A Thursday here. The day is overcast. More rain coming.
The world is a funny place, I’m sure you have not noticed… As we speak, after a couple years of BS, lies, more BS, threats and bullying, I can say, again that The Kung Flu (COVID) came from Wuhan.
A couple years ago I got in some trouble for calling COVID “The Kung Flu”, which I thought was clever.
Its worth ruminating upon, instigating, researching… The Link between the CDC, Anthony Fauci, large sums of tax-payers’ money and the Wuhan Virology Lab was / is important. The US, through the CDC and Fauci, are /were complicit in whatever errors, mishaps and mistakes that transpired.
And we are just now hearing about it as a fact. Not a possibility but a probability.
I like it when those with blood on their hands’ simply say, “we should just move on.”.
Damn! Are those who are complicit going to agree with us that dear old Prez Trump was right?
I like the newz that Ms Lori LeadFoot, of Chicago fame, shall not be Mayor for another term. We know Chicago is renowned for its colourful and corrupt Mayors, but Ms LeadFoot sure as shit takes the cake.
And, of course, the reason she shall not attain a second term is because the electorate is racist and sexist and homophobic.
What a joke! Only thing is that this joke aint very funny. Too much damage done in Chicago. Way too many deaths, too much to cry over, in Chicago, to say much to Ms LeadFoot other than “good riddance”.
Grass growing. Too much rain and sun. Grass loves rain and sun.
How did voyaging migrants during prehistory from Asia find and get to the tiny islands in the Pacific Ocean?
Did they bring some food and water into a canoe, start paddling, and hope they would find land?
Many assume that Pacific islanders mastered navigation to such an incredible extent, it was like GPS. Pinpoint accuracy to where they could sail thousands of miles with the navigator’s target a tiny island only a few miles wide.
While that was the ultimate aim, the navigator’s initial target was actually a circle a couple hundred miles in diameter, which made the task so much easier.
For an experienced old timey native Pacific seaman, he just needed to get to the general ballpark – with a margin of error of more than a hundred miles. Once there, there were many tells he could work with to fine tune his way from the general vicinity to a specific island. E.g.; birds that don’t fly more than a hundred or so miles from their nest. If he saw them, it’s a safe bet that following their flight path in the afternoon would serve as an arrow pointed directly to land.
An experienced navigator could also tell from the chop and swell of the water if there was land nearby. Ditto special cloud formations that typically form over land, and that can be seen from dozens of miles away.
So basically, the navigator’s task wasn’t to be pinpoint accurate. He just had to point his canoe in the general direction of where he wanted to go. He then had to be not so accurate that he had to hit a mile wide island from a thousand miles away, but just accurate enough to hit a two-hundred-mile-wide circle of ocean or some such, which is a lot easier. From there, his experience would allow him to use a variety of clues to work his way to land within that big circle.
-end
I replied:
Know the book, vaguely, must have read it ages ago. I’ll chase it down again. Refresh my memory.
I thought the last navigator was from Utupua, or Vanikoro, south east of Lata.
You may recall… in the early 80s there was a sailing canoe anchored off the Point Crux Yacht Club. It was there for quite some time. Long enough for me to know about it, and I lived remote.
The canoe was owned by the Last Navigator, or so I was told at the time. If I ruminate long enough I’ll think of his name.
He had come to town as was his habit, by sailing canoe. He was famous. The “Drum” would post picts of him anchored off PCYC. Thats how I know his name, read about him… cant visualise his name.
Rumour was, then, that he’d come to town and fell ill, left his canoe, stayed with his son in town. Normally he come to town and lived on his canoe. I believe he died in Honiara.
This gives us an idea of the distances involved…
A friend, a Kiwi Vol, had a Kiribati style sailing shunt-outrigger, Roviana Express. He had one of the last still active, old Gilbert dudes, that built shunt, sailing canoes, build him a small one. It was coooool.
When time came to leave the Solomons, my buddy did not know what to do with his amazing sailing canoe. It was cool but heavy. And he’d spent a lot on it, it was cool. But not a daily sailer…
He eventually donated it to the museum.
The Museum had a cool canoe house by the Cenotaph, behind the Mendana. A Reef Island dude, Lawrence, was the young fresh out of uni guy, with the keys to the canoes. I helped Simon and Lawrence move “Roviana Express” into the museum, where we were introduced to the Last Navigator’s sailing canoe.
On the hard, it was bigger than it looked on-water.
Lawrence was close to the family and the canoe. I believe Lawrence had done some interviews and recordings with The Navigator. May have even voyaged with him.
It had been moved from the front of the Yacht Club into the shed by family of The Navigator.
There were some cool vessels in that shed; canoes of all shapes and sizes, outriggers, plank canoes able to haul over 20 paddlers, an old tokmoko. Cool, cool vessels, made from old tech. The type of stuff that will never be seen again.
Years later I became quite friendly with The Navigator’s son, George West. He told me many stories of his father.
Of course the Last Navigator, a wise man, had sent his only son off to school at a young age. Boarding school with the Anglicans on Guadalcanal.
George had a 4 handicap.
George had not grown up in his father’s shadow, yet had many, many tales of his father’s exploits, of him being on the water for days, weeks, months. Being lost, gone, given up for dead.
What made him A Navigator is that he always found his way to where he was going. Always made it home.
He’d sail off over the horizon…. A feather on the surface of the briney blue. It’s what he did.
Often alone.
Often he’d take family.
The sailing canoe had a small lean-to with a fire pit. He was capable of spending long periods of time at the mercy of the elements. Catch fish and rain water. have a few potatoes. Mostly living “on deck”. Hunkering down, tying-in, in the cubby below deck only when it got really, really gnarly.
The Navigator had knowledgable about currents and winds and constantly got lucky, did not perish at sea.
Very cool to think of the knowledge and experiences That Man had.
When the SIG sold the old GG’s Rez and the cenotaph area the old canoe house was razed, and all in it burned.
844am. It’s way too chilly out for this time of year. Glow Ball Warming!
Im sitting, old fart radio on, with my house open. A stiff breeze brings goose bumps to my skin. Im bare chested, the cup of coffee helps fend off the chill.
Woke up predawn yesterday. Ran the Pet Teen to the airport for his flight back to Solos. Got him checked in then left him. He was related (his mother’s side) to the guy at the counter and finagled an upgrade to business class. High class dude.
Have had a fair amount of rain this week. Have not gotten much work done. Outside, that is, The work on projects continues. Have my accountant, lawyer, engineer, et al lined up for a fair amount of work coming up. A lot on the burner thats getting hot.
Gut health, beans and the meaning of life…
A big discussion: Our generation is going to live shorter live than our parents. This is unprecedented. 99% of it is due to diet.
We live in a toxic world. I think of my very big family in Iowa… we were raised with good food. Planted big gardens. Canned hundreds of jars of veggies and sauces and real food. Froze a-hundred-weight of fruit n veggies. We got fed very good, real food.
I admit my mother used a lot of salt an butter cooking. She’d take a big pile of fresh nice green beans, and cook them in a quarter pound of butter. They were real good. Not toxic tho, just very fattening.
It’s funny to think back… some things were not expensive and there was a lot it in the house…. Bread (home baked), nice plain butter from the store (Land O Lakes), and cheese (Land o Lakes)… our common lunch taken to school was a cheese sandwich. We had a “creamery” in our town that produced for Land O Lakes. I worked there in high school. Turning milk into cheese and butter. Tons of it. Ware houses full of it. It was good, common and inexpensive.
Meals at home were cooked “from scratch”. Large hunks of beast that came from family and friends with farms. Large pans of lasagna. Each pan weighing many lbs. Huge pots of stews and soups. Mom was a terrific cook.
“The family” would get together a couple times a year and kill a few beasts. Everyone would get what the wanted. It’d be stored at the local butcher, wrapped in paper with a stamp saying “Hemmer”. Mom would drive by the butcher shop once a week and a kid would run in with a list of what she wanted… 6lbs of hamburger, 1xroast, 4lbs of bacon, 5 packs of pork chops, etc… chickens came from the chicken lady south of town. We’d drive out there and she’d snatch the birds using a stick with a hook on it. Wring the bird’s neck and we’d all start cleaning and plucking.
There were always a couple big freezers on the porch. A lot of fruit and veggies got frozen. Meals were always accompanied by a nice fruit pie, cherry, rhubarb, apple. I still really miss Mom’s rhubarb pie. (and her lasagna)
Mom would bake and then freeze. She’d to pull half a dozen loaves of bread out of the freezer at night, let them rise over night, bake early in the morn.
She and my grandmother baked once a week, Thursdays. They’d bake up a storm. Freeze a lot, there would be large Tupperware bins filled with cookies… chocolate chip, peanut butter, snicker doodles, sugar cookies… her cinnamon rolls were the absolute best.
I was in college, the spring of ’79. Decided to hitchhike the 100miles north to the folks for the weekend. An easy hitch.
The entire way it was shitty weather. I remember it vividly… dark clouds, me on the side of the road with my BSA (Boy Scouts of America) back pack. Long hair. Nice enough clothes… I always dressed for the hitch. You look smelly you probably wont get a ride.
Normally I could to the hitch that run in, say3-4 rides. This day it was more like 6-7 rides. All short and annoying. I got dropped off in a couple places miles from shelter from the weather. If I got drenched my chances for a ride were slim.
I was a walking hitchhiker… I’d never just stand and wait. I’d take off down the road, play my harmonica, smile and sing at the sky.
This day I hitch the morning through… it was getting late, on towards noon, I got dropped at a cross roads a few miles from Alta Vista, where the folks lived. I was “home” but it was seriously going to rain. I sang to the skies… “Blue skies… Beluueee Skiiess… “ I sang coaxing the skies to stay blue, for me to stay dry.
I walked the final few miles, singing, tooting on my harp, keeping the rain and weather away with my melodious voice and virtuoso use of the mouth harp…
I got the house as the clouds clapped hard, gave a shot of voltage across the skies, and the rain came in a deluge. I trotted the last 100 meters to the front door, getting inside before I got really wet.
And as I opened the door, as I reached shelter form the storm, the overpowering smell of baking hit me. The house was filed with the rich aromas of baked good, rising flour, yeast and heat.
Weather changing here in QLD. You can feel it. We are moving from a cool, cool summer, an amazing summer. A summer coming off of wet. WET! Lots of wet. Rivers of wet. Cubic meters of wet. Last winter came off a wet summer. In calendar-year 2022, my valley received in excess of 3m of rain fall.
This time last year we were heading for floods. It was wet. The little stream was a small rushing river. By the end of Feb2022 we were blindly hoping for a “change in the weather”. It did not come. We had numerous, significant flooding events between Feb n June.
Looking back on the past 12 months, I smile. A lot of frustration and confusion, no doubt. Luckily I was smart enough to make the right decisions, then. Sold the herd early. Kept cleaning up the messes and destruction, after each flood came and went.
Am still cleaning up. A lot left to clean up.
The earth here became saturated. Liquified. It’s only “just” drying out enough to get work done in the lowest areas.
Noting it’s been rainy, again, for a couple days, again.
2022 weather sees us changing the use of the land. No longer cattle “managing the land”. Harvesting, fertilising, keeping the weeds down. All it cost me, then, was fences. Put up fences and the cattle do the rest. No fences no cattle. No cattle and the land begins to degrade. The noxious weeds take over. My back 100 acres are not looking good. But I’ll get to it. the situation is not critical, yet.
But the front 20 acres are looking fantastic. Ive had to slash and mow to keep all under control. Lots of hours involved.
It was not, is not easy. A couple miles of fence lines had to be removed. A number of flat tyres ensued and are on going. One positive is I bought a nifty CAT excavator to dig n excavate. Replace culverts, re-dig clogged drains, and generally be cool whilst operating a big machine. It is cool. Very useful.
Im slowly finishing off the front. Some areas, to the right in the pict, are still too wet to get machines in, to clean and clear and slash and mow. Been getting “good” rain so it’s all green, n soggy, still, again, yet.
Slowly, progress comes slowly when you are an ol’fart.
Ive been talking about/ writing about this topic for quite some time. In the Pacific I have seen this all unfold and happen. Its not 100% positive and in some cases very negative.
This is the best article discussing this topic, I have found. And it’s current.
One mistake and the spark falls into the powder keg.
So Im catching up on newz this morn, Watched a bit over the weekend but was busy, and a good, long blood sport event was on, so I missed a lot. Namely China’s response to it all. They are belligerents. But then so is the USA.
The Aus foreign affairs minister (Penny Wong, an immigrant, Asian) was telling every one “STAY CALM!!!”.
I dig how China sends a bird into US airspace then Xi calls the shooting “an obvious over reaction and a serious violation of international practice”. And claims that he “reserves the right to take further actions”.
So, me thinks, we all have our glasses upside down, on back wards, and out of focus…
China just showed us how they can/ could/ will make a war, when and if they wish. They dont need Taiwan to fart, or the US to smell Taiwan’s fart… Just let another stray weather balloon stray off track. Bingo!
One commentary states that China does not want war, does not want their commercial control and supremacy over the planet to change. Do not want a war over Taiwan, but indeed want Taiwan as their own, like Hong Kong…But they probably need a few more years at the head of the production-line, to cement complete dependancy of the west/ world on Sino industrial output.
We see that Venezuela condemns the action? Wow! Terrible! Frightening!… and it is. The potential is quite frightening.
But then, from a modern, clear-eyed view point, I wonder what China really wants here… is it world domination/ dependance in the industrial venue? Is it propagation of the Sino-Communist theory as expounded by Mao? Im not so sure. We are dealing with one man, and the mind of one man. Like Stalin, what does Xi want? I thinks it simply to stay in power for as long a possible.
We have watched as the Sino trade initiatives (that abound) saw China exert control over a lot of a lot all over. China owns agricultural resources all over the globe. Much of the land owned is near to military facilities, like in the US. Or they gain long term leases over important infrastructure like the Port of Darwin here in Aus. Or they loan $$ to a Nation, like PNG, who may well end up being owned by China… https://www.aspistrategist.org.au/chinas-debt-trap-diplomacy-is-about-to-challenge-papua-new-guinea-and-australia/
The Belt and Road Initiative is not new…
It is not newz…. All the Pacific nations, most African nations, along with much of the world, owe China heaps. The State of Victoria here in Aus (Melbourne is in Victoria) is a member of the B&RI… Its an old story… the “Belt and Road Initiative” is like a financial trap where you borrow more than you can repay, so the bank ends up owning it all … https://www.chathamhouse.org/2021/09/what-chinas-belt-and-road-initiative-bri
Sunday morn here in QLD. Weather is warm outside. Skies are overcast. It’s been threatening to rain. Had a lovely, large heavy storm system blow over us. Dark and menacing. It was moving at at a high rate of knots. In the distance I could see the hot air over the ground being sucked up into the storm-system. Watched as the cumulonimbus monster grew and reared it dark, shaggy head. I watched as it raced toward us. Sucking clouds up into its growing body. I enjoyed noting how the ground cooled quickly as the weather-system passed. How, after a very warm day (36c/ 98f), the ground level air chilled quickly.
Funny that it did not eventually rain, here. Which is fine. I dont need the rain right now. Im sure that further down its path a load of fresh, clean, cool rain was discharged. We got the cooling effects of the dragon’s shadow. Got to watch in awe as it flew above us. Very cool.
First month of the New Year passes. School has started. It’s business as usual, once again. Back to the old routine. Routines are good, soothing, comforting.
Like living on the land. It is both soothing and comforting, and daunting. 12months ago we were experiencing floods. Did not know at the onset how big and damaging the floods would be. I am still cleaning up.
But I move slowly. At an old-fart pace. Much has been achieved. Much is yet to be tended to. I am not keeping score.
Looking further afield, watching the “rest of the world”, as time passes, as the future becomes today, as the past becomes nostalgia….
I am perplexed by what appears to be another brutal murder by police in the USA. Perplexed in a more than one vein… a) why do folks that get stopped by the Police simply not cooperate? Honest to goodness! Why not simply cooperate? Be calm. Stay cool. AND… b) why does it take so many armed professionals to subdue one suspected perpetrator? There is so much WRONG with this picture.
And one side of self righteous angry folks yelling at another side of self righteous angry folks ain’t going to move us forward as a society. Something simply is not working.
On a good note, I dont see the usual, gratuitous Burn Loot Murder party, after the fact.
Time marches forward, forever, and ever… relentless, heartless, ruthless…
It’s Saturday here. Woke early and took the “girls”, Grace, Gigi, Nova to breakfast. They said they wanted pancakes. They got waffles.
Went to the grocery store after and back home. Took all morning.
I heard the other day that my old friend. Aloysiuos Ora, had passed away. Known to all simply as “Ora”, he was a real man, a real dude, an honest bas ass. And probably the best Policeman the Solomons ever saw. And a very dear friend.
I have so many “Ora Stories”. I first met him In Tulagi in 1981. For the next 30+ years Ora and I often were spending time in the same community. He was long serving Commanding office of Gizo, and later the Western Province. After he retired, and I created South Pacific Oil, I hired him as Corporate Security Manager.
I wish I had a picture of him.
One story goes back to Gizo, early 1980s. Rob Hughes was Public Solicitor, Nick Makin was the Hanging Magistrate.
A Friday night, a bit of fun, a dance, too much grog… The old Gizo Sports and Social Club was across the road from the Police Station. It was easy duty for the coppers to drag unruly drunks from the club to the lock-up.
Saturday morning found 3young guys from Ora’s home village in the Shortland Islands, waking up in jail. They were charged and had to go to court, so they are locked up until Monday morning. They were not happy.
The jail window was barred but not mosquito netted. The window looks out onto the main “street” (road). Those who got locked up woke covered in mozzie bites. I am told by those who know (my son, Don) that a night in Gizo lockup is not fun.
So Saturday morn, in the early 80s… I and a few others are in town, we stand and listen to these poor hung over guys yelling profanities from their cell. Ora shows up and yells back, in his home language, for them to be quiet. They call back (in language) and Ora gets mad. They are swearing at him in their own language and tho none of us know what is being said, Ora is not impressed.
Monday morning rolls around and the Hanging Magistrate, Nick, and the public Solicitor, Rob, appear in court with the said 3young guys. Rob is public defender, Ora is public prosecutor.
The 3young guys are bandaged and obviously suffering minor injuries. All three had been taken to the hospital, after Ora went to their cell to “have a chat with them”.
So the story goes… After listening to the verbal abuse get worse and more personal, Ora went into the cell to “teach the lads some manners”, to have “a man-to-man talk”. 3young guys, tired and angry and unhappy, and one Ora.
All 3 were in need of medical attention after the “chat”, and, when in court, would not say anything negative about “their care in custody”, or Ora.
Rob tells the story better…they were his clients. They had been “beaten up” while in custody, noting it was an unfair fight in their favour, and they still lost.
All got sent to hospital. Rob was very displeased with the state of care while in custody, but the guys would not say a word. The Hanging Magistrate, Nick, had nothing he could do but sentence them for their original charges.
After the fact I recall Ora stating that he felt he had to ‘teach the boys a lesson”. And enjoyed doing so.
OK, so it’s official. The Holiday period is over. Time to go back to work.
My son, Don, and his gaggle of girls; Joanne, Dawn, Vera, Andromeda, left yesterday. They are back in lovely Honiara as we speak, and my little farm is quiet.
Which, of course, is good and bad.
Good in that the noise and stress and frenetic activity decreases/ ceases. Bad in that the cute little noise makers are all gone.
And we have a huge clean up to do. Not complaining, not at all, but it’ll be a couple days of cleaning and sorting to even begin to tidy things up. Put everything away, in readiness for the “next time”.
Being a Sunday, and being the “day after” I am a bit tired. The last couple days, the last days in country for the Honiara Hemmers, saw us being very busy. Don had parts and spares and work stuff to chase. I helped where I could. Drove to Toowoomba to collect parts. Helped organise the 150kgs (over 300 lbs) of “luggage” traveling back with them. (and I thought my mother traveled heavy!)
Yesterday was a 2vehilce run to the airport. A total of 2moms, 5 little girls, 1grandma, a dad and an olfart were required to get all and everyone delivered to the airport. On time, In style. Below we have: Dawn, Joanne, Andromeda, Betsy, Nova, Vera, Gracie, Gigi.
Once I got home yesterday I vegetated. Dosed in front of the TV, cooked my beans, fed my dawgs, thought about starting the cleanup process. I lounged all afternoon. Was in bed by 10pm. Woke no earlier than 9am. I needed a big rest. It was nice.
Tomorrow is the first real working day of the year here. My projects come back on line and I want things to heat up quickly. Id like to get a lot done this year.
One of my projects, a property development gig I have been working on for a long time, should be completed this year. But that is exactly what I thought 12 months ago. I have learned my lesson. I can’t just make things happen. Especially when it comes to land development, approvals, etc, etc. But I do have my first meeting of the year 1030am, tomorrow.We ended 2022 with some great accomplishments, and now I am looking to create positive traction.
10am on Saturday the 31st. Sun is out but it has been raining. The sun will make the air hot and humid. The ground is too wet to get any work done. Its is too wet to have an extended family NY’s party. Kinda boring for kids stuck indoors and quite noisy for olfarts…
Have had “the evil twins” here for a few days. Four little girls, two 7/8 and two 6. There is strife and conflict galore. And noise. Screeches. Nova likes to howl when the spirit gets her. (wonder where she learned that?) Vera is always turning cartwheels. Ed dances through every step in life. G.G., the eldest, thinks she is the boss and is often crying because “they won’t listen to me!”.
G.G., Ed, Nova, Vera:
My old farm house has a large basement. I had it carpeted a while back. Put in a big screen TV all connected to the modern www. It’s comfortable and roomy. The floor is covered in blankets and pillows. In the “art room” I allow them to write draw be creative on the walls. Have markers and paint and a couple easels and paper and materials to make a mess and be creative. And shut the door.
This is from a number of weeks ago, when there was still blank space of the walls…
I am cooking dawg food, being lazy, listening to The Evil twins make noise. Here’s one that makes me smile…
So I cant complaint much. I do instigate a lot of the confusion. But dont tell anyone.
The world in review… from an olfart’s perspective? Well, hell! Its all fucked up. Men are women and women cant win in women’s only sports any more. I do not get it. I wish someone could explain to me how and when biological males became females. I simply not get it. It’s down right dumb to think a chick-with-a-dick is a female. I dont get it.
Not as dumb though, on waging war win the energy source that has brought mankind out of the dark and into the light.
I was a teacher in the remote Solomons and could tell which kids got the use of a light (a kero lamp) at home. Those kids read more, studied more, learned more, than those kids who did not have the luxury of after-hours illumination.
I have been hanging around third-world countries, Least Developed Countries (LDCs) for decades. I have a ‘thang” for LDCs. I have lived and enjoyed living in some of the worlds most isolated places. And without a doubt, in all my travels and adventures, life was better with after hours illumination. And not just a fire. Fires are easy but not that great for reading a novel or writing a letter. A small kerosene lamp works real well. As does a candle. I still use candles in my house. I like the feel of the soft, natural light. But ENEGRY allows society to come out of the shadows, be productive, produce and create 24/7.
In my isolated adventuring I was often forced to be parsimonious with my store of liquid energy. Those nights when there was a bright moon I’d often not light a lamp. Save my fuel for when it was really, really dark. Of course batteries are useful but all have a finite life and you can calculate through experience how much life your battery powered lamp contained. It was never long enough. And batteries are expensive. And toxic waste that we tend to forget about as we toss them aside.
In my option the war being waged against “fossil fuels” is madness. Looonacy!
As is the long term plan to redesign the modern family. To reinvent the world in a modern, non-male posture. It’s been going on for years. Decades. And the result is not good. In fact it is very bad.
On a more positive note it is noted that the world vs Covid is/ was a botched affair and all and everything we were forced to do, think and consider was ultimately based on bullshit, lies and stupidity. I am glad I am an olfart.
And babies and dawgs and olfarts rule….
Images of this past years… miles stones, millstones, passings and parties… life is indeed guud.
I have discussed Man and Time and the attempt to slow, or delay, or manage Time’s passing. It is an innate part of Man, the cognisant, aware, Man; that lives and breaths and thinks and ponders. The voice of the poet is the voice of Man’s yearning to understand.
It has many titles… “The Great Divide”, “The Other Side”…
I was traveling internationally with my parents. Decades ago, old folks and young family… trying to get through customs and immigration… the folks got separated, Dad ahead and mom behind, He turns and says as he walk through the no-return doors at Nadi International, “I’ll see you on the other side.”… We all laughed.
It would be considered a “dark” joke, not PC, today. A dark thought… to to see morbid-ness in the every day. To see the razor’s edge. To laugh as an anecdotal reminder as Death arises in daily life.
I learned long, long ago to allow Death to be an advisor.
Like the Dojo mat.
And the Great Deep Blue Ocean.
For an Iowa farm boy I have a lot of experience with The Great Deep Blue. Being an Iowan its only natural I know my way around a mat. Iowans are born rasslers. Cant explain why. You can understand why folks “North” play hockey. But why is Iowa the rassling centre of the universe. I do exaggerate.
The Great Deep Blue… I knew zero as a young’n, but I learned quickly, the way of the water, the truth of the tides, the wonder of the waves, and the mystery of the briny deep.
I was too young and too green when I got posted to Siota PSS in Central province, Solomon Islands. I quickly learned to feed myself from the sea. I had good teachers. It was a great experience for a young adventurer.
And it never ended. I learned that being on, in and around The Great Deep Blue would become a necessity for me.
My time in the Islands gave me very positive lessons in Death and Dying. Folks die all the time, we know that, and in the islands I learned how to place my hands on death and dying. It’s a fine skill to learn. It’s a great and glorious event to stand near. Sad yet fulfilling, and scary as hell, all at the same time.
Proximity to Death makes one aware of mortality in general and personal mortality in particular. Which takes us back to the need to place a handle on time as it passes.
Time can pass ever so slowly, or rush quickly, heedlessly forward.
As I age, my sense of time becomes more acute. Age teaches that time is finite. Age produces impatience because of the awareness of the finite nature of all and everything. Eventually one resigns themselves to a capitulation of sorts, a white flag in the battle to control time. That’s called getting old, being old, admitting one is old.
I aint there yet. Not today anyway. Some days I wake feeling sore and tired, and yes, old. But I shake the old-man feeling off, as a dogs shakes water off his coat, and move forward, albeit slowly, but forward none the less.
Much of my life has evolved around “martial arts” of one form or another. I define martial arts as anything that is combat or one-on-one or self-defense type training. I often refer to it as “warrior train”.
The world of MMA is huge these days but I was a kid when we first saw Bruce Lee, or the movie “Billy Jack”. I joined my first Dojo when I was in 7thgrade. Ive trained with masters and I have trained children and women the basics of foot stomping and running. My old Instructor, Mayor Carl Sharff, used to say, “dont be chicken, beat feet”.
I recall being a kid and deciding I was going to make a set of nung-chucks… Two large lumps of hard wood, using my dads plane I shaped and shaved for days. Fitted a bit of chain between the two and started swinging away. I “came to” on my back staring up at the sky through the big walnut tree. Id clobbered myself with the nung-chucks. Knocked myself out cold.
My theme song is “Time is on my side”. Or, maybe, “Born to be wild”. I dig the line ” I like smoking lighting…”.
Once again, shock / horror, the year is ending all too soon. All 12 months have flashed past faster than a field rat running from my hounds.
And those field rats are crazy fast!
So are my hounds.
The day after Cmas, in many parts of the world, is called “Boxing Day”. It comes from a tradition that I find kinda cool... Boxing Day was traditionally a day off for servants – a day when they received a special Christmas box from their masters. The servants would also go home on Boxing Day to give Christmas boxes to their families.
Sure, some may take exception to the idea that anyone had servants, and that servants got a day off. Some folks can find a bit about anything to get their righteousness in a twist, but not me. Nope. I come from a long line of peasants, serfs, servants and emigrants.
In our modern world of self-flagellation and loss of sleep over matters such as reparations and retribution and compensation and such… I take comfort in the fact that “my people” never had much. They were, and I am, people of the land. Not landed, not land owners, but the worker bees. The tendering hands that produced what the land offered.
So I guess I have little to repair or atone for???
The English, Irish, Dutch side of the family tree is my Paternal Grandmother, Ida. Born a Hinde, I know less about her back ground than my other sides of the family. I recall pictures of her parents and grandparents. Their names were Burke, Barton, Wright, and Hinde. They were not ‘recent emigrants” noting my maternal great grandmother, Minnie, and her husband, Thomas were both born in the USA.
One picture I remember well was on my grandmother’s table. An old, raisin-faced woman, seated in a chair, holding a long stemmed pipe. That was grandmother Burke. Grandfather Burke was a known OrangeMan.
The German side is easy to trace. My great-grandfather and great-grandmother both came from the same village. As near as I can tell it was a mass migration. Many family members all emigrated at the same time. I recall tales of the family traveling by “prairie schooner” across the content to settle in Iowa. My grandfather, Edward, was born in the USA.
My mothers side of the family tree is kinda straight forward, kinda… three brothers by the name of Angelopolous emigrated from Greece to the USA in the late 1800s. I say “kinda” in that there are familial lies that cover up the fact that my maternal Grandfather, Andrieus, had more than one family. From what I can find it appears he traveled back and forth between the new country and the old. He fought in the Greek-Turkey war of 1897. There was a family picture of him in his white tights and fluffy dress and pointy shoes, holding a rifle. He married Vera Vrotsos, in Iowa around 1920. It was an arranged marriage. He was well over 40, she was sweet 16.
None of these folks had servants, owned slaves, or participated in any kind of human bondage, that I know of. Vera’s people were Turkish Greeks. Somewhere in that messed up history her ancestors ended up on the island of Samos. Her people were chased out of Turkey. They left ahead of the genocide the Ottomans were conducting against those inferior to them.
So why should I feel bad about Boxing Day?
Funny thing is that my wife’s family, her Melanesian sires from the island of Choiseul, were indeed slave owners. In fact, in the early 80s I met one such slave. The last of a long line of chattel that had been accumulated through blood and greed and war and death. her name was Nelly.
Nelly had been an infant when she was stolen by my wife’s maternal grandfather. yes, grandfather, not great-grandfather. His name was Kapakesa. and he was a bad-ass. Had his own cairn of skulls.
I am told that in or around 1900 a guy up on the north coast by Pongoe was being a nuisance. Another group decided to “deal with him”, and put an army together. Kapakesa was hired as a mercenary to assist. He was a known as a feared taker of heads. He joined because there was anticipation of “booty”. He participated for what he could bring home… He returned from that raid with Liliboe’s infant daughter. She was Kapakesa’s slave.
Of course there were other slaves, on both sides of my wife’s tree, but I knew Nelly. I met people in the family that were children or grandchildren of slaves. They lived as a family member. no real distinction between them and other cousins and in-laws and outlaws. They did not inherit land. that was the only real difference Nelly was introduced to me as “kapakesa’s slave”.
A life long slave, ripped in horrific fashion from her family. As near as I know all of her family died the morning of that raid.
She lived a long and fruitful life. She was a respected midwife and healer. She had a great aura.
So, Boxing Day, not something I shall get my emotions in a twist over.
My plans for today originally entailed having our extended family up to raise hell on wheels. What I call a “vroom Bbq”. But the rains have returned and it is a bit of a hassle to have everyone hanging around all wet and muddy. It is fun, it is entertaining, but the kids get hurt more and faster when it’s wet here. So we shall put the vroom-day off. Here’s a picture of Ruben and Hudson in their new riding gear…
We had our family doo yesterday. Paul and Betsy did a good job. The mess and noise and confusion, as usual on Cmas morn, was biblical. Some tears, some injuries, but mostly copacetic fun…
I cannot come up with words to describe my perpexitude when it comes to CA. As a youth the land of ocean and smiles was mythical and real at the same time. I often had difficulty telling real from fantasy while in CA. So many positives, I recall. Sure it had its edges. Ive hung around Englewood. Venice beach before it was cool.
What happened?
As recent as 2018 I kept an apartment in Pasadena. I have a soft spot for Pasadena, the Rose Bowl parade. NYeve around Colorado BLVD. Best street party possible.
I cannot predict when I shall return. There is more keeping me away than attracting me.
I really enjoyed living in Pasadena.
I hear the Oxford Dictionary changed its definition of Male and Female.
I may be daft but I thought we all knew what a Male or a Female were? Like dogs, lift them up by the tail and count the holes. No?
Summer in QLD is gud. weather is almost perfect and the grasses grow well. Heaps of mowing to do.
The ancient art form of animal husbandry may soon be lost. Maybe even verboten. If I can tell at a glance the difference between male or female, Im probably racist.
First of December. End of the year looms large. Summer is here in QLD, and just like last year, we’re being rained on. Being drowned.
I blame all weather on Glow-Ball warming.
And there are many kinds of weather to report on… the rain, of course, the dry, the in-between. And it’s changing. Every year (every day) the weather changes. Which is just plain wrong. Why can’t it stay the same?
Maybe it’s an age thing? As I age I hurt more, move slower, am less of a risk taker, and have more time to ponder the mundane in life, like the weather.
As far as time-keeping goes, 11 down, 1 to go. Then we get to start all over again. Or do we?
This past year has seen age and health and mortality catch up with a few of my compadres. Sad, inevitable, predictable to a degree.
And the beat do go on. Drummers change, drum majors come and go, but the beat remains, is persistent, consistent…
smile
more later
a nice pict of my good friend Roger and my best friend Nia…
Ive been ruminating on the above topic recently. In the past couple weeks I have been involved in discussion(s) that explore what is best when feeding your dawg, buying dawg food, and simply keeping your dawg healthy and happy and well fed.
I am a registered QLD dog breeder. I have lived with, slept with, raised, fed, been angry at, and enjoyed Dawgs all my life. There are very few windows of time in my life where I was not sharing my existence with a noble canine. And in some instances, No Ball canines too.
I currently have 5dawgs… 3bitches and 2studs. I am consciously caring for my dogs with a very long term vision. I have an intent-filled future for my dogs and my breeding programme. I am breeding amazing canines.
I have invested a shit-load of $$ in my dawgs. I spend quite a bit maintaining them. We have daily feed costs, annual vet costs, general maintenance costs.
Of course the biggest cost involved with my dawgs is feeding them.
One of the discussions I recently was involved in was the consistent use of dry dog food. Pros and Cons… Basically the fact that it’s not uncommon for folks, dog owners to exclusively feed their dogs dry food.
Been there, done that.
I was talking about the time I spend cooking for my dawgs, I choose to cook a couple times a week for my dawgs, and one friend politely suggested I buy dry.
I admit here that I use dry dog food. Quite a bit, but not exclusively. I have used a variety of dry dog food. I believe that the more you spend the more you get. There is very good dry dog food, as there is very bad dry dog food. Kinda like potato chips… some are healthier, better for you, more expensive than others.
Another aspect of the discussion herein is the use of “fresh” (meaning frozen or freezable) dog foods such as mince. Mince of any kind. I prefer kangaroo mince because it is extremely high protein content. And kinda costly, up to $8perKG. Mixed mince is around $5perKG.
An important part of this discussion is the feeding of bones to your dawgs. Some folks adamantly say no, while others, like me, think feeding bones is essential, important, required in a healthy dawg’s diet.
Stupid Facts: In order for a canine to clear their scent glads, which are around the anus, they need to have a good, strong, push-it-out dump. Often domestic type suburban dogs stink a lot because of their diet. They eat soft, processed foods and never get to take a good healthy dump. Just like us humans… a good dump is essential to good life.
But, Im not here to talk about what people should or should not do. It’s your dog. I shall tell you about what I do and why I do it.
Food is food is food… or is it? Dogs, like people, will eat just about anything. Not just what is healthy, nutritious, good for you. And like people, dogs have allergies to certain food, get diabetes, over-eat and get indigestion, get the runs, get constipated, etc, etc.
It’s sad when a dog owner, or a parent, neglects the diet of their dog or child. Child obesity is a huge problem on our planet. As is puppy obesity. Early age diabetes with dogs and children is on the rise. And it’s mostly connected to diet. Perhaps its completely connected to diet?
Yet, considering that a few dollars buys a pretty big KFC or Macdoogles hapi meal, and kids are hungry, and food is expensive, well one can see why we are where we are.
Convenience, too is a huge factor. A busy life. Drive-thru works well. As does dry dog food, a couple scoops daily in a bowl. Kids and dogs?
I personally am not a fan of fast-food. For people or dawgs. I like to cook my meals. I very rarely eat out. I know I can have better food, cheaper at home, if I cook. So I cook. Great tasty meals filled with red beans and beast and veggies. Thick rich gravies with fantastic cuts of good beast. But to do it right it takes time. And I do got time.
I know I need to eat well, as I know it’s easy not to eat well. Easy to be lazy. I make the choice to feed myself very well.
Same with my dogs. I am looking for the best food for the best price… for my fantastic dawgs…
I know that I can buy a variety of meat and bone products for roughly $5perKG. Most stores sell offcuts and bones. I have good local butchers so am never short of great bone/meat/marrow content for my pots of dawg food. Chicken necks are very good. It is good for the dawgs. Good for their digestive. I like fatty pieces of bone. I can feed them raw or I can cook them up. The fat gives the dawgs a shiny coat.
We forget too that dogs are designed to chew. Rubber chew toys do not last long in my kennels, so I like big fatty chunks of bone that make the dogs chew and chew. I often get split-shin-bones full of marrow, or flaps from the rib racks. My dawg-yard looks like a catacomb. Bones strewn all about
Some bones may not be best to just feed your dogs. I think of any chop bone or something like a T-bone. I have watched my dogs eat rib bone like I’d eat a potato chip, they just munch it down. I have also pulled stuck bones from my dogs’ mouths. So it is a fine line of sorts to walk. Some folks think all bones should be cooked. Or not. Some folks say dogs should not be fed bones at all. I suggest that smaller dogs be watched when they have a bone. But my bigger breeds have never had a serious problem.
I can only go with my experience, and that is I feed my dogs almost everything, within reason…
Right now, in my house… I have a big bag of dry dog food and a bag of puppy food. I keep dry food around for convenience. Have a couple bags of bones and a fair bit of frozen off-cuts and minced roo. I can be in. hurry and accept the convenient route, or thaw and prepare and cook…
I just cooked for my dogs. Very little left over food goes to waste here. Table scraps, stale bread, etc, etc all get thrown into the dog pot. Had enough this morn to justify a cook-up… I cook 8kgs/ almost 20lbs of food a couple times a week.
Ingredients today: a bag of beef bones, a bucket of left over table scraps, rice, bread, pizza, and more. A couple kgs of carrots with 2 packets of pasta. All up I spent $5 for the bones, $5 for the pasta, $2 for the carrots, the left overs were “free”. I’ll be generous and say I spent $20.00 all up to cook 8kgs of good, good food.
On average I feed each dog 800grams a day, maybe a pound and a half per dog per day at a cost of about $2-3 per day per dog. If I cook. And this is the best food I can give my dawgs.
Dry dog food is different… I just bought a bag of Black Hawk (a decent grade of dry food) for $160.00 for a 20kg bag, so $8 a kilo. I feed 800grams per dog per day (when I use it) so a 20kg bag has 25 feeds. 160/25=$6 a kG.
Now one might think Im a jerk for being so pedantic about feeding my furry friends but…. but! Like my kids, I want my dawgs to develop and grow and be healthy of body and mind. And when you consider that $6p/dayX365=2190, and that I am feeding 5dawgs… it do get expensive.
So, it is clear I can feed my dawgs better food for less, if I cook it.
Is a Wednesday eve. Have been participating in grandson, Mendoza’s, matriculation from school.
He has been going to school here for 6 years.
It’s all done now.
Now I sit in an aged bar, Toowoomba is an old-ish regional centre. A lot of nice old stone buildings with high ceilings and dark wood paneling.
The family has been busy enjoying Mendoza’s success.
Tonight Grace and Don are off to the formal. Space is limited I don’t get to go.
So I’m on my own… I Sit in this bar and wait for a burger while sipping a cider. Old dance music plays in the back ground. The place is kinda busy.
I guess I am lucky to be young enough while being old enough to enjoy my grandson’s graduating. Speaking from experience, there are no guarantees your kid will make it through all 12 years.
I see it as a rite of passage, a societal accolade, a certified success. A pass.
And it’s good.
I’m pleased Mendoza’s dad and family could come. The little girls are so impressed.
So I’ve just about had enough of this place. And I’m still waiting for my burger.
Some folks get it. Some do not… 11.11.11, I shan’t explain it, here.
Lest We Forget
But I am compelled to comment on the political scene that USofA is.
For decades the goings-on of the US political scene have entertained, maddened, confused and frustrated many an observer. As “A Stranger In A Strange Land” kinda guy, I have always been on the outside looking in. I was germinated and propagated in the US, then allowed to grow and mature in a non-US-political environment.
For the casual observer such may not be of huge import. But from a practical point of view it’s huge. Being on the outside looking in. Offers the observer a certain amount of clarity not found from within.
I have had the fortunate misfortune of spending the majority of my days in some form of Parliamentary system. Noting well that the system in the Solomons is not the system in Australia, etc, etc. Coming from the US it was quite a task to logically come to terms with the differences. To figure it out for my own mental calculations.
And, of course, there is nothing like the USofA. It is an honest aberration. Almost an accident.
I shan’t go into the various differences within the three systems I am a card carrying member to. It’d take way too long. And my day beckons. I have things to do. But as I drink my coffee, as I prepare for my list of “things to do”, I’ll comment a little bit on the recent Mid-term elections in ethnic USA…
As we have seen in recent years, the US is basically divided into two equal and very much opposed visions for the future. The recent elections are often called by the smallest margins. It’s common to see neither mainstream candidate receive over 50% of the ballots cast. It’s often a case of “too close to call”. When this happens it boils down to the State-wide “machine in power” to start the shenanigans. Right or left, red, blue, green, yellow… all political machines have a dirty-play-book.
I mentioned above “ballots cast”. Not VOTES, not votes, but Ballots. It’s not about casting your vote and filling in your legal ballot. Not at all… it’s about counting ballots. Its about fishing for ballots, harvesting ballots, manipulating ballots… Who has the most ballots at the end of the counting is where it is at.
Each and every self respecting Political-Manager has a box stuffed with ballots ready to go. Just in case. My guy is losing, and, what! Wait a Minute! A box of mail in ballots just got found in that toilet. No matter they aren’t signed or dated or that the info is incorrect or that an actual voter is 122 and died in 1976, nope, we must by law count all the ballots cast. Legal ones and illegal ones too.
So, after the dust settles, we end up in a 50/50 power share position. And if the 50/50 wielding power do not get their shit together and start looking for a common path forward, we’ll remain in a self made purgatory.
Of course our ol buddy The Donald sure as shit didn’t help much. It would appear that the players he held close lost big. It would appear as though associating with The Donald may not be good for your political future.
????
I also like the idea that some players spent tens of millions, while other only spent millions.
Sure appears to be an expensive game.
Me? I’ll stick to puppies and children. A lot more honesty therein., noting well puppies and children are notorious liars.
It is with tears in my eyes I write this obituary…
Kenny The Wadd, Doo-check, Holmes…
The above pict is early 1981 on Guadalcanal.
I met Ken in November 1980. We were both to-be Peace Corps Volunteers, went to an orientation on the East Coast. It was a Cape Cod kids meets the Iowa farm boy situation. We became friends quickly.
We spent the next 3years 81, 82, 83 being PCVs together. Most of that time we lived near each either other on the Island Of Choiseul. I was teaching at Choiseul Bay PSS, Ken was a Business Advisor based on Taro Island. By the end of ’82 we both had Choiseul ladies to spend time with. By the end of ’83 we both had Choiseulini baby girls.
Of course, times change and Ken left the Solomons (the first time) in 84. Traveled, grew, changed, came back a few times, traveled more… somewhere in there, was it the late 80s, Ken sorted the paper work out so his daughter, Roycie, could move to the US and live with her dad.
Ken was one of those PCVs that never stoped coming back. Of course, Roycie visiting her mother was important, and we all know how addictive, or maybe infectious the Solos can be. So, suffice it to say, Ive never been out of touch with Ken. My family and his are forever bound. Our daughters are the closest peers Ive ever met. PCV daddies + Choiseul mommies. A rare breed indeed.
Some where along the journey Ken got lucky and married Jennifer. Roycie struck it lucky and got the best Mom the world could conjure.
For too long she’d been the only child of a single father. A good father indeed, but we all know Moms are soooo good. Everyone should have at least one.
Just last week, I commented on one of Ken’s FB posts:
Bro, Just looking at your picts and the positive vibes I feel round, but feel I must comment, with huge respect… you look like shit. Damn, they beat you up good. How much weight did you lose? Was it the illness or the cure that has beaten you up the most?
Im old and sore and slow, and I know I look like shit too, but Im still 100kgs. not that its good but its better than 60kgs.
You could wrestle at fly weight by the looks of it.
I shan’t apologise for the irreverence due to longer term super-friend pass. But I do smile when I see the islander in your grandson, Luka(?), and the glow of familial joy that I find in each pict.
God, our Solomon babies produce such gorgeous kids! Damn!
So what is your known or predicted trajectory? Have the medicos got that hooks in you? You going to be able to run wild and howl on the hill tops, again? You do indeed know I am always and all ways standing by, somewhere on the planet, available to help, talk, assist, go get wild, get in a fight (a small one please) or generally be young, together again.
big smiles, old friend
This was four-days ago.
Guess I know what Ken’s trajectory is.
So, all my energy to Jennifer and Roycie and her family. You both know where I am. Holler when I can do or help with anything.
The Native Iowan 
thoughts and opinions