talk about governmentas if it were something foreign, alien, or extrinsic when in fact theConstitution says it truthfully and simply: “We the People.” Government is us.It’s capable of true greatness, real nobility, and majestic triumphs. I’d gofurther: the U.S. federal government is the greatest force for good in humanhistory. Period.

The federal government freed theslaves and defeated Hitler. It built the interstate highway system, won theCold War, integrated the South, put men on the moon, and killed Osama binLaden. By the way, it also created the Internet, with Al Gore’s leadership. Sothere.

And yet the demonization ofgovernment persists. Sure, when the fires rage, Perry praises “the brave menand women who put themselves in harm’s way to protect Texans’ lives andproperty.” But even as the wildfires burned he hotfooted it to the ReaganLibrary on Sept. 7 for some good old-fashioned bashing of Big Gummint.

President Obama argued against theGOP's antigovernment assumptions in his Sept. 8th speech to congress., JimYoung / Reuters-Landov

Even President Obama sometimesadopts the antigovernment premise, like when he killed his own administration’sair-quality standards. As if cleaner air, less asthma, and lower cancer rateswould cause massive layoffs. But he got it right in his Sept. 8 speech toCongress, pummeling the notion that “the only thing we can do to restoreprosperity is ... dismantle government, refund everyone’s money, let everyonewrite their own rules, and tell everyone they’re on their own—that’s not who weare. That’s not the story of America.”

The president is right. The truth ismany of our problems were caused by too little government, regulation, andtaxation (at least of the rich). Wall Street was deregulated, and when thecasino went bust, taxpayers bailed out the gamblers. Regulators cozied up tooil companies, and 11 working men were killed in the Deepwater Horizon tragedyas BP’s well gushed millions of barrels into the Gulf of Mexico. After 29miners were killed in the Upper Big Branch Mine disaster in West Virginia, anindependent investigation found that the federal Mine Safety and HealthAdministration “failed its duty as the watchdog for coal miners.”

The media have a responsibility hereas well. When New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie bashes retired teachers forgetting an average pension of about $35,000 a year, why does no one point outthat they’re worth it? Or that New Jersey students have the highest AP testscores in the nation? Because that wouldn’t fit the antigovernment narrative.

The truth is teachers didn’t causeour recession; firefighters didn’t cause layoffs; nurses and cops didn’t turn arecord surplus into a record deficit. Politicians and corporate greedheads did.And yet government remains the villain.

There has always been a tension inthe American character. We are at turns intensely individualistic and deeplycommunitarian. But right now the only side that’s speaking out is theindividualists’. Why doesn’t some Democrat point out that our Founding Fathers,so revered by the Tea Partiers, gave us a motto: e pluribus unum—frommany, one? They did not choose canis canem edit—dog eat dog.

Some of this country’s bravest andbest work for the government. Yet in the GOP debate at the Reagan Library,Perry simultaneously praised the Navy SEALs who killed bin Laden and claimedgovernment doesn’t create jobs. Precisely whom does he think those SEALs workfor? Enron?

If Perry hates government that much,maybe the next time his state’s on fire he can call a CEO.

Spiritual Masters - Not for Me!

2011-09-13T17:44:00.000-05:00

What I've Learned from the Spiritual Masters

by Dr. Steve McSwain

'So what is life's purpose? A grand enterprise shared by all humanity, it is the achievement of God-consciousness or Divine awareness.'

My response to Dr. McSwain includes my contention that his assertion is the 'selling point' of all major religions..the way they market their product, the way they make their money.

Instead, I assert that life's purpose is to act in such a way as to assure the continuation of our species. The other stuff is just window dressing that somehow makes us seem like we are more important than in fact we actually are in the natural scheme of things.

2011-09-11T01:05:00.002-05:00

It's a global world.. to prepare youngsters to operate in that world it is essential to have a "global classroom"- Kathleen Norris

Meadows

2011-09-06T05:43:00.001-05:00

Meadows

Myriad green scripts

on brown papyrus soil

written translation impossible

patterns older than human letters,

Meadows create art everywhere.

Wide high Sierra duff,

Guyot Flats,

brown pine needles,

soften foot fall at 10,000 feet.

Wider yet, Tuolomme green grasses

peppered with stark blues, red,yellows, oranges

of short lived wildflowers seeded by deep wintersnows.

Keep to the trail

protect delicate Augustblossoms.

Looping off to the horizon

Utah meadows filter through red rockmonoliths

sparse sage and salt bush hold tenuous desert cement

in meadows

as winds sweep extreme afternoons.

Coolness crosses the landscape withstunning sunsets

Is there a meadow I love best?

Potted with clear blue lakes,

Ponderosa and white pines filigreethe edges,

Cotton Wood Meadow, home of Dragons

who wander the earth protecting theriches of meadows everywhere.

Ah, and the meadows of the mind,

relaxing, verdant moments

when one wanders unbeleaguered by the pressing issues of the day,

stepping round the hillocks of color,

breathing the fragrance of theunfiltered common space in thecollective unconscious;

aware that the skies above and theearth below

have created meadows of reverie.

Laurel - The Girl Who Read Books

2011-09-04T19:59:00.000-05:00

"Perhaps, that is the crux ofthe issue, maybe that is the story that needs telling, the story of she who haseverything right here in her lap and still feels jilted, deprived becausesomehow earlier in life there was not enough."

Thesecond grader marched through the marble halls of the massive elementaryschool. On her way to the library, she was. Books made her happy. They were herrefuge against the world when it was missing cosy. Cosy existed high in the elmtree in her aunt Delores' front yard. There was very little grass growingbeneath the huge elm, the shade from the tree somehow kept grasses fromblooming in that space in the old Flint working class neighborhood.

Itwas a book that she kept stored in her pocket when she climbed up to the crookin the tree level with the chimney in their frame house, the home of hermother’s brother and sister in law.

Therewere two other children living in the house, Phyllis and Karen; they didn’tread much. Happy girls, social girls, they were more apt to be found withdolls, cut out paper dolls playing in the bedroom. Her aunt Delores was ever surejust how to handle Laurel. She was a quiet child, right in between her twodaughters in age. The three children shared a bedroom, a bedroom the two Smithgirls might have had to themselves if their cousin hadn’t arrived on the scene.They tolerated Laurel, but she seemed strange; quiet and a bitintroverted. She read books allthe time, even in between chores.

Laurel was caughtin the throes of Little Women or Annie York, Girl Detective. Her aunt hadcalled the girls in to set the table, to feed the dog before Laurel hadfinished the chapter where she was caught in an attic, about to discover someamazing clue to solve the mystery of The Tallest Elm.

Whenit was time to wash dishes after supper, Laurel might be found sitting still ather place at the table, having pulled her book out of the back pocket of herdenims, reading while the adults finished their meal. The other two girls would long ago have been excused fromthe table to return to their paper dolls in the bedroom. Lavishly redressingtheir pretty cut outs, the girls manufactured parties and adventures for theirdolls, interacting in the most boisterous social manner.

Sierra Snow Scene

2011-09-03T21:46:00.003-05:00

sunlit snowfalls -

tiny avalanches

shifting pine limbs burst from white sky scrim

forest green boughs laden with large dollops ofcollected snow,

shifting and sliding,

join the pristine snow blanketbelow

new

sustenance

Puter Problems - A good laugh

2011-09-01T17:51:00.000-05:00

As we Silver Surfers know, sometimes we have trouble with our computers.

I had a problem yesterday, so I called Eric, the 11 year old next door, whose bedroom looks like Mission Control and asked him to come over. Eric clicked a couple of buttons and solved the problem.

As he was walking away, I called after him, "So, what was wrong?"

He replied, "It was an ID ten T error."

I didn't want to appear stupid, but nonetheless enquired, "An, ID ten T error? What's that? In case I need to fix it again."

Eric grinned .... "Haven't you ever heard of an ID ten T error before?"

"No," I replied.

"Write it down," he said, "and I think you'll figure it out."

So I wrote down: ID10T

I used to like Eric, the little bastard.

New Zealand - Te Anu

2011-08-31T19:12:00.005-05:00

New Zealand Track

Clouds bolt across blue skies,

Alder trees shimmer in the wind,

Twisting, the track follows the long fiords of Te Anou.

Fern filled beech forests

escallop edges of aquamarine rivulets

snaking in the red

tufted meadows.

Ridge lines of Red Beech cling to steep walls rising from the Sound.

~~~~~~~Massive waterfalls skim the tops of hanging valleys,

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~sweep over towering glacial faces, plunge,

~~~~~~~~raucous

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~over ferocious walls

Women's Travel — Montague, Kingsley, Bird, Murphy, Davidson, Salak — Four Centuries of Memoir

2011-08-26T22:04:00.007-05:00

Clarity comes from within; epiphany is not visible in the external.

By weaving themselves in and out of cultures, Lady Mary Wortley Montague (1762), Mary Kingsley (1897), Isabella Bird (1873), Dervla Murphy (1994), Robyn Davidson (1996), and Kira Salak (2001) explore their own identities and influence readers and future women travel writers who follow in their footsteps.

Patrick Holland in Tourists with Typewriters: Critical Reflections on Contemporary Travel Writing suggests that 'it is true that physical vulnerability affects the way women move through the world' (112). Sonia Melchett in her introduction to Passionate Quests: Five Modern Women Travellers adds, 'travel stretches women's imagination and power of physical endurance . . . By risking hardship, sickness, boredom and even death, and then by surviving' (3) these women validate life, 'not just escaping from a humdrum existence, but. . . reaching for a kind of liberty' (3).

Some women travel memoirists find themselves 'free of the constraints of contemporary society, realising their potential once outside the boundaries of a restrictive social order', according to Peter Hulme in The Cambridge Companion to Travel Writing (234). 'Travel for some women, it seems, may have offered a means of redefining themselves, assuming a different persona and becoming someone who did not exist at home' (Hulme 234).

Holland contends that in the 21st century women travel writers have been more apt to engage in 'confessional narratives' (114) than their predecessors. However, the evidence offered by Montagu, Bird, and Kingsley proves that these confessions have existed for longer than he would have us believe.

Between Montague and Salak, travel writing has metamorphosed from the writing of letters to a subjective form, an 'impressionistic style with the interest focused as much on the traveller's responses or consciousness as on their travels' (Hulme 74).

Montagu's emphasis on relationships formed and opinions changed as a result of coming into contact with cultures through whose eyes the world takes on different emphasis reminds us that the journey of all women engaged in travel writing 'leads to greater self-awareness and takes the reader simultaneously on that [same] journey' (Hulme 237).

Upon my return from what had been a difficult trip, I discovered an unexpected self-empowerment. I had found the power to will my own life, and for a young woman who had not previously known about nor understood the notion of personal power, it was a profound teaching indeed (Salak ix).

It is precisely this sense of new possibilities that is the most common element in Four Corners: A Journey into the Heart of Papua New Guinea. In her lack of certainty, Kira Salak, author of 2001 travel memoir, has a connection with her predecessors. Salak chooses a less travelled road, one at the end of which she finds partnership with her own sense of power. However, she remains in Papua New Guinea long enough to make a final admission. 'I was supposed to return as someone entirely new, with an almost superhuman strength and confidence, or I wasn't supposed to return at all' (Salak 311).

In 1894 Mary Kingsley, who also travelled rain forests, those of western Africa, expresses a similar understanding near the top of Mt. Cameroon (Kingsley 354). Often in Travels in West Africa, when Kingsley is most self-deprecating in her humour, she is reflecting on what is also most fearful. Instead of admitting to fears in her memoir, Kingsley holds tight reins on her emotions. She is far more apt to share anger than fear:

Unfortunately, I must needs go in for acrobatic performances on the top of one of the highest, rockiest hillocks. Poising myself on one leg I take a rapid slide sideways, ending in a very showy leap backwards which lands me on the top of the lantern I am carrying today, among miscellaneous rocks. There being fifteen feet or so of jungle grass above me, all the dash and beauty of my performance are as much thrown away as I am, for my boys are too busy on their own accounts in the mist to miss me. After resting some little time as I fell, and making and unmaking the idea in my mind that I am killed, I get up (Kingsley 356).

A hundred years later, Salak describes a trek in the rain forests of the Central Range of Papua New Guinea with an indigenous woman as guide:

We reach our first mountain. It doesn't gradually rise but shoots skyward at nearly 90 degrees . . . and now we're not hiking anymore. We use tree roots and branches to pull ourselves up the mountainside. I reach blindly among the jungle plants in search of handholds, sometimes grabbing onto the spiny stems of plants, other times reaching into swarms of red ants. I don't even allow myself to think about snakes, though a couple have slithered away before my sloppy approach. I'm slithering myself, chin in the mud, body sliding up the side of the mountain. When I need to rest, I wrap my arm around a tree root or branch and shove my knees into the muddy slope. Four thousand, perhaps five thousand feet of this to get over–I don’t' even want to think about it. (199).

From an entirely different perspective but an equally devastating one, in 1996 Robyn Davidson's Desert Places, tells of the local Bhopavand women stopping by for tea:

They began going through my things, grabbing at them, and when I tried to stop them I realized that any action on my part would only increase the frenzy. I stood in front of the tent, arms folded and stared resolutely at the horizon. I wasn't frightened, not exactly, but it was deeply unsettling to be confronted with crowd hysteria in the face of which I was entirely powerless . . . When you are so tired, frustrated and filthy that you would like to cry but cannot because people are watching you; when your period has come and you are in pain but you must not display it; when you do not know what is going on because you cannot understand the language but you sense the atmosphere is not right; when you are operating on twenty levels at once and not sure if you are correct in any of them, when you have entered a place where the people are suspicious of you, or frightened of you, or hate you because you represent something evil to them; when you cannot make your intentions understood; when there are children, hundreds of them, pressing against you, shouting, pulling at your hair and clothes, or pelting you with rocks; when you are so fed up with humanness that you would like to shoot everyone you see, including yourself; when the village dogs race towards you howling and slavering; and when finally, you make it back to the tent to have a cup of tea, the only luxury you have, you find that the milk has turned to yogurt ( Davidson 101- 103).

Salak echoes Davidson. 'It was due in large part to an increasing lack of confidence in myself, a feeling that anything that came out of my mouth was worthless and unimportant; there was nothing I could say or do that would impress anyone' (Salak 38).

Reference to difficulties with communication, one of the most frequent topics about which all of these women write, can be found in Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's travel letters in 1774. She must learn Arabic in order to understand the wit of her hostesses in the Ottoman Empire.

Mary Kingsley objects to forever being referred to as 'Sir'. In Dervla Murphy's memoir of her 1997 cycle through South Africa, North From the Limpopo, she writes of the frustration created by her inability to understand the language of the Boers and of several Zulu dialects.

The most frequently discussed topics in Salak's Four Corners echo those issues raised by other women. Salak's sense of independence is countered by her need to be rescued. Her admission that she travels to promote resilience and healing is countered by fear, conquered myriad times in her trek. And finally, all of her sharing, like that of Isabella Bird in her 19th century memoir, A Lady's Ride Through the Rockies, has as a backdrop her descriptions of the extraordinary setting in which she finds herself.

At the beginning of her adventure Salak writes, 'I always try to rely on myself, find it amazingly hard to ask someone for help, but today my ignorance and helplessness feels overwhelming' (122). She adds, 'I wish there were some way to keep this moment in the present, fresh and unadulterated by the imperfections of memory . . . I feel, for the first time in my life, absolutely superhuman. I feel what it means to live' (135). These could be the words of Montagu, Murphy, Kingsley, Davidson, or Bird.

Salak reflects on her emotional needs to a greater degree than any of the women except Davidson. 'Here is when the idea of travelling by myself seems like insanity, like masochism at its worse; when I most need someone to hold and comfort me, there is no one. Just the furious warring of my own thoughts. And the fear' (Salak 164). Her admission moves the narrative forward and affirms that there is personal growth in meeting fear and moving beyond it:

I'm surprised at how suddenly it occurs–not in days, months, or years, as one might think, but in a single moment. Suddenly, now, it happens: I unwittingly grow up. My innocence abandons me, and I'm left only with a fear of the world that I know to be irrevocable (12).

Kingsley admits to a similar awareness as she is solo climbing the last pitch to the top of Mt. Cameroon in West Africa. Perhaps travel in tropical rain forests with very little horizon on which climbers can depend affects the two similarly. It is difficult to see where one is going when the canopy never really opens up or if it does, as when Kingsley finds herself finally at the top of Mt. Cameroon, the forces of nature conspire and fill the environment with clouds that allow her to see only a few feet in any direction. (Kingsley 355) Clarity comes from within; an epiphany is not visible in the external.

Salak comments on the last page of her memoir: 'but if I fear anything now, it's what I might be missing by not taking any chances and limiting the experiences of my life' (319). She realizes 'That I'm secretly terrified of nearly everything, but most of all, my inability to change' (Salak 266).

Fear connects all of these women. Their decision to allow change in their lives is balanced with their fear of the indefinite future in which they cannot be confident that change will be allowed. Kingsley deals with her fear by making jokes at her own expense. Bird deals with fear by moving beyond it. Montagu is fearful of returning to London to coffee spoons and ladies' luncheons, to a life that seems meaningless after her travels. (Montagu 192) Montagu also records fears in the same manner as Kingsley with a good deal of understatement and a bit of humour:

We passed by moonshine the frightful precipices that divide Bohemia from Saxony, at the bottom of which runs the river Elbe; but I can not say that I had reason to fear drowning in it, being perfectly convinced that, in case of a tumble, it was utterly impossible to come alive to the bottom. In many places the road is so narrow, that I could not discern an inch of space between the wheels and the precipice. Yet I was so good a wife not to wake Mr. Wortley, who was fast asleep by my side, to make him share in my fears, since the danger was unavoidable, till I perceived, by the bright light of the moon, our postilions nodding on horseback, while the horses were on a full gallop, and I thought it very convenient to call out to desire them to look where they were going. My calling waked Mr. Wortley, and he was much more surprised than myself at the situation we were in, and assured me that he had passed the Alps five times in different places, without ever having gone a road so dangerous. I have been told since it is common to find the bodies of travellers in the Elbe; but, thank God, that was not our destiny; and we came safe to Dresden, so much tired with fear and fatigue, it was not possible for me to compose myself to write (Montague 80).

Murphy fears not so much for herself, although she frequently is confronted by nature in the guise of hail and rainstorms and unrelenting sun. She does fear exposed heights and makes no secret of her need for support in the midst of climbing perilous cliff faces. She describes her attempt to inconspicuously and illegally cross the border between Mozambique and Zimbabwe on her second entry into South Africa:

As the vehicle disappeared I stood still, allowing my eyes to become accustomed to starlight . . .

dawn came: a quiet pastel dawn, light slowly seeping through the surrounding dense tangles of dwarf acacia and euphorbia. From afar, through binoculars, this had looked like a fairly direct path across a wide valley. But it was no such thing. For a variety of topographical reasons it wandered to and fro, up and down, this way and that, often meeting other paths. Twice I near-panicked: I have no sense of direction and a wrong turning might expose me to the full fury of the Zimbabwean and/or Mozambican immigration officers (Murphy 272).

On another occasion in May 1994 while waiting for the newly elected Nelson Mandela to arrive in a parade after his inauguration, Murphy describes an epiphany about the connection between fear and joy:

Worry? I wasn't worried, my guts were twisted with terror as time and again the surge behind us pressed on my buttocks and I strained harder to pull the wire towards us and push on the metal bar. This was grotesque, to be so frightened during the happiest event I have ever attended–frightened as rarely before in a long lifetime of travel (Murphy 257).

Davidson fears the crowd as well, the masses of India who find her a curiosity. After a long hike up the 'first of the nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine steps leading to the summit and the ultimate temple Ambadji' (Davidson 168) she simply needs to be alone:

I walked around the town looking for a den to crawl into. I was followed by men who hissed and giggled. I found a stone and sat on it. A crowd gathered. I put my head down into my hands and absented myself mentally. A few moments later I looked up and there, not a foot from my face, was a row of men's crotches. Above the crotches was a row of eyes looking at me in that dead way. A chocking sensation filled my throat, burst behind my eyes. I began hurrying through the streets thinking I hate India, I hate India, I hate India. . . they were looking at me. And their eyes were peeling my flesh away (174).

Finally, Salak is able to explain the fear inherent in all travel outside of one's culture:

I walk around with an out-of-body feeling, only the shudder of my steps telling me I'm occupying a body. I don't know what it means exactly . . . A certain kind of momentum consumes me now, pressing me on regardless of risk. So am I actually going through with this? But I must. Stopping would mean failure, giving up on myself, succumbing to a fear of the future, the unknown (92).

Their unwillingness to succumb to extraordinary circumstances as well as their willingness to share their experiences is a gift given by six women who travel to those of us who read of their travels. Whether on interior journeys or into hitherto unknown territories of the globe, each reader carries within a memory of the adventurer's example.

* * *

Bibliography

Bird, Isabella L. A Lady's Life in the Rocky Mountains. Denver, Colorado: The Long Riders' Guild Press, 2001.

Davidson, Robyn. Desert Places. Victoria, Australia: Penuin Books Australia Ltd, 1996.

Holland, Patrick, and Graham Huggan, ed. Tourists with Typewriters: Critical Reflections on Contemporary Travel Writing. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2000.

Hulme, Peter, ed. The Cambridge Companion to Travel Writing, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

Kingsley, Mary. Travels in West Africa. London: Macmillan, 1897.

Masse, Mark H. "Creative Nonfiction: Where Journalism and Storytelling Meet." The Writer 108.10 (1995): 13-18.

Melchett, Sonia. Passionate Quests: Five Modern Women Travellers. London: Faber and Faber, 1991.

Montagu, Mary Wortley, Lady. Letters of the Right Honourable Lady Mary Wortley Montagu: Written During Her Travels in Europe, Asia and Africa. London: Theophilus Barrois, 1906.

Murphy, Dervla. South from the Limpopo: Travels through South Africa. Woodstock, New York: Peter Mayber Publishers, Inc, 1997.

Salak, Kira. Four Corners: One Woman's Journey into the Heart of Papua New Guinea. Columbus, Missouri: University of Missouri Press, 2004.

Obstinacy - A Gift?

2011-08-25T22:23:00.005-05:00

A Gift

~ Denise Levertov ~

(Sands of the Well)

Just when you seem to yourself

nothing but a flimsy web

of questions, you are given

the questions of others to hold

in the emptiness of your hands,

songbird eggs that can still hatch

if you keep them warm,

butterflies opening and closing themselves

in your cupped palms, trusting you not to injure

their scintillant fur, their dust.

You are given the questions of others

as if they were answers

to all you ask. Yes, perhaps

this gift is your answer.

My response:

I am in one of those states of mind — If you say, 'let's go left," I will assuredly head to the right. If you say TomAto, I'll say toMMato — Resistant to the end..

I've never had an idea or question that seemed 'flimsy' and I've certainly never been a web of questions. More often I'm full of answers - egotistical - No wonder folks find me a tad obstinate or just down right oppositional.

One of the serious criticisms of Das Book is that the protagonist is too strong, not vulnerable enough, that there is no room for her to grow.

I have to admit, I don't much wonder about that criticism. Like many others, I've always been the one to take care, co-dependent to the core. That co-dependence means that I don't much need anyone to take care of me - well - not til the Aussie walked into my space. I love that his ego is stronger than mine and that he will take the lead, that he expects to take the lead, that I can let go and let the bloke — my new AA metaphor for 'higher power'.

That's not entirely true, you know. I argue endlessly with him about all matter of decisions and issues in our lives and the lives of others on the planet. But in the end, it's certainly a debate among equals.

And when there is no resolution, the response from me is "Ok, that's enough. Let's not talk about that anymore today."

Or he says, "Well, I guess there are just some topics we cannot discuss."

But that's not true. There is no topic that we cannot discuss. There are many topics on which we will never agree. Should one drink chamomile tea when one's colon is no longer working properly? Should one continue to use the Dr's prescriptive medicine when the body responds by becoming less healthy than it was before one took that medication?

Levertov's poem is perfect for one who works with teens. I would have resonated to it ten years ago. Today, I have to deal with the teen inside my own head and she is totally unwilling to admit to the vulnerability that Levertov suggests exists in all of us.

Red Dog

2011-08-25T06:25:00.004-05:00

If you love dogs, you'll love this little Aussie movie - a wonderment that took me to tears and provoked me to unseemly loud laughter several times.

The Pilbura (where the film is set) isn't much to look at, but the characters who inhabit this desolation are purely Australian even though they represent most every culture on the planet.

It's a great movie. Click on the title to today's blog entry to go to a review - the kind of film that Australia ought to produce more often. Irreverent, charming, full of mateship, beer, desert, unwashed male bodies and a strange perception of what precisely makes a gentleman.

It ranks with The Castle and Cosi von Tutti, as well as Bran Nu Dae a - movies that could only be produced in this hilarious, life affirming culture.

Eight Ways to Stimulate Your Brain

2011-08-23T23:14:00.004-05:00

From Facebook this morning — 'Oldies!' Take note.

1. Practice your peripheral vision

2. Memorize a song

3. Learn to play a new instrument

4. Practice throwing/catching a ball

5. Learn to use your non-dominant hand

6. Walk on bumpy surfaces

7. Finish jig saw puzzles

8. Become a child again.

There were ten suggestions. I've already forgotten two of them. 'Oh well ', as my Becca friend would say.

These are such easy assignments. Do you think learn a new language was on the list? It should be. I'm actively involved in doing that. Just the other day I was practicing listening to Dr. Islam speak Pakistani English. I fear I offended him when the royal ME stopped him mid track and asked, 'Please repeat that last sentence. I didn't understand you.'

Instantly changed our relationship forever. A bit later there was his response. "Americans, they just want instant results.'

I kept my mouth shut. Is there any other kind of result? What's wrong with him?

So, now we have this hasty, cold shouldered doctor/patient relationship. I contend, 'I don't want to take steroids to correct my indisposition.'

He stops, looks directly at me for only the second time in our little office visit and says. 'Take this prescription then. It won't work as well.'

And he up and walked me out of his office. He may be a good doctor. I am certainly a lousy patient. American to the core.

— — — — — The Tea Party — — — —

2011-08-18T17:54:00.005-05:00

Bachman, Perry, Palin — a godless trio whose actions belie their words — represent points of view that are diametrically opposed to everything I believe.

Sociopaths on parade,

Egotists whose persona is used by the media to sell tissues and toilet paper.

They embarrass me; why don't they embarrass you?

Do they represent your personal goals and hopes for America?

Wouldn't it be better to just ignore their nonsense, their non-rational rantings?

Why not simply turn off the tele when the news media turn the focus on them?

It's a simple act and assured to garner the attention of those who put adverts around the news programs that cover these idealogs with no moral agenda.

Corporations — individual people — will abandon them if the rest of us abandon them. Corporations are accustomed to success. When those they support are seen to be failures, the big money will be out the door - yesterday.

Movie Day

2011-08-16T18:14:00.002-05:00

Worked hard yesterday - for me, I did. Trimmed the front garden back to reasonable levels - that would be below the fence line. The shrubs had overgrown as a result of all the rain during the flood season that the Aussie and I missed. Now, the real task is to pick up the palm nuts that litter the garden walks beneath and among those shrubs. Big job.

So, I deserve a break today. ;) Like my whole life isn't a 'break' from normal — one of the joys of being an expat is that every time I travel, my days change routine, present new challenges, as well as myriad ways in which to celebrate life. No exception this trip.

Here in Brisbane, the old army barracks have been renovated into an entertainment district. The used brick buildings have been littered with stainless and aluminum trim, the standard issue military walk ways have been skewed into flowing passages between emporiums of gelato and gourmet pizza shops and a six auditorium movie theatre crowns the whole complex up the stairs to the second and third floors. It's an Amerikan film about which we will be making judgments later on — Tree of Life.

And then there is the two kilometre walk home past SunCorp stadium, idle for the moment, a tad tense as it awaits the 25000 folks who will watch Darren Lockyr celebrate his final rugby victory this spring. The ghost of celebrations past sits quietly at the moment, a behemoth reminding one of the fireworks displays to come on many a Saturday night. Aussies do like their sporting competitions.

Dear Australian

2011-08-14T03:10:00.002-05:00

You are

The tall Prince of my love;

Strength surrounding vulnerability;

Beautiful mind clothed in flexible musculature;

Grey eyes, the seers of detail;

Kind entity arriving with small perfect gifts;

He who sees what I refuse to admit;

Who reads my body with a passionate gift of pleasure;

Who feeds me breakfast and a reason to rise each morn;

You are he who manifests the Butcher Bird, the Possum,

the fat assed wombat and the Golden Orb Spider

To clothe my imagination in the wilderness of Australia

Ursula, I Love You

2011-08-12T17:09:00.002-05:00

Below you will find another exemplary commentary by my favourite American 'children's book' author and purveyor of great truths in The Left Hand of Darkness. It was sent to me this morning by a dear friend in North Dakota, a woman who understands the value of 'a word'. Hope you enjoy as much as I have.
* * * * * * * * *
I keep reading books and seeing movies where nobody can fucking say anything except fuck, unless they say shit. I mean they don’t seem to have any adjective to describe fucking except fucking even when they’re fucking fucking. And shit is what they say when they’re fucked. When shit happens, they say shit, or oh shit, or oh shit we’re fucked. The imagination involved is staggering. I mean, literally.

There was one novel I read where the novelist didn’t only make all the fucking characters say fuck and shit all the time but she got into the fucking act herself for shit sake. So it was full of deeply moving shit like, “The sunset was just too fucking beautiful to fucking believe.”

I guess what’s happened is that what used to be a shockword has become a noise that’s supposed to intensify the emotion in what you’re saying. Or maybe it occurs just to bridge the gap between words, so that actual words become the shit that happens in between saying fucking?

Swearwords and shockwords used to mostly come out of religion. Damn, damn it, hell, God, God-damned, God damn it to hell, Jesus, Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ Almighty, etc. etc. A few of them appeared, rarely, in nineteenth-century novels, usually as “——” or more bravely as “By G—!” or “d—n!” (Archaic or dialect oaths such as swounds, egad, gorblimey were printed out in full.) With the twentieth century the religious-blasphemy oaths began to creep, and then swarm, into print. Censorship of words perceived as “sexually explicit” was active far longer. Lewis Gannett, the book reviewer for the old NY Tribune, had a top-secret list of words the publisher had had to eliminate from The Grapes of Wrath before they could print it; after dinner one night Lewis read the list out loud to his family and mine with great relish. It couldn’t have shocked me much, because I recall only a boring litany of boring words, mostly spoken by the Joads no doubt, on the general shock level of “titty.”

I remember my brothers coming home on leave in the second world war and never once swearing in front of us homebodies: a remarkable achievement. Only later, when I was helping my brother Karl clean out the spring, in which a dead skunk had languished all winter, did I learn my first real cusswords, seven or eight of them in one magnificent, unforgettable lesson. Soldiers and sailors have always cursed, what else can they do? But Norman Mailer in The Naked and the Dead was forced to use the euphemistic invention “fugging,” giving Dorothy Parker the chance, which naturally she didn’t miss, of cooing at him, “Oh, are you the young man who doesn’t know how to spell ‘fuck?’”

And then came the Sixties, when a whole lot of people started saying shit, even if they hadn’t had lessons from their brother. And before long all the shits and fucks were bounding forth in print. And finally we began to hear them from the lips of the stars of Hollywood. So now the only place to get away from them is movies before 1990 or books before 1970 or way, way out in the wilderness. But make sure there aren’t any hunters out in the wilderness about to come up to your bleeding body and say Aw, shit, man, I thought you was a fucking moose.

I remember when swearing, though tame by modern standards, was quite varied and often highly characteristic. There were people who swore as an art form – performing a dazzling juncture of the inordinate and the unexpected. It seems weird to me that only two words are now used as cusswords, and by many people used so constantly that they can’t talk or even write without them.

Of our two swearwords, one has to do with elimination, the other (apparently) with sex. Both are sanctioned domains, areas like religion where there are rigid limits and things may be absolutely off-limits except at certain specific times or places.

So little kids shout caca and doo-doo, and big ones shout shit. Put the feces where they don’t belong!

This principle, getting it out of place, off limits, the basic principle of swearing, I understand and approve. And though I really would like to stop saying Oh shit when annoyed, having got on fine without it till I was 35 or so, I’m not yet having much success in regressing to Oh hell or Damn it. There is something about the shh beginning, and the explosive t! ending, and that quick little ih sound in between….

But fuck and fucking? I don’t know. Oh, they sound good as curses, too. It’s really hard to make the word fuck sound pleasant or kindly. But what is it saying?

I don’t think there are meaningless swearwords; they wouldn’t work if they were meaningless. Does fuck have to do with sex primarily? Or sex as male aggression? Or just aggression?

Until maybe 25 or 30 years ago, as far as I know, fucking only meant one kind of sex: what the man does to the woman, with or without consent. Now, both men and women use it to mean coitus, and it’s become (as it were) ungendered, so that a woman can talk about fucking her boyfriend. So the strong connotations of penetration and of rape should have fallen away from it. But they haven’t. Not to my ear, anyhow. Fuck is an aggressive word, a domineering word. When the guy in the Porsche shouts Fuck you, asshole! he isn’t inviting you to an evening at his flat. When people say Oh shit, we’re fucked! they don’t mean they’re having a consensual good time. The word has huge overtones of dominance, of abuse, of contempt, of hatred.

So God is dead, at least as a swearword; but hate and feces keep going strong. Le roi est mort, vive le fucking roi.
Ursula K. Le Guin
Her most recent book is Out Here: Poems and Images from Steens Mountain Country,

Home Is Where the Heart Is

2011-08-11T17:39:00.003-05:00

And where is that? I once thought I knew. Not very long ago, I was sailing round the world absolutely certain about my return to a homeport.

How quickly certainty changes. Reminds me of a most important lesson - today counts because tomorrow may eventuate as an entirely different phenomenon - unlike the present moment as dinosaurs are from humans.

The world my mind concocts is full of conspiracy, the kind that supports my view of myself in the real world. Why must I always play victim in that conspiracy? How come I can’t be the heroine just once in a while?

Default: victim!

Feeling sorry for oneself is hardly a celebratory way to live life so why not give it up? Why not choose a different tune by which to dance across the oceans into the lives of some very special Aussies.

Could it happen? Sure, to someone else! How ever would I live my life if I were the heroine?

I’d start by climbing immense mountains, not by a single bound, but step by step up cliffs with plenty of exposure, sure footed as any mountain goat.

*** 2003 ***

What a difference eight years make. Happily, the victim has been hidden away under the bed and warned not to show her face except under the most dire circumstances. The heroine is out and about in 2011, enjoying those Aussies and all their mates.

My Fav Facebook Post of the Day.. :)

2011-08-09T23:53:00.003-05:00

Did you know "race car" spelled backwards spells "race car"? If you take the first letter of "eat" & move it to the last, spells its own past tense, "ate"? If you rearrange the letters in "Tea Party Republicans" & add a few more it spells: Shut the fuck up... you free-loading, progress-blocking, benefit-grabbing, resource-sucking, violent hypocrites and deal with the fact that you nearly wrecked the country under Bush and that our president is black...

posted by - Tina Shamah and Alan Colmes

Silenced Majority Portal webpage...click on the title to today's blog entry to go to their page..

* * * * * * * Missing Person's Report * * *

2011-08-08T19:05:00.002-05:00

Missing are

Delicious meals conjured from simple ingredients
Ginger drops oozing dark chocolate
Enticing tones of loving welcome
Soft intimate kisses
Warm hands to heat a libido
The wrestle of love making.

Missing is the center of her world..
Aussie is busy far away

What Kucinich Said - - - - -

2011-08-08T00:10:00.004-05:00

Dennis suggests —

1. Close down both wars and bring the troops home.

2. Tax the rich at the same rate as we tax middle class Americans.

USA fiscal problem solved.

Why can one outspoken Congressman come up with a simple solution and all those other folks continue their dance around the Maypole of Fiscal Mismanagement?

Alice in Wonderland politics abound in America. Maybe we ought to follow up Kucinich's solution by legalizing and taxing marijuana, cocaine, meth.

Oh no? Oh, yes!

Tobacco corporations would have to make their profits overseas. Oh, they already do that?

Arms manufacturers(Armalite, Browning, Colt,Magnum, Remington, Smith & Wesson, Springfield, Winchester to name a few), and War material suppliers (too many to mention) beware — You'll have to advertise more effectively in all those former colonial hot spots where the locals are playing adversarial games to win control of the profits from minerals in demand in '1st' world technology.

Believing in Perceived Power

2011-08-06T17:42:00.004-05:00

Many of us have a penchant for avoiding being 'responsible'. I don't mean personally responsible for whatever we do or cause. I mean responsible for the lives, welfare, and success of those around us. Americans, in particular these days, have enough issues in their daily lives so that they choose NOT to participate in activities, whose success or failure will impact their neighbours, family or even strangers.

So what do we do instead? We give the power of decision making to somebody else, to a governmental stiff who may be a thoughtful, rational, compassionate individual or who may be a sociopath milking the system for all s/he can.

We let S&P decide how good our economic system is. We let Dems and Repubs decide which debts our govt can create and when those debts will be paid off. We let our President decide when/if we will begin a war or end one and where on the planet to send CIA operatives busily engaged in instigating WW3.

You know as well as I do that if a million of us were to act together, to take the personal responsibility to walk in a peaceful demonstration - to walk to the sea for salt, if you will - those to whom we have given our right to decide, would decide in favour of the position the million held.

We have become so engrossed in the process of building new stairs to the second floor or putting in a new bathroom or working three jobs to make sure the kiddies have shoes in which to go to school, or in paying for the TEVO, that we no longer even consider taking a week or a day to actually involve ourselves in a combined, concerted action to make sure that the basic needs of the country itself - a balanced budget, health care for children, a social security program that makes sure that every citizen has a roof over her/his head while sleeping tonight.

Instead we quietly and rather desperately ignore the young American men and women killed as they invaded a foreign country yesterday and pretend that someone else will make sure that the lights turn on when we flip the switch tonight.

There was a time when it was otherwise. Perhaps we need to return to to those days of activism.

'says she who flees the country whenever real strife overwhelms the American psyche'

A Pause That Refreshes

2011-08-02T20:12:00.002-05:00

Is that a Pepsi or a Coke ad?

Don't remember; but like all good adverts the line itself stuck.

I'm in the midst of cleaning my office. The windows were so dirty after my absence of a year (ergo - nobody cared much about looking out) that I couldn't see the fig tree wilderness in full bloom immediately outside.

Windows and sills are now pleasantly clear - the scene without is worth the effort.

However, I have discovered that although there were no folks looking out, there were a plethora of critturs moving in. If you read this blog with any regularity, you may recall that my computer screen - one of those bigger than life full desk monitors - had not lain useless for the year of my absence.

Nope, the local ant population had moved in and converted it to 'ant farm'. I still haven't found the queen. Ant farms do have queens, don't they? Otherwise who would be laying all those little white eggs that covered the entire back of my monitor?

I still haven't found the queen, but in the process of moving furniture - you know, I'm one of those folks who must rearrange in order to believe I've really cleaned. A year's dust mites took a while to disembowel, but I've done pretty well, so far.

Today, I tackled the book cases. Some might think that book cases don't need to be cleaned. Once upon a time I might have been such a person. But never again. The paper wasps make good use of my precious books to which they attached bountiful numbers of mud nests in which their young I am sure came to fruition cause they are no longer there. The wasp nests crumbled to dust as I removed each book.

As well, the rest of the mother of all ant colonies had nested between the book covers and the interior walls of my book case. Every book with a dust cover made a special abode for a few hundred ant embryo along with their several attendants.

I needed a break after I took my dissertation out to the sunny aspect of the front garden so that the attendants could escape and even take the eggs with them if they had a mind. Do ants have a mind? I know they are supposed to have a collective unconscious only in their case I think it must be a collective conscious cause they sure do work well together to take advantage of any quit, dark, undisturbed space in the midst of flooded Brisbane. They did find a safe haven for their offspring - at least til I returned. And at last my dissertation on Women Travel Writers was useful to some entities. Good on em.

However, the giantess with the spray bottle full of vinegar and ammonia will not rest til they have all found another place to work their magic.

Just thought I'd let you know. It's good to make myself a cuppa and share the massacre I just let loose on the ant population who thought they were safe and comfy in my creative space. :(

Serial Monogamy

2011-08-01T02:13:00.003-05:00

I have a middle-aged woman friend who has recently found the 'love of her life'. Well, at least for the moment, he is the love of her life. She and Her previous partner separated about a year ago. In the interim, she struggled to insinuate herself into the 'dating scene' via various Internet 'meet-up' sites. It has been a challenging circumstance for her as well as for other friends who have also recently split form partners of many years.

During this same period, a third middle-aged (well, 70ish) friend has also found a particularly salubrious circumstance with a partner she also met on a dating web site.

The three women live in different western cultures.

Since my husband and I met on an Internet dating site in 2000, I am particularly aware of the ritual that goes with this process. At the time we met, successful Internet sites were few and far between. The big money had not yet discovered the pot of gold at the end of a common electronic 'hook up'.

But all of this background is precisely that – background. The real issue of today's blog entry is serial monogamy, which seems to be an increasingly common practice in many cultures. There are data about the length of time men and women are spending in marriages or partnerships. A significant number of couples choose several long term partnerships in their lifetime and fewer couples are remaining monogamous with the same partner for their entire married life. I do not here discriminate between homosexual partnerships and heterosexual partnerships.

Both of the articles whose web addresses are included below treat 'serial monogamy'' as a negative process. Even as late as 2009 the prejudice against divorce or separation and remarriage or re-partnering seems to be seen as a negative influence in society.

It may be interesting to investigate further the positive and negative impact of serial monogamy on modern culture. To be sure the statistics suggest that western cultures once were more willing to embrace 'serial monogamy.' However, by 2009, Korea had the third highest rate of divorce or separation and serial monogamy as part of its social fabric. And China is not so very far behind.

I see the process as a positive aspect of cultures in which humans are living longer. Although one British article suggests that serial monogamy more often serves as a positive force for the mental health of males, it also suggests serial monogamy works to create a negative mental health pattern for females.

The more serial relationships a woman has, the more negative her mental health. There is in the article no indicator of what parameters of mental health are used to make such a finding. Men, according to the article are happiest after or in their third relationship as part of their participation in serial monogamy.

Thought provoking to say the least and not the topic on which I came to write today. Tomorrow, I'll get to the point with an article about my theory (not factual, of course) on why we choose particular partners with whom to practice serial monogamy.

(click on the title to today's blog entry to go to the first article. Here is the second.)

http://www.articlesbase.com/relationships-articles/the-modern-society-has-let-loose-the-serial-monogamist-do-they-cause-the-increase-in-divorce-and-separations-914244.html

One more Ex pat commentary

2011-07-30T22:57:00.004-05:00

As those of you who read regularly may know we have been back in Oz for almost two weeks. Yep, time flies.

Today has been my 'reply to emails from friends' morning. After the G-man took off on his bicycle for his' first time this year' cycle along the Brisbane River, I slowly extracted myself from a warm and cozy nest and wandered towards the 'loo'. Much to my surprise, I noticed the window to the shower room was steamy. That was either a fast ride or I did roll over and go back to sleep longer than I thought I did.

Tapping on the window, I asked 'Did you ride?'

'Yep, but the gear shift changer on my bike is sticking. Took me forever to shift from one gear to the other. I'll fix it this afternoon. I did come up the hill in high gear though.'

'Proud of you for that,' I smiled. The Howard Street hill from the school to our house, about 300 yards (metres), is mildly put - steep.

Later with my first cup of tea, a ginger concoction - I've given up on coffee for the moment as I'm trying to correct my digestive imbalance before my doctor's appt. next week - I checked my emails.

Three American friends sent greetings as they wondered if I was pleased to be back in winter again. All three know about the very long winter we endured in Nordacotah this past season - First snow in mid November - last blizzard on 1 May.

If only I could convey the difference between a North American prairie winter and an estuarian mid east coast Australian winter. It's too simple to say that we live in a subtropical paradise.

Better to explain that July is rife with softest blue skies interspersed with puffy whites, that the 5 a.m. temperature may hover around 40F (9 C) degrees, but that by noon, the house, opened up by it's mistress, will be a comfy 70 F (20C). Perfection. No mosquitos, the cockies have not yet returned to fly in the open windows, the Kookaburra and Butcher Birds still waken us at dawn, the lauralkeets come in rainbow colours but in smaller numbers because there is no fruit on which to munch.

After our oatmeal and yogurt brekkie which as soon as I clean up the back veranda will be enjoyed in the fig tree wilderness of our back garden, (a year's weather has left it's mark on walls and windows. Soon, very soon, those marks will be history.) — we put on a light jacket and walk down to the corner deli for milk and stop in for an Australian flat white. Oh, I know, I have waxed eloquently - at least I intended the description to be eloquent - about that first morning cuppa - but there it is - perfect start to our morning.

A chance to sit and chat as well as serve as audience to young Aussies chasing the bus as it pulls into our local stop on the way into city centre, to mom's with babies in strollers trying to keep up with their blue and yellow uniformed kiddies on their way to second, third, and forth grade classrooms.

There are also the retirees walking the dog or dogs, and delivery vans bringing flowers, bread, and various other goodies to the local restaurants and deli.

We live only a block from all this bustle in which we can engage or if it suits us, we can enjoy a quiet cuppa at home as the sun warms the timbers of our century old house and finally shines into the inner realms of the place we call home.

It is good to be back. We are blessed to have such a respite to which we can return.

Thursday and the 14th amendment

2011-07-27T20:03:00.004-05:00

So many topics to discuss and always I choose the mundane..urgh!

We could discuss the 14th amendment to the US Constitution, but you may have had a surfeit of that convo. Still, do you know what it says? I'm astonished and so damned pleased; of course, only because Americans have a democrat as President. If it were a tool available to republicans, I'd surely feel differently.

Here's what it says - Amendment 14 Section 4

The validity of the public debt of the United States, authorized by law, including debts incurred for payment of pensions and bounties for services in suppressing insurrection or rebellion, shall not be questioned. etc etc etc.

The section in RED is surrounded by commas. All you excellent grammarians know what that means — that red part can be pulled out and the entire sentence makes sense without it. No argument on the part of those who understand the rules of written English.

Of course, no one expects that the Supreme Court is full of grammarians. Far from it.

I'm actually looking forward to the President's solution to a recalcitrant Tea Party who salivates at the thought of taking Medicare away from those of us over 65.

A delicious question keeps my mind busy these days. What will Obama's solution to this impasse create for average Americans?

Not Quite Our Prairie Home

2011-07-25T03:09:00.002-05:00

What a difference a hemisphere makes.

Our three homes are as different as one could possibly imagine. Still, all three have a similar ambiance, a sense of comfortable relaxation.

Oz house has no central heating - nor does Sierra cabin; the Flaxton abode is surely the warmest of the three. Our window pane less southern hemisphere home is large enough so that sometimes we actually lose one another.
I'm in the front bedroom.

' Ok. Be right there I'm on the bottom back veranda.' :)

We can hear one another, just can't quite find each other.

In Flaxton, we always know where the other is..garage, upstairs, downstairs, or out playing in the snow.

At the mountain cabin, no telling where the other might be. Hiking to a peak, through a canyon, fishing in the creek, or just lolling lazily in one of the bedrooms.

No matter, we seem to be comfy in all three..and feel more than a little fortunate to have them all!

Tour de France

2011-07-23T18:44:00.003-05:00

What a lovely week end to be in Australia!

Cadel Evans is about to become the first Aussie to win the Tour de France! Makes my heart sing to witness the pride in achievement displayed by Aussies when their countryman rises to the occasion and wins such an international prize.

The continent from down under has risen to the top once again. Well deserved victory.

Makes my heart sing.

p.s. Click on the title to today's entry to go to the Guardian Tour de France story

Ant Farm

2011-07-22T20:14:00.002-05:00

My huge screened Mac G5 Double Processor has been left all all alone for the past eleven months on my desk in the sun room office of our Brisbane home.

Graham's eldest has been a fine guardian of this mammoth machine. At least once a week she has come in to keep it company for a few moments, checking to be sure that it is operating properly, that the latest Brisbane electrical storm hasn't burned the operating system to a crisp.

As I sat down to stroke the ego of this behemoth upon my return last Tuesday, praising it ceaselessly for continuing to function without my 'motherly' attention for so very long, a lone ant crept across my screen. One ant - no problem. I continued to check my email and jot a note off to my Aussie friends to let them know the Amerikan had returned.

And what to my wondering eyes did appear? (Yeah, I know I used that phrase not so long ago) Another ant, and another, and another until dozens, hundreds criss crossed my screen, some wandering and some carrying little white eggs.

A ant farm had lodged successfully in the 540 millimetre ( almost two foot) by 440 millimetre (a foot and a half) screen encasement sitting before me.

Fortunately, I am married to Mr. Fix It. He pondered for a few moments, brought his IKEA tools, hex wrenches, from downstairs, removed the back from the screen, sprayed the denizen as I scooped them up, and proceeded to evict them from their home of the past year.

Then, wouldn't you know! Then, the whole computer refused to boot up. Squirrelly mouthed, we cursed and frothed at the whole Apple world. Rescued from ants, lonely once more, the huge machine refused to cooperate.

Four days later, Mr Fix It triumphed again. Here I sit with the Fig Tree Wilderness before me, laurelkeets happily mincing on the rain gutter just above and beyond my window, ants departed from my computer, jotting you this record of our most recent problem solving events.

Happy I am to be typing on the G5. Thrilled I am to be able to communicate with my cyber world on my favourite system. Happy days to you all.

Songsters Greeted the Dawn

2011-07-19T20:36:00.003-05:00

Same ole, same ole; nonetheless, it was joyful to be awakened by the southern hemisphere denizen! Kookaburra klan chattering at brekkie and Butcher Bird chortling us up and out of bed a bit earlier made it a fine morning to be home again.

Mid winter temperatures are pleasant hovering around 68-70 F with a slight breeze sliding down the front hall through the open door. The Aussie laughs at my pink head dress - a tight fitting cap that fits down over my ears keeping me warm. Must admit I've added a light fleece and socks to my winter wardrobe. Nothing at all like our North Dakota winter wear, but enough.

At 8 this morning we enjoyed a walk down to Rosalie Village for oats, freshly baked bread, and yogurt. Then, in my sunny office enjoyed our second cuppa of the morning.

Much to be done here in the 'colonial' - closets and cupboards to be washed out before hanging clothes up. After all, it's been eleven months since the hangers have been covered with my colorful wardrobe.

And to our surprise, we had to clean out my computer screen - it had become a rather delightful ant farm complete with little white eggs.! Quite unexpected. Soon we will try and reassemble the whole screen with the intention of making sure it works minus the minyons crawling through my words and pictures as I try to type a blog entry. This note comes to you via my travelling laptop.

Be well..hope it cools off for those of you in Nordacotah and also for the California folks.

love..

We'uns Are Home

2011-07-18T23:38:00.002-05:00

Southern hemisphere sunny (but breezy) winter afternoon finds the Aussie and his wife enjoying the century + year old colonial on the hill in Paddington once again.

The journey was lackluster punctuated with some delightful visits from old friends and loving children and grandchildren. The fifteen hours of flying time were comfy for the most part - who can complain of hard yolks when the hollandaise was perfect. Air New Zealand wins the 'best little airline on the planet' award one more time.

Em has turned the house into a comfy Aussie realm, neat and orderly and inviting!

The fig tree wilderness is as green and full as ever, the skies more blue than I remember, the southern hemisphere world once more is a safe haven from which to monitor the progress of the rest of the world.

We are so pleased to be home once again!!

Just a bit excited

2011-07-17T11:58:00.004-05:00

Greetings, greetings —

Location - Holiday Inn LAX

Time - 10 am Sunday 17 July 2011

Atmosphere - pleasant. Tummy full from a full service breakfast buffet after a good night's rest - oatmeal for me with just a tiny bit of scrambled eggs to keep me til we reach Air New Zealand Business Class lounge at the airport.

Expectations: A good nights sleep en-route to Auckland where we have a lay over before heading home to Brisbane.

Dearest Linda drove us from Whitney Portal (picture at top of blog page) to LA. We are blessed to have such friendships in our lives.

It was difficult to make the transition through the dry Mohave desert after a white winter and very wet springtime in Nordacotah which has become the state of 10,000 lakes just like it's eastern neighbor.

Ten days in the Sierra were glorious, cool, green, quiet with a smattering of child laughter when the Madeleine, Jack, Ethan, and Dale came to fish and tease the wildlife.

Twas difficult to leave the mountains behind, but looking forward to a warm Aussie winter in the colonial on the hill. Catch you all in a few days...after lag from the jet dissipates

* * * * * * * Bags are Packed! * * * * * * *

2011-07-02T14:11:00.005-05:00

And we're ready to go!

Can't remember a time when I've been so ready to climb in the ute and head for the mountains.

That's only because of incipient Alzheimers. There have been lots of time when the cabin offered refuge from way too much life in the city.

But this time, the issue is heat and grass in the country. Temperatures hovered around 100 on Wednesday. The clouds disappeared over the eastern horizon, after which the western horizon, that usually acquits itself admirably by producing more of the white fluffy stuff, failed to take notice.

Packing was a tad unique this trip. Stuff to go to the cabin, stuff to go to Australia, stuff to stay here packed into mothproof containers, and stuff to take into nightly accommodations. Some say I am a woman of boxes and I do plead guilty, but arranging this set was onerous.

Still, it's done! All that's left is to carry bags out to the truck so the Aussie can load and then empty the refrigerator/freezer and take excess out to the farm where the denizen will feast when we are 'on the road again'.

So, for a couple of days, I will miss checking up on you all to see who has stopped in and who has not.

BTW, you can do that yourself if you scroll all the way to the bottom of the page and click on real time view of the lovely counter who keeps track of where and how folks chose to stop in to read some of these words.

You may be surprised at the entries from Croatia, Thailand, and Sweden. Everybody reads English these days — the shame is that we Americans read so few other languages ourselves, but you've heard me pontificate on the subject before.

2011-06-29T12:51:00.005-05:00

A deep winter sundog. There actually were two in the sky that -28 F degree morning back in March. We've been told that the dogs only manifest on the coldest of winter days. I will miss the gifts of cold weather - but not overmuch ;)

An autumn dawn on the slough, Stoney Run, outside our back door. As you can see, there is much to love in this small haven in the midst of the immodest magnificence on display in middle America.

Waking to a display of such color reminds one of the variety that nature offers to all willing to open eyes and gaze in rapture.

I sigh as I recall the autumn and winter beauty of the prairie we are about to leave.

The mountains beckon. Vagabonds together, we will head south to the eastern Sierra on 3 July to bask in the fragrance of Ponderosa and Jeffrey Pine forests.

Sunset and Daybreak on Stoney Run

2011-06-28T21:01:00.003-05:00

We're about to leave this magical place and I wanted to share a photo of the paradise that sunset brings with it to our prairie home.

Hanging from the tree limb is a house wren nest provided by our good neighbour, Janet.

The picture looks east..one of the few times in my life when sunset was more lovely in the eastern skies than the west.

And then an April Daybreak outlines the task set for spring. Snow still lingers before the dawn.

Another look at Terrorism

2011-06-24T13:19:00.002-05:00

Positive Disruption
By ROGER COHEN
23 June 2011

Checking out the NYTimes this morning, I found an interesting article that asked me to reconsider the 'west's' influence in Afghanistan.

When I was finished reading Cohen's report, I wondered if the framers of the US Constitution were correct in assuming that one had to reach the age of 45 to be wise enough to govern as President of the USA. And then, it occurred to me that a younger candidate vs. an older one (Obama vs. McCain) might give us a more successful mind set.

I do realize there are many other parameters by which a presidential candidate ought to be considered, but in the instances reported in Cohen's article, some of which I have copied below, younger may be the better choice.

Cohen writes:

'I’d come by to see two former State Department guys now trying to do good things for the world through networks rather than diplomatic cables. Call them T-shirted envoys with algorithms.

Both seemed to be bubbling with relief at finding themselves out of the unwieldy bureaucracies that address the world as it appears on a physical map and in a company that views the globe in the same borderless way as the 52 percent of the world’s population that is under 30.

Something immense is happening as the world transitions to a hyperconnected state where, for many, the distinction between the real and virtual worlds has ceased to exist. All the trailing paraphernalia of states and borders and government-to-government palavers, not to mention privacy laws, look so 20th century.

. . . Carpenter is working with Jared Cohen, who’s heading up a new unit called Google Ideas, after a stint at the State Department. Cohen, at 29, starts with the notion that technology is agnostic: It can be used in the cause of freedom — and has been to great effect from Tunis to Cairo — just as it can be used in the cause of repression. So how do you “tip the balance in favor of the net positive?”

. . . the Summit Against Violent Extremism . . . will look at entrance and exit tipping-points: What factors push young people toward identification with violent groups and what may usher them out again.

More than 80 “formers,” as Cohen calls them, will attend — former Islamists, former neo-Nazis, a hard-line former Israeli settler now working on conflict resolution, former Los Angeles gang members. If technology, as Cohen and Carpenter believe, is “a great way to amplify and network credible voices,” then the hope is these shared experiences of aggression and disillusionment can be channeled to positive effect.

I don’t think the world’s leaders have begun to grasp the implications of unstoppable connectivity. Some people are calling this the Age of Behavior: What I do affects what you do, more directly than ever before.'

If you want to read more of the article, click on the title to today's blog entry to go to the NYTimes. Here's the link just in case technology doesn't otherwise cooperate. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/24/opinion/24iht-edcohen24.html?nl=todaysheadlines&emc=tha212

And remember, if there is hope for peace on this lovely planet, it will probably occur as a result of good folks using good technology to access each others experiences and opinions in the planetary discussion - at least that's what I believe.

20 June 2011

2011-06-22T14:13:00.003-05:00

Always there's a story. This one begins with what I thought would be my last session with my Cuban friend whom I tutor in English. About 8:15 on Monday night we showed her new tutor the books and the process we have been using for the past few months.

After they left the house in the midst of a major prairie downpour, I put on my own rain jacket and headed out to the farm for a very late dinner of slow roasted pork chops and fresh corn on the cob accompanied by a pleasant Aussie shiraz.

Hours later our guest from southern California, my hubby and I arrived back home and readied for bed — not for long. My way too full gut complained and then cramped and then went into spasms that refused to cease and desist. Guest and hubby tried to alleviate the pain by giving wise instructions. Finally, 911 was called and of course shortly thereafter the whole scenario repaired itself and I found myself stretched out on the couch, feeling much better minus the pain of a half hour previous.

Moving forward another fifteen minutes and beside me sat the county deputy sheriff, an ambulance team of two EMTs, a driver and a nurse, all of whom were politely assuring me that I belonged in hospital.

I begged off. They finally agreed and drove back to Bowbells and their beds, and I visited the next morning, as promised, with our local health professional. All travel plans are on hold awaiting a colonoscopy ..urgh.. 7 July.

Final note: I'm feeling fine most of the time but inclined to remain close to the bathroom facilities close to home.

Sunny Thursday

2011-06-15T12:03:00.002-05:00

Oh my — Weather news again.

Rained all day yesterday. Poor producers (farmers) are having major difficulties planting this spring. Impossible wet. Tractors bogged. Livestock stuck in fields that have turned into huge ponds.

The only ones who seem happy with the conditions are the yellow headed blackbirds, the red winged black birds, and all the water fowl. Well, I guess the muskrat is rather pleased as well - probably hasn't had a feast like the eggs available this year..in a very long time.

Sunshine today and temperate temperatures. Happiness.

Being Home, prairie women, and dining delights

2011-06-10T09:14:00.001-05:00

About to embark on a week end with the gurls - prairie women, that is.

Had a conversation with my prairie friend yesterday about 'feeling home again' as she crossed the border from South Dakota to Nordacotah. In the midst of the whole exchange, I realized there is no where about which I feel what she described - the sense of being home, of returning to the tribe.

I had been in the midst of discussing an incident involved with 'prairie food', a very specific style of cooking akin to southern fried, but seriously not limited to chicken. Fish and plenty of it are included in 'prairie fodder'. Some of that fish is local - like Walleye. A second delicacy is breaded cod with a distinctly Norwegian name. The preponderance of Scandinavian settlers in this region of Nordamerika has a definite influence on what is served at Sunday dinners or everyday field dinners carried out to the men operating combines and seeding equipment.

And it does seem that food and the ritual surrounding food creates the ambiance surrounding the sense of 'being home'. My own tastes are far more eclectic but I do recall my first three years in Australia. At least once every couple of weeks I'd sneak out of the house and trudge a good two kilometers to the closest MacDonalds to enjoy a large order of 'fries', in Aussie parlance better known as 'chips'. Just the taste was enough to fend off my sense of being a stranger in a strange land. My digestive tract somehow communicated with my brain to let it know that I could survive at least one more week of being a foreigner.

So, what of this week end with the 'gurls'? I don't have much hope for any sense of comfort, but it will be a learning experience, filled I'm sure with bouts of laughter, to spend three days with 'prairie women'.

I'm eager to be in the mountains again

2011-06-04T20:13:00.002-05:00

Been on the prairie too long. This is where I want to be..not in the snow, mind you, but in the lovely, even if cool, spring time in the Sierra.

It's been a while since last I tripped up those stairs, opened the front door, and basked in the knotty pine scented space that is my home in the Sierra.

Soon, very soon, we will head there to celebrate 4th of July with family.

Hooray for family and hooray for having a space in which to meet together.

Tiny House

2011-06-02T13:45:00.002-05:00

Tiny House — what a concept in America?

Click on the title to today's blog entry and scroll down to the video. Lovely idea, but I cannot imagine living in 320 sq ft. of space with three people. Keeping everything in its own space would be the greatest challenge.

The cost of the 'tiny house' is about $20,000, which seems a tad steep to me. However, buying a house at that price today means not having a mortgage and that's a most positive perk.

Our prairie house is about fifteen hundred square foot - perfect for us. That's counting the upstairs which is still under construction. We'll see how we like it when there really is space for each of us to have a floor of our own. Oh, and that counts the basement as well...which is the only basement (so far as I know) in Burke county that has NO water seeping into it from the absolutely once in 50 year water table levels.

I suppose our 1500 sq ft space has a price tag about the same as the 'tiny house'. The metal deck roof ($3000) was the most expensive aspect of our renovations. Water proofing the basement with a British process cost about $1500 for materials. A new furnace and insulation make up the primary other expenses so far. Tools with which to do all this work have added at least another $1000 to our costs.

We don't add the $700 for a commercial espresso machine to our list, but let me assure you that none of the work would have been accomplished without a good cuppa at least three times a day. Flat white is our specialty.

Lumber to build the covered walkway between the house and the garage made winter endurable. And the Aussie did raise the back wall of the kitchen 8 inches, which didn't cost much in materials - a house jack - but lots of time and patience.

So, as spring finally threatens to surround us, as the goslings follow their parents around Stoney Run, we ought to be very happy home owners. If only the surge of waters would stop threatening to turn this corner of the prairie back into the great dinosaur inland sea that used to proliferate in mid North America, all would be well.

Yippee!

2011-06-01T09:52:00.002-05:00

Rain is gone, sun is here; painting, gardening, walking out on the prairie. I'm not the only happy one - farmers are tilling with glee in the fields again!

How stunning it is to open one's eyes to brilliant sunshine! I know, I know - if one goes without, the 'withing' is so much lovelier.

It seems like a lifetime since we had our first cuppa with the doors all open, birdsong filtering through the gray matter scrubbing the crabby self out of consciousness.

Life is good! Just thought I'd let you know. Laundry is in the washer, paint is stirred ready for application to the walkway between house and garage. The first coat was applied three weeks ago, before the deluge. And all the seedlings are about to break the boundaries of their various house bound pots - just dying to stretch their roots in good black prairie soil.

May your Wednesday be as lovely as ours!

Memorial Day

2011-05-30T10:09:00.003-05:00

Memorial Day is supposed to be about war veterans. However, it is the weather, once again, that has my attention. Bluster, just plain prairie bluster is what we have here.

Woke to rain showers. Overcast skies backdrop the weather goddess shaking out her rugs and dust mops. Tree limbs seem to miss the beat as they dance continuously. The lilacs refuse to open their blossoms, but ripple constantly in the gusts.

Our small town will have no Observance today — no vets left in town.

And we will put our ribs in the oven rather than on the grill where they'd drown in the rain before they were properly charred. Cold slaw is shredded and ready for the dressing.

In the meantime, it's book reading and sudoku solving for us. Kindle is in full flower. We ordered three or four books each to fill our quiet hours.

Hopefully, your celebration is more energetic than our own.

Friday Feels Like Sunday

2011-05-27T20:07:00.002-05:00

'Ho hum,' she mumbled as the clouds lowered onto the prairie, again. 'What a start to the day. I need sunshine. Sunshine, I tell you; sunshine.'

The weather goddess ignored the old woman and sprinkled more rain on the windows.

'Graham, I'm not getting out of this bed til the sun shines. Forget my coffee. I'm going back to sleep.'

'Suit yourself;' he turned on the commercial espresso machine on the kitchen counter.

Covering her head with the pillow, she snuggled back under the covers. 'Never gonna get up.'

'You're pouting again. Thought you gave that up. You said you liked it here.'

'That was in the winter when there was snow on the ground. I could ski or snowshoe. What can I do in the mud?'

'Build mudmen?'

'Very funny. I'll take that coffee after all,' she said as she slid out of bed and into her shoes. 'Floor's cold.'

'I already steamed the milk. You'll have to make your own.'

'You don't read my mind very well, do you,' she grinned walking over to his desk and picking up his cup. 'I'll just drink yours.'

'Ok, ok, I'll talk to the weather goddess. Sun by noon. Will that suit?'

'Yep. And then you can have the rest of your coffee back.'

Flaxton Post Office

2011-05-24T18:39:00.004-05:00

Yesterday several community members met with a representative of the USPS - United States Post Office.

I, for one, am deeply concerned about the outcome of this meeting. Although the official line is that the possible closure (discontinuance) of our post office is six months away and not a decision made by local personnel, it was clear to me that a decision had been made.

Most of the discussion concerned a Village Post Office, which is a contract space in which citizens can rent a post office box in a 'shop', a flower store, restaurant, gas station convenience store, etc etc etc. The owner of the 'shop' earns a tiny percentage of the income taken in for the cost of the rental of the post office box and for stamps. No weighing or measuring of packages takes place in this 'shop'. One must use a pre-paid box or envelope that has a pre-designated price attached.

This alternative saves the USPS a whole lot of money because they are NOT paying rent, utilities, or wages. They are simply sharing a percentage of the money that comes into the til.

Interestingly enough, the USPS representative had no idea what that percentage might be.

And so, I did some research.

Postal delivery is mandated by the Constitution of the United States - Article 1, section 8.

The post office is a corporation run by a Board of Directors appointed by the President of the USA and the PostMaster General is chosen by this board. The Directors are paid $30,000 a year + $300 a day for up to 42 days a year as well as travel expenses. Not bad work if you can get it.

The USPS has been doing quite well for the last century. Receipts outrun expenditures in most years. However, when Wall Street went belly up, the situation changed. I mention this because the USPS claims it is the computer who has impacted their receipts. It would appear that 2007 was a boom year with receipts outrunning expenditures by some several million dollars.

However, in 2008, the worm turned. USPS shows a loss of 1 million. In 2009, a loss of 3 million, and in 2010 a loss of 8 million.

However, I'm still impressed that the second largest civilian company in the USAwith the largest fleet of vehicles of any civilian company (second only to Walmart - would you believe?) - has suffered only an 8 million dollar loss this past year.

USPS has in excess of 465,000 employees, 40,000 of whom were let go - no mention of firing - in the last two years. Ouch!!

So, there you are!..several hours of research on the USPS official internet site is filled with important information including the fact that Ben Franklin was our first PostMaster General and it is he to whom we owe thanks for 'book rates' - which are lower than rates to send books and CDs anywhere in the world.

Oh..stamps..first class letter

USA .44
Britain .57
Australia .50
Norway 1.50

Obama in a Cowboy Hat

2011-05-22T11:48:00.003-05:00

Love this photo of my president.

Actually, he makes me proud — not because he ordered the death of a man who funded the death of a huge group of New Yorkers, but because he quietly went about the business of doing what he believed the people of American wanted.

I'm not entirely naive; I understand that the C.I.A. trained Obama, along with many other Afghani freedom fighters, in Scotland years ago; that America funded the people who later became terrorists when the Russians invaded Afghanistan; that the American military gave those same freedom fighters Stinger missiles back in the day, missiles which were saved and used against NATO forces by the Taliban years later.

Still, after all the errors in judgment by previous presidents, by previous military know-it-alls, it is Obama, who made a decision. Perhaps he simply has better advisors than those previous presidents. Perhaps he is a rational thinker, unlike his predecessor, perhaps he is just a tad more intelligent than his predecessor, but mostly I suspect he is a responsible leader who takes his job very seriously and has a sense of morality very close to my own.

Bottom line, that's why I support him and the reason I love this photo..of the man in the black hat — not the white hat of the hero, but the black hat of 'everyman'.

He's my hero!

Immodest Exposure

2011-05-20T19:36:00.002-05:00

A California Black Bear
an internet glitch
and 9-11
conspire to create international romance...

FINISHED
223 pages
off to the American Booksellers Convention
NYC
last week end in May
Wish me luck
It has an agent whose gonna do good work
I hope

Mis communication

2011-05-14T21:26:00.005-05:00

The world is rife with misunderstandings and it is entirely possible that we are not responsible for much of it. That is to say, living in various cultures causes citizens of the world to use language in a various ways that seem to be similar but which, indeed, often convey very different meaning.

The Aussie and I had an amazing laugh session this morning as we read and discussed how very true each of the items tends to be.

I encourage you to take a look. worth a good laugh if nothing else.

Those of you who live in trans cultural homes will understand immediately. The rest of you might take ten seconds to come to a full realization.

All of which reminds me of these two quotes:

In short, how much do we subconsciously ignore, simply because we are conditioned *not* to see it? (Fnord)

"I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant." - Robert McCloskey