The Native Iowan

I think back to the late 70s, early 80s… The world-wide economy was a basket-case, the fuel-wars had begun. Prices, interest rates. The cost of EveryThing went up. A gallon of gasoline in the USA hit $1.20, and shocked everyone. Iran, the Shah, an Ayatollah or two… Jimmy Carter, the nice guy from Georgia. Relaxed, even kinda cool. He was an inept President.

Ronald Reagan (Raygun, as I called him) was a pendulum swing. I thought him evil, at the time. In January 1981, before Raygun got sworn-in, I was on a plane to the Solomons, a paid employee of the US Government. An entity I despised.

I was old enough to be well aware of things. But, in those days, I was simply too inexperienced to clearly understand what was what in the world. I agreed with social programmes without thinking about the cost. I was young, often hungry, so free food sure made a lot of sense to me and my stomach. Though I never agreed with socialism in its true sense (centralised ownership of production and distribution) I was staunchly “democrat” in my thinking. Liberal in the sense that I agreed with spending money we didn’t have on programmes I deemed worthy. Spending other peoples money looked like a good idea at the time.

Why, you may ask did I think that, then?

Because I didnt have anything. Not much anyway… What I departed the USA with, in January 1981, was the sum total of my worldly valuables: A backpack, a tent, a sleeping bag, a guitar, misc clothes n gear, some books and a decent fry pan. I prided myself in being able to travel light and fast. Possessions tied you down, made you heavy.

45years isn’t a long time, but it is.

I now-a-days view the world through septuagenarian eyes. My working “career” is over (kinda). I’m technically in “retirement”. My youthful, socially minded self of 45years ago, nowadays limps, takes naps, pretends to be a farmer.

I am a great pretender…

I also read a lot. Listen a lot. Study things. research interesting topics. Our modern “connected” world offers mind-blowing access to the libraries of the world. Modern AI makes research not only easy, but fun.

Which brings to an important question…

Why the hell do folks in the USA think “FREE STUFF” is worthy, a reality, a possibility?

Sure, tax the rich. Spend other peoples’ money.

Sure, listen to “NEVER HAD A JOB” elected fools. (I do think of Bernie) Preaching a gospel “human dignity”, “fairness”, “the Working Man”… these deceivers are like the character “WormTongue” …

It is a sad comment, but our general population, world wide, are becoming mindless dependants.

We cannot build, create, make, mend, repair or otherwise be constructive/ productive.

So we destroy, tear down, dismantle, remove and even kill those who may stand in our way. A creative, dynamic dude like E.Musk shines a light for us all to see by, and we vilify him. Because he does not agree with us, the masses.

I am thinking that much of this new, younger generation has spent too much time being coddled. Never being disciplined when they threw a tantrum. Neve being told “NO”.

School is hard. Math is difficult. Reading, writing, punctuation… all such is a waste of time.

So the “road less difficult” is taken. Requirements drop. You don’t have to be able to read to graduate high school. You don’t have to be able to run 10miles to be a soldier.

We are weaker, dumber, softer, slower, fatter, lazier… As a collective, ManKind has lost a lot of ground. We send our old folks to institutions to die. We send our children to institutions to be abused. Parents are either too busy, agree with the programme, or simply are too lazy, too self-centred to notice much at all.

So much time is spent litigating past wrongs, not enough time spent building the future… Reparations for historic ills will not make today better. Colonial sins across the globe allow peoples an excuse for their sad situation. My father beat me, my mother raped me so I am justified in being a trans-terrorist. I have a Reason = I have a Right.

Communal empathy has become suicidal. We bring vicious dogs in from the street then cry when they eat our chickens.

One bit of reading I have doing lately comes from my long-time interest in the Pacific Islands. The peoples of the Pacific Islands… where did they come from, who are they, what is their story…

I am reading about the Moriori people, from the Chatham Islands… (Grok tells us:)
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Moriori have been on the Chatham Islands (Rēkohu) for roughly 525–625 years.They are the Indigenous people of the Chatham Islands (about 800 km east of mainland New Zealand). Current research shows they are of Polynesian ancestry, closely related to Māori, and arrived from mainland New Zealand (or possibly also directly from East Polynesia) in the 1400s, most commonly estimated around the mid-15th century (roughly 1400–1500 CE, with some evidence pointing near 1450).

They developed a distinct culture there, including a strong tradition of pacifism (Nunuku’s Law), and lived in relative isolation for several centuries until European contact in 1791 and the invasion by mainland Māori groups (Ngāti Mutunga and Ngāti Tama) in 1835.

Moriori peaceful traditions come from Nunuku’s Law (or Nunuku’s Covenant), established by the ancestor and chief Nunuku-whenua.This became a sacred covenant with the gods. Weapons were placed on altars as part of the pact, and the law was renewed across generations. Moriori observed it strictly for centuries (traditionally counted as about 24 generations by the time of the 1835 Māori invasion). 

In 1835, members of two Māori iwi (tribes)—Ngāti Mutunga and Ngāti Tama—from the Taranaki region invaded the Chatham Islands (Rēkohu) and carried out a campaign of killing, enslavement, and dispossession against the Moriori.These groups had been displaced from their own lands during the Musket Wars. About 900 people (men, women, and children) arrived in two sailings on a European brig (the Lord Rodney / Rodney) that they had effectively taken control of in Wellington. They were initially welcomed, fed, and cared for by the Moriori according to Moriori custom (tikane).

The newcomers then began “walking the land” (claiming territory by occupation under their own customs), declared that the land was now theirs, and informed the Moriori that they were now vassals/servants. When some Moriori objected, they were killed. A large Moriori council of about 1,000 people met at Te Awapātiki to decide how to respond. Although the younger people argued for resistance (they outnumbered the newcomers roughly two-to-one), the elders insisted on upholding Nunuku’s Law of non-violence as a sacred covenant. The Moriori therefore did not fight back.

The invaders then launched attacks. Around 300 Moriori were killed in the initial period (roughly one-sixth of the population). Some accounts record that a portion of the victims were subjected to ritual killing and cannibalism, practices then common in some mainland Māori inter-group conflicts. The survivors were enslaved, forced into hard manual labour, separated from family members, and subjected to harsh treatment. In some descriptions, they were forbidden from marrying among themselves or having children with other Moriori. Sacred sites were desecrated and aspects of Moriori language and culture were suppressed.

Between 1835 and 1863 (when the survivors were effectively released from slavery), Moriori elders recorded that 1,561 people died from the violence, ongoing mistreatment, disease, and a form of despair known as kongenge. The population fell from an estimated 1,600–2,000 in 1835 to about 100 by the early 1860s. This sequence of events is widely described by historians and in official New Zealand records (including Waitangi Tribunal and Treaty settlement documents) as the Moriori genocide.
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So, in a nutshell… The Moriori were a peaceful peoples who lived quietly for 24 generations. The mainland folks, displaced by war and strife in their homeland, arrived and were welcomed by the Moriori. The new comers took advantage of the Moriori’s empathy/ generosity and “took over”. “Walked the Land”. Imposed their traditions on the peaceful Moriori.

Note, today there are no more Moriori.

This sequence of events is widely described by historians and in official New Zealand records (including Waitangi Tribunal and Treaty settlement documents) as the Moriori genocide.

In ending…

I find this historic tale to be allegorical to our modern situation.

Blood sport Sunday here. The Valley is sunny. The dogs are content.

Life is good.

More later

Been busy. Lots going on. Weather has been good so getting a lot done outside.

Dogs, family, fun, and staying busy, being mobile… Its is all guuud…

And life is guuud…

more later

For many reasons…

I cant let August begin, without a. post.

My favourite month.

More later

Sunday morning here in QLD. Its a chilly, chilly morn, after a cold, cold night… No, not Iowa cold but it got down to 5c/ 40f over night. It’s 1019am and the sun has not been over the ridges very long. The sky is cloudless. There is a breeze. It is quite cool outside. Inside the big ld house it’s damn near cold-room temps.

The dogs all lie in a puddle of sunshine. The cold makes the kennels calm, nose-to-tail calm. Dogs all too busy curled up to be bothered by much else.

I have successfully moved a few dogs into the new kennels. Been working on this for a while. Nia’s pups are 5months old. All bitches, it gets dicey keeping them together too long. Their sense of hierarchy and competition between siblings is profound. Best if they have their own space. Same with kids… less fights if they have their own space.

My faithful readers know well my affinity with dogs. Since I was little, as far back as I can remember. Dogs play an important role in my life. I cant imagine life without a faithful canine, or 6 or 7, at heel.

For these past few years I have been developing my own breed. Called “Ultimate Mastiffs, I’m very happy with what we are producing. Solid, smart, gentle and very good looking. I’m into my 4th litter of Ultimate Mastiffs. I’m going to retire one bitch, Quel. Look for one more litter from Nia, then concentrate on my new girls. See what we can do with them.

As a registered, licensed breeder/ farmer, my business these days is dogs. Best Biz I’ve ever been in.

Dog and Man… Man and Dog…

Allan loves dogs…

More later

Today’s newz tells us a number of Australian citizens that broke the law to travel and fight for the ISIS terror-group now wish to “come home”. They went to fight for a terror-death-cult. Now they are imprisoned in Iraq.

A decorated Aussie War-Hero is being charged with war-crimes.

Fair dinkum it aint.

OK, it’s starting to get confusing, even strange. It’s starting, happening as we speak.

The tallying of Wrongs (capital W) of various religions/ empires/ governments past and present. From the Roman Empire to the Crusades. From Osman to Balfour.

Of course the USofA is a vilest, evilest, most loathsome. Or is it Israel?

I do get confused.

Confusion #1)
The Crusade to reclaim Jerusalem from the Muslims was a holy war. This is what I recently heard. I listened to an intelligent sounding person tell me such…

Which Crusade are we thinking of? Do most folks know there were numerous Crusades over a century or more?

First Crusade
1095–1099
Godfrey of Bouillon, Bohemond of Taranto, Raymond IV of Toulouse, others
Successful capture of Jerusalem (1099) after sieges of Nicaea and Antioch. Established Crusader states, including the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

Second Crusade
1147–1149
Louis VII of France, Conrad III of Germany
Failed to recapture Edessa or make major gains. Ended in defeat.

Third Crusade (Kings’ Crusade)
1189–1192
Richard the Lionheart (England), Philip II (France), Frederick Barbarossa (Holy Roman Empire)
Launched after Saladin recaptured Jerusalem (1187). Recaptured coastal cities like Acre but not Jerusalem. Truce allowed Christian pilgrimages.

Fourth Crusade
1202–1204
Boniface of Montferrat, others (diverted)
Diverted to sack Constantinople (Byzantine Christian city) instead of reaching the Holy Land. Weakened Byzantium but achieved little for Jerusalem.

Fifth Crusade
1217–1221
Andrew II of Hungary, Leopold VI of Austria, others
Aimed at Egypt to weaken Muslim power; captured Damietta but ultimately failed.

Sixth Crusade
1228–1229
Frederick II (Holy Roman Emperor)
Diplomatic success: Negotiated Treaty of Jaffa, temporarily regaining Jerusalem, Bethlehem, and Nazareth without major fighting.

Seventh Crusade
1248–1254
Louis IX of France (St. Louis)
Targeted Egypt; initial successes reversed. Louis captured and ransomed. Jerusalem lost again (1244).

Eighth Crusade
1270
Louis IX of France
Aimed at Tunis (North Africa) as a base; Louis died of illness. Limited impact.

Ninth Crusade (sometimes grouped with Eighth)
1271–1272
Edward I of England (Prince Edward)
Minor raids and truces in the Holy Land. Acre (last major Crusader stronghold) fell in 1291, ending the Crusader states.

Noting this all transpired over something like 200years, I am of the opinion that much was of a political nature, rather than religious or holy. In the name of God, but for political and worldly purposes.

Confusions #2)
I hear folks support/ claim that Islamists putting infidels to the sword is holy and good. Allan smiles when infidels are murdered.

Islam is the religion of peace and love, the “Book” tells us such…

Quran 9:5 (Surah At-Tawbah, the “Sword Verse” or Ayat al-Sayf) “And when the sacred months have passed, then kill the polytheists wherever you find them and capture them and besiege them and sit in wait for them at every place of ambush. But if they should repent, establish prayer, and give zakah, let them [go] on their way. Indeed, Allah is Forgiving and Merciful.”

Quran 9:29 “Fight those who do not believe in Allah or in the Last Day and who do not consider unlawful what Allah and His Messenger have made unlawful and who do not adopt the religion of truth from those who were given the Scripture — [fight] until they give the jizyah willingly while they are humbled.”

Quran 2:190-193 (often paired with defensive rules) “Fight in the way of Allah those who fight you but do not transgress. Indeed, Allah does not like transgressors. And kill them wherever you overtake them and expel them from wherever they have expelled you, and fitnah [persecution] is worse than killing… Fight them until there is no [more] fitnah and [until] worship is [acknowledged to be] for Allah. But if they cease, then indeed, Allah is Seeing of what they do.”

Confusion #3)
I remain quite perplexed per the idea that “The Jews” control everything! All blame belongs to The Jews…

Total Jewish population worldwide: ~15.8 million.

World population: ~8.1–8.3 billion (making the Jewish share ~0.19–0.2%).

So zero.2% of the world are to blame for 100% of the wrongs?

Dumb-shit stuff)
I hear some really dumb-shit stuff. One of my favourites: “Antifa is mostly peaceful”. Another is: Iran is being “persecuted” for practicing their religion. Along with: Israel has “stolen” their land from the indigenous peoples.

We do live in a looney-tunes universe.

A Universe where critical thought and a thirst for knowledge is “old fashioned”.

War is Sin.

Wood, Not War…

I’m once again stuck on the use of words in our modern, eclectic and dyslexic world…

In my world, WORDS do Matter…

Socialism is the Word of the Day… The definition here has not changed over the years…

“Socialism is a political, social, and economic philosophy that advocates for collective or public ownership and democratic control of the means of production (factories, land, resources, tools, etc.), as opposed to private ownership.”

Follow those last four words… “opposed to private ownership”.

Put what ever word you wish in front of “socialism” and… you still get socialism…

The modern-day foray into the belief that Democratic Socialism is different, nicer, cleaner, softer is utter nonsense… Democratic Socialism simply means the electorate was foolish and lazy enough to VOTE for socialism.

I am sitting and listening to the new Democrat Socialist Party(s) coming to life in the US. Some of the most comical ideas are being touted and tossed about as if they are new and bold and feasible ideas.

I note this as info offered in regards to the Democratic Socialists of America…

• DSA believes working people should democratically run the economy and society to meet human needs, not generate profits for a few.
• It combines:Strong welfare-state policies (Medicare for All, housing as a right, etc.)
• Deeper structural changes (greater public ownership of key industries, worker control, etc.)
• It operates as a big-tent left-wing group with various tendencies (from reformist social democrats to more radical socialists).

Whenever I hear socialists (I think of Uncle Bernie) speak of the working people I think they are referencing those that will pay the bills. It wont be the unemployed or lazy or drugged or privileged that carry the load.

Words do matter.

I recently joined a group on FB that deals exclusively with the sexiest motorcycle ever made… Triumph’s X75 Hurricane

In that group I took a lot of flack for a real simple reason. My bike is not 100% like some other bikes. Its a later production run.

So I write this for the gentlemen Riders of that FB Group…

It sounds strange, but I find it always and all ways positive when I discover I am wrong… wrong about something, anything. When I discover I am wrong, am mistaken, have erroneous beliefs or conceptions, I get to learn something new.

I’ll say that again… “I get to LEARN something NEW”.

Few things at my age are as exciting as learning something new.

Sadly, not everyone feels the same. 

Many folks tend to grit their teeth and dig their heels in when they are challenged by belief changing information. 

I recently posted, as a new member to the FB Group, about my X75 Hurricane. I put a pict of my bike’s serial number up, and immediately got taken to task because my engine does not have the BSA markings on the casing. I was roundly brow-beaten. My bike was not an original X75. I couldn’t be. It did not have the magical BSA on the casing. 

I’ve been here before. 

I am the third owner of my bike. (excluding the import/export guy who obtained it in Wisconsin and imported here to Queensland) I’ve owned it many years. I have in my possession the Wisconsin State original registration dated 1973. I have the original transfer docs from the 1^st owner to the 2^nd owner, dated 1975. And, I have the factory provided information including owner’s manual and tool kit. 

Everything matches. Engine and frame. Wheels and exhaust… all are original. My bike today shows 3999 miles on the odometer. It is the star of my collection. I am 1000% confident it is original. 

But, without the BSA markings on the casing, many of the gentlemen riders in the group simply can’t accept that it is a real, honest X75,  WITHOUT the BSA markings. 

I’ve been here before. 

My main query to the gentlemen riders in the group was: Which X75 is the most valuable, the rarest… The Vseries originals (I consider prototypes), the BSA stamped casings (which I consider BSAs) or the clear-skin, non BSA marked casings (which I consider pure blood Triumphs).

I’m not here to ruffle feathers. I prefer learning new things, gaining new information than arguing. And I love bikes. I own 3 classic featherbeds, 4 classic TRs, a Triton that has Isle of Man history, plus others. The X75 is the Star of my collection.

I have touched many, many X75s over the years. I think mine is as good, or better, than those I’ve seen in museums. 

When I posted first time in this Group I got a lot of attention. Mostly negative. So, I went to my files and dug out my X75 file and made short video. 

And guess what? Crickets… nothing, no one commented. No one said thanks for the new info, or offered a reasonable argument.

I know, being wrong is not easy, unless you have trained yourself to thirst for knowledge and information and learning.

I enjoy being wrong… means I learn something new. 

Ride well, stay young.

A chilly winter’s morn here in my valley. Ive been up since early, watching the prelims for today’s UFC 329 event in Las Vegas.

It’s a big dooo. Connor McGregor is back after 5years. He’s fighting Max Holloway. Its shall be a great match, noting the fights on the card are all damn good. Its a big event and attracts big names. Very much looking forward to some fire works in the octagon.

Son, Don, and grandson, Mendoza are in Vegas for the event.

Mendoza just turned 21 and as a present for both father and son (son and grandson) they are in Vegas today, shall travel the USofA for the next few weeks.

I am jealous…

Though I am neither mentally nor physically prepared to do a big state-side adventure, I am jealous.

I am a big fan of UFC. Have been to a few big UFC events. Love the vibe, the noise, the blood and sweat and struggles that are the Octagon.

The wholes scene is one big spectacle…

I just hope these two remember their manners, and dont end up in jail…

Time will tell.

Smiles

Why Invest in Australia? India may Offer better ROI…

I “retired” to Australia in 2010. I had enough money behind me to technically “buy” residence in Aus. It wasn’t a nefarious thing, it was business. I pass the tests, jump through hoops, bring my $$ into Aus and I get to stay. Fair deal it was.

I came to Aus under a Subclass 405 Investor Retirement Visa. This Visa required me to a) deposit 500k with the QLD Treasury as a good behaviour bond, and b) start a business and pay taxes.

After years of jumping through hoops , playing the game, paying my taxes, I was granted Australian Citizenship.

Something I cherish greatly.

Things in 2010 were much different. It was post Global Financial Collapse. The economy, here in Aus (and worldwide) was stagnant. I bought my first property on the Sunny Coast in May 2010. I paid 490k for a nice, new house in a quiet suburb. This property had sat empty, unsold for 2years. No buyers, no banks loaning, it was a slow, economically sleepy time.

When I retired to Aus I was liquid. I had cash. So I bought land. I have never been a fan of banks. Bricks n mortar, bricks and mortar. In 2010 land was available. I bought quite a bit.

For 15years I have been an investor, a property developer. A business developer.

In my 15 years of active business in Aus I have found that the playing field has changed too much. Originally a reasonably level playing field, reasonably user friendly, not too expensive to get things done… recent changes across the board have made it almost impossible to invest in the Land of Aus…

In my 15 years I have bought and developed properties, developed properties from fallow-ground to residential lots.

Each project costing more money and taking more time. Returning less on investment.

One property/ business development project is licenced to produce Medical Cannabis. A project started in 2020, I have been unable to bring this facility to fruition because of the changing tides of Gov Regs.

Potentially producing over 24million in sales annually, and employing over 50 skilled workers, my project is stalled.

The bitter truth I have come to accept is this: Nothing in Australia can be produced competitive to items being produced off-shore. Sure I can produce medical cannabis, but I’m lucky if I’ll break-even under the current rules. Imports simply are much cheaper.

I’ve invested big dollars to establish this opportunity/ business. I bought land, developed the project, acquired the federal licence and local approvals, engineered the facility, prepared the site, to no avail. After big$$ invested I need to drop another several-million before I am in production. And it simply does not numerically stack up. Cost of Doing Business is too high… cost of power, cost of labour, cost of compliance, cost of insurance, cost of not knowing what the next big kick in the arse from the Gov will be.

I am a proud Australian. I have spent my personal wealth “investing” in Australia. I’m not unhappy. I feel lucky, Australia is an amazing place… but it is sad.

I don’t think Aus represents a wise investment, right now.

I’ve been in business, developing businesses for over 40years.

Creating wealth only to have it stolen by a feckless GOV is not “good business”.

I graduated from High School in 1976. I recall the vibrant 200th celebration very well. It was a big deal, and added to the 125th anniversary of the town I lived in, it was a grand, simple, fun and frenetic time had by all.

For an 18yrold, newly emancipated mindless sack of semen like I was in those days… well hell, it was an “endless summer”…

As a child of the 60s, nurtured in the era of the Nam-War, I certainly was not what one would call “patriotic”. The war plus the screwed up political scene of the time had me leaning more toward a position of being “anti” to most things “American”. I had no trust in the system.

That youthful period of development and discovery saw me as a combination of hard working Iowa farm-boy, and long haired punk kid that erroneously thought he had a clue.

The 4th of July has always been a holiday I enjoyed. I saw meaning in the celebration. I forever shall love a parade, and a small town 4th of July parade is the best. The High School marching band, with the folks with their horses, and the Veterans from many conflicts, all lined up, smiling, proud, happy.

I found it uplifting to feel, to be within the vibe of those times. Since I was small I have waited, anticipated the 4th with its stimulus of sound and smells and, of course, the fire works…

50 years have flashed past quickly. As I sit here, a septuagenarian in waiting, I can clearly see back into those long gone but not forgotten times…

Independence, Iowa had spent the preceding year preparing for the Event. Men in town had grown beards and bought cooky hats. The women had all sewn frilly dresses and sun bonnets. The town spruced up in a retrograde manner, going into the past, creating a movie-set, taking the town back 125 years to its beginning.

Independence had a historic past. Mostly known for it’s horse racing, since 1866, Independence was home to 2 of the fastest racing horses in the world. In 1889, thousands of spectators were present to watch the most anticipated horse racing event ever between Independence’s own Allerton and Axtell.

The theme was well represented in 1976.

And now, in 2026 the USofA stands a Nation divided by politics. I see many places claiming they will not celebrate the 4th this year. I see, hear and feel the vibe of TDS. The anit-anti vibe that pervades and infects much of the USofA.

As well, I see a Nation celebrate and proclaim their pride and support of the US Mens National Soccer Team. Noting well America aint a soccer country. The USMNT is making us all proud, as we should be. Their timing is perfect. Go Team Go!

As a repeat offending Emigrant, I find I have great capacity to be proud and patriotic. Of course the USA is the land that made me, produced, me, taught me, then sent me out to find my place in the world. Solomon Islands is, was, has been a magnificent place to grow from youth to age. I learned important lessons from my Island family. I learned to do without and to make do with what was at hand. Australia is the perfect place for this old Adventurer to slow down, seek remedies to many injuries, live quietly and contentedly, and write.

I intentionally acknowledge all my National-Days. But the 4th, this year, is going to be special. Worldwide, interplanetary, galactic SPECIAL.

Special…

We need to remember that tomorrow.

Enjoy your 250th Bday…

More later

Talking with a friend of many decades, reminiscing of days gone, laughing at our youthful exuberance and foolish, oft times wasteful lifestyles. Mentioning the names of a few that didn’t make it… We were young and beautiful and thought we’d live forever, or, as the saying went in those foolish days, “die young and leave a good looking corpse”.

My buddy pointed out that these days we’re both too old to die young.

And thats a good thing.

Smiles

Damn, that went fast…

Another fine winter’s morn in Queensland. The skies are slate coloured, the air is chilled, a drizzly rain mutes the world’s noise.

I’m watching the melt-down post Supreme Court ruling per “Temporary Protection Status” of many people now residing in the USA.

It is really a big thing, for more than one reason: First off it is, can be a boon for the homelands of these folks who have sought and received protective status. Bright, ambitious people who fled their homelands can offer a wealth of knowledge and ability. Their departures were felt as will be their return. Secondly, any gaps created by these folks returning to their homes will open up opportunities for those “further down the ladder”. Jobs, vacancies in schools and housing shall all be filled quickly.

There is a lot to be positive about… unless of course your TDS is running high…

The same-old, same-old BS lines come out… who will pick our peaches, babysit our children, sweep our floors…

But the word “Temporary” is important.

For those folks who fled their homelands because of war, pestilence, terror… they should be rejoicing in that their homeland is safe for them to return and rebuild the life they abandoned. Of course, the years involved, change people. Those who were old when they came are older. They may have become content in the bosom of American Exceptionalism.

If such is the case they should or should have sought citizenship.

I spent over ten-years and huge $$s to become an Aussie. Through out the entire process there was no guarantee I would be granted citizenship. My Visa stated clearly that IF/ WHEN I was told to leave Australia I had to comply. I agreed to this clause specifically and every scrap of paper the Gov’t issued reminded me of this fact.

Didn’t matter that I had started a business and bought a house. My original Visa was titled “Investor – Retiree”. To qualify for that Visa I had to have $$$s in the bank ready to invest. I was expected to start a business and pay taxes. And I did.

Eventually that Visa was discontinued and I was given the choice to live under a 5yr revolving Visa that cost big $$. Or… I could apply for citizenship. No assurance, no guarantees… Fill in the forms, pay the fees, jump through the hoops. Wait, and hope for the best.

As a Proud Aussie I shall not disparage the system. It worked for me. I followed the rules and am pleased to be an Aussie. I think changing the system now to please certain interest groups is dumb, wrong, flawed. Anything less than being a law abiding citizen is foolish in my thinking.

So I check the numbers of folks potentially effected by the new Ruling…

Total TPS beneficiaries: ~1,297,635 from 17 countries.
Venezuela: ~605,000
Haiti: ~331,000
El Salvador: ~170,000
Ukraine: ~101,000
Honduras: ~51,000
Others (smaller numbers from countries like Afghanistan, Nepal, etc.): Tens of thousands combined

In a nutshell the ruling stated:
In a 6-3 decision (Mullin v. Doe, June 25, 2026), the Supreme Court ruled:The TPS statute bars judicial review of non-constitutional challenges to the Secretary’s decisions to terminate TPS designations (for Haiti and Syria). Courts cannot block terminations based on claims that the process violated statutory requirements. The Haitian equal-protection (racial discrimination) claim was rejected, as the administration provided a race-neutral reason: broad opposition to longstanding TPS extensions. This allows terminations to proceed.

All I can say is that enforcing the rules, applying the laws makes perfect sense to me.

Call me old fashioned.

I am sitting and switching channels between the FIFA World Cup and Newz… It is morning in QLD so I get the end-day newz cycle from the USofA, pick up the UK/ European sadness, and the morning bluez from here in the Land of Aus.

It’s all quite foolish, even farcical.

I have many people I talk to who are on one team, or another. Like the fans I watch in the arenas where FIFA’s WC is being played, it is a matter of huge importance, their team, their team winning, their team not losing.

I watch folks dress-up in colourful costumes, put on silly hats, carry signs and posters and flags and banners and go out and scream and holler and rant and rave…

And its almost a bad as the FIFA WC fans… But I can understand the enthusiasm and passion for the fans watching the Cup…

But this is pure mental illness…

Like the World Cup, not everyone gets it… one old friend posted comments about how boring he finds “soccer”. And I get it, he does not like the sport that takes 90 minutes to reach a nil-nil draw. He is after action, maybe even violence and blood (the reason I like UFC).

But the illness-on-display pictured above is on a higher, more angst filled plane…

And it all becomes farcical… even the resignation of the worse PM the UK has ever seen…

I just read an article, written by an American, about winter in Australia… He was commenting that Aus, the land of sunshine and leisure time, does not build houses for “winter”. That most houses simply are not heated and most folks spend their winters in a house that is colder inside than out…

This guy is right. 100%. Aus does not build houses for “the cold” because it dont get that cold for any lengthy period of time. Or at least this is what Aussies think… All depends on your definition of cold…

This is COLD:

Temps in my valley over the past 24 hours have given us 55/69f or 13/21c. Chilly, yes, but not cold, not deadly, not like Iowa in winter.

Right now I am enjoying the sunshine coming through the windows. I have a hoodie on and am wrapped in a blanket. The little 5kg house-dog lies in a puddle of sunlight on the floor. I went outside earlier and did find the outside air warmer than that inside the house.

To be fair, this is a big, hallow, high ceiling’d place with large single glazed picture windows. The “indoor-outdoor” feel of the place is great but the weather outside easily makes its way inside.

Being climatized to the weather here, I’m fine. Yet I do recall a visit, many decades ago, to Brisbane in winter where I thought it unbearable. I stayed with a friend who, like me these days, did not heat his house. I didnt get it, didnt understand, then. Slept in my clothes, chased puddles of warm sunlight just like the little dog…

To be clear, this house does have central heating. I just dont use it or need it, much. Twice this season I have woke early aiming to get some work done. Being unable to wrap up and stay warm until the sun brought its warmth, I cranked the heater on. It was nice.

Son, Don, and his gaggle of goils are flying in today. No doubt we shall crank the heat up for them…

The Terrible Triplets…

Not to be confused with The “Evil Twins”, this trio is a hell-on-wheels affair. I can tell by looking that 5yrold, Andromeda, will have socks and log pants on soon enough. Her bare feet make me cold just looking at her.

The Evil Twins will be picking the Terrible Triplets up at the airport, then coming here to practice their Hound-Mistress skills…

It being school-holiday time of the year, we’ll have these guys here for a few weeks. May well be a tightrope walk between Suicide and Homicide…

Good news is we have a puppy for each….

And life is guuud.

More later

Wood Not War…

It is a chilly, soft, soundless morning. A layer of fog diffuses the light, consumes the radiant warm. Visibility less than 100meters. The low cloud cover is thickest on the ridges. On the valley floor we get a distorted vision of the world around.

Much like the newz, the bluez of the day… offering a distorted vision of the world around…

The Elections taking place in California are a combination of a ol-skool movie about corrupt political practices, I think of “Boardwalk Empire”; plus and a scary, dystopian type sci-fi like “Wild In The Streets”…

I fear that The old and beloved “Cali” is a thing of the past. What a place it was… in the 70s and 80s… for young flatlander it was a shining light of cool and fun. Not any more.

The Land of Aus has gone down a dark rabbit hole… No longer the safe, even boring land of luck and sunshine. Nope now you need to be prepared for violent attacks on the streets, in the malls, in you daily life… Youth Crime, Ethnic Conflict, leaders that do nothing but lie and stuff the pockets…

This is a new feature in Public Spaces these days:

I was reading one opinion stating that Civil War was coming soon to the UK. Religiously fuelled and politically manipulated… Nothing good shall come from this.

France/ Europe is struggling, smoldering. like a pressure-cooker building up… Again, nothing good shall come from this.

On a friendly front: I enjoy the idea that The UFO “thing” is being discussed as something real. I have been a “star-gazer” all my life and have seen and experienced the unexplained many times. I dont understand why the overall discussion has been diminished for so long.

And the beat goes on…

More later

Half of the year almost dunn, 50% of this run around the sunn, dunn…

In June I think of my Father… His birthday is coming soon. He’d be 101 yrs old…

I consider my father to be a prime example of a kid born in the 1920s, a young guy who lived through the Great Depression, and a man who was part of the 2nd Great War. He used the GI-Bill to get his education, raised a huge family, has over 100 descendants walking the planet…

All the photos I have of the Ol’Dawg are with kids, this is one of my favourites….

I believe those are Michelle’s blue eyes… She has his eyes, which are his Mother’s, my Nana’s eyes… Which I find very pleasing…

The OlDawg influences and guides to this day. My son, Don, is a left-handed, stubborn-as-mud mathematician, just like his name-sake. One thing that is part of most all memories of him is his very sharp and pointy sense of humour. His sense of humour was dangerous.

Here’s one tale from the old days I always enjoy sharing…

The day is sunny and warm. A soft sunlight filters through the oak tree in the back yard. A ginger cat lazes drowsily in the shade. An old plank picnic table leans precariously on the glistening lawn. Near by a shining metal barbecue pit gleams. Machined, silver legs. Bright red tray.

A garden takes up the majority of the small yard.

The dew of the early morning fog sits lightly on rows of regimented plants. The straight and stately tomato vines. Held erect with slim sticks. Beads of dew glistening like jewels in the sun.

The slight foreign looking eggplants. The youthful sweet corn stalks. The quietly exotic pepper plants. Lined and disciplined in the 20 foot by 20 foot patch. The tilled black loam in contrast to the brilliant green lawn.

Floating like a snared balloon, bright pink and slightly jiggling, Grandma’s rear-end catches the eye. Between the eggplant and the tomatoes. From a distance it looks quite unusual.

The stretch nylon of her “work shorts” blaze brighter (and bigger) than the day is shining and soft. She rises, sighs. Wiping her hands on her hips she takes a step to her left and bends again. She is weeding. Removing uninvited invaders from the carefully tended plot.

Grandpa, stands at the edge of the garden, leaning on a hoe. He appears to be surveying his empire. Smile of silent satisfaction rests on his weathered face. He pauses in his daydream to reach inside the front of his worn “Osh Kosk” bibbed overalls. He scratches his groin. His look of silent satisfaction widens as he scratches.

“Damn-it Grandpa.” The old man starts, looks stunned. His hand still down the front of his overalls. “I told you ta put shorts on under your work clothes. Everyone in town can watch you scratching yer self. Wish yu’d put yer damn shorts on before yu’d come out. Walking around half naked. Ain’t decent I say”.

Grandma has stood up. Both wrists propped on her hips, her fingers dirty from weeding. She has the “evil eye” fastened on the old man. She’s glaring at him.

“Gawdamnit woman. I told you wuz too damn hot to sweat through all that cotton. Man’s gotta have a bitta air, ya know.”

“I don’ care.” She says. “Gawd and everyone stand’n here lookin at you diddlin’ yer self. Ain’t decent I say.”

Grandma bends to continue her chore. A sly smile crosses the old man’s face.

“I’ll tell what ain’t decent.” He says. “ Look at you. Yer ass s’ big as that barbecue.  Ain’t decent ya say. Hell woman. I’ll tell what s’ not decent.”

The old woman’s agile movement belies her age. She is up and covers the three or fours steps between them like a pro athlete.

Face to face they stand. You call tell Grandma is not happy.

“What do you mean? What are you saying?” she near spits on the old guy.

“Like I said. Plain and simple. Me, I’m dressed proper. Don’ need no shorts. But you, hell woman, yer ass ‘s bigger than that barbeque over there. And them bright pink pants. Hell, woman, they look like theys been spray painted on.”

“Ain’t so. Ain’t So! Take in back. Now. You’re juz being mean. Cause I caught ya fingering yerself n’ all. Yer juz being mean.”

The old man smiles and shakes his head. He can tell the old woman is mad. “I’ll betcha that the barbecue over there is smaller than your ass. If I’m wrong I’ll wear shorts everyday, swear to gawd. I’m right, I’m right. Sounds like a fair bet to me.”

“Sometimes I do declare! How I spent all these years with you? Yer jus a mean old man. I do declare.”

The old man shifts his hoe. Slips his hand inside his bib and scratches a tit. “Sounds like a fair bet to me. You says not I says yas. You got nothing to lose. Hell, I’m the one who stands to lose anything.”

And so it is that we see grandpa walking over to the shed. He opens the door and enters. He returns a moment later holding a large, silver tape-measure.

“You didn’ have to get the biggest damn tape in the shed” Grandma says with a frown. You can see she is unconvinced this is a good idea.

“Jus wanna be sure it’ll do the job.” Grandpa says with a boyish smile.

“Now bend yerself over and let me measure.” He says as he extends the tape out and holds it stretched between his arms.

“No you don’.” Grandma counters. “You measure the barbecue first.”

Grandpa walks over to the barbecue. Disturbing the sleeping cat he takes several measurements. He’s making a show of it.

He rises holding the tape in front of him. His thumb and forefinger mark the chosen measurement. “ Dead on thirty-three inches.” He declares. “Now ben’ yerself over and lets get a reading.”

Grandma looks very uncertain. Her earlier anger has fled. She has lived with this old joker for over fifty years and knows when she has let her self be led into a set up. “Now, now. I ain’t so sure..”

“Bend yerself over now. Let me get a good measurement.” He is walking towards her with the tape held straight in front of him.

“I don’ know. Damnit. How d’ I let you talk me into this?” Grandma slowly bends over. Taking up her straight legged, bent at the hips weeding posture.

Grandpa advances. He’s holding the tape like a probe or an uncertain weapon. “Now don’ you be passin’ any gas while I’m about this measuring.” He chuckles. His smile, now that Grandma can’t see his face, is broad and beaming.

“Jus be getting on with it, damn you. I can’t be standing like this forever.”

“Be patient. Too damn early for the neighbors to be watching any way.” The old man says as he manipulates the tape.

He has his finger and thumb on the thirty-three inch mark. He raises the tape to Grandma’s ass. He lets out a long slow whistle.

“Hell-fire woman. Hold still now. Quit wiggling it, will ya. Looks like you got the barbecue beat all to shit. I do say. Hmm… I’ll have to call thirty-four and a half if’n it’s an inch.”

The old woman is up and mad again. “Give me that damn thing. You’re jus an ol liar is what you are. Give me that thing.”

She snatches the tape from Grandpa’s hand and proceeds to try to measure her own bottom. She tries to hold the tape flush with the side of her left cheek and find the right side with her thumb. The old man watches with a pleased look on his face. Grandma brings the tape up, adjusts her glasses and tries to read the measurement near her thumb.

“Told you.” Is all grandpa says.

“Ain’t right. Ain’t t’ truth. I bent the tape. Here, lets get a real measurement.” She says this as she walks to the picnic table under the oak.

She puts the tape out on the bench seat. Locks the tape into place and delicately (as delicately as possible) sits on the tape. She marks one side with her right forefinger. The other with her left.

“Now what does that say? Smart ass.”

The old man leans close, looks at her left finger and says “ fifty four, no fifty five inches.”

“No, damn you. I gots some over here that don’ count. Subtract whats over here. There’s seventeen inches over here. What’s that make it? Mr. Smarty.”

“Well, fifty four minus 17 is, hmm, that’s be 36 inches. Hell-fire, woman. My measurement was smaller.”

“I wuz sittin. I wuz sitin. It makes it bigger. Spreads it out more, ya know. Here, let me stand up. You measure as I stand.”

With a great show of resignation the old man takes the tape-measure as Grandma stands and pulls her quite ample self into as small of a linear posture as possible.

Without a word he measures grandma’s rump. He does it quickly. Shows her the result without looking.

“thirtyfour inches.” She reads. “Thirtyfour inches.” She snatches the tape. Waddles over to the barbecue. Measures and measures. Walks around the apparatus at least three times. With a sigh of resignation she tosses the tape-measure onto the picnic table.

“Damn you, you ornery old cuss.” She says as she turns on her heel and stomps into the house.

Grandpa keeps his face passive until the screen door noisily slams shut. Once safe from Grandma’s wrath he allows himself a broad smile and a low chuckle. He addresses the cat. “Bigger n’ the barbecue. Hell. I thought I was gonna lose. Was jus funnin’. Now she’ll be pissed all day. Thirtyfour inches… hell fire…”

He laughs low and long as he collects his hoe and resumes his surveying posture.

Another Saturday morning in my valley. The sky is blue, the sun is bright, the deer are calm, the wind is brisk and the temps quite chilly. I sit, as usual, wrapped up in a granny-blanket. My 5kg dashound is curled in my lap. My 50kg “pup” lies beside the back door. The dogs in the kennels are all curled nose to tail. It got down to the mid 50s/15c last night. With the sun out its still quite cold (for Qld), and the brisk breeze makes it down right frigid.

My title is of course in reference to the world on display… the crazed, often mindless, consistent foolishness the news-feed offers.

One I like this morn is a report that police have disrupted the “prayers of the faithful” in a city street in Sydney… Is blocking a public road for prayer acceptable? Just like the riots across the USofA… Is it protected free speech (just like protected freedom of religion) to stand in the road, blocking traffic, because your emotional disarray is on display?

There was a clip of a truck driver being blocked from doing his job. He is being accosted, roughed up, threatened by a mob of angst filled fools. All the dude wants is to go to work, collect his wage, care for his family… But the Angst Filled Idiots wont allow it. The poor guys gets wrapped up in an altercation that could possibly put him in jail for physically protecting himself. From the Angst Filled Fools…

Those same angst filled fools that believe “Queers for Palestine” makes any sense at all. Yep, the same delusional idiots who believe “we have more in common than not”… What could I have in common with a midieval mindset that raises children to hate… What sympathies could I possibly have for a group of humans that are less than human… What could possibly bring me to agree with a culture where your daughter could be sold…

I wrote this a while ago…

A group of “activists” enter a church during Sunday family worship, shout and accost, and they are said to be practicing their rights of free speech and assembly.

A group of “Muslims” kneel and pray in a busy public thoroughfare, are moved on by police, and we see outrage that a peaceful religion service is disrupted.

A father sells his underaged daughter as a sex slave in America and he is a heinous man engaged in trafficking.

A father sells his underaged daughter as a sex slave in Pakistan and we’re told it is part of his culture.

A grown man sodomises a young boy in the USA and he is a pedophile, a criminal.

A grown man sodomises a young boy in Afghanistan and we’re told it is part of his culture.

perplexing conundrums me thinks…

Yep… Perplexing conundrums indeed…

Remember…. Wood Not War…