Sunday here on my side of the planet. Had another few days of rain, accumulating in excess of 150mm/6inches of precipitation. My little farm is a mud puddle. The dogs are wet, muddy, with poor Nia wondering and stressing why she cant come inside. This darn Global-Warming has to find another venue to influence. I cant get much work done when the ground is a mud puddle.

Just wondering how much rain we’ve had in this year-to-date… just found this:

Sunshine Coast Airport Rainfall Reports

date	rain to 9am	interval
mm	hours
Fri 01/07/2022	7.2	24
Sat 02/07/2022	28.6	24
Sun 03/07/2022	4.2	24
Mon 04/07/2022	3.0	24
Tue 05/07/2022	12.6	24
Wed 06/07/2022	5.4	24
Thu 07/07/2022	0.2	24
Fri 08/07/2022	0.0	24
Sat 09/07/2022	–	–
Sun 10/07/2022	0.0	24
Mon 11/07/2022	0.2	24
Tue 12/07/2022	0.0	24
Wed 13/07/2022	16.0	24
Thu 14/07/2022	0.0	24
Fri 15/07/2022	0.0	24
Sat 16/07/2022	0.0	24
Sun 17/07/2022	0.0	24
Mon 18/07/2022	0.0	24
Tue 19/07/2022	0.0	24
Wed 20/07/2022	16.0	24
Thu 21/07/2022	7.2	24
Fri 22/07/2022	44.6	24
Sat 23/07/2022	18.2	24
July 2022 Total	163.4	13 day(s)
July 1994-2022 Average Total	67.0	13.4 day(s)
July 1994-2022 Wettest Total	252.6	2008
July 1994-2022 Wettest 24hr Total	73.4	24th 2008
July 1994-2022 Driest Total	2.2	2002
Jan-Jul 2022 Total	1901.8	123 day(s)
Jan-Jul 1994-2022 Average Total	1055.6	109.9 day(s)

Note that all measurements are metric so the 1901.8mm noted = 6foot3inches. I know that during one week of rain in Feb/March, I dumped over 1500mm out of my rain gauge. And feel quite certain Ive dumped at least another meter out since. I dont record my rainfall but I take note mentally as I empty the gauge, and think Ive seen closer to 3meters of rain than the 1.9noted herein.

In any event we have had and shall continue to have too much rain.

But the sun is shining and the air is warm today. I have chores to do but I’ll be lazy. Its been a rather busy past week. Don was here from the Solomons. His first trip in over 2years. Mendoza got out of school to come hang with his dad. It was good. But the house (both houses) are empty and both need cleaning. The cars need to be washed. Garbage bins go out today. Lots to do.

So I sit here, wrapped in a granny blanket and communicate with my family back in Iowa as they prepare to “farewell” my Mother.

Mom passed away 12th July my time. Aged 95, her passing was no shock. She had been fading/ failing for quite some time. She passed away in the house she considered her home, surrounded by family. Her end-life care is an example to all us ageing rebels. Teach your Children Well…

A Service will be held tomorrow, Iowa time. The family shall be gathering. Food is being prepared. I have a big family. Lots of food is required.

For a number of reasons I shall not hustle back to Iowa right now. These past months/ years of covid-confusion and restrictive social interaction has meant I last saw my Mother in mid2018. Life and externals has prohibited me and mine “getting back” to see mom as she failed. And such is life. Ive been “leaving” for most of my life. I originally “left” in January 1981. For the past 40years I have made a point of ensuring my goodbyes were said each and every time I left, again. Do not let your goodbyes go unsaid. You never know when you will or won’t get to say it all, so always and all ways say your goodbyes thoroughly and consciously.

I’ll end with a story about my Mom…

DISCLAIMER: All my stories are purely fictional. And, as usual, the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Being raised in a family of women leaves one with a strange sense of proprieties. Being raised in an old fashioned family filled with women leaves one with a profoundly warped sense of proprieties. I was raised in such a family. In a very old-fashioned and Matriarchal family.

There was my proper and prim Grandmother. In her eighties she was the very essence of a mature matron. Erect if not stiff. Tender but very firm. She never swore. Had a small glass of schnapps on “special occasions”. Took a nap every afternoon. And wore a large hat and clean white gloves when she worked in the garden. She always smelled of roses.

There was my forceful and loving Mother. In charge of everything. She ran her world as a Master Sergeant would run an army. She knew what was happening before it transpired. She was able to see through walls and hear across large distances. She was omnipresent and clairvoyant. She was a force to reckon with.

There was the gaggle of sisters I called “mine”. I was never sure how many there were. I know there must have been better than half a dozen. Yet they changed so quickly I could never tell. They also tended to bring home friends whom they looked alike thus one could very seldom tell one visiting female from one in residence.

Within this mess of female functions existed my Father, my elder brother, my younger brother and me. We “men folk” tended to live within this flurry of the female lives that we were little more than satellites to.

I am not sure if I learned about women from my Father or the females around me. There were many, many rules pertaining to a life ordered and operated by women. Perhaps I followed my father’s and the elder brother’s lead in some things but I think that I learned most of the rules from the women themselves.

Women were to be respected. Failure to show respect could result in Mother rapping you on the head with a four-pound wooden spoon, direct and still hot from the pot of simmering stew on the stovetop. Grandmother was adept with the backhanded dishrag. Take a step away from the accepted and Grandmother would snap you about the face with a greasy and hard worked dishrag fresh from the sink. My various sisters, being younger and less trained in the ancient female arts of inflicting pain, would simply punch, bite, scratch, kick or other wise render you delirious with pain and humiliation.

Women were to be treated with honest attention and decorum. Failure to pay proper attention to a female was in direct violation to most civilized rules. One was expected to be as telepathic as they were. Failure to anticipate the need to hold a door open was a misdemeanor. Yet failure to anticipate the need to open a door – when her arms were full of something- was a hanging offense.

Women were made, came off the assembly line, equipped with the tools to investigate, try and judge any crime. They can worm answers out of you with little more than a raised eyebrow. A stern glare is enough to make a “big boy” wet himself. A smile and a bit of kindness can make even the worldliest man fall over him self to please. Women may well be the perfect creatures. They know all, see all, and understand all. They can work better than most men. The females I was raised with were always stronger than I. They could clean, bake, sew, hammer, build, paint, tend, plant, dismantle and think (so I was raised to believe) better than men.

The one thing they could not do was fart.

I was raised with the belief that women did not need to fart. I always thought they were above it. That men, being the crude and semi-domesticated creatures we are, abased themselves by “passing gas’ whilst in a communal setting. I was raised allowed to laugh and make light of the male ability to “pass gas”. My Grandfather would hold his finger out to small children and tell them to “pull it”. The result would be a startled child and a Grandfather roaring with laughter.

In the warped upbringing of the matriarchal household I felt as though it was a fair trade. I could fart and they could rule. I learned from my father that I could cock my cheek and let a “good one” rip. Grandmother would simply state that “You’re too much like your granddad”. My mother would ignore it completely. My sisters would move without comment.

I spent little time pondering this difference between the genders. There were so many differences that something as simple as – guys fart, gals don’t – made a perverse kind of sense. This sense was enforced by my strict private school education where then nuns and the “young ladies” in the school enforced rather than dispelled this belief. I actually believed that either women could not or did not need to “pass gas”.

I was sixteen. I had hitched a ride to a near by city to see a popular rock band in concert. A gal I vaguely knew from “around town’ picked me up. She was several years older and, at that time, living a “Hippy” life style. As we were tooling down highway 20 in her beat up corvair she looked soulfully at me and said “Mike, I need to ask you something very serious”.

My heart went into my mouth. My imaginations ran wild. She, this older gal, a hippy gal, was going to ask me “something serious”. Sweat broke out on my palms. I was tongue-tied. I simply nodded for her to go ahead.

“Mike”, she said, “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression but… I really need to let a fart”. And with that short introduction she cocked her cheek to the left and let rip with a prize-winning rumbler.

At the same time, as she filled the small car with noxious fumes, my life forever changed.

I was dumb struck. I am certain that my mouth hung open like an idiot’s. I am certain that I stared at her in disbelief. I saw her blush under my stare. I assume I made her feel uncomfortable. All I could do was stare. I was experiencing an epiphany.

Epiphany is the right word to use. It is defined as: a sudden intuitive leap of understanding, especially through an ordinary but striking occurrence.

Ordinary and striking are so very right.

Females had been lying. All this time. In many, many ways. I saw it clearly. My epiphany, my revelation allowed me to see it all. The hallucinogenic tab the hippy gal had given me before she farted was not required for me to see through the smoke and mirrors of this small mystery of life. No, it had not taken effect yet. I was still sober. And I would remain sober through the course of the night. The tab had been a waste. As the bands came and went on the stage. As the decibels pounded my eardrums. I kept running the scene through my mind. My epiphany had irrevocably damaged me and made me unconditionally stronger at the same time. My world had changed.

I remember thinking about the childhood story of the Emperor’s New Clothes. How everyone went along with the farce simply because everyone went along with the farce. I saw this scenario in so much of my life. It applied to everything. In the religious dogma I was spoon fed each day. In the pseudo relationships I saw others foster and yearn for. In the horseshit propaganda trickled down through the media.

I think my youthful rebellion in life began at this time. I knew now that women were not infallible and that I did not have to spend my days worrying about their superiority. The agreed farce of life became clear to me. If women need not be feared then all else was 100% unadulterated boloney.

I started my rebellion by no longer listening to the nuns in school. I went out of my way to challenge them. I began to stand up for myself and to argue with these women who ruled our academic lives. And every turn I took, every challenge I instigated, they would back down.

I do believe that I got lost in this heady world of rebellion. I know I was perverted by this revelation. It was like learning the secrets of the ancients. Like learning something mortal man was not fit to know. It was information far too serious and dangerous for a 16-year-old, testosterone poisoned punk like me.

I became a jerk. I lost my respect for women. My elder sisters would attempt to dominate me and I would pop them in the chops. All this “thou shall not hit a woman” crap was expunged from my psyche. I would argue the nuns into tears of frustration. I am certain my grandmother spent time praying especially for my salvation. My poor mother never realized what hit her.

And the years rocked by. The youthful rebellion was replaced by the need to feed a family. My wife dispelled any doubt in my mind that women did not require the release of abdominal gases. My grandmother passed away. My mother got old and my many sisters learned to never screw with me. I would still pop them in the chops.

It was a quiet winter’s eve. We were sitting at my parents’ house in rural America. My father had a nice fire going. Mother had just cooked an expansive meal. My wife was finishing the dishes. My teen-aged children were fighting over which video they would watch. We decided to play a couple hands of cards before we called it a night. The table was shifted. Chairs were carried in. The cards were brought out and shuffled. I made a pot of fresh coffee.

The general confusion that occurs at the beginning of a game of “friendly” cards was taking place. The general arguing over who kept score, (if my daughter keeps score she always wins) the vying for positions at the table (don’t sit next to my wife, she’ll look at your hand) and the establishing of the basic ground rules for the game (grandfather could not fall asleep in the middle of a hand).

I was waiting for the coffee to percolate. I had chosen a seat between the living room and the kitchen. My father was on my left. My mother was on my right. My daughter had the pad and pencil and was preparing to keep score. My wife was positioning her chair so she could see the hands to the left and the right of her. My father was taking a quick nap.

We were playing a two-decked game. Two decks were combined to allow everyone to play at the same time. It was a quick paced game like gin rummy but with more cards and more people. The deck was being split up and handed around for shuffling. My mother fumbled with her share of cards to be shuffled. A card fell on the floor. She leaned out of her chair to pick it up.

As a youth with little to do we would discuss the best farts and the best farting situations. The old oak pews in church were pretty good. The plywood seated folding chairs at the VFW were ok. But the consensus was that hard seated, straight-backed wooden chairs were the best. These old style chairs with the carved out places for your cheeks gave you a chance to “play” the chair. You could let a winner rip with out too much effort. The hard wood had a nice tonal quality. For the farting aficionado these chairs were the epitome.

I was about to stand up and get a cup of coffee. I had half turned in my seat. My father was chin on his chest napping in his chair. My daughter was laboriously writing our names on the score pad. My youngest son was arguing with his brother over who would sit next to my wife. My wife was getting the cards ready to deal. My mother was in the act of retrieving the card she had dropped.

She would have won a prize at any fart fest. If there were medals awarded for farting this would have won the platinum with diamond trim. It was possibly a world record. It started as she was in decent, hand stretched out for the card. Mother’s age and her arthritis could not allow her to cut it short by quickly sitting straight. She was committed to touching the floor, retrieving the card and pushing off the floor with her hand to gain her upright position.

It started and it lasted. For the entire duration it took her to bend over in her chair, touch the floor with her hand, grasp the card then push herself upright. I estimate it had a complete duration of something near twenty seconds.

The divergent tonal qualities achieved through the variation of the “angle of attack” through the changing of the position of the stationary cheek would have left a master in awe. It was a virtuoso use of the old fashioned hard-seated chair. I have never seen a better performance.

My father’s eyes popped open. He held his face in a noncommittal and non-commenting demeanor. My wife blushed. My daughter held her hand to the perfect “O” her mouth had become. My sons were looking around the table for a clue as to what their reaction could safely be. I fell out of my chair.

I rolled into the kitchen. I choked with laughter. I held my ribs. I was in pain. I was in awe. I could not breath for the convulsing air erupting through me. The memory of that epiphany came shattering into the light of day. It took me ages to compose myself enough to get up off the floor. I returned to the card table with my coffee.

My father had not changed his countenance. My daughter was politely smiling at a distant spot in the air. My wife was patting my mother’s hand telling her to ignore me. My son’s were following my lead and making a bit too big of a deal about it. My mother was glaring at my father. Was giving him the hard look. I had gathered myself up off the floor in time to see her point a finger at him and say. “Not a word from you. Not a damn word.”

I was distracted in my card playing. I kept falling into fits of laughter. My father had managed to not crack a smile over it all. I was impressed by his self-control. By his sense of self-preservation. I ended up losing the game. It made my mother feel better. She had been embarrassed. She deserved to win. I was caught up in the revelation type memory of that trip with the hippy girl all those years ago. I saw a story coming together.

A story about the night we had played cards and mother farted.

Sitting in Toowoomba…

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toowoomba

Mendoza goes to school here. As did his dad, Don. Toowoomba has been a big n part of our lives for about 20years.

This is M’s last year. Tomorrow he is playing Rugby. We’re here to watch.

Don is here. His first trip off-island, from the Solomons, for 2years.

Toowoomba is always cold. Breezy. Or too hot. Its cold n breezy now.

And all is good.

Smiles

Time sleeps for no one.

The wheels constantly turn. Churn. Burn.

No flame is eternal.

Some lights burn bright and fast. Others burn long and slow.

After 1142 months of life, of existence, of burning bright and warm, my Mother has passed-on.

After 95.16 years and thousands upon thousands of miles, Mom’s trip is done. Her destination achieved.

Of course, as with all deaths, all passings, we the living mourn. Of course, the mourning is more a selfishness, a self centeredness…. we mourn our “loss”, rather than celebrate the moving on, the arrival, the departure.

Of course, the passing-on of a loved one is a powerful reminder of our own mortality.

I am by nature a nostalgic sorta guy. I also possess an evil memory. I claim that I remember everything. I know that I can scan my memory banks and find just about any memory. I have written about this, and how I exercise my memory. Keep it fit and healthy, just like you would exercise a muscle.

I remember being very small. A baby. I can find the point in time where I gained language. I claim I remember the womb.

Of course, of course, my Mother looms large in my memories.

And nothing will change this.

Ever.

My life experiences have given me a number of “hands-on” death opportunities. Its something the Solomons has given me, a rare gift of learning how to touch, handle, respect, and appreciate Death.

In a number of my experiences Death arrived after a long, arduous, pain filled illness. Sitting with, living near Death, knowing Death is “coming” can be quite stressful.

I have found that Death’s arrival can be a release, a reprieve, a relief for all involved.

My Father-in-law, Boaz, Mother-in-law , Flory, Bro-in-law, Jimmy, niece, Barbra, indigent old man and friend, Ron, grumpy old fart, Paul…

Each of them died after long, long, painful, stressful illnesses.

Of course, of course, the “accidental deaths”, the surprises, the unexpected passings are more traumatic. We didnt have time to prepare. To accept. It came as a surprise. Caught us off guard.

A Mom Story…

I was maybe 16, it was the middle of winter. Bro Monk was home on leave from the Navy. He and I had gone out to the bars in Independence. I was a big kid, and easily passed for legal-age. We shot pool at The Spot. Hung out at Joe’s. Ended up as the night was failing at The Shamrock.

I vividly recall leaving The Shamrock at 2am as the bar closed. I recall walking outside into a winter’s gale. Cold cold wind blowing hard. As we walked across the bridge it was bitter. We were facing the howling wind. Tho only 5 blocks from the bar to the house, it was a cold, long walk.

I dumped Monk on the couch, went up to my bed. We’d both been drinking but I was still a kid and didnt drink all that much. Not as much as Monk.

Early in the morn my bedroom door bursts open, Mom is damn mad. pissed. Angry… “Monk pee’d on my new couch”.

Well hell. The world had ended. Mom’s new couch now smelled of drunken piss. She was not impressed.

She made us both get up and do what we could to remedy the situation. Wash the cushions covers, air the cushions, spray cleaner and freshener, do what we could.

But the stain, the discolouration on the covers never faded. Mom would often growl at me about the event. Remind me of my mistake… I should have made Monk take a leak before I put him to sleep. I should have put a diaper on him. I shoulda…

And the world goes on.

Without Mom.

Smiles through tears…

More later

The morning after.

Maybe 15 kids, 20 adults, 9-10 bikes, a couple quick buggies, and heaps of fun.

Everyone camped. It got down to maybe 7c/40f over night. Both nights. The huge fire was not a luxury. It was a necessity.

As was the winch on the big buggy. 

Happy to report no broken bones. No emergency medical services required. 

We shall try harder next time.

Of course, Saturday was rather drunken out. The drunken weather intensified as the sun set. 

The youngest contestant was 6months old, next cam Xman weighing in at about a year and a half. I of course count as the old fart in residence, so spent more time kinda managing things rather than competing. Managing and imbibing. The big, fast buggy got rolled a couple times. My buddy, Andy, dropped his big BMW adventure bike into a steep gully. He was up not the mountain. That’s when the winch was required. 

Happy to report that after a few re-bending of disfigured pieces, Andy’s bike was – is fine.

We broke the door and the roof on the big buggy. Neither of which were required for operations so we just took them off completely. Who needs a door or a roof.

One little guy, on his own bike, went into a barbed wire fence and has what looks like a heart surgery scar on his chest. Luckily his mom didn’t come. So he didn’t cry too much. His dad had brought his own bike and was way cool. Knowing the ways of gravity and speed and 2wheels.

So the “Isle of Mike TT” was a raging success. 

Smiles

The sun is shining, the wind is brisk, its 7c out, and I’m wrapped in a blanket drinking coffee. This old farm house is hollow and cold. The windows and doors rattle when the wind howls. I tell the grandkids “its the ghosts”, when the wind howls n screams through the loose window panes.

Its a grand old house. A great big, high ceiling-ed, wood floored, double story affair. impossible to heat or cool. And this being Queensland, there is no insulation, no double panes, no attempt to build the house to be “weather proof”. Nope. This house reflects, if not magnifies the outdoor temps.

Hot in summer, cold in winter.

I am moving slow today.

One thing positive about the chilly weather is that it is easy to stay in bed in the mornings. Maybe correct to say, “hard to get out of the bed in the mornings”.

The newz this past week has been mostly about the bullshit-hearing about the January 6th “insurrection”. And I find it perplexing, sad, frightening…

Are the people in the USA, the general populace, the average mom n pop so easily led that the BS and drivel expounded by the general media becomes gospel? That the words of shisters and crooks and dishonourable people (the elected leaders) are trusted and listened to, when deep down we know they are false?

It might be an age thing with me. My disagreeable nature. My lack of trust and support for these supposed “leaders”. It might just be age…

I have too much time on my hands. I read a lot. I do watch/ listen to the newz, but more for entertainment than for content. I dont like being fed. I prefer to prepare and consume my meals on my own, and such it is with the newz, the bluez… the entertainment channels posing as purveyors of public information.

Nope, I dont think its wise to fill up on the fluffy bullshit called news. It’ll give you indigestion. Stop being lazy and put more effort into you consumption… newz and food.

As I have aged I find I am better, healthier, happier when I eat simply, sparingly. For a long time I have been on a -one meal a day- diet. I find I enjoy being hungry, feel good if my body is empty, at least part of the day. I find I can do with out most starchy foods… bread, pasta, potatoes, and such are not required much any more. And once Ive gone off the starchy foods I feel a lot better. Same with fried foods. And large quantities of meat.

I grew up at a “meat and potatoes” table. It was good honest food. Mostly “home grown”, always very tasty, always with massive amounts of salt and butter. And bread. My mother baked fantastic bread.

But that was in the days when meals were made “from scratch”. All the veggies we had came from our own garden. We worked hard to feed the family. All of us, the folks, the kids, everyone worked in the garden(s). The meat we had came from local farms. We had a freezer or two filled with packaged meats… chicken, pork, beef. It all was home grown, locally butchered and packed.

Those days are gone. Most everything these days is “processed” in some way shape or form.

My mom’s home made noodles were to die for.

These days I eat red beans. Almost every day I have beans in some way shape or form. I use beans as meat replacement in most dishes. I do often add meat to my beans. Its hard to make beans bad. They are born and conceived as an almost perfect food.

My buddy, BigG, has recently asked me to teach him how I do my beans. Noting well there are many recipes in play, but my daily food intake is 80% comes from a humble pot of bean soup. I produce a simple recipe here for Big G…

Standard pack of red beans bought off the shelf. Beans can be softened in a large pot of boiling water. An hour gives you stronger beans than 2 hours of boiling. I like the beans soft so I boil well over an hour.

Once boiled I drain and wash the bean real good. In the same pot I add a couple nice cuts of beef (I prefer beef but pork or goat works too). I like cuts of meat that are fatty. I want the fatty oils to be part of the dish. The cubed beast goes into the same big pot, on high heat, with a bit of olive oil. I want the meat to sear, start releasing its oily goodness.

I chop up fine and add to the pot… a big pile of celery, at least 2 onions, a shit load of garlic, a big leek or two, a couple nice capsicum – red or green or both.

I cook the stew type concoction for a long time, let the veggies degrade and turn to moisture, let the onions burn. burnt celery has a flavour of nuts.

Eventually we have a fair bit of stock building up. I stir a lot but still want the mixture to burn a bit too. The meat and veggies all charred up is good. To this I add the drain beans. Stir it all up. And add a packet of beef or vegetable stock. Cover the mixture, put the heat down, and let it simmer for a long time.

I dont often add salt or other spices. I do often drop a couple whole, hot chillies from my garden in. I like to crush up a handful of fresh basil. If I use whole chillies the soup is not too hot. If you want it hot you can crush one of the soft chilies in your bowl. If you dont, leave the chilies alone.

As it cooks taste it and add what you want. I like a couple spoon fulls of balsamic, or Worcestershire sauce. I do like full pepper corns that burst with flavour after you bite them. Bay leaves are good too.

A pot lasts me days. The pot on my stove is only on its third day, now, but thats because Gracie has been joining in. The cold weather suits a nice bowl of soup.

And the beat goes on…

Smiles

It has been ages n ages… since I had a decent vroom-ride. Rain n more rain, n more rain has made riding hard, sad, not possible.

But yesterday I got out with BigG.

It was a fun, fast, back road ride. A couple hours all up. My body was tired after it all. I slept well.

Vroom is good…

Smiles

Sunday here in QLD. It has not rained appreciably for a day or two. We still live in a mud puddle, but its drying out. Slowly. Today a brisk wind from the SE is sucking moisture out of the earth. The sun is shining. Life is good.

I was out a bit, feeding the dogs, and checked to see if I might be able to do some mowing. Not yet. Not today. Probably not tomorrow. The ground is simply too wet. Even walking on it mushes it all up. Some places worse than others. Wont be any mowing tomorrow either.

It’ll take a couple days of dry before I can start cleaning things up.

There is a lot to clean up.

Hoping for a bit of dry, more dry, less rain, its all very unAustralian. Terribly unQLD, not wishing for more rain.

I feel like I’ve been through an Iowan winter. 5 months forced indoors. 5 months of inclement weather. Nasty weather. Destructive weather. Nothing to do but watch TV and gain weight. I feel fat and lazy.

As the winds blow I watch the lush green grass dance and wave. After almost 4 years of “growing grass”, fertilising, seeding. Slashing, harrowing. We did a great job, the grass now is fantastic.

But the inclement weather has forced me to sell my herd of cattle. And thats very sad. I had great cattle. A lovely breeding herd of fine, fat, friendly beasts.

If I’d kept them, by now they’d all have foot rot, be suffering, probably would have lost a couple of the older ones, definitely would have lost a calf or three. Quite sad, but I made the quick decision over 2 months ago, and can assure myself it was the best decision at the time. Can’t raise cattle in a mud puddle.

I like the fact that the land, the little stream, the hills and valleys on this property have all changed. Tera-forming has taken placed. The waterway is drastically different. Deeper, wider, rockier. Tons and tons of aggregate, of all sizes has been washed down hill, down stream. We have rubble piles big enough to build with. Sand banks that never existed before. Trees have been un-rooted, washed down stream. A huge red-gum, growing at the bank of the stream forever, was eroded out of its footing. Its massive, ancient roots exposed.

I’ll cut the roots out and see what I can carve from the hard, knurled wood therein.

I plan to recreate this property. Turn it into something different. I’ll start by removing some fence lines. I’ll then start developing tracks that can be used with car and bike and buggy. Build jumps and drenches and slews and corners… a rural motorsports park for off road dare devils.

Its going to be fun.

I recently bought 100 flowering vines. Orange Trumpets grow long and tall. They’ll make the place dramatic and humorous… like a theme park…

I’ll festoon them all over and give the place a surreal splash of bright colour. Cover the obsolete fence lines with bright orange. It’ll be cool.

I have to wait for it to dry up a bit before I plant them. It’ll be a big job, and I am keen to see them grow and flower.

Its a funny world where one can sit, and have a thought… I want to plant 100 flowering vines, then get online and have them delivered to your door within a few days. Its very cool.

So the sun is warm n bright. The brisk wind chills the air. The fauna is happy, vibrant. Bird life abounds, the deer are constant fixtures in the fields, the dogs are laying in the sun, snoozing and grooming in the heat. The flora is singing, a cacophony of colour and movement. Ill have to do a big “weed clean up” soon. The weather has been grand for weeds.

And the beat goez on…

Smiles

More later

The beginning of a new golden age is upon us…

Or so some folks think. We have Uncle Joe in the US, Boris in the UK, immaculate Macron in France, Truthful Trudeau in Canada, and now Amazing Albo here in Aus.

These men represent the axis of western power and are soon to make life better for one and all by removing the nasty, dirty, wasteful source of all humankind’s modern problems… Its soooo simple….

Ban the use of fossil fuels, rely on the clean and green technologies. Its time, all ready to go, to change the world for the better… yeee haw…

Side step the nasty and mean capitalist industrial machine that has enslaved us to dirty, dug from the earth, energy… lets flip the switch. Make the change. Go team go…

What’s that you say, Huh, What??? The technologies aren’t ready for use? We cant rely on wind and solar and hydrogen and magic wands? Why not? Because we cant supply our modern needs completely, reliably, so the dirty nasty dug from the earth fossil fuels must be held in stand by. Just in case? 

But, cant we just store the extra we need in costly batteries? No, the tech aint here yet? You sure? Well hell! So we have to keep the coal and gas and diesel fired plants on-line, keep them working, but we dont need to use them because our magic wand is in hand and loaded… but not ready yet… gee , makes me feel better. The beginning of a new golden age! Hell yea!

Oh, you say the price of everything we touch needs to rise, we need to readjust, go through some growing pains, suck it up, as the cost of all and everything goes up? 

I dont get it. We have to wait a bit? Oh, you say it’s because our future “energy” costs will represent the duality of the system? The cost of the green n clean plus the cost of the dirty n nasty… ??? Side by side, at the same time. I gotta pay for both? Or go without? Because I want to charge my new electric car on green and clean electricity, my beer and pretzels and ice cream will double and triple in cost… Well, hell! That aint fair.

I want green n clean! I want to charge my modern electric car on modern green n clean. I want the virtue I gain through buying my electric car to radiate around me, to encompass my world, my life, my existence. But I dont want to pay too much. That’s understandable, isn’t it? Give me clean n green but at a fair price.

What? Cant do it? What’s that you say? If we were to replace dirty n nasty with nuke? It might work? The only way? But it’ll take a long time?

What the hell did I buy my virtuous electric car if I aint filling it up with virtuous green n clean electricity…. ??? I am confused!

Oh, I see, its all on its way. The new tech, the new life, the new green n clean is on its way. Great! This new tech will change everything… great! 

What is it?

You dont know? Not yet? Hmmmm…. Maybe hydrogen? Maybe a magic wand we don’t have a name for? Ok, I see, its coming though? You’re sure about that? 

But for now the prices skyrocket? The prices for everything reflect the price of energy. That’s understood, but what about that magic wand? Ok, I see… not ready yet? 

Hmmmm….

Hmmmm…

Well, its over, for now, for three years. The wasted money, the bullshit being spread like butter, the finger pointing and accusations, the acrimony..

The incumbent power-brokerage-firm has been removed. The opposition has “won”.

But what have they “won”?

Are “things” going to be better? Will the price of fuel for your cars and power for your homes go down? Will the children in school start scoring higher in basic skills tests. Will obesity be reduced? Will the roads get better, traffic thin out? The floods subside and the droughts lift? Will my hair grow back?

I dont think this is as much a pendulum swing as it is a different flavouring in the water. Both sides, both teams have quite similar rhetoric. If you close your eyes and listen to the tune being sung you cant tell if the choir is dressed in Blue or Red.

The campaigns has been based on what has passed. There was little substance offered in regards to future plans and policy. Covid is the big topic. Of course the opposition claimed they could have handled it better, cheaper, with less invasive-ness. Kinda similar to the TrumpvBiden fight. And of course we see that Uncle Joe has proven himself to be correct. Life in the US under Joe is much, much better, cheaper, less stressful than under Trump.

Those darned mean tweets hurt us all.

Its is another blood sport Sunday here. So the fight analogies shall continue.

The big, big issues on the table get little attention at times like this…

A world in conflict is a huge matter of concern. Both Russia and China have expansionistic attitudes. Perhaps Russia may be reevaluating their future expansionistic plans, but China sure as shit is not content to sit quietly within its borders. And this is huge to Australia. Noting well that Australia has little by-way of military capacity, (nothing in the military spectrum is manufactured here) relying mostly on their US treaties and agreements for their own border integrity and security.

I believe China to be Australia’s biggest trading partner. The out-going shot-callers have recently been rather tough on China. (Tough in comparison to past) The new administration has traditionally been quite pro-China. China owns a huge portion of Australia’s agricultural capacity, has the State of Victoria signed on as a partner in their belt and roads initiative, the Port of Darwin was sold to China (by the incumbents) quite a few years ago. I believe that China will have more influence in the HALLS_OF_POWER with the new administration than the out going mob. Time will tell.

China looms large in our future. One way or another.

Australia’s dismantled industrial capacity is, too, a huge thing. Aus holds less than 60days fuel capacity in store. 99.9% of all liquid fuel is imported. Steel manufacturing used to be big here, but is nothing more than a memory these days. No automobile industry any more. Most of Australia’s raw materials are exported (to China) then reimported as value-added consumer goods.

So, in ending, after this trial of democracy, this most recent test of electorate wisdom… time now to see if the future will be brighter. Like in the US, where the absence of mean tweets is all that is required to make things right.

Smiles

More later

Friday on his side of the planet. The day before the next federal election here. Election-mania is roaring at high speeds…

Pre-voting has been open for a couple weeks. I find that about 20% of the voting population have cast their ballot.

Aus is a funny democracy in that voting is compulsory. And utilises a preferential voting system. Both concepts are foreign to the past systems I have been exposed to. But I kinda like it all. I like Australia a lot.

Of course, world-over, politicians are a less than savoury demographic. World-over politicians will say just about anything to “win”, to “get in”, to be elected. I have always and forever been a political sceptic. My adult, working life has allowed me to interact with and around the Ivory Towers of political control. My experiences were seldom, if ever, heartening. And most generally quite disheartening.

I am considered a harsh judge of others. My code and morality and ethics are firm, staunch, probably draconian. I measure my world around me by my strict criteria. Any wonder why I am most always disappointed, disgusted, discouraged when it comes to politics?

I find the general electorate to be lazy. Easily swayed, sold on simple rhetoric, slow to think, consider, be critical. The status quo is good enough for most folks.

Ive always been looking for the next great leader, the changer, the “good man”, the “wise woman”.

I’m still looking.

Weather here in Aus is still wet. Too wet. I cant get much work done.

And the beat goez on

More later

And I be very tired. Almost exhausted. I just slept over 12 hours…

This past week we saw around over 500mm/ almost 2 foot of rain fall. My carpenters showed up Monday, did a shit load of work, then the rains came and the roads closed and they have not managed to get a day’s work in. This morn is dry. And Sunny. They’ll be back in the morn. 

Rebuilding two bathrooms in this old monstrosity of a house. One would think that indoor work is ok in this weather, but the guys cant get here. The roads all aorund us are closed/ compromised. 

Weather for next week is rain… it’s way wet. But today is kinda nice. 

So on Thursday I get a message that the 16yrold in boarding school is sick. The whole school is sick. Sick kids have to stay in their dorm room. Shitty food brought to them from the cafeteria. Hard to get better, me thinks. The school asks parents to come get their kids. 

It’s raining/ storming all around. The school is a bit less than 300ks/ 200 miles away. Roads between here and there are all out, flooded, dangerous. Roads close and reopen daily/ on and off, its hard to know what is open and what is not. 

So I get up and hit the road at 530am, Friday. Drive south a short ways to find my shortest route to the highway closed. Drive north and east an hour and get to the main highway. Drive through rain and water for 2 hours only to get turned around about half hour away from my destination. Bridge on main road flooded. All side roads closed. Turn around.

The kids is disappointed. Sick, wants out of the prison the dorms is. 

Yesterday I was up and on the road by 630 or so. My shortest route to the Hiway still closed but another one has reopened so I’m pretty good. Get to the point where I turned around in a couple hours. I know by listening to reports that a back road around this spot is open, navigable. So I run back a bit, head south and north, around the blocked bridge. I’m driving my 4×4 truck. I drive through a few unmanned “road closed” signs. Get to the kid about 10. 

He’s not well, but better than he was a day ago. Fever has gone down. Sick and no one to care for you is rough. He’s a big baby in ways. Used to having family around. Tho I am an unsympathetic prick when it comes to being sick. I can treat you with essential oils, fill steaming baths, fix good food, without being sympathetic. 

The very act of coming to get him made him feel better. That was sympathy enough. 

The bridge that was closed was open for our return trip. We drive and talk. Its bucketing down. We’re both happy/ relieved that we’re on a homeward trajectory.

Driving in such conditions can be quite taxing. I consider myself a high level driver. Before covid I would do 10s of thousands of miles of road-time annually. Fly to LA, hire a car, and drive the US for 6 weeks/ 15,000 miles. England, Europe, japan… here in Aus I loved heading “out-back” for a couple weeks of touring. QLD, NSW, SouthA, Victoria… bikes or cars. I enjoy and am capable of heaps of time on the road.

But these conditions are tough. Visibility, road conditions, other traffic… it all adds up. Concentration and 360 awareness is on a razor’s edge.

Home by about 1-2pm yesterday. We’d stopped and bought what the kid wanted… sirloin steak, asparagus, and broccoli. (He is a strange guy) so I cook some rice, prepare his meal as he steams in a hot tub of Ttree oil. 

I keep a wide selection of essential oils around. Ive been treating most ailments in my life with oils for decades. So a steaming bath tub with a liberal dose of Ttree… soak for as long as you can stand it… its gotta make you better, no matter what your ailment may be.

Of course, after the hot-tub, he hit his bed and passed out. I call it “doing the noodle”. Get out of the hot-tub, limp and wobbly, wrap up in a blanket to sweat it all out. 

It really, really works. 

After a few days of illness, not keeping much down, his stomach is shrunk and sensitive. Some beast n veggies, a few chocolate cookies, a cup of tea is all he can manage. 

As soon as I got home, after the road trip in the shitty weather, I popped an adult beverage and started sedating myself. As I cook and cater to the kid, as I heat my 3day old pot of beans, as I do what needs to be done, I drink. I want to get comfortably sedated. I want a big night of sleep.

Its rugby season here in Aus. Saturday night, mid season, has some great games on TV. Games start about 5pm and go on until 10. I didnt make it through to the end.

By 9pm I’m nodding off. I dont like sleeping in the chair, so I head to bed. The sedatives worked, I slept through and woke at 6. There is UFC on all day today so I left my bed, wrapped up in a blanket and dozed for  another few hours. Great, dreamy semi conscience dozing with vivid dreams. 

Its 1130am now. I’m having coffee, the sun is out, the rains are absent, not gone, just absent. The UFC has been good. Great bouts of violence and blood. Just what I needed.

Ill watch a couple hours of bloodsports and then go deal my dogs n chickens. They’ve all been suffering in this weather. My place is the bottom of a valley and its basically a mud puddle. Glad I sold-off my cattle. 

And the beat goes on… 

More later…

The rains are back. 130mm/ over 6inches over night. The stream is a river again. I’m ready for things to get dry.

Its impossible to get much done when its so wet. My property is a valley bottom, a drainage area for the land around us. We drain something like 1000 hectares of land. All the rain that falls finds its way down to us. I can hear the rush of the river from where I sit.

And the rains keep coming. The wet gets wetter. My poor dogs are getting tired of it all. I watched Nia try to find comfort in a chair on the patio. She, Nia, is too big for the chair but she tried. Tried to get comfortable. She’s back on her damp bed now. The chair didnt work out.

Its way too wet and muddy to let Nia come inside. Id like to, she’s a good house dog, but the yard is so mushy, so wet, so muddy that its impossible to keep her clean. Kinda sad.

An interesting thing about the weather… I believe it has stressed my dogs to the extent that they are out of sync with their reproductive cycles. I keep track of the dogs’ cycles. I intend to eventually breed my females (all 4 of them), and have one, Bella, lined up with a big guy named Bennie. My records show that Bella last came-on-heat 8 August 2021. She was 2years old on the 27th of July, came-on-heat within a week or so of her bday. Right on schedule, as predicted.

My aim has been to breed Bella after her 2nd bday. Her third cycle. I predicted that she’d be on-cycle again wishing 6months of 8August, February was the logical prediction.

Thus I find it interesting that none of my females here on the farm have come on-heat this year. I would have predicted that Nia would have her first system somewhere around her 1st bday, the 1st of March. Her sister, Quel, cycled in late Jan/ early Feb. She lives in Palmwoods with my son, Paul. Is a house dog. The mamma dog, Penny, should have cycled almost in tandem with Bella. None of my females here on the farm have cycled this year.

I can only think its the rain, the weather. The stress from the wet. Since November we’ve had relentless rains. And I can only attribute the break in the dogs’ cycles to stress caused by the weather.

And the rains continue.

Smiles

More later

Today is my Mother’s 95th birthday.

So, a bit early for the nAmerican time zone but here’s to Mom, Ma, Granny, Zai Olo, she who must be obeyed… and much more.

Where would any of us be if it weren’t for our Mom?

Happy Bday Granny!

Damn, another month shot. Where does the time go? It sure do fly.

Winter heading our way. The mornings are not sunny and bright at 5am. I try to stay in bed until some sunshine hits our valley. in the rain tis easy to stay in bed far too long.

As an offical old fart I don’t really, really have a whole hell of a lot to do every/ any day. I am good at pacing myself. I learned ages ago that a retired old fart has to be careful. If you crank too hard, weak too much, get your work done, you will end up with a few days where there is nothing to do. Thus I target a good sized task every day. Just one. Not two. I get something done every day. Well, er, not everyday…

Last week was a slow, slow week. It rained a lot. I stayed inside. Wrapped up in a granny-blanket watching the bluez and writing. Noting well that everyday I have chores… I feed the dogs every day, I cook for the dogs every couple days, I make my bed everyday, I brush my teeth… these are not counted as “To-Dos”, they are daily chores and don’t get on the list.

Today I have to go down to the coast, pick up a pallet of conduit to run power to the shed. In order to do this I had to get the trailer hooked up to the truck. I collected a few hundred kilos of wire and fittings. Did not take the trailer in with me. Wanted to see what I was collecting, how I would do it. Grabbed a small pallet of copper wire they had ready for me. Used the tractor and forks to unload here.

The conduit is 4meters long, bundled into tidy liftable bundle. My trailer is 3mlong, so there will be a it of overhang. It’ll work.

As soon as the rains abate and the ground dries a bit we will be able to trench for the power to the shed. 150m distance from power to shed. Not a small job.

We are 3 weeks out from the Federal Election. Its rather entertaining, watching the scramble for power.

It has long been my opinion that politicians are all pretty much the same. Will say about anything to get in office. Once in will do about anything to stay in office.

Of course, in the USA, it is campaign time all the time. Watched Trump’s interview with PMorgan. Kinda sad, me thinks, that TheDonald is still the only real candidate the Republicans have. And that UncleJoe is still the only candidate the DNC has.

Where are all the leaders?

And the beat goes on.

More later

The blustery weather continues. The air is quite chilly. Drizzly rain comes and goes. The world here is damp, soggy.

The newz has been full of Solomon Islands. Their recent “deal” with China. It would appear as though most folks are concerned, worried, anxious over it all.

I’m not so sure. I’m not so sure its worth worrying about, or even a big deal. Of course I could be very wrong. It could mean the end of the world as we know it. But I kinda doubt that.

A quick check shows that China has diplomatic ties with 10 of 14 Pacific Nations. I found this interesting: …ten states in Oceania have diplomatic relations with the PRC, and four have diplomatic relations with the ROC. These numbers fluctuate as Pacific Island nations re-evaluate their foreign policies, and occasionally shift diplomatic recognition between Beijing and Taipei.

Here is an official blurb from the CCP… https://www.fmprc.gov.cn/mfa_eng/wjb_663304/zwjg_665342/zwbd_665378/202203/t20220311_10650946.html

So Im trolling for discussion on this topic, and find a bunch worthy of attention. Its not a new topic. And has “blown up” in recent months. I found this a good read… https://www.aljazeera.com/economy/2022/3/10/riots-and-snubs-in-pacific-islands-a-growing-wariness-of-china

Little blurbs like this mean a lot: … Meanwhile, US Secretary of State Anthony Blinken visited Fiji in February — the first trip by the top US diplomat in 37 years — and, among other things, announced that the US would set up an embassy in the Solomon Islands even as the country recovers from the recent violence.

Too little, too late????

I hold the opinion that the “West”, the US, UK, Aus, France, et al, have overlooked the Pacific far too long. Have treated the Pacific Islands’ leadership (as they often act) like a bunch of children. Have been disdainful, arrogant, and parental in their relationships. I know from personal experience that The West and its diplomatic corps and greasy aid-organisations look down upon the islanders, and those who immigrated, resettled, made lives in the islands.

I hit the Solomons in January 1981. Made it my home, settled in, started a family, built a life, a business, a career. After the coup in 2000, as the Regional Assistance Mission Solomon Islands kicked into gear, I interacted with and became friendly with many of the folks that came as advisors, changers, operatives. As these “operatives” came and started “projects” and did what they thought best, I was perplexed as to why these operatives did not listen more to “The People On The Ground”. Those who were living through and with the situation at hand.

One of these people, operatives, and I got socially friendly. Spent a fair amount of time together, shared our lives. It was an eve of BBQ and beer at my house, a number of folks were there. Island style, with kids of all ages, and noise and food and my dogs, and laughter and tears. We’re sitting under my sago-leaf verandah, talking, being friends, I decide to ask “…why you RAMSI folks don’t talk and listen more to the “locals”… why the general expatriate and Solomon business houses are not engaged more?”… His answer was simple: “… we don’t trust them…” he said, “… you guys are part of the problem…”.

I was a bit stunned by this, and I didn’t pursue it then, but later we discussed this deeper and I found that The Operatives, The Diplomats, The highly paid project managers that were coming to save us, Those Who Knew Best, WHO KNEW BETTER than those who called the Solomons “Home”, view the Residents, The Locals as being too stupid, too immature, too incapable, and TOO CORRUPT to contribute much by way of fixing what ever problems needed fixing.

And this mindset was taught to the operatives before they arrived to “help”. They arrived with their prejudices in place. It was part of their portfolio. A part of their assignment… don’t listen to the locals, they can’t be trusted.

And, sadly, in many ways they were right. Not 100%, but enough to carry weight. The 2000 coup was a result of a newly elected administration trying to “clean things up”, to change a lot of corrupt practices. And they were walking the talk… The coup was funded by players that wanted to maintain a less than positive business model of corrupt pay to play. Many of the players involved came from the logging industry, came from the Chinese community. So my old buddy, Bart, got ousted as PM, and Soga and Smiling Charlie and Co. came to power by force of arms. Only to be recognised and supported by The West/ Aus.

In fact, RAMSI was brought in to quash a “civil war”, and by doing so propped up an illegitimate administration.

Its interesting that The West/ Aus has kept Soga in power through a couple riots, a couple feeble coups. Noting well Soga has no great love for The West/ Aus.

One big mistake The West/Aus made can be studied within the Julian Mote affair. I won’t go into it all here but Australia broke the rules, played the parent in charge, broke laws, made their choices when they “arrested”, some say kidnapped, Julian Mote and repatriated him to Aus.

There has been a long-time “kids in the candy shop” attitude. A neo-colonial concept of “they will fail without help”. A concept not completely unfounded.

Similar can be said about leaving your teenaged kids (grandkids) with the house for a week. There shall be a party, or two. There shall be messes made, chores left undone, and lesson learned. Making mistakes is part of growing. getting hut is part of growing, learning.

Does a Nation grow up? Does a Nation build its own identity?

Like my teenagers?

Tomorrow is ANZAC Day. I get ANZAC Day. Lest we forget. I get it. And I get why its a big thing in an Aussie Identity.

Manasseh Sogavare is an interesting guy. I know him, have worked with him, he and my wife are distant relatives: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manasseh_Sogavare

This whole situation, this entire topic has heaps to do with “Uncle Soga”.

Soga is no fool, smart in may ways, experienced as a politician. His political career is interesting and over 2decades long. He’s loving the attention. The press, the spot light.

What does China own in Aus???? The answer is “HEAPS!!!!”. The Answer is, “what don’t they have a finger in”…

Important note… the CCP, the Government Of China, is a shareholder in all Chinese businesses. To do business with a Chinese business is to do business with the Chinese Government, The CCP.

Ive written on this before. Here’s a piece from a couple years ago…

https://nativeiowan.wordpress.com/2020/12/09/2020-v12-political-ruminations-about-china/

So, my thought is that Uncle Soga is enjoying the game. He has China and Australia raising the ante to play his game. The US is paying homage. He is using the Aussie election to his advantage. Im unsure if what he is doing is “good” for the Solomons, but no doubt it’s good for Uncle Soga.

And the beat goes on…

more later

Thinking of old friends, on a wet, chilled Saturday.

Thinking of one old buddy who has been living under doctor’s care for some time. The diagnosis is terminal, yet the prognosis is good. Meds and regular visits to the medicos keep the terminal side of things away. Though the meds are tough, life aint what it was, time is a good thing.

Another dear compadre is starting the “chemo-trail” to well-being. Loss of hair, huge weight loss, pain and discomfort to come.

One of my oldest drinking buddies is coming good after a series of negative diagnosis. Negative but not the end of the world. Life changing, indeed restrictive. Daily meds, monthly Dr visits.

I guess its an age thing.

I visit the Dr every 6 months. Always looking for a “pass” when I go for annual tests. My next visit is in a month’s time.

The biggest thing I experience as I age is that I am a bunch slower than before. Remember when you could burn the candle at both ends… and in the middle? When you’ take your liver and drag it in the dirt? Beat your kidneys with a sledge hammer? Clog your lungs with tar?

When you healed quickly and completely? Er, almost completely. My healing nowadays is slow, very, very slow. Glacial.

Youth… so attractive. So destructive.

And I would not change a single thing. It’s been a great, great parade. I like my oldfart seat on the sidelines these days.

Tho slow, and tiring easily, I’m still pretty tough. I still crank and wank pretty hard. My little farm and my business ventures keep me awake, aware and sleeping sound, I think one of the big things I have managed well is my stress levels, or lack thereof. I simply dont get too involved in too many venues anymore.

Being and old fart is pretty cool.

I was sitting in the Point Cruz Yacht Club 10 or more years ago. After 5pm, the business crowd was ensconced at “Table One”. A dozen or so of the bankers and wankers and business owners and managers.

I sat and listened to my peers, most of whom I had known for years, talk about life. Complain about life. Most were by nature stressed beings. Business and life in general in the islands can indeed be stressful. (Life and business anywhere is suppose to be stressful) That particular eve the discussion was more negative than positive. I nursed my drink and quietly listened as the table talked.

I eventually got a bit cranky… “… for fucksake, guys, you’re all here moaning and groaning…”, I said.

“… there was a time when we’d sit here and talk about boats, cars, women, wine…”, I pounded on the table. “…we’d laugh and argue and get merrily drunk on our ways home from work…”, “… nowadays all you bastards talk about is your next Doctor’s appointment!”.

Half the guys at the table that day are now dead. The other half are undoubtedly under Doctor’s care. My self included.

I guess its an age thing.

Like a dog thats been kicked too many times, the rains make me nervous.

Should I get my standby generators out? Make sure the house is “ready”?

Or should I sit here under my grannyblanket? Listen to the rain, watch the bluez,

Here in The Land of Aus we are in electionmania mode. I find it shameful the BS and prevarication we experience at these times. The promises made, the rhetoric poured about, the BullShit spewed.

The finances squandered.

It’s the same world wide.

No single Nation holds any special claim on political BULLSHIT and Lies.

Had to call the US this morn, sort some bank business out. 930am my time, 430pm AZ time. Got a positive gal at the other side, she was very helpful, sorted my needs out nicely. While talking to her I noted that I had not been in the USA since late in 2018. Going on 4 years. Damn long time.

There are times I get itchy about visiting the USA, again. Of course, top on my list is visiting my Mother. Fronting up with a bunch of flowers. Sitting and letting her talk. Spending a couple days in her shadow. I could easily get sad thinking about how long its been. Too long. June 2018 was my last trip to Iowa.

But I shant be jumping on a jet any time soon. I have too much going on here. The best I could possibly manage would be a short trip. An over n back trip. Where I really want to have a month or so. I enjoy driving across the US. Visiting old friends. Checking the pulse of the USA as I travel cross country, stay in different towns, eat in different restaurants. It’s been way too long.

I know, I’m being selfish.

Ill end with a picture from my suburban backyard…

And the beat goez on…

More later

Election mania time here in the land of OZ. The election has been called. 

Once “called”, the election is 40 days away. The incumbent government/ administration gets to call the election, basically choose the date of the next election to suit their needs. 

Most folks don’t understand the various forms of democracy. Of course, the US is stuck in ever repeating  2 – 4 – 6 year cycles. Here we never really know when the next election will be. Noting well that an incumbent government must “call” the election within a set period of time. 

Our last Federal election cycle was in 2019. I feel that Aus as a Nation dodged a big bullet then. The Labour/ Green/ liberal-left side of things was pushing hard and heavy on the looney left agenda. If they had won that election, Aus would be in a similar pickle that the US is in now.

I stress the importance of Policy, or the lack thereof, in elections. I enjoy watching and listening to the politicians spew rhetoric…. Without expounding a dribble of policy…

Carbon-Neutral by… everything “Renewable” (what ever that means). The idea that the government will create jobs for people. Everyone deserves a living-wage. 

All is rhetoric. 

I think of the “nutty professor” Bernie Saunders… print more money and give it away. Destroy the middle classes and make everyone equally impoverished… except, of course, the ruling Elite.

Policy deals with the basics… Education, Medical care, Social security, Public safety, National security, Infrastructure…

Waffling on about the “hope” that hydrogen will be the next great saviour of mankind is meaningless. Declaring that people must buy electric vehicles by 2025, killing off a thriving carbon based transport industry, without a hope in hell, or a viable forward plan, is just plain stupid. Its all rhetoric, unless someone has a solid plan. Without a plan it all becomes waffle.

I really can’t see how anyone can stand back and applaud the “progress” of the Biden Government. If they think the current administration is making positive gains they are either blind or drunk.

We all drink a particular political koolaid… if your favourite tipple makes you stupid, perhaps you should find an alternative. 

Have had a positive win here… my 7yrold pup, Lucky13, has mastered the art of off-roading on the little quad. Two wheels next time…

More later

Sunday the 10th. Slow, cool, relaxed morning. Have some good UFC coming up. It should be a relaxed, quiet day… but the lil girls are here. so a relaxed noisy day?

Damn they can be noisy. Everything is punctuated with loud screeches. Like nails across a black board. They can be hard to endure.

Note the Masters is on, and that olTiger is back, giving it a good go. Looks like he is still in the play. Has not been cut. Good for him.

Here in The Land of Aus, we have an election coming up. It’s a good case study of modern-day politics, in that Aus is a smallish country, a stable country, perhaps a predictable country… the two party system here offers the “Liberal” party, and the “Labour” party. Of course there are the standard greens and orange and purple parties, but for all practical purposes we have power being consistently concentrated in one of the two main parties.

Current state of affairs, the status quo if you will, is that neither of the two dominant parties has held sufficient sway to form a non-coalition government for ages and ages. What this means is each of the two main parties, Liberal and Labour, must entice players from the minor parties, in order to have the numbers required to form Government. And, interestingly, the one or two seats required can hold the coalition ransom. Make their policies dominant, even though they represent such a small % of the electorate.

Recently the “Greens” have been good at being the one or two seats required to form a government. And, who ever caters to the Green Party Line gets the votes. The result is policy can be dominated by the needs of the minority party(s).

The tyranny of the minorities?

The good thing about Aus is that elections are “called” by the party in power. This means that, within a given time frame, the Prime Minster can set the date for the federal election. He can try to use momentum and positive results to try to time things to be in his favour. There is no real set schedule for election, like in the USA.

Of course, like everywhere, Aus has its scandals and rumours and mud slinging. And, like most other modern lands, elections have little to do about policy and forward planning. It’s about personalities, promises and pimp juice. It’s a lot more of a beauty contest than an important democracy ballot being cast.

Big issues, as I see them?

China and the threat they pose and the slack they have been given is huge on my list. Solomon Islands recent closeness with China is a good example of the shadow China wishes to cast over the region.

Of course the whole “carbon” thang is important. If we continue on the path of foolish, wishful thinking we shall be broke before we reach woke.

A government is elected to “manage” aspects of our society like… Health Care, Education, Infrastructure, National Security, Immigration, Law and Order… Free needles (as in Melbourne) and free crack pipes (as in the US) may be on the list but down quite a ways from the top.

And the beat goes on…

More later

From comms with a friend…

Sad thing, as I see it, is the decent ones never go too far and too long. I cant think of names right now but, damn, its been ages since we have had an honest, decent candidate.

Some lie to us, trick us, prey on our need to be saved… JFK was one of those. Almost saint like in person but dark and twisted in reality. Carter was, again, a face you could trust. A polished voice that relaxed us. But had no substance. Obama. He was suppose to be an alternative, a difference to the polished politico players.

Fuck! We have a cohort to entrenched senators and representatives that have been in business, er, in office for many decades. It becomes their business. 

As near as I can tell, its all about power, control, money… in that order.

And the beat goes on…

Smiles