2025 has been a landmark year in more than one way:
1) My Brother, Monk, passed. He was 74. His is the first death, of my generation, within our large and extended Hemmer/ Iowa family. My Father’s generational family are all gone. I cant think of a single Hemmer, from Dad’s generation, that is still around. My Mother’s youngest sister is still alive. Aunt Molly is the last of that branch of my tree, from that generation. I am prompted to make contact and wish Molly and her sons and grandkids well. So, Monk’s passing is a first for my familial generation. Important in that it brings home the impermanent nature of our here and now. I wrote about Monk’s passing at the time: https://nativeiowan.com/2025/11/10/2025-v11-ode-to-my-brother-monk/
2) I learned an amazing lesson in modern child-care. My Evil-Twin granddaughters, Dawn and Vera, came to stay with me a month ago…
I was lucky to have the big empty house, all by myself, for most of November. Grace was in the Solos. Paul had been doing some work in Honiara. His return to Aus coincided with the E-Twins getting out of school. So they came to stay with me. By the end of the first week the devices that entertain and occupy were permanently on the shelf. Not just for the day, or for a week, or until Cmas… Due to the E-Twins being too clever and me being too dumb… they’d logged onto the home network, got into the www unrestrained, unsupervised, unauthorised. Their dad overseas saw them online, busted them. Bad dawgs… And we all learned together that the world does not end when devices are evaporated. We learned that we have books to read and stories to write and pictures to drawn. A scary movie is good fun. Connie showed up with son, Brimstone… he too lost his device. And guess what? His world did not end either. The Lesson-Learned is that the kids do not need to be connected and “live” on their devices. They can survive without. And, books and paper and pencils are very, very cool.
3) I am no longer young, bulletproof, and totally ambulatory. Ive known this, but am harshly reminded of all, over this past year… My ancient injuries (there are many) have been catching up with me, and ruling my world. Ive also added a couple good “mistakes” to my long list. My PhysioTherapist is now a good friend. My joints ache. I walk like an old man. I visit doctors more often than, than before… I think of my Mother who had most of her joints replaced (knee, hip, shoulder), and some replaced twice. I have been making walking sticks for “Old Friends” for a few years. All are useful, beautiful, functional weapons that I “whittle”. I scavenge ancient wood from my farm. Work the wood with ol-skool tools. Use modern materials to turn them into composite creations. Ive shipped quite a few overseas. Given a number away here in Aus. This year I started looking for “My Stick”. It’ll take a while but I’ll find, whittle a stick that I’ll claim. Here’s a few sticks whittled in 2025:
I like the idea that sedatives, pain killers, drugs often save the day. From penicillin to chloroquine to morphine, drugs often do save the day. But who ever thought that 2 simple, basic, measly Panadols would be the day’s hero? I know a lady who survived having her arm taken off by a croc, with the aid of Tufella Panadol. It’s a good tale. But first…
My last story of 2025 is nominally entitled “The Wild Boys of The Marovo Lagoon”…
Jani and Patu were two good friends, both now passed, both from the Marovo Lagoon. Both were wild. As were most of the folks in the North Marovo Lagoon. A remote, distant, isolated, magnificent place on this glorious planet. Worth a visit if you ever get the chance.
Jani was long and lanky and strong as I have ever seen, Indefatigable. He spoke seldom. Skilled in many schools of craftsmanship. He was Patu’s right-hand man.
Patu was short and dark skinned, bandy-legged and talked a lot. A trained builder/ carpenter/ joiner/ shipbuilder. He had many, many great skills.
Jani and Patu and I worked on a lot of projects together. We played, drank, hunted, fished, raised families together for over 10years. I was the “Contractor”. Patu and Jani were the “work force”. I’d get a “job” and the guys would come and we’d do a job, make some money, have some fun. We built wharfs, reclaimed swamps, rebuilt remote fuel depots, fished a lot, raised gorgeous children and had a lot of fun.
Most of our projects lasted months. A couple were full year-long gigs. And after every project, money in hand, the boys would travel back into the Morovo, back home, and go wild, be wild until the next gig.
One memorable tale about the wild boys of the Marovo…
Jani and Patu were out in a 21ft/ 7mtr alloy runabout. Powered by a 30hp outboard, it was a sleek, fast, maneuverable craft. The boys had money, their respective wives were happy. They had a good boat and fuel, so they were out being wild. They were fishing, hunting, prospecting in many ways. Out traveling the shore line and the river mouths and the estuaries and the mangrove swaps for food. For anything eatable.
It is a beautiful day, fine seas, just the sort of a day to be happily wild. A short distance up a river mouth they spot a large croc sunning on the bank. Without thought, with no conscious reasoning at all, Patu picks up a hefty 12ft/ 2mtr long mangrove tree/stick with a 1ft/300mm sharpened bit of re-rod sticking of it, and skews the croc deeply.
Now Patu thought he was a clever bugger when he installed a one-way barb on the tip of his big spear. A simple piece of bent to-fit stainless steel, with a pin through the re-rod. The spear would go in but the barb would make it hard to pull out. Patu thought he was clever as could be with his invention, modification.
So, I recreate the scene… Jani in the stern of the light boat, running the outboard motor. Patu is in front and has just tossed his long, heavy, sharp spear deep into the body of a big, heavy, strong, dangerous lizard. I note for detail that the big, heavy spear is tied by a length or good stout hemp line to the boat.
Patu was proud of his spear and what he could kill with it. He was a good hunter, a keen killer.
So the croc decides to jump in the water and swim quickly out to sea at a rate of knots…
This of course upset the seamen in the boat. Patu is tossed half-overboard. Jani is thrown to the floor boards.
By the time they regain some state of composure the stout line is taught, the bow of the light craft is plowing water. Janet attempts to make use of the outboard and hold the boat steady. The croc is too strong. It is pulling them through the lagoon and out to sea. In telling the tale to me Patu said “me close up cut’em line”… but he didnt, and he regretted it. It was a long, harrowing trip/ tow through the lagoon that day. Between bailing out the boat, keeping it from swamping, the two had reason to regret not cutting the line quickly.
It was well after dark when something in the system that made up the spear, the barb, the stout line failed. The boys had long since stopped running the outboard. They had fuel, they knew where they were, basically. Off shore an Island we knew well, Rovana. No emergency. All was well, sorta. They had been towed for a couple hours. Now they had to limp home, minus a stout spear, empty handed.
Their wives would be unhappy with them for being gone all day and returning, limping home with nothing to show for their efforts.
Which leads me to my end-year, 2-for-one special…. A fine tale from my partner in crime, W.E.
In classic “island extended family” style bigB and his wife, K, raised, educated and managed all of her 6 younger siblings.
Always known simply as bigB, he was a Dude. Big n strong. Hard working. A guy worthy of admiration.
K was a Babe. An ex-beauty pageant winner. She was the eldest of a large family that had seen their father die, and then their mother pass, while the kids were still quite small. K was the caregiver of all, and when she and bigB married, their ready made family was part of the deal.
B and K had 2 sons to add to the brood. K’s 6 siblings counted 3 girls and 3 boys.
B and K worked and toiled and lived and loved. Their brood was raised working hard, being smart, never being lazy. I always and all ways admired B and K.
About 10years ago bigB fell quite ill. Well into his 70s by then, we were all warned that bigB’s time may well be up.
In and out of hospital. Numerous “treatments”. We all watched as bigB withered, shrunk, aged. It was a tough time for all close to the family.
At one point, at one very dark point, bigB decided he was not going to live much longer. A guy that had lived his life on his terms, a no compromise kinda guy to the end, big B decided he was going to “confess all” before he went to meet his maker.
The Family got called together for the “final blessing” from bigB. Time was short. It was an important time for all involved.
On his Death-Bed, bigB confessed to all that he and K’s youngest sister, Dee, had been having an ongoing affair since she was a teen.
Not an abusive affair. A loving, caring sexual, hidden affair that had been ongoing for over 30years. Hidden and unknown by any but bigB and Dee. A shared secret. Hidden meetings, innocuous trips that were not what they appeared to be, up until very recent times. All had been transacted under the watchful and trusting eye of the Family.
By this time Dee was well married with a number of kids.
With tears and histrionics and the Family listened partook in bigB’s confession.
It was very hard on everyone. K was devastated. She felt terribly betrayed by both her husband and her sister. The other siblings all had a stance, an opinion, something to say, to add to the confusion. All suffered some form of hurt if not betrayal by bigB’s confession.
It took a lot for bigB to make his admission to the Family. To profess his guilt and to ask for understanding, if not forgiveness. He got strength for it all from his illness, his impending death, his need to “come clean” before he shook his mortal coil off.
That was about 10 years ago.
And as of today, 30/12/25, bigB is still alive.
And K is still angry.
Might be some sort of lesson buried in here somewhere…
Golly, we be getting short. way, way short. Not much of 2025 left…
A chilled, pleasant morn in my little valley. Kids and dawgs and “moms” still sleeping.
I say “moms” because we have plural mothers under one roof. When the kids ask “can I…” I say “ask a mom”.
Surprisingly cool out. Got down below 18c/ 60f over night. Won’t get too warm today. The sun is out. perfect mowing weather. For such a short, short week, I may just get something done.
Today, today’s Monday, is a strange one. We just had a long weekend filled with noise and confusion. We are heading into another short, short week and a long, long weekend… makes things confusing. Hard to keep track of time and date and tomorrow and all that sorta important adult kinda stuff. A long weekend like we just had, turns us all into children.
So I sit, think of family around the globe. Think of my youthful Cmas holidays. Walk the hallways of my past, collecting discarded thoughts and ideas from forgotten corners of the past…
I recently explained to some young friends of mine that Cmas has never been a “big thing” for me… As the middle of 9kids I had very little time in my life as the favourite, the important one, the one that got all the loot. By the time I was 7years, I had 4 younger siblings. I distinctly recall a conversation with my mother when I was quite small… Sitting on Mom’s lap, she explained the babies got all the loot, I was too old, too big. I fell for it. I let Mom convince me I didnt need to cry and complain when I saw th little ones get cool stuff.
This confused me because my elder siblings appeared to get a fair bit of loot too. They got clothes and shoes and such for school. My young accountant’s mind saw the quantity of presents before I saw the present itself. A wrapped pair of socks was still a present in my young mind.
I learned very early on not to be jealous. I never saw the sense in being upset because of something I did not receive. I never set my expectations too high. I dont really recall being too fussed with wish lists sent to Santa. I was an observer way back then. Watching folks and things and happenings, rather than emoting or being frustrated with what I saw.
I was saying, Cmas was never about the gifting in my mind… I did though really enjoy the food. My Mom was a great cook. Her Cmas season specialties were amazing. Greek Cmas cookies, varieties of chocolates and fudge. The sticky n sweet baklava was my favorite… Damn! I have not thought of Mom’s baklava for ages, and now I have a hankering… may need to whoop a batch up soon…
That was fun. A trip down memory lane and now I’m going to be thinking of baklava all day…
It’s the day after, the day after, here in my valley. We’re all still recovering. 825AM and the kids are up but moving slow. The dogs are pleasantly quiet. I have a fresh pot of coffee near to hand. The day is overcast and quite chilly. Temps here going to be cool all day. Rain has been on and off. The air smells fresh, the flora is shining, the fauna is noiseless. I sit wrapped in a granny-blanket.
As this year, 2025, grinds to a close, I consider, ponder, ruminate upon a number of thoughts…
The world has appeared to have changed so, so much since I was “young”. And, of course, I have changed so, so much – since I was young…
Once, long ago, I was a builder, a do-er, a nonstop action figure that climbed ladders and swung hammers and toted and carried and mixed cement and poured footings and erected structures and welded metal… and more… Living “on the water” we knew the ocean, the weather, the reefs and the lagoons. We fished and hunted. Moving nonstop, endlessly… Being young and beautiful is a lot of work…
During this time I was too busy to be too involved with the things that were too far away, too external to my immediate needs and demands. For all of the 80s and 90s I watched, had access to zero (literally ZERO) television. I listened to the radio for “news”. Periodicals were important. Information was important.
In my elderly youth I find information easy to access. Visual, audio, written info surrounds and accosts the senses. Modern, push button info gathering is available without thought. It is an info-world of garbage in/ garbage out. Unlike my beloved set of Encyclopaedia Brittanica with its accompanying Greatest Works of Western Man, all one needs to do these days is ask a question and the answer(s) comes back AI generated. No page turning or mental sifting required.
But there is info that is substantial, like my beef roasts. Just as there is info that is candy, sugar for the brain. And like sugar rotting one’s teeth, much of what passes for info these days do rot the brain.
I find I spend a fair amount of time sifting through info, reading and ruminating… I no longer believe there to be a “trusted” source for newz, for the bluez…
Much of life is cyclical. I find that the cycles (circles) I travel through are similarly themed, and quite reoccurring… Life’s rich pageant parades past, again and again and again… Is there such a thing as “original thought”.
We were all babies that grew to toddlers, gained language and life lessons and grew into youth. I have a couple 4year old kids in my family. It’s a good age. They are competent humans, almost. I have a couple 10year old kids around too. They are more than competent. You can leave the 4year olds with them, sometimes, if you’re lucky.
And life grows and changes and ages and matures… My biological self is aging. My joints ache, my old injuries, my scars, my past mistakes are all well known. Very evident.
As I approach 70 years of age, I begin to agree with my old friend, W.E., who states that there is early youth, middle youth, and later youth. According to him I have passed my youth and middle youth, am currently enjoying my later youth.
An old smart-assed line comes to mind… “You are only young once, but can be immature forever”.
And the beat goes on… only a couple more sleeps until 2026…
CMas day this side of the planet… 924Am and the house is almost quiet…
Up early cranking on the traditional cinnamon rolls. Have Connie and her son, Brimstone, Don’s big girls, Dawn and Vera, plus Paul and Betsy (their 2 girls are with grannies in Munda). The “night before” was a bit confusing with folks still running around until past dark, so we didnt get set up and sorted as early as I’d liked.
I’d mixed the dough, knocked it down and rolled it a bit before they got home. I was not sure if they’d come home hungry or not so I had not cooked. They did come home early so I BBQ’d a pile of steaks. It worked. No complaints were heard. These kids are conivorous.
Later I dressed the to-be-breakfast up, and got it rolled an into the baking pan. Love the smell of fresh dough and cinnamon.
Put it all in the refrigerator and, rather drunkenly, went to bed at some unknown, too late hour.
About 5am I woke thinking “shit” and rushed to see the pan of nice smelling rolls out on the counter. I’d half expected to find them still in the refrigerator. They did need to come out and rise before baking. Gracie had beat me to it.
I turned the oven on and dozed in my chair a bit before popping all in the oven.
The smell of the caramelised butter and sugar brought the family out from their beds.
Was told they were “the best ever”.
By 8 or so, everyone had assembled, we had breakfasted, then got into the presents under the tree.
By 930 things had settle down.
The kids spent the entire day in their pyjamas. So did Gracie. They all had the big front room to sort n investigate and play with their gifts, which included; a big lego set, a number of action figure dolls, a steam engine kit, a wooden puzzle of DiVinci’s helicopter, a number books and coloured pens and pencils.
Paul built the helicopter and we fired up the steam engine. Dawn put the lego set together. Brimstone and Vera played and laughed.
By noon… Connie and Betsy were working on a 1000pc puzzle and drinking champaign. Paul had disappeared down stairs to snooze. The kids played individually and as a group all day long. No tears, no worries, no conflict… something must be wrong!
The afternoon went slowly, easily. It was over 30c/ 90f outside, and very humid. So aircons running, we spent the day inside. By late afternoon a good squall blew through. Dropped 30mm/ 1inch of rain in 30 minutes, and cooled things down.
I put a big hunk of beast in the oven. These kids are serious carnivores. Made a great gravy out of the drippings. A simple supper ending a worthy day of CMassing.
This morn we all move slow. I slept until after 8am. It’s now 10am. Connie is whopping up breakfast from the leftovers. I’ll finish this off and then go out and see what I can do. Weather spins around us. Going to have another squall or two, me thinks. I’ll spend some time outside. Always something to get done.
I do pose it as a question. I am sure there have been many tough, tough years in Australia’s history, but 2025 may rank as the toughest, perhaps darkest year yet.
I could rant about the cost of living. The cost of everything.
Mainly I shall rant about the cost of government. The incumbent government is doing what liberal Govs all over the world do, they buy votes by dishing out taxpayers money. I call it “vote buying” disguised as “governing”. Forgive student debt = vote buying. Cost of living relief saw a credit for every power bill in the land = vote buying.
The “relief” alone cost over 1.8Billion.
Then they start working to tax those who have more… inheritance tax, supper annuation… nothing is off the table. Now, after the Bondi Massacre, they are going to spend a billion to buy-back guns.
I see that Australia has a “national debt” over 1trillion. 27,514,411 people live here (as at June 2025). This represents a gross indebtedness of 36,344.59 per person. And counting.
Somewhere around 25% of the population (over the age 16) are receiving direct income assistance from the Aussie Gov. I find this: * 83% of permanent migrants aged 15-64 received some personal income (higher than the 79% for the total population). * Median total income (including government payments): $66,262 for permanent migrants vs $61,171 for the total population.
I’m not sure where 2026 will take us. I feel quite certain the direction(s) we are heading is along a precarious path.
It’s not just Australia. It’s not just the USA. Nor the UK, Germany, Belgium, France, et al.
As Gad Saad has said, “Parasitic Ideas and Suicidal Empathy Are Killing the West.”
And from what I see, it is driven by inept Liberal Political Machines that cannot formulate workable policy. Their answer is import voters and give them free-stuff to be loyal and faithful. The numbers of “Immigrants”, “Refugees”, and/or “Illegal Immigrants” are unknown. Some numbers are mentioned, few quoted. They are all large.
I believe the inept Liberal Political Machines offering FREE EVERYTHING… housing, medical, education, bring your family too. Invite your cousins. Move your extended family into residential suburbs, take things over. So long as you support the party line… are to blame for much of the madness, no, ALL OF THE MADNESS seen, experienced in many places.
It happens so frequently that we become accustomed to it…
I once lived in a land where a Civil War was being fought. Folks there, then became accustomed to the sound of gunfire. In a true Graham Greene tradition, I recall sitting in the tropical night, lights low, drinking heavily as gunshots went off. Every hour, on the hour sentries along a several mile-long ridge-line would fire off a shot. First shot would come from the West side, and several following shots would be heard down the line. We’d time the intervals and laugh when a shot was late, a sentry was sleeping.
We got used to it. Accustomed to it.
And that was sad, understandable, but sad. Our lives there and then were not normal. We had been put in an abnormal situation that we “made the best of”. We accepted the civil conflict because we could not do anything else, other than leave. We adapted and made accomodations.
As 2025 closes we prepare to celebrate a New Year, as we mourn another, ANOTHER, senseless act of Antisemitism here in Australia.
I say “another” because there have been many, many over recent months, years.
And they have been allowed to happen. No outcries from leaders as Synagogs got torched. No condemnation as chants for Gassing The Jews, River to the Sea or Global Intifada were being shouted from the Opera House steps. No condemnation of Imams that preached violence. Nothing said when violent acts were openly celebrated.
Here are some of the identified victims: Matilda: A 10-year-old girl Peter Meagher (Marzo): A retired police sergeant and rugby figure Dan Elkayam: A talented French national and football player for Rockdale Ilinden FC Rabbi Eli Schlanger: A Chabad rabbi and father of five Rabbi Yaakov Levitan: A coordinator for Chabad activities and secretary of the Sydney Beth Din Alexander Kleytman: A Holocaust survivor who tried to save his wife Reuven Morrison: A businessman and Chabad community member Tibor Weitzen: An 78-year-old member of the Bondi Chabad Synagogue Marika Pogany: An 82-year-old volunteer
The world is on fire. We have become complacent, gotten use to reports of senseless violence.
I am a very generous kinda guy. I grew up the middle kid in a grouping of 9 children. As The Middle Child I got “done” by both sides… The big siblings would complain to mom that I was a nuisance. What ever I had could be easily taken by my elders. The small siblings cried to mom, he won’t play with us, he won’t give to us, he won’t, he won’t… I never ever ever won a battle, an argument, a dispute. Never.
It does me no harm to state that I surely was not my Mother’s favourite. She didnt have time for me, much. The bigger kids were demanding, growing. The younger kids were needy, babies, requiring a lot of attention. I didnt get much attention, er, that is “I didnt get much positive attention”.
I was that kid that got attention by being naughty. Disruptive. Negative attention is better than no attention at all.
By the time I was 8yrsold my eldest 2siblings were in high school. The youngest 2siblings were still babies.
By force, through submission and corporal punishment I learned to be generous. There is/ was nothing I could do but capitulate. I learned to not argue when my elder sister took my nice shirt, or the younger ones took control of something I thought “mine”.
I have found it positive to not put too much importance in “possessions”. I learned to not expect much reward when I did something “good”.
Though I have grown into an adult with a very Zen outlook in life, though I collect and acquire “things”, they are not my definition, my meaning, my purpose. I am very good at building… I build homes, businesses, lifestyles, and positive vibes. I am now-a-days conditioned to share easily all that I build, create, possess. An old line from an old song… “thats how we kept what we gave away”…
And the old line “no good deed goes unpunished” do ring true these days…
I think of being 10. I had just received a pair of “PF Fliers”. PF Fliers were the coolest thing a 10yrold could wear.
I had a new pair, received for my birthday in August. School was starting, I was going to be cool… The neighbour’s house caught fire. A family, “The Fillengers”, with 6 kids got displaced, lost everything. My folks moved them into our house. Johnny Fillenger got my new shoes. I recall how happy he was. My mom hushed my complaints. Told me how needy he was.
Lesson one in the cost of good deeds…
Worldwide a cost for generosity, a cost for good deeds is being levied upon the “developed” Nations that have accepted, taken-in, offered refuge to millions upon millions of displaced “Fillengers”. And the cost is much higher than my $10dollar pair of PF Fliers…
The social and communal and familial fabric of our wester lifestyle is being stretched, tested, damaged.
Millions upon millions (Billions) of dollars are being spent of the Fillengers of the planet that are needy, leave their burnt homes with nothing and move in with the neighbours, at the neighbours expense.
The Fillengers were my original introduction to a “father-less household”.
Mr. and Mrs. Fillenger did not live together. Mr. had another family in Waterloo. Mrs. and her kids were recipients of what was then called “Aid to Dependant Children” (ADC). An early program that subsidised women who raised a family without a “Man”, permanent, in residence. In fact, if a man was permanent the ADC benefits could not apply. That was the answer why the Fillenger kids had so many “step-fathers”, but none that lived with them.
I saw, then, through very young eyes the waste and abuse the system provided to those “in need”.
ADC families received monthly cash payments, food stamps and what were called “commodities”. Large tins of butter and tinned hams could be seen being opened and then tossed out at the Fillenger’s. This bothered me. I had been raised to not waste. But a half eaten tinned ham in the garbage made me wonder what was what. Why the waste?
And such it is in places like Minneapolis… funding targeting the needy, those in want, those without is being systematically abused, misused…https://www.justice.gov/usao-mn/pr/77th-defendant-charged-feeding-our-future-fraud-scheme Defendant Camara was the owner of K’s Dollar Grocery and Deli, a small storefront grocery store in north Minneapolis. In August 2015, the USDA disqualified Camara and his store, K’s Grocery, from participation in the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (“SNAP”) due to suspected fraud. In September 2020, Camara enrolled K’s Grocery in the Federal Child Nutrition Program under the sponsorship of Feeding Our Future. In 2020 and 2021, Camara fraudulently claimed to be serving meals to 1,000 children a day, seven days a week, at his site. In reality, Camara did no such thing. Instead, he defrauded the program and stole money meant to feed hungry children.
The Cmas migrations have started for my tribe. Those frustrating, stress filled episodes of gathering 6 family members at the international airport check-in counter, at the same 6am, all to use the 30kg/66lbs baggage allowance for each, in order to prove the cargo-cult mentality is alive and well in them-thar pacific islands… Cargo cults emerged in the South Pacific during WWII when islanders, witnessing vast amounts of “cargo” (supplies) delivered to American and Japanese military bases, believed these goods were divine gifts, leading them to mimic soldiers’ activities (marching, building radio towers) in rituals to summon the goods back after the war, creating syncretic faiths like the John Frum Movement on Tanna, Vanuatu, that blended indigenous beliefs with Christian elements and observed the seemingly magical arrival of modern wealth.
Yes, over 200kgs/ 440lbs of “luggage” was successfully checked-in, loaded and flown to Munda. Yes, at 6am yesterday morn we gathered (with others heading “home”) and sent Paul’s family, plus Gracie off to the Solomons. Yes, they arrived safely with only one of their numerous pieces of luggage missing.
Can you say “Traveling Circus”?
I have Don’s two goils, Dawn and Vera here with me. They stay as my designated “baby sitters”.
We are settling nicely into a quiet old-fart + Goils household.
These two little ones are Honiara creatures. They are not terribly versed in unrestricted, run wild out door life. They like being “connected” and inside the house.
Honiara dictates a “compound” type existence for kids… you live in a compound, you dont really walk or stroll down the “street”, where ever you go you are taken by car, you stay and play within fenced yards with vigilant caregivers… not the case here, now…
After we got rid of the baggage at the airport yesterday we came straight home and had steaks for breakfast, then had a nice nap. We went and had lunch at a local pub. Came home and rode bikes.
I’m feeling old n aged. Time is flying too fast. Time is phlashing past phast. It makes me feel old…
It is no new theme, the passing of time accelerating as one ages, no, not at all. I have read and heard such all my life…
But now it’s ME! ME that feels the slipping of time, the slipping of control, the slipping of a tangible handle on “TIME”.
Nothing I can do will change this. My lived experiences have shown such as a truth. I cannot stop the passing of time. I cannot slow the passing of time…
All I can do is ENJOY the passing of time…
I do not need to “learn” how to enjoy the passing of time, I already know how-to…
One of my hard-earned lessons-in-life has been how to simply “sit” and “enjoy” that which passes me by. I am an accomplished “sitter”… “Sitting” in Eastern thought refers to meditation, or “quiet sitting,” a practice with roots in traditions like Neo-Confucianism and Buddhism. This practice is about quieting the mind, calming the body, and achieving a state of presence and awareness to cultivate inner peace and understanding.
I “sat” for a while this morning. I dont “sit” everyday, but often… I prefer to sit in the early mornings, as the day dawns and the flora and fauna shimmer and sing, I sit. Cross legged, straight back, I sit and travel through my ears. I use my ears to interact with the world as it wakes.
My body is motionless, my breathing even and slow. I hold my jaw so my mouth is closed, breathe through my nose, travel through my ears.
I sat well this morning.
Some mornings I am too tense, too un-at-ease. I feel a good “sit” coming when I stop becoming aware of my hands, stop fidgeting. If I can straighten my spine, get my breath moving freely, let my hands “go” I fall into a session of almost bodiless awareness. Only my breathing and my hearing are tangible, if I am sitting properly.
I was once told by an old islander that… “At times I must repair my unraveled ropes”… I had seen this man (I thought him old then, when I was in my early 20s) sit with his back against the mast of a ship, an island freighter. We were traveling between remote ports in the Western Province of the Solomon Islands. We had just done a 30hour crossing that was rough as guts, terrible, horrendous. And this man had spent all 30 hours keeping the vessel and those on board alive.
He sat cross legged, square backed, against the wooden mast for hours. The day was fresh, the storms gone. Instead of going to his bunk and sleeping he sat.
I was young and green and had enough of the local language(s) to be inquisitive. I asked others what the “old man” was doing. I was told that “kin’ way blo hem” (it’s his way) but little more.
Later, as we cirmcumnaviatged the long dark island of Choiseul, I talked with the old guy. He told me he had to, after a struggle like we had in that recent storm, “repair his ropes”.
His euphemism referred to the fibre ropes of old that would unravel and fray. I had seen it in farmland Iowa… long heavy hemp ropes being repaired and spliced and brought back to life.
I very much liked that analogy. It worked well for me.
So, as an accomplished “sitter” I shall not complain about time’s passing.
I have to check the date and time, again, as I’m a little outta whack… Last couple days been a bit hectic…
A storm blew through Monday afternoon and we’ve been power off, phones dead, connectivity nonexistent. I have a little genset but it aint been used for so long it didnt want to start, I have a bigger genset on wheels, suitable for this house. But the dogs chewed some wires I am yet to repair. A third genset was with son, Paul. I got it today and am happy it is working. I have the refrigerator running now. I shall be able to shower and brush my teeth later. I can watch TV and turn the “skylink” on.
But I can’t do all three at once. Not enough power for that. Only a little 2.5Kva unit running now. My 8Kva on wheels is what should be here now.
Been a couple years since power off here for more than a short while. Thats why I never installed a proper “stand-by genset”.
I wrote this by candle light Monday night…
Power is off. Connectivity down.
A good squall came through and shut everything off.
It was a powerful squall that dropped 35mm/ 1.5inch of rain in less than an hour. Blew the shit outta everything. Tore a door off my garage. Dropped big, heavy drops of rain. The kind that beat the earth like a Vietnamese massage.
Lights off. I got candles. I like candles.
24hours later…
Power off. Day is ending. It is hot. Hot. A slight breeze moves hot air.
We do become accustomed to our comforts.
And today I have a lil-genset keeping my ice cream frozen.
I am an observer, a commentator, a word-smith/ philosopher. I watch and listen to the world around me. I talk to people. I read voraciously. I’ve been writing my thoughts and observations for decades…
And every once in a while I get a plum of a topic to sink my teeth into, to delve into, to ruminate upon, read and write about…
The ” Cost of Living” is such a topic…
One of the big “things” in the virtual world of words is “The Cost of Living”.
The cost of buying a house, raising kids, making your own way in this wondrous and wicked world.
It’s all too much, almost out of reach. Life is TOO EXPENSIVE.
Discussion on social platforms, talk at the coffee shop, complaints at the local pub… All thick with how much all and everything costs. Housing, feeding the family, medical care, travel, education, kids in general… everything has skyrocketed… Everything costs more, which is indeed understandable.
EVERYTHING COSTS MORE THESE DAYS… I dont think there is much argument here.
One basic component in this discussion must be the wage folks are getting paid. If you pay the kid turning burgers 20bucks and hour, you sure as shit aint going to get a cheap meal. It all looks to be great when minimum wages go up, but there must all ways and always be a corresponding increase in the cost of the finished product. I fear this basic economic “factor” is often missed by those lobbying for a raise in the minimum wage, anywhere on the planet.
One MAJOR component in this discussion is the “standard of living” we all strive for. If you buy a new, 1000dollar device every year, or every other year, you are living kinda high. If you live addicted to bandwidth, you will spend a fair amount regularly to stay connected. If you buy a coffee (or two) every day, you are spending an appreciable amount just on coffee. If you eat-out, order-in or do the drive-through with any regularity, you are paying those well paid young kids to cook for you. If you take a trip, travel the world, see new and exotic places, the effect on your income is huge. Travel, though a great educator, is costly. Supporting a sporting team, going to a game or two a season, buying a team scarf or jersey to show your allegiances… Entertaining your kids and grandkids, going to a theme park, even buying an ice cream adds to your particular “cost of living”.
I’m going to be the wise old fart now…
When I was a kid my father made less than 15k per annum, had 9 kids, a mortgage on the house, a car loan, grocery bills, utilities, taxes and made it work. There were no expensive toys, phones, devices, watches, clothes… There was nothing that was terribly expensive in our home. Eveyrhtign was either reasonably inexpensive or just old. The furniture was old. The TV (after we got one) was second hand. Much in the house was from generations past. Nothing was “costly”…
Noting everything was expensive. In a household where there is little $$, most everything is expensive. Too expensive, out of reach.
There was never “extra” money in the household. Finances were always tight. An unexpected bill… a Dr’s bill, a phone bill, a car repair was always and all ways unwelcome.
We did take vacations/ holidays. But they went to a family fishing cabin in north Wisconsin. There we’d fish everyday for 10days, fill the freezer with a year’s worth for fish for Friday’s dinner. It was work and play. It was inexpensive to be there and we took enough frozen walleye and crappie home for no less than 52 meals.
Weekends during summer months were spent in the family vegetable garden. Every spring a big garden went in, someplace. My father was good at finding a big, loamy bit of land where we would put-in a very large vegetable patch. Usually the better part of 1/4 acre, in a farmer’s fallow paddock, an undeveloped lot, a corner of a rural homestead… our yard was never big enough. Not for what we needed.
So my father did side deals, shared produce. All to have the plot of land he needed. We never bought meat at the butcher shop or grocery store. My father would regularly do a deal for a quarter or half of a beast. We bough potatoes in 100pound bags. Stored them in the “root cellar”. We kept a couple large freezers in the garage. My family needed to produce and procure enough to preserve, store, can, freeze, all in order feed us through the winter.
Us kids were the slave laborers (in my mind) working the gardens on hot summer days when one should be sleeping in, playing, having fun. Gardening for me as a kid was never fun.
Up until I was 9 or 10 my mother baked once a week. We had bread daily, a pie or fruit for desert after supper, sweet rolls and cookies… but never bought from the store.
The kitchen was always “hot”. Leftovers were a way of life. The Sunday’s ham was Wednesday’s beans n corn bread. Nothing went to waste.
I often felt as though we were “poor”. Kids at school had sandwiches made from store bought bread. It looked nice, uniform, small. My bread and butter sandwiches were huge affairs. Thickly sliced, dense and wholesome. I was embarrassed by the bread I took to school.
My mother patched our clothes, Pants and jeans were bought both long and wide, then “taken-in”. As I grew the inseam would be let-out. The waistline enlarged. My elder brother was too old for me to get hand-me-downs, but my sisters (six of them) had a long lineage of used clothing and shoes. It was rare to have “something new”.
My father only ever bought two new cars.
I was taken to one major league baseball game in my life. It was a big event.
I went to the State Fair a couple times. Got 25cents to “spend” on what I wanted.
Going out, going somewhere, anywhere, was not common.
My father paid much higher interest rates than we do today. Through the 70, 80s, and into the 90s his cost of borrowing was much higher than it is today:
My father never had a credit card until the 90s. He rarely wrote checks/ cheques. His was a cash economy. Maybe a cash economy is easier to manage than one where the average citizen is 135% in debt.
Credit cards, credit limits, credit scores are all kinda modern… modern to an old fart like me.
In our modern world I do think the “cost of living” is indeed a worthy topic.
I do also think that it is more about the ability for one to budget, manage their income over expenses.
If your kid(s) have a 1000dollar device and designer shoes… I think its more about choice than it is “high cost of living”.
But thats just me being an old, wise, tight fisted kinda guy…
[The] Solomon Islands is a mythical land. A mythical land with a very long past. Archaeological evidence shows human presence as early as 30,000–28,000 years ago. These were likely Papuan-speaking peoples who arrived via land bridges or short sea crossings from the Bismarck Archipelago. Around 3,500–3,000 years ago, Austronesian-speaking peoples (the ancestors of modern Polynesians and most Melanesians) arrived with the distinctive Lapita pottery. They introduced domesticated animals (pigs, dogs, chickens), new crops, and advanced seafaring technology. Most modern Solomon Islanders are descendants of the intermixing between these Austronesian arrivals and the earlier Papuan populations.
My wife’s people have an unbroken lineage reaching back longer than people can say. My father-in-law’s oral tradition traced his bloodline through 13 generations. I spent a number of years sitting with him as he “told his stories”. I paid close attention and was (still am) amazed at his faithfulness to the “tradition”. I listened to him tell many different stories. I listened to him repeat his stories numerous times. His words varied little, if at all, from telling to telling.
His stories brought the “ancestors” to life. The tribe, the people in the family, knew their ancestors well, intimately. Some were comical personalities. Some were fierce, deadly, to be feared. There were tales of war, famine, feast and life of a family group moving through time. The names of those long dead ancestors live to this day in the names of the children of the tribe.
Ancestor Worship was the status quo for generations. My father-in-law was born a heathen, a pagan practicing ancestors worship. His lifetime saw the advent of Christianity. In my time spent “in the village” I made many trips to various “pagan alters”. Every tribe had their tribal alter where they worshiped their personal ancestors.
Often, the ancestors were worshiped with blood…
The ancestors enjoyed receiving the heads of their slain enemies. The ancestors enjoyed receiving the gifts of blood.
I have been to a couple sites where many skulls were piled high and deep. My wife’s maternal grandfather, Kapakesa, was a taker of heads. His alter exists to this day, untended, uncared for, neglected, forgotten.
For most of these islands (there are thousands) the past 125years of change have not been terribly positive. The first generation of Islanders living in a “cash economy” reaped many benefits from “white-man ways”… Diabetes, cancer, and high blood pressure are a couple imported problems. The change in diet was horrendous. From fresh garden produce to imported rice and tinned food. Tobacco, grog (in its many forms), sugar… all aided and abetted the early death of the first generation of “cash economy” Islanders.
My wife’s generation represents the “first generation”, post traditional life style. Most of this generation passed in their 50s. Those remaining, now, in their 60s, represent the lucky ones that survived the transition from traditional to modern lifestyles. Their children, my children, represent the “second generation”, post traditional life styles. They have a chance to control and manage the future. Noting their parents and grandparents were “taken by storm”. Their world changed so quickly and so dramatically all participants were simply swept up and taken into the future to struggle and find a way forward.
This second generation is now in control of the future. Since “first contact” and since independence I don’t think there is a whole bunch to brag about.
From an olfart’s point of view the place is run down, unkept, neglected and mismanaged.
From the young folk’s point of view, from the new leader’s point of view, the place is booming.
If you want to work, if you are willing to work there are many opportunities.
So I return from this trip optimistic. And am planning my next trip back very soon.
the “Hapi Isles” was the tourism marketing tag-line from days past.
For me, it’s been 25 years since the Hapi Isles made complete sense. Though still a great place, having lived through the civil war of 2000, I have not been completely in agreement with the “claim” for quite some time.
I am a good example of “a man in the past”, an individual with too much history, experience and knowledge to see these modern times as being better, happier, more positive than days gone by…
When I arrived here, January 11 1981, the population was a quarter of what it is today.
Any place that grows in population at an exponential rate shall suffer failing in control and management of the topics that matter… Topics like education, healthcare, infrastructure, urban planning, and more…
So here we are in 2025, where it can take 2 hours to drive 20ks… The unkept condition of some (not all) roads means the drive from Pt Cruz to Henderson airport can be a long, long journey. Many vehicles here receive as much maintenance as the roads, and thus are running metal on metal, moving slow, delicately over and through the pot-holes and craters and washboards. Traffic is hard to get use to. Consumes a lot of time.
The cost-of-doing-business is high. Any on-road transfers are costly due to time involved and wear-n-tear of vehicles.
For all it’s downfalls, De Islands still hold magic…
I have not “lived’ in the Solomon Islands for 15 years. Since 2019 I have only returned, now, twice. This is my first intentional “business trip” in way, way too long. The business I founded in 1987 is still strong.
The Solomons in general is “very run down”.
Main thing here in the Solos is the fact that “maintenance” is a new thing, a new concept, a new and slightly foreign idea. Ive always stated that the main past times here in these Hapi Isles (besides making gorgeous babies)is fighting over land and rebuilding/ repairing leaf roofs.
Traditionally houses were 100% “bush materials”. I have built a few very nice, very well built leaf houses. I intentionally built one without any nails or metal fasteners. I had my father in-law teach me the ol-skool methods and materials. I did put a wood plank floor in that house but the walls, roof, structure were 100% ol-skool. That house lasted about 10 years.
The bush material houses are cool in that they simply return to nature. As the leaf rots, as the structure degrades and the bush-rope fastenings fail, it becomes a pile of compost.
Very cool in my mind.
Not the same with modern, western building methods. Most of Honiara looks like it needs a coat of paint.
Honiara is a dust bowl. Roads suck. Traffic sucks. An old line… in the Solos you won’t find a wrecking yard. Nope, no field of tired old vehicles being cannibalised. Instead of a wrecking yard, here was have a taxi fleet.
Most (not all) taxis are are on their last legs. Most (not all) taxis have been on their last legs for a long time. Their suspension is dead. They run metal on metal, every bump, pot hole, depression and crater (there are many) sends a pailful shudder thought the entire frame. Thus the taxis move down the road at a crawl. Holes and craters are approached tentatively, gently, very slowly.
Traffic in general moves at a snail’s pace.
Much, much has changed in my absence. The big, big change here has been the advent of CCPP hegemony. I have written about this. Watched it over the past many years.
Was just talking about this yesterday with my son… He was recounting a story of a friend of his, a peer that is now a Minister of The Crown. Like my son, he and his peers are now becoming leaders. Leaders of industry, leaders of society. As my generation starts to limp, enjoys early bed times and ceases all meaningful carousing, the next generation steps up and steps in.
The Minister was talking to a visiting group of Australian big wigs… The Aussie PM, Albo, Ms Wong and.a few came over a few months ago, cheque books ready… The young Minister spoke to them saying… “When I visit China I am treated with respect. I am treated as a dignitary. Like you Australians, when you arrived in Honiara… You were met and greeted formally. Escorted off your plane, seamlessly welcomed into the country.” The Minister continues… “When I enter Australia, I stand in line with everyone else. I am not made to feel important. I am not made to feel welcomed… Whom do you think I prefer to do business with?”
Speaking to my son… The Chinese are colonisers, emigrants, investors. The Chinese are buying up big. They move their families here. They send their kids to local schools, become (more or less) a part of the society.
Australia has (as I have written) lost the diplomatic war over Pacific influence.
It has been a long time since folks like myself decided to emigrate to the Solomons. To make the conscious decision to make the Solomons their home.
For over 40 years Ive been discussing the difference between the Eastern vision of growth and development, versus the Western vision of growth and development.
The West requires straight, grid-like roads. Preferably running east/ west, north/ south. the West requires building codes and regulations. Planned sewer systems, garbage collection, dog catchers, and general compliance to standards of living.
The East requires little that is straight, grid-like or uniform. Circuitous roads, built as per need, as per available income, as per the weather of the day… Little or no building codes and regulations. And if there are reeks and regs, bribes are paid, codes forgotten.
Planned sewer systems, garbage collection, dog catchers, and general compliance to standards of living is unheard of.
I grew up in a smallish MidWest river-town. Streets were numbered. Ran N/S/E/W. Lawns were expansive and well maintained. If you failed to mow your lawn the “City” would come talk to you.
I am familiar with the western mindset of what society is. It’s what I know. It makes me feel comfortable.
And… from my many trips into the “Orient” I have learned to appreciate the eastern mindset.
I think of one trip to Taipei…
I was in Taiwan doing high level business. I am meeting with government officials, dealing with a State owned company. I am staying at a 5star hotel in the city CBD.
I like to walk city streets. Get a feel for where I am. Go out and find/ feel my way around. Talk to folks. Use my very limited mandarin, maybe visit a local pub. Make a spectacle of myself. Entertain the locals a bit…
I walk out of my fancy hotel in downtown Taipei… take a right and start a journey around the block… I walk a bit, take the first left I come to, down a smaller, more colourful street/ alleyway…
I stop in front of a “garage”… Big rolling garage style door… A space maybe 15ft/ 4mt wide x 30ft/ 10mtr long… The front 10ft/ 3mtrs is a work shop. A high rack of steel pipes and channels (all 20ft/ 6mtrs long) is impressive. A skinny guy, with a skinnier off-sider squatting on the ground holding his work with feet, placing a weld. Behind the rack of steel is the family. They are making tea on a small gas-top. Mama, grandmama, a couple kids… I must have been gawking… They smile at me. Words are spoke, the welder looks up, smiles, comes and says g’day.
My handful of mandarin words are exhausted quickly. But… But… Taiwanese folks speak baseball…My visit had coincided with a World Series… We communicated sufficiently to have a fun chat about the ongoing games. All the kids came out and touched me. The women sat back and smiled. I’m kinda certain that it was rare for a “gweilo” dude to stop for a chat
So there I was, not half a mile/ 500 meters from the entrance to my fancy, high class, expensive hotel standing with a business owner, living with his family in a small workshop, making their way through life with smiles and joy.
Of course, The Western view of things would never allow such. Kids in a work shop, welding without proper safety measure, open fires in the back, on and on…
Honiara has most definitely gone the route of the Eastern Development mindset.
In my family a marble, accidentally found, represents a hello from my father, the young lady in the picture’s great grandfather…
At my father’s funeral a large bowl of marbles was put by his casket. Folks paying their respects were encourage to take a pocketful of marbles home. All were told that the marbles represented the old Dawg’s presence. His continual nearness.
Over the years finding a marble is worth celebrating. It all ways and always makes me happy.
A few days ago my elder brother passed.
My granddaughter, Dawn (my father was Don), was a baby when taken to visit the old folks. My brother took a shine to her. We have lovely pictures of my brother with my granddaughter. She has no memory of the trip but the pictures give her a knowledge and awareness of how and what and who and where.
She mourned when she was told of her uncle’s passing.
Yesterday, I’m working in her dad’s office, we’re cranking numbers and going through accounts.
This is newly built office space. It’s still being painted and competed. We moved in to do our work.
My two granddaughters come in after school, we’re closing down for the day. The girls make noise and annoy then, Dawn says… “I found a marble”…
Our attention shifts to her. We all smile. Think of the old Dawg…
LDC = Least Developed Country… LDC most commonly means Least-Developed Country, referring to nations with low income and severe structural challenges, identified by the United Nations to receive special support.
A recent report listed these Solomon Islands as the 100th most corrupt Nation – out of abut 200 nations.
I was just explaining to an uninitiated friend that these Islands take some time to understand. Ive been tramping these beaches and raised-coral hill sides for 44 years, and I’m still figuring things out.
Thats why I am here… to work with my family business partners. I started our business sin 1987. These days we have over 100 employees. I feel constantly frustrated, delighted and maddened by the business. It do keep things interesting.
I was saying to a friend: I enjoy the scent of wood fires, rotting vegetation and excrement that fills the air. I like the varying skin and hair tones of the islanders. From blue-black to Scandinavian fair skin with blond hair. I luv the smiles on the faces that come so readily when you wave, smile, nod or otherwise catch a pedestrian’s attention.
A layer of dust covers most everything. The closer to town the thicker the dust is. The roads and walk ways and general “CBD” area of town is always clouded in a floating layer of fine, talcum like, dust. You can see it at times, hovering above the town like a living entity, a blanket of consciousness, holding everything down, together.
I am up on the ridges, above the roads and people that is the “Town”. Its not bad at all here… the dust… in fact it very nice here. The cool of the morning, the freshness of the air, the sound of the fauna… The sound of people starting their day… The feel of the day’s heat building, the humidity rising, the coming blistering equatorial sunlight hitting the roofs and causing the buildings to crackle n pop…
The Native Iowan 
thoughts and opinions