Good news and bad news… Good news always first… You’re still alive. Bad news… You just turned 66.
Unless you’re from a culture that counts ” 1 ” at birth. Then I’d be 67.
Gee, only 33/34 more years until I get to be 100.
I’m unusually sad today because I know, for the first time in my life, my mom wont say “Happy Birthday”.
I shan’t be receiving a birthday card from my Mom.
One of Mom’s big “things” was sending birthday cards. Ive always cherished and saved my cards. I always told my kids and grandkids that Granny’s cards were precious. Keep them, hide them away. Enjoy them often.
Mom was prolific in her birthday greetings by card. Each and every member of of our very extensive family got a birthday greeting, an acknowledgment, personalised in her own hand.
So I could never feel “special”, everyoen got one, I was one of many, (story of my life) but for that instant, when the card is received, the world had a big smile.
Some of her cards arrived months late. But they were always a big “make your day” sorta thing.
As she got older it became a game to try to decipher what she wrote. It was always a team effort. We’d manage eventually, read it all after a bit of effort.
And the beat goes on. Hapi Bday to me. Many more to come.
I am a bike-guy. I really dig motorcycles. I started young, young, young… influenced by my elder siblings and their cohorts. Bikes and riding are a huge part of my life.
And once in your life, maybe, if you are lucky, you get to have exactly what you want.
Meet the “B.B. 750″…
I designed and helped create this amazing machine. Master maniac and mechanic, Steve “Carpy” Carpenter, made this all possible.
I very much enjoy resurrecting bikes out of old rusty hunks. Turning what would be lost forever, into something coveted and cared for.
B.B. is no exception. It was a non-running, one owner, truly amazing “barn-find”. I am sooo glad I got to resurrect this Classic 1974 Honda CB750K.
As below, it had an old seat and a beat-up old exhaust.
But being a Cali-Bike, is still had a lot of life in it.
Climate and time does take a toll on any machine that has been parked up too long. But, if lucky, if found in time, a machine can be brought back to life. Repaired. Refurbished. All it takes is a lot of time and a fair amount of $$$.
This was the start of the B.B. project…
It was a solid machine but had been on hard times. It is now over the 50 years old. It was neglected, stored out of the way, almost forgotten… A perfect opportunity to turn the old girl into a thoroughbred, once more.
It was in 2010 I first walked into Steve “Carpy” Carpenter’s workshop in Orange County, CA.
My nephew went in to pick up a custom seat for his CB750 project. I immediately “GOT” what Carpy was doing. Liked what he was doing.
The collaboration that created The B.B. started then.
B.B. stands for “Black Beauty”. It turned into an amazing, one-of-a-kind machine. A true beauty dressed in black.
It has fantastic lines, great sound, and rides and handles like a modern machine.
Plenty to look at.
Innumerable man hours when into this. We started the project in 2012, finished it 2015. I kept it in California for years, riding it around the LA/ Pasadena area. By 2018 I decided to bring it to Australia.
Some interesting points about this bike… *1 owner. I have original paper work, plus, very cool indeed, the original licence plate. *So much of this build involved “hand-made” parts and pieces. Hundreds of hours, working ol-skool to get that vintage, custom, coool result. *Modern components are under the “skirt”. You don’t see them but the brakes, the suspension, the electrical system have all been modernised.
The headlight with the built in LED turn signals is a great addition. It also has a Halogen bulb to help you at night. Seeing into the dark when you are cranking on a ton is very important.
We painted the bucket, tanks, side covers, seat, fork, ears a high gloss black. Also painted the head light bucket, the rims, and parts of the wheel hubs.
One-off additions like custom made, screw on badge embelishers gives a soft but classy and vintage touch.
No expense spared on this build.
The frame was stripped, cleaned and coated with high gloss powder coating.
Note all the billet-work. I like the stainless steel allen-bolts. Gives a nice contrast to the black.
The motor was pulled apart and rebuilt. It remains stock with new guides and internal cam chain. Spare parts, if ever required, still readily available at any Honda dealership.
The engine in painted in a custom mix of high temp engine paint. Gives the bike a very stealthy, modern look.
B.B. is different from most custom machines that are all polished and chromed to the max.
Billeted “extras” make this machine shine. Above shows the “finned” cap for the oil dip stick. I think it sets the bike off.
Keeping with the classic era, brand new gauges added with a hand-made alloy mount. For fun we added a neutral light in the middle of the steering stem nut . Also fitted polished aluminium bar clamps to hold a custom set of clubman handlebars, with new cables, adjuster and master cylinder.
A lot of attention to detail went into the build. We fitted Tarozzi rear sets. We fitted a custom oil pressure gauge. Now you can see if you are getting good oil pressure all the time.
Finned covers and of course, a custom 4 into 1 Exhaust system. The rear brake was rebuilt using non asbestos EBC brake shoes. New springs with a polished outer hub looks great as an offset to the black rims.
Rebuilt front forks and painted lowers. New tires and front mudguard, gives that classic look of cafe-bikes back in the day.
Totally rebuilt and tuned the carburetors. These are fully detailed to match the motorcycle. We used Steel Dragons for the air-box.
All runs great and smooth, even after being in storage since 2019.
The kick starter was drilled and chromed. The rear sets prevent you from a full kick, but B.B. has an electric starter. A truly modern machine.
Hand lettering and pin stripping on the tank. B.B. is a play on the original C.B., which stands for “city bike”. Of course, B.B. stands for Black Beauty. And it is!
The tank is the original for this machine. It was hammered and bashed and bent and smoothed before adding the gloss black enamel paint. Custom, stainless steel aircraft style gas cap used because it looks so, so good.
Custom rear shocks that are raised 2 inches. Finned piggy backs help the bumps. Hand made seat assembly sits upon the frame and hides the battery etc. Snaps on the tuck n roll cover offers easy access to the battery.
Hand formed tank, new wire harness, new handlebar controls, new cables throughout make sure this bike is as-new, or better than as-new..
Drilled front brake rotor, rebuilt and polished front calliper, custom parts all over the bike makes B.B. a great head turner, and a great, reliable, daily ride.
B.B. turned out really well and runs true and strong.
I have not had B.B. on the road since 2019. Covid and life and lockdowns saw this great machine stuck in my shed, on charge, under a cover. I pulled it out recently. It started easily.
A bike like this needs a good home, needs to be used, needs to be shown off, admired, appreciated.
I have said before that August is my favourite month. So many good things about August… get a Blue Moon this month, the planet is in its preps to reverse it’s tilt, the night sky in August is always and all ways great… https://www.space.com/16149-night-sky.html
It is an overcast, drizzly morning. Had a good but short shower right on dawn. Things are drying up, for the first time in over 18months. After the once-inahundredyear floods of a year ago.
For the first time in 2years we’re running low on tank water.
I have a big tank down at the stock yards that is full, but is not connected to anything. A couple years ago I rigged a pump and over 200meters/ 600feet of poly pipe to move the water to the house tank. It was quite a chore noting the 200 meter run was covered by no less than half-a-dozen lengths of pipe coupled together. We spent most of that day turning the pump off and reconnecting blown fittings. It was a bear of a day.
This time I think I’ll use a 1000litre ICB to move the water as per need. One load at a a time.
Cant live without water, and I am very spoilt… I could buy a few thousand litersx10, but the water won’t be the nice, soft, clean rain water I am used to. Call me fussy, but the water in my tanks is very good, very clean, uncontaminated, and I’ll keep it that way as long as possible,
Funny thing about the valley I live in… even tho we’re in a bit of a dry-ish spell, there are places here on the property where I cant put my machines or they will get stuck. Ive been trying to clean up from the flood, remove the torn and strewn-about fence lines. Slash and mow the thick, tangled growths of grasses and weeds. The higher ground was dry enough for me to start this work this time last year. Through the past 12 months or so I have done what I think is a huge amount of work, but only gotten about 10acres out of 120 done, cleaned, tamed, under control…
10 acres of clearing per annum = I’ll be done in another 100years.
My topic of rumination this past week has been racism.
Racism is a simple concept. I believe all people of all walks of life have an idea, if not an experience, of what racism means to them.
I have no doubt in my entire being that at birth, a child has no concept of racism. Thus I deduce that racism is a learned trait. As opposed to an innate, or inherent trait, such as the need for comfort, warmth, security, love.
I firmly believe the development of the human, the “baby”, begins the instant the spark-of-life is ignited. At the moment of inception, the spark of life is ignited, and the being, the child, begins to emote. It responds to comforts, strife, stress, happiness, et al.
I shan’t go into it here, as I wrote about it all rather ponderously in the above link, but I still can hear the woosh of the womb. Feel the comfort and warmth of my life, before my life.
I have no recollection of having any idea about race or racism for most of my youthful years. I distinctly recall my mother being viciously angered by anything that smelt or dealt of racist concepts. She was very strict in these regards. I recall her once stating that she’d seen enough “racist bullshit” in her life. She told me once that she and her family had grown up being the “greasy Greeks”, the lowest rung on their social ladder, AND she would not allow her family to be part “of that”.
I was often confused and maybe even a little frightened when I heard someone say something that was a racial slur. The old Western Movie idea that “there is no good Indian except a dead Indian” always confused and bothered me. As I grew and traveled I heard it more and realised that it was not the norm to be raised in a family like mine. A family that was raised to not really see the difference of race.
Noting well that my mother and father represented what was then an interracial marriage. A marriage opposed by all their families.
I recall an evening when I was maybe 3-4… My father was bringing a colleague home for supper. My mother explained to me that this guy “looked different”, and that I was NOT suppose to say a thing about any difference I perceived.
The guy arrived, we were in the living room and I, as a little kid can do, climbed up on his lap and made friends with him. He was a big man (in my memory’s vision) with fantastic white hair. I looked and studied and examined as I climbed on and around him. I deduced that it was the long white hair growing out of his ears my mother was warning me about. I could not mention or say anything about the hair growing out of his ears.
Of course, the gentleman I reference was coloured. I can still find an image of him in my memory. He was very handsome.
As a Peace Corps Volunteer, in 1982 at Choisuel Bay PSS, I had a form1 student who was shit scared of me. It took me time to understand that I was the first white man she had ever seen. The reason she was frightened by me is simple… mothers in the islands often use “the white boogey man” to frighten children. Behave or I’ll give you to the “bosevaka” (white man). Stop screaming or the bosevaka will come take you… here comes the bosevaka… And then this poor 11 or 12 yearold girl was faced with an ugly white guy that was loud and big and hairy… her mother had been right!!!
So, with Racism on my mind, I went looking for a definition…
1) The International Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICERD), adopted by the UN General Assembly in 1965, and entering into force in 1969. Article 1 defines racial discrimi- nation as:
“… any distinction, exclusion, restriction or preference based on race, colour, descent, or national or ethnic origin which has the purpose or effect of nullifying or impairing the recognition, enjoyment or exercise, on an equal footing, of human rights and fundamental freedoms in the political, economic, social, cultural or any other field of public life.”
2) prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism by an individual, community, or institution against a person or people on the basis of their membership of a particular racial or ethnic group, typically one that is a minority or marginalized.”
3) the belief that different races possess distinct characteristics, abilities, or qualities, especially so as to distinguish them as inferior or superior to one another.”theories of racism”
Tho very wordy, this alone is important… “… any distinction, exclusion, restriction or preference based on race, colour, descent, or national or ethnic origin which has the purpose or effect of nullifying or impairing the recognition, enjoyment or exercise, on an equal footing, of human rights and fundamental freedoms in the political, economic, social, cultural or any other field of public life.”
So… Reparations, as discussed in the US, is by definition racist. It indeed is a distinction, exclusion, restriction or preference based on race.
As well… The “VOICE” as discussed here in Australia is racist for the same reasons.
I find myself rather lost. Devoid of rudder or compass. These modern waters are very strange and confusing… I was a young, green, keen liberal that supported this simple idea: “I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” MLK 1963.
I was 6yearsold when MLK first articulated this thought. I heard these words repeated over the next years, until his assassination, it was an important theme in the “movement” for civil rights.
1963 to 2023… Im 66 years old, have a multiracial (a very multiracial) family. My 18year old grandson claims, Greek, German, English, Irish, Chinese, Choisuel, and Shortland Island blood lines.
1963 to 2023… Much has changed, progressed. In 1963 my wife and I could not legally walk together in public. In my youth, interracial marriage was illegal, noting well that interracial marriage was not legalized in all U.S. states until Loving v. Virginia in 1967!!!
1963 to 2023… And much has digressed, fragmented, been lost… Black Lives Matter… Apologise for your white privilege… The oppressed become the oppressors?
I am confused… The liberal mindset of my youthful vigorous liberalism was a positive. We are all the same. I am colour blind. I see you as a person not a person of colour.
Not any more… safe spaces that exclude “whites”. Preferences in education, employment, advancement based on quotas of race, gender, religion… All of which are negatives.
Ive spent my life fighting against the idea that because you look different you are treated different.
Ive always looked different… long hair, beards, earring, tattoos, a not white family.
Ive encountered a lot of racism in my life. As a kid. And as I aged…I was a white guy in a black man’s country. Tho Solomon Islands is not terribly racist, it does exist. (mostly between rival tribal groups.)
Here in the land of Aus we are facing what I think is an epochal moment… divide that nation by race, or not.
There is a lot within this link so I copy a small portion herein that which impressed me a lot.
More later
Peter Baldwin The Progressive Case Against the Voice
Is the proposal for a constitutionally entrenched Voice to parliament and the executive government “progressive”? If so, in what sense?
This will seem to most people a no-brainer. After all, nowadays, in one of the great acts of linguistic appropriation of our time, “progressive” has come to be seen as virtually synonymous with left-wing. And what could be more left-wing than the Voice, endorsed as it is by just about all the left- of-centre forces in Australian politics, including all factions in the Labor Party, right through to the most wild-eyed Trotskyist sect. After all, so goes the argument, it is just a modest step towards securing recognition, justice and recompense to the most oppressed part of the Australian population. Only a racist, or a member of the far Right could be against it, surely? We hear this claim repeatedly by people who call for a calm, civil “conversation”, sometimes as a precursor to launching into a vicious ad hominem attack on Voice opponents.
This near-unanimity is surprising, given that the Voice involves inserting a permanent, racially discriminatory provision in the Australian Constitution, that confers on one racially defined section of the community an additional means to influence legislation and decisions that affect every- body, not just Aboriginal people.
A long weekend coming to an end. Had the Hillbilly club up for camping and vroom n bbq n fires n fun…
The Campbells, the Wickhams, P&B, Lance, Sara, Franklin, DaveNAnnabelle, AdriamNJulieNRayden all had a very vrooomy afternoon yesterday. The stalwarts camped out. We old folks went to bed early. I actually got a good night’s sleep.
So a vroomy fun few days winding down… No one got hurt. We killed the ancient 250cc Quad. The vroom-beast is blowing smoke – will have to check that out. And 3yrold XMann decided he liked vrooming fast. He is still afraid of 2wheels, but likes it when Mendoza ride the quad up on 2wheels. Go figure…
After over 10years of use, some of these machines are getting tired. Noting well we do beat the shit outta things. Might have to turn the dead 250 into a kiddy toy of some kind??? Strip it down and make so a small kid and play on it without getting too hurt???
The sun is out. It was a wonderfully foggy morning. The intrepid campers are whooping up a big breakfast. The fire has been built-up. The kids are being kids. No one has started any machines up, yet.
Im sitting waiting for some good BloodSport.
I am tired from the past few days… the preparations and the execution of a fine, fulfilled vroomy weekend. So I shall sit wrapped in my blanket and watch the fights, drink tea, maybe dose a bit.
Sunday in the valley. 1115am, weak sun shining through grey clouds. Very little warmth to be had inside or out. Im alone here so have the house wide open. I like the open air flowing through this hallow big old house. I am wrapped in my granny-blanket, blood sports on the tube.
Blood sports Sundays are good…
Thinking of a couple things this fine, chilly morn…
First is fine and filial thoughts for my ol compadre and partner in crime, Ken Holmes. Ken passed through the great void into the mystery of the unknown 10months ago. A memorial is being organised for him this month. I’d like to go, see his family, tell some good-ol Ken stories. But I shan’t. My life and responsibilities here on my little farm dont allow.
Life’s magnificent and glorious pageant, wouldn’t miss it for quids…
Second is a story, an untold Ken Holmes story…
When we met, traveled to the Solomons as green-horn PCVs, there was a posse of like minded trouble makers. There was Billy B, Tim A, Ken B, and Ken Holmes. Of course, very quickly, Kenny Holmes became “Kenny The-Wad Holmes”. Most folks will remember famous porn star, Johnny The Wad Holmes, who was murdered by a pool in Hollywood. Bludgeoned to death with a “blunt object” was the cause of death. The nick name for Ken stuck, stayed, and to this day I think of him by his handle, “The Wadd”.
So its June 1981. Most of us were remote-school teachers and had come to the Big Mango (Honiara) for school break. Tim lived in Honiara and had at house we all crashed at. Our main hangout was the Point Cruz Yacht Club. We all had business and work to do and would normally meet at the end of the day at the PCYC, have a few beers, find a simple meal, and end up back at Tim’s place for the night. We did not have a lot of money. Only got paid 90bucks a month, which was ok because beers were 50cents, smokes were a buck or so. An egg burger was 90cents. Fridays we’d go to the Mendana and pay 11bucks for an all-you-can-eat salad, steak n desert Bbq.
It’s a lovely eve, we’re all gathered at the Yacht Club. Dusk is coming. We watch as a newly cleared-in yacht tacks into the little basin, drops its pick, prepares to come ashore. We watch intensely because the yacht is crewed entirely by females. Long legged, tanned, healthy females. The yacht flies the Stars n Stripes.
It is obvious they have been making a passage. It turns out they had sailed in from Fiji. But you can tell when a yacht has been busy, used, worked for a while. And the first thing all these females did, after squaring away the vessel, was come into the yacht club for a shower. They all showed up, there were four of them, happy and loud (they were Americans) carrying their towels and shampoo bottles.
After a week or more at sea, a shower is worth getting excited about.
The Yacht Club of today bears little resemblance to the PCYC of 1981.
Then it was nothing more than a small lock up pantry that was the bar, a few tables out by the sea, and very basic bathroom/ shower facilities.
The toilet/ shower area was a concrete block house, small window with wooden louvers, a shower (cold water only) and a toilet. One basic simple wooden door, complete with bicycle tyre auto-door closer, each for males and females.
Where we sit we can hear the girls in the shower. Sound like they are having fun. Tim is first to suggest that he should have a peek… it’s getting dark, the place is not busy, Tim reckons he can sneak up to the wood louvres, have a look at what sounds so fun.
Tim is a big tall dude. Yet he stealthily places himself flat against the wall and peeks through the louvres. He smiles and motions to us. It must be a good show.
Ken B and The Wadd slide silently up next to Tim. They take turns peaking through the wood slats, head up n peek, back down, snigger, another head peeks in… The girls are obviously enjoying the shower. It’s a small area but the shower is on and the girls are making happy sounds, the boys are being voyeurs.
I saw an opportunity for some fun… Rather than slide up and take my turn being a pervert, I decided to be a jerk… I walked behind the guys, towards the gate. I was behind them, the shower window was right in front of me, the guys were leaning on each other, squatting down, each ready for their next surreptitious view.
I pick up a nice sized rock, tossed it over the guys’ heads, and hit the wooden louvre square and hard. “BANG”!!! The guys all looked like cartoon characters trying to gain traction and run away…
I laughed so hard they couldn’t beat me up. All three were both angered, frightened and frustrated. They didn’t see the humour.
Years later The Wadd could still get grumpy at me for what he considered a huge familial failing… just as they were getting as good eyeful, I tossed my rock and ended the party.
It still makes me laugh.
Smiles all around, especially to Jennifer and Roycie.
Saturday, July 1, 2023, 9am. It’s quite chilly here. overcast. The valley is quiet this morning. Not a lot of bird life making a noisy nuisance. The dogs are quiet, hunkered down in their thick beds of straw.
Have been discussing life, aging, family and more with an old buddy. We’ve known each other for many decades. Disagree on most everything in life except their fact that the world is upside down and families are the foundation of all and everything.
I fear a liberalistic no-family-required attitude is flooding our society. I have watched for years as the traditional family structure has been weakened, deconstructed, removed from what is “the norm”. As the world gets faster and families spread out we are less and less “in touch” with our families.
I very much disagree with the modern conveniences of life that lead to murder… Old folks all alone and unwanted so we promote euthanasia. Young folks have an unwanted pregnancy so we promote abortion.
I have stated before that it is not the thumb that made mankind dominant. Not his “almost as large as a dolphin’s” brain. Nope, not his memory or his tool making ability or his smarts when it comes to warfare.
Mankind is dominant simple because of grandparents. Tribal elders. The Family. Aunties and Uncles and cousins and brothers and sisters that care for the infants as the “in their prime” parents go about feeding, housing, protecting the tribe at large.
So, in the Valley of Green, on a chilly, calm, dull morning; I, the law-giver of The Valley; declare July Tribal Elder Awareness Month.
I can still think back over eons and decades and smell the fresh bread on my Grandmother’s hand as she caresses my face.
I can hear my Mother’s voice bellowing up the stairs yelling at us to get ready for school.
I can feel the sting of my Father’s belt across my backside after being caught, again, in a major transgression of life rules.
I grew up in a multigenerational household. My Parents were stressed and their time and patience was forever stretched, their touch was often very heavy. My Grandmother had less energy to expend, her touch was much gentler.
Some of us never knew all of our grandparents. The ones I grew under loom large in my upbringing.
I have made a distinct point to be involved with my many grandchildren. There are a few I have never met, considering time and distances, and there are a few I have pretty much raised. I am currently discussing with my son about him sending his family over here for education. Another son lives near us with his young family.
Old age would be pretty sad without family, grandkids…. and dawgs.
Here is a picture of 8yr old Gigi being a cool bad-assed biker…
I must say that I like QLD. As good as a climate I have ever found. It’s winter and it’s not deadly cold. Gotta luv QLD.
Thinking about trade and politics and deals and wars and such… I have first hand knowledge that proves “war is good for business”.
Twice; when Bouganville fell in 1990, then during the Solomon’s ethnic tension, 1998 – 2003, I made heaps.
All legally. I just managed to have a good supply of fuel and sold it for fair prices. No gouging. No price rises of the opportunistic kind. Both times my competitors could not keep up or manage their affairs, or they ran away from the sound of guns. I stayed and made $$.
Mind you, dodging bullets is a young man’s game.
I would suggest that “WAR” is the world’s biggest business.
Which leads to the “trade” involved with WAR.
I think of the Atlantic “gauntlet” in WWII.
It shows how much $$ is involved when you can lose over 25% of your stock and still be profitable.
How much shipping was sunk in ww2?
By May 1945, in the Atlantic alone, over 2,200 British and Allied merchant ships had been sunk, totalling well over 13 million tons, as well as 100 Allied naval vessels and 600 RAF Coastal Command aircraft. Of these ships, no less than 2003 had been sunk by U-boats.
And there in lies the modern discussion…
Asia to NAmerica, Asia to the sub continent, Europe, Russia, SAmerica…
Who are the world’s industrial/ export nations…
A simple graphic says a lot… You can see who has the most to lose.
Been a while. Ruminations are constant and legion. Always something to ruminate upon…
I am both confused and sad about the state of affairs in Nowhereamerica… My brother lives now in Oregon. He has lived for a long time in Germany. Took a job in Oregon with a Fed-agency. Im sure it appeared to be a good idea at the time but he is hating it. He claims it’s all one big shitty strip mall. And thats Oregon. I wonder what places like Pasadena and Santa Monica are like. Where it’s warmer there has to be more homeless.
My bro is looking to complete his contract and head back to Europe.
Sad, when Europe with its decay and liberalistic nonsense wins over Oregon. Where I guess the decay and liberalistic BS lives and thrives as well.
I spoke to a friend recently. He and his wife retired from the Philippines, moved to an Island off the Wash-coast. When he told me where he was going I said, “… thats were all the liberal loonies alive…”. His reply was, “ I am liberal loony”.
But then, living in a gated community, on an island, allows one to be liberal and loony and not have to get your shoes dirty.
I fear the social-mission to erase the middle class may be going well. Iowa is a good example… Iowa has low unemployment, A reasonable indicator of how the society fares. But the work-place landscape has changed. The decent union$ jobs are no longer plethora. The packing plants, the manufacturing, the season labouring… all has changed. Wages now are not “as good” as they once were, I am told. Everyone is “doing it hard”, they say.
But I still see kids with iPhones, everyone does a couple “vacations” each year. I get the feeling that everyone is living maxed-out on their credit. Nothing new there.
And the retired grandparents kick-in a lot; baby sitting, travel to family gigs, etc. Grand parents rule.
Average Iowa income is about 55k pa. In the Solomon’s avg wage is about USD2k.
The world is an amazing place…
Farewell Tina Turner… what an amazing woman. Amazing, I say.
Blustery, weather dominated day. The sky is slate, the green pastures like gems glowing with a layer of dew. Birds changing with the season. Our permanent residents are indeed permanent, and the transients fill the waterways and trees with foreign voices. Heard a call that I did not know. I’ll wait for it to come again. But it was cool to hear something “new”.
Of course I am not from “around here”. As an immigrant I find I am still learning things about the local, regional area I now find myself. As in life, I find I am always learning something “new”.
I raise dogs. I call them “Dawgs”. Capitalised. Dawgs.
My Dawgs are big, intelligent, ill mannered, and very, very important to me.
Much like my children.
And grandchildren.
I currently have three pregnant bitches. A few weeks ago I wrote about having Big Red down for a couple weeks of unabated “mating”. He did a good job.
I have never “done this” before. By “done this” I mean have three pregnant hounds, totalling over 100kgs/220lbs, all being terrible bitches at the same time. It’s a bit of a risky chore. The smallest thing can make the bitches fight. Who ever is on bottom gets beat up.
I have been badly bit, by getting between two of my bitches. Friendly fire, eh?
I am now keeping each Dawg separately kennelled. Most of the time. I’m getting them comfortable and secure in their kennels, in prep for whelping.
My two Mastiff bitches were bred for defence. For training. For their size, intelligence and trainability. They are in many ways “dangerous”. Their instincts are to be bad-ass. I raise them to be family oriented, normally calm, normally pretty easy to get along with. Pregnancy changes things.
Below is my buddy, Roger, enjoying Nia.
This picture is cool in that it shows you that the Dawg is as big as the kid, and has bigger teeth. The fact that Nia will basically sit on Roger’s lap, and trade hugs, shows us she is well socialised.
One of my favourite picts..
We are all getting along, I call it Dawg Zen. And I note for the public that all these dawgs are complete. Neutered dogs are calmer, less violent. Dumber?
I could spend time and train my dawgs to be defence/ attack dogs. They are well suited for it. The females are bred for it.
The two males represent my sperm bank. Big Red is a Doggo Bordeaux. Mojo is a Mastini. I have a few years of breeding organised. And a hell of a lot of $$ invested.
My reason and long term aim herein is to ensure I HAVE GOOD DAWGS around me for the rest of my life. AND, I want all my grandkids to have a Good Dawg that is their friend, companion, protector.
I like dawgs.
So we shall have a number of puppies soon. By the end of May/ early June.
It’s going to be fun, exciting, risky, and hard work.
Here’s last week with me and Tellie hanging with my Hounds…
A slow Sunday here. The dogs are all in varied states of repose. They go from sound asleep to up and barking in an instant. When something, something unknown and inexplicable, penetrates their slumber.
Fourth month almost gone. Weather changing where I am. Noticeably shorter days, much cooler nights. Had to get the big, heavy feather-comforter out. It’s nice and heavy. Either makes you warm and happy or makes you sweat. Very little middle ground, but it is nice.
I feel things drying out. FINALLY! After more than a year of wet. Slowly the wet areas are coming good. I still get stuck when I mow and slash. Always some spot, in a drain or an area I have not gotten to yet, that hides a mud hole. It’ll look dry, it’ll appear to be ok, but when the wheels on the machine hit the wet-spot, when the wheels lose traction and start to spin, its best to simply shut down. It’s rare when I can drive out of a wet spot. I normally have to go get the buggy and chain the stuck machine out of the mud. a very common occurrence.
This past month has seen much accomplished here in my little valley.
I probably have 10 acres or more well under control, maybe 3+ hectares. As the ground dries I will extend what I am or have tamed. The problem with this is that once I have slashed the big, thick, heavy grassed areas, I need to stay ahead of the growth curve… It takes at least 2 big slashing before I can really start mowing. The grass here is hard to tame.
Slashing requires the big 50hp tractor and the big 72inch PTO slasher. A lot of machine that does a big job but is slow, messy. I have a small PTO ride on slasher that works well, once the first couple slashes are complete. Tho uncomfortable its is a great machine to bring the wild grasslands into the realm of domesticity. But the driver sits only a foot or so off the ground. It’s like a little go-cart with a PTO slasher. Very cool, Very useful.
But the MACHINE is the 40hp Zturn John Deere. It runs at a good speed, is quite comfortable, and can cover a lot of area. Once I get the JD on an area I can gain control of it very quickly.
With the season changing the grass is growing less, is easier to manage. As it dries I will get ahead of it all.
I sound like an old fart, talking about the ancient and fine art of cutting grass.
After living here on the farm for 24 months, full time, I have set up my workshop. Finally. Which is very, very good.
For the past many years my workshop has been in the suburbs, at the house/shed in Palmwoods. Over the past couple years I have shifted some, maybe most of my tools to the farm, but not everything. And I never got my shop set up properly. Set up the way I like it.
And I do like it.
Some Picts to end with:
This is what the place looks like once tamed…
This is before its been slashed a couple times, beaten into submission, tamed…
Last thing I did to make my workshop complete was get my old Bose radio plugged in…
Sunday morn here. It is becoming autumn. It is getting chillier. It’s 10am and Im sitting with one of granny’s hand tied afghans wrapped around me. The house is open. The sky is blue. Down to 14c/ 60f over night. Single digit temps soon to come.
This is a good time of the year to be here on the farm. The cooler weather allows the old, big house to be open and stay breezy. Last night I had to put a sweater on, with a stocking cap. Im sure that by the time November rolls around I’ll be waiting for summer to heat my bones up. Tho, of course, winters here aint nothings far as WINTERS go.
Im watching WrestleMania. All the signs of a misspent youth, I know. But I dig the physicality and the risk-taking entertainment. I grew up on this stuff and I guess Im kinda bent and twisted by it. Which makes me smile.
This is a spectacle…
Analysis: Wrestlemania 38 had about 57,000 paid attendees each night, generating an estimated $18 million total. Based on our analysis of WWE’s second-quarter reporting, the two-day Wrestlemania on April 2 and 3 generated between $17 million and $19 million in ticket revenue for the company
It is a spectacle!
So, as I watch the spectacle, which is very good, I contemplate, ruminate, travel the back roads of my memory…
Talking recently with my oldest, longest serving friend, Rick.
Rick and I met in 5th grade at St. Johns school in Independence, Iowa. Tho the primary school remains open, the high school consolidated with the public school decades ago.
In “my day” high school classes between both the catholic school and the public school were open for all students. I’d take some classes at the public school, French, Shop, Science. Of course the govt school had the resources for such. But the English and Math were much better when taught by frustrated old Nuns.
Rick and I were friends through it all.
He had a 1970 Plymouth GTX when he was 17… imagine giving such a weapon to a couple testosterone poisoned kids…
The GTX was positioned as a “gentleman’s muscle car”. Standard was Plymouth’s 440 cu in (7.2 L) V8 engine called the “Super Commando 440” rated at 375 hp (280 kW).
Funny thing about Horse Power… I have a 5litre V10 that puts out 600hp from a naturally aspirated engine. This old monster was 7litres and produced less HP than my 2.5litre inline turbo 5cyl.
Rick was/ is a genius. We got up to amazing things together. He was raised by his grandmother. After he was about 10, he lived in her basement. There he dismantled anything electrical and rebuilt/ invented/ reconstructed apparatus that started fires, tripped breakers, caused problems…. He was the smart one, I was the observer… We both got into trouble equally… as he took carbon rods out of old distributors, hooked them up to household current and created a carbon arch, then proceeded to cut everything made of metal in that basement. Until, of course, we fried our eyes (took a couple hours)… so we used plastic Folgers coffee can lids granny had saved, opaque plastic as protection against a carbon arch. Sure, makes sense, eh? One, two didn’t work, so we stacked the lids together and tied them on our faces… didn’t work. Took us a while to figure that one out.
He is a great musician. Pretty much capable of playing anything with strings. He was the first guyI knew working with computers
Always and all ways good to have Old Friends. Nice ruminations.
I have three bitches on heat. I brought my 2yr French Mastiff, Big Red, out to have a couple weeks of unabated sex. He has been here a week, is getting very skinny.
You can see the slobber streaks on the window. He is a slobber-puss.
So my two 2yr mastiffs and the 3yr maremma are all on heat. Makes life interesting to have so much furry frenzy happening at once. Luckily I have a good kennel set up, so I can manage them, a bit.
So I went out and fed them, let them out from their night long penning. I put the male by himself last night. As soon as I opened the kennels he was on the maremma. And the mastiffs were on him. Fur flying, snarling, penetration and fangs all at once.
Took me a bit to sort them out. Ive now got the male and maremma together. The mastiffs separate. Should do a for most of the day.
I am shocked. Shocked I say. I thought Minnesota had more common sense. They elected Jesse the Body as Governor.
Is the USAofA so fucked up that it dont see what is happening, what they are doing? Or is it just a continuum of the gutting of the traditional family? I dont get it.
Half a million abortions a year is not getting the job done. Let’s mutilate and damage our kids before they can think for themselves. Gut the traditional family more, and more…
Here in the Land of Oz, the latest iteration of elected geniuses decided that alcohol bands in certain areas were racist. Which may well be true. Also, they stopped making govt entitlement (welfare) payments in the form of grog-less debit cards. Which was racist too. So they pay in cash and the families are terrorised by the toxic males and certain communities have fallen into chaos and confusion. https://www.sbs.com.au/news/article/a-crime-wave-has-sparked-emergency-measures-in-alice-springs-heres-whats-going-on/3qcqvrkip
I am watching as the Loony-Liberals running San Francisco decide giving all in their constituency deserving, a half-mil payment and a free house and a life long income will heal all pains and evils of the past, and make the future rosy and perfect. No one knows where the money will come from, but the hugg-fests and rhetoric feels as good a a nice pee in your pants. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/san-francisco-black-reparations-plan-5-million-per-person/
Somewhere in my rambling readings I came across a conversation discussing human development. Noting there were many forms of bipedal beasts moving and grooving, in the prehistoric past. The Human-Beast was not the biggest, the strongest, the smartest, but they were very tribal/ family oriented. They worked together. Their young were raised by the tribe, food was shared, fire was shared, members lived within the circle of the tribe/ family all their lives. The older, weaker members, the grandparents, could tend the fire and the children and the younger and stronger members, moms and dads, could be productive. It is GrandParents that have made the human species great.
Grandparents rule….
By the way, Connie and her 2yr old are here. First time I have met this one…
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.
The Native Iowan 
thoughts and opinions