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.
Saturday here. Been raining. The place was starting to drying out, the 60mm/ 2.5inches has made things muddy again. But that is ok. I can’t get much done anyway so it might as well rain…
I turned my ankle the other day. Was coming down off the tractor, out in a paddock, stepped down from the machine and my foot hit a tyre rut. My ankle turned and I saw stars. A 5-7day recovery. Add a couple days for olfarts….so have been hobbling around. This will take way too long to mend. It’ll be sore and weak and at risk. I’ll need to be very careful.
The trick is to not re-injure.
So I sit quiet. Do the minimal of what I must do. Sit and read and catch up on the “world as we know it”…
And I find this:
I know its suppose to be funny. I find it rather sad because there is a lot of truth in it all.
Remember this…
And this…
Sure don’t look like the “Summer of Love” I remember.
I am wondering if the values and mores of society are changing so drastically, that some of the most basic things known, proven, factual are being reversed? Point in case…
Is female the same as male? Hubbard competed as a man, now competes as a female. Is he a female? Should he be allowed to compete against “biological” females? What does it mean to be male or female? What about The Female Athlete that he took a spot from. I bet she was disappointed. Whilst we applaud Hubbard we fail to think of the damage done to others. Its strange that we fail to admit….
Even the terms male and female, man and woman are not interchangeable. What it means to be male or female originates from physical characteristics derived from sex chromosomes and genes that lead to certain gonads, internal and external genitalia, and physiological hormones.
Modern group think does not approve of us saying a Man is not a Woman. And a Woman is not a Man.
In the 1990s I coached the Solomon Islands Olympic Team. I had a dream of participating in “The Olympics” in Sydney. We worked hard, dominated a couple weight classes in the Oceanic Olympic scene. But did not qualify for The Olympics. Very disappointing.
I feel for the young gal that has been training for years to get to The Olympics. Only to have her ticket taken by a guy. Oopps, A guy claiming to be a gal.
So, I am wondering if the values and mores of society are changing so drastically that some of the most basic things known, proven, factual are being reversed.
Gracie and I recently became Australian Citizens…
Its official
Now, it may sound corny, but I feel pretty damn good about gaining my Aussie ticket. Its a hot ticket to have. This is a good country. Noting well that I have, to-date, acquired three legit and operational passports: USA by birth. Solomon Islands by choice. Australia by very good fortune.
If you do not value your citizenship, your Nationality, then I believe there is something very wrong with you.
Another sad trend that is occurring: It has become fashionable to damn one’s homeland. I am confused by the words I hear that disparage and belittle the land of one’s birth.
Being patriotic is positive. Being Nationalistic does not make you evil, racist, dumb, stupid, pathetic or deplorable. Being both patriotic and nationalistic is positive. To be a proud American, or Solomon Islander, or Australian is good. Even great.
To teach your children to be patriotic is positive. To show pride in your homeland, your life, your family, your world… well DAMN! Did I say “DAMN!” loud enough… Its very very sad if you cannot be proud of your Homeland. Your life. Your family. Your self.
It has sadly become fashionable, in the USA (and elsewhere), to not be proud of your homeland. And to verbally proclaim such. Its been coming for quite some time. I think this slipped by most people but… in 2008 I was shocked when I heard Michelle Obama say she had never been Proud to be an American… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYY73RO_egw
I am and shall always and all ways remain proud of my USofA Nationality. I grew up in the USA. Was educated, trained, conditioned, taught within the USofA system to be proud, patriotic. My father and uncles were all vets. My brothers, my peers all served in uniform. We were proud of them. I said the Pledge of Allegiance daily in my school life. And we said prayers a couple times a day too. I was a Boy Scout and proud of it. I found my home in Solomon Islands when I was still quite young… landed on Guadalcanal the 11th of January, 1981. I was 23yrs, 4 months and 20days old. I built my life and matured in the Solos. And, all of us that have been infected by the Solos know, its as bad as heroin. The Solomons is a very easy place to fall in love with. And I am very proud of my Solomon Island Nationality. And now I boast Aussie citizenship. Man, what a stroke of luck! How can anyone not be Proud of their Aussie Nationality?
So, with my track record as a serial emigrant, I wonder what the folks that have so much to say on the matter know? What is their experience with emigration?
Twice I have emigrated. Each time I followed the rules, legally and transparently and honourably, obtained the rights and privileges of a citizen. Each time there was a not-so-insignificant cost associated.
When I see the burning of flags in Tehran I am not surprised. When I see the burning of flags in New York I am confused.
Did I say I am quite confused by it all…
The speeches we hear, in the USA and in other countries, touch less on tangible daily items of importance, and more on ethereal “ifs” and “maybes”… If the temps rise 2c we all die. If the seas rise 2mm we all drown. If the sky falls Chicken Little shall be crushed.
And… If we spend trillions and trillions, subsidise elite ideals and peruse confused pathways we shall survive. If we don’t change our ways NOW we shall all die. If we don’t admit we are sinners we shall curse the future of all.
If “HE” get reelected all hope is lost.
As near as I can tell, facts are no longer facts…
and I really dig the ol Skool, dark n sinister themes underlying here…
Sunday 21st of the 8th month. Time sure do fly when you are having fun.
BloodSports always make a Sunday good. Means I dont have to do much. Have a great excuse to sit and be entertained. I really like Blood Sport Sundays
As I age I view the world differently. Which is only natural. From the youthful idealist to the pragmatic ol fart, in 50 years. Age is a factor.
I have recently been talking to a friend from the past, a guy I met in 5th grade. Maybe 10yrs of age, children thrust together in a classroom in a small school, in a small town, in a small world. We were both outcasts of a sort. We were both readers in a place where books were not cool. Neither of us fought to be jocks. As our peers competed for being “starters” on the scholastic teams… track and field, baseball, football, basketball, wrestling… we read, shared books, took karate, he was a musician and I a poet, we wrote songs together. And branded ourselves as outcasts. We did not fit in.
Not in that small-town, short visioned parochial world we shared.
We both left that world while still young. While our peers married their sweet hearts and got jobs at John Deere. As they all became their parents, we both moved on, moved away.
We reconnected a few years back on social media. One of those messages… “are you Mike from Independence?”… and we reconnect. Which is very good.
A sense of personal history is important. I contend that 99% of all folks are trying to be either MORE or LESS than they really are.
Knowing your past, recognising your history, being honest with one’s self lends hugely to knowing yourself.
Honesty is very important. Essential.
As I age I see more and more how people live in self made and managed fallacies. Its is often too painful, too difficult, too dangerous to be too honest with one’s self.
Our modern media filled world is full of such dishonesty.
I have discussed the need I feel to remember. To honestly remember the past, my past.
Again, honestly is very important/ essential.
We know there are society lies that we all (almost all) support. Small lies like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. Large lies like the”carbon scare”, “climate change”, the anthropomorphic nature of global warming, and the idea that we can buy our way out from disaster that is filled with “Ifs” and “Maybes”.
My favourite lie of this past week or so is the “Mar A Lago Scandal”.
It is what it is… the blatant weaponisation of the Federal System to persecute an Enemy.
Remember? Orange Man Bad? Orange Man Bad. Orange Man Bad.
I see a funny/ interesting/ disturbing trend… From the 60s, The AntiWar movement, The Peace Movement, The Summer of Love, MLK and the march on DC, “kill them with love”, Bobby Kennedy and his inspiring message of “a better world”, “…all we need is love…”, “The Age of Aquarius”… young Democrats standing up for free speech and equal rights…
Now the same 60s era protesters (of which I am one) vote for Bernie Saunders and his Communist agenda. Refuse to shake the foundations of their status quo lifestyles. Invest in more of the same. Wars, famine, pestilence, disease, infant mortality: All man made, part of the design.
My 60s era peers have now become Elites.
Those of my peer group who have remained thinkers, readers, researchers, seekers know that the entire scenario has been predicted, planned and prepared. I can no longer see any difference between the main-stay political parties… the war mongering, deepstate, men in black republicans are now, and always were chameleons. They come in both flavours, both colours.
I have been ruminating on the concept of “de-civilisation”. The backwards movements of modern society, the degeneration of norms, standards, mores.
I have been doing my usual reading-up on the topic. Researching and trolling the www for discussion on this topic. Of course no one has yet started calling the “homelessness” plague “De-Civilisation”. Not yet.
As I look at the photos in these articles I am struck by the similarities I see/ have seen in “developing countries”…
I have spent the majority of my life living as, I call it, a LDC Junkie… LDC = least developed country. I lived through the 80s as a barefoot, ragged-arsed, off the grid, “aid-worker”. I lived so far off the beaten track that very, very few folks ever got as remote as “Susuka”.
In the big scheme of things… Susuka is a long way off the beaten track
Susuka is my wife, Gracie’s, home village. Her people have been living, surviving, existing on the north coast of Choiseul, for a long, long time. On the island of Choiseul there are no roads. None, anywhere. Other than logging operations where the tropical rain forests are raped, pillaged, and plundered, there is no vehicular transport of any kind. Not even bicycles.
There are very few areas, villages, towns that have running water. Folks live off their rain catchment. And use ground water where and when possible.
There is no “power grid”. Of course there are some private generators providing power for modern necessities like video and cell phone charging, but most devices are battery powered. Most folks have a small radio to “stay in touch” with the world. A small solar panel charging a standard car battery is not uncommon.
There is no rubbish collection, no council by-laws, no speed limits, no stop lights or speed traps or any other symbols or symptoms of modern civilised society. But I dont think there are many folks on Choiseul who would be “homeless”.
If the Solomon Islands is a LDC, then Susuka is a least developed area in a least developed country. With zero homelessness
A few years ago, 2018 I was in LA. Passing through, visiting the US and preparing to ride my motorcycle a bit. For a number of years I had a small apartment in Pasadena. I kept a nice Triumph motorcycle in the underground garage…
On the road USA
I know a guy in LA that does airport pickups/ drop offs. We met by chance and for years I always would call Lamont up, have him meet me at the airport, take me to Pasadena, talk about the city and the state of the Nation. Always a useful intro to the US, a long chat with BigL, as we drove through LA traffic. One of the things BigL talked about then, in 2018, my last trip to the US, was the increase in homeless folks on the streets.
I saw it in Pasadena, a supposedly “up market” area… more people setting up shop on Colorado Blvd. Sorta like the days before the Rose Bowl parade, but in June… small areas of the wide sidewalks along Colorado Blvd marked off, claimed, secured by physical barriers: a bit of card-board laid on the ground, a blanket or a rug, a packing crate turned on its side, an umbrella propped sideways to give shade…
Pasadena was a nice neighbourhood, rather affluent, up-market in many ways… I walked around a lot when I was there, as I prepared for a road trip on my bike, or as I shut down things after a couple weeks of riding, Id walk the city blocks north and south of Colorado Blvd… The closer I got to the freeway(s) the more homeless Id see… I surmised that the homeless used the large undercover places – stairwells, underpasses, train and bus stations as shelter. These folks would come out during daylight hours and practise the ancient art of Pan-handling.
“Panhandling” is the practice of imploring others to grant a favor, often a gift of money, with little or no expectation of reciprocation. A person doing such is called a beggar or panhandler. Beggars may operate in public places such as transport routes, urban parks, and markets. Besides money, they may also ask for food, drinks, cigarettes or other small items.”
If I hung around Pasadena enough I would get to know some of the Panhandlers… one I recall had a dog, Id stop and say g’day, pet the dog. The owner was a young woman. Her sign said she was trying to return “home”, to the Midwest. Id ask how things were going, make a small donation, never much, never enough to cause trouble…
My elder brother has a past of being homeless, living rough, panhandling, living on the fringe. A combination of substance abuse and situations led him to being “on the streets” for a number of years. As with a lot of folks trapped n the world of substance abuse, he’d come good, get cleaned up, accept help, get off the streets, only to return at a later date. He has told me that “giving too much”, offering too much help, money, time could be harmful for all involved. So I developed a habit of saying hello, exchanging pleasantries, offering a handful of change. A couple dollars…
In the Solomons I had developed the habit to always have some “small change” in a seperate pocket, away from my main cash reserve. If someone asked for a handout, for “help” I could pull out of one pocket just enough to remain polite but not get caught up. A few dollars at most, but enough to help. Not enough to hurt.
I think there is a huge difference between helping and enabling. I know that people who are living on the streets, who are living homeless are not there by great and glorious planning and design. They are where they are through mishap, misunderstanding, and mistake.
A large percentage of those living in a homeless manner are where they are by mistake. Bad luck, even… but there is always, I believe, a modicum of choice is involved.
Unlike those in developing countries where life carries on in a sad, minimal level due to the environment and circumstances of their world, The Developed World decay comes from a lack of making good choices. In the lap of excess and comfort. Running water, power,education, employment opportunities abound in the modern world, just inside the doors where the homeless now reside…
So why the de-civilisation? Why the retro-grade movement?
I see more and more similarities between the streets of the US, the streets of LA, and the streets of Manila.
I am confounded when coming to try to explain this phenomenon.
I’ll read and think about it more. Write more… later
Just having a conversation with my neighbour about the deer. There are a lot of folks out there that would love to come and shoot one. I am told they are very good eating. Some hunters think that the killing of feral deer is a good thing. The deer do carry ticks and parasites, in season, and they can cause problems if you’re getting deer (and kangaroos) in your paddocks with your cattle.
But I do not have cattle any more. I am not concerned about the tick season/ situation. And I find the deer to be a pleasing visual.
But I am not open to letting folks come shoot here.
Biggest issue is that hunters want to come, kill, bleed and gut the animal, and go away. Take the best parts. Leaving the offal.
This of course attracts other unwanted feral critters. Namely wild dogs.
Though I do not have a problem with wild dogs… I have two big Maremma Guard dogs that keep all intruders away… But wild dogs are a problem in this area. I do not want to attract them.
One guy I know, Mitch, is a keen hunter. Goes out west and shoots a fair bit. Mainly killing feral pigs and kangaroos that are considered vermin/ pests. They shoot and simply leave the carcass. Not shooting for meat. Just shooting to shoot, and kill.
Now my buddy Mitch has a property to the west of here. He has deer as well. And does not shoot them. For the same reason I dont shoot or allow shooting. But I know he, and others, would love to come shoot the deer here. Funny how that works.
This past week has been rather interesting, in a news/ politics sorta way…
In George Orwell’s “Homage to Catalonia”, https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9646.Homage_to_Catalonia , he wrote of life in the trenches of the Spanish Civil War. One story tells of the famous American, Ernest Hemingway, showing up and, as a reporter, touring the front lines. He recounts how Hemingway got to fire a couple rounds from an artillery piece. Firing across the “Front” into the Fascist Spanish lines. And how, after Hemingway left, returned to his hotel and typewriter in Barcelona, the fascists hammered the hell out of the “rebels” in retaliation.
So we have Speaker, Pelosi, doing a trip to Taiwan. She did such against the advice of the Foreign Office, and under strict warning from the Chinese.
So she goes and scores some huge personal political points. Has huge exposure. Heaps of press… and then she flies home, a self proclaimed hero.
Today the Chinese have emabargo’d Taiwan. Shut it off from the world. Are staging “war games” within the 200KM economic zone.
Taiwan will take a bit of a whooping for The Pelosi trip.
I know Taiwan pretty well. Have done numerous trips, done a lot of business, made lots of good friends in Taiwan. I know the Taiwanese to be tough, tough folks. I know they will resist the Chinese aim of formal acquisition of Taiwan. I know China is making a huge effort to fulfil their goal of unification.
Why did Pelosi go to Taiwan? To show solidarity with Taiwan, to support their democratic aims, to make a statement? To gain press?
If she wanted to “do something” positive, perhaps she should have vocally said more that was positive. As it is she simply said she supports “the status quo”. Which I fear is not terribly meaningful.
The status quo is not very positive.
Why not pursue a “Two China” agenda? Like the Two Korea situation.
I think of a couple old friends of mine that are going through health issues… TWD, battling cancer, letting the medicos cut and operate and remove, so he can survive. DokCF, undergoing chemo for a lymphoma. DokRW, living with Alzheimers, still so young, but bereft of memories. I send positive and healing vibes their way.
An overcast, chilled, blanket wrapped morning here in my little valley. The deer are in the paddocks, the dogs are curled up in warm, furry balls. Temps today are 8c/45f – 20c/ 65f. Not much sun out.
A very good UFC card on in a bit. Blood Sports Sundays are my favourite. Ask me why I like the violence and aggression… and I won’t be able to answer. Ive been involved in martial arts all my life. I firmly feel violence and aggression is something one must learn, understand, and consider a factor of life. I have taught my children and grandchildren about violence. That the world is not a safe, soft, comfortable place. That you must walk through life prepared for violence.
Not to say being a bully, or a thug or a gangster is good or correct, but that life is predatory, and I shall not be nor shall I raise my offspring to be prey of any kind.
UFC offers a positive catharsis of martial arts, all styles, all disciplines, all practices in one place.
There is an old, old – age old – argument of “who is better”… the boxer, the kickboxer, the rassler, the grappler, the submission artist, the high flying acrobat…. And the answer is very simple… a combination of all is what it takes to beat all…
I grew up in Iowa. The land of Wrestling. Iowa is recognised as a land of elite wrestling.
The Gracie family took jujitsu and gave it a Brazilian twist. The Thai-fighting styles have been rehashed and refined and defined by many real and not so real fighters… I think of JCVanDam, and my ol buddy Steve Segal. Both trained martial artists, but neither ever “real fighters”.
As UFC has grown, developed, matured we have seen the advent of, the growth of high-tone, intensive training centres. I Think of Jackson-WinkleJohn in Albuquerque. Or City KickBoxing in Auckland. I see the scene changing, developing. The fighters are getting very much better. They have to. Competition is fierce.
There are many specialist training venues where the elite trainers and coaches make a decent living out of professionally training professional cage-fighters. People will always pay for blood-sports.
I think back to wrestling and what I call “The Grind”.
Through the 1990s I coached the Solomon Islands Olympic Wrestling team. I took very athletic island kids (guys and gals) and taught them the basics of Olympic wrestling. Both Greco and Freestyle. My favourite training session was “the pain game”.
Wrestlers learn at a young age to grind, to push, to keep going. You can see it in a fighter who has a wrestling background. They are wrestlers (rasslers) first and fighters second.
We won medals. Brought a lot of recognition to the team, the Solomons.
In the Pacific Olympic venue we were know to have an “Iowa” advantage.
So, as I wait for the fights to start, I shall ruminate, write from a stream of unconsciousness point of view…
I think the world is hobbled, injured, walking into the future like there is a stone underfoot.
The modern “Go-Green” foolishness has everyone paying more, moving less, concerned about the future. As quite adequate energy systems are being shut down to appease the elites of the planet, school aged children are taught about transgender rights, the soon to come end-days, and being prepped for a rather grim future. Where the designs of the few dictate the future of the masses.
We are in a world where we applaud the invention of gas/ methane collectors for cows, tell everyone to buy electric cars, as the elites of the world take their friends for joy-rides into outer space.
I live, proudly, in Australia. Its a great place. I worked hard and towed the line for more than a decade before I was granted citizenship. As a serial emigrant I thoroughly understand the need/ desire to relocate, to emigrate, by choice and forethought. I thoroughly understand and respect the rights of each nation to control who comes and when they come. Nationality is a valuable thing. More valuable in some places than others.
I fear that citizenship in the USA is being devalued.
I left the USA in early 1980s, January 11, 1981, to be exact.
I had by that time decided I needed to look a far from the USA, see what was out there… its is a big world. Many things about the USA have rubbed me wrong, since my youth, and I was destined to emigrate.
For me, the idea of emigration was not new. All sides of my lineage were emigrants. The German side, the Irish-English side, the Greek side… we know their stories. They taught us about the plights and perils and joys and successes of emigration.
I found the Solomons Island. I got real, real lucky. For 30 years I lived, enjoyed, and prospered in what I still think is the most beautiful and liveable place on earth.
But as I aged I found I needed to rethink my life, to consider finding a place that could cater to my needs as I aged. That could offer me the medical care and attention all old, ageing, decrepit dudes need.
So I came to Australia. It’s close to the Solomons, has about the best healthcare on the planet, and the climate is good.
One can understand why Australia is so tough on its immigration. I understand.
So, as I sit wrapped in a granny blanket, finishing off my coffee, waiting for the blood to flow…
I look toward the USA… where the Orange Man was bad. Where, by hook or by crook, he had to be deposed. anyone would be better than bad Orange Man…
So we let the kiddies loose in the candy shop. Old Uncle Joe cant keep up, has no intention of even being on the job. Like an elderly Pope, he is wheeled around and made a fool of by all. His acolytes are doing a quick-grab, stuffing their (and their cronies’) pockets full from the public coffers. The longer they are in power the worse the lunacy.
I love the idea that we can redefine failure into success… Recession becomes a good thing. Printing of billions in new currency is not feeding inflation, its stimulation for the economy. Millions of illegal immigrants are positive, they shall alleviate the employment crunch. Its all a silver lining sorta thing, as is the turd covered streets of SanFran and other “sanctuary” cities.
Defunding the police is a great idea, and not incarcerating law-breakers is a way to keep the justice system under control. Keeping the prison population in check. And if you claim to identify as a woman, they move you from a male facility, where you’re being raped daily, to a female facility, where its your turn to do the raping.
Sure, all makes sense to me.
I fear a nefarious plan, a very negative future being designed by those who think they “know best”.
And the beat goes on.
The fights shall start soon.
Some picts from the past weeks, to end on a positive note…
NiaIn the distance, an upside down buggy. Good job Mendoza.The XMan with his mommyMiss A, looking cute in pinkNewly minted citizensDon visitingTtown rugbyGracie with her boyfriend in TtownCooking for the teenage boys… turned out really good
thoughts and opinions