The Native Iowan

Sunday morning here. It’s going to be a good day, the sun is out, the air is clear and clean, and a full morning of UFC blood sports is on.

Ive fed my dogs, walked the back fence line to check all is well, the sinister electric fence is ticking over nicely. I moved the cattle, and now sit with a coffee, as guys and gals kick the shit outta each other.

What could be better!

Oh, did I forget to mention that we’re under Lock-Down? Over half the population in The Land Of Aus is locked down. Some places more severe than others. Some places are under martial law. Big fines for breaking the rules…

I am kinda curious about it all, that after a year of on and off lock downs and restrictions and penalties, the powers that-be, are still trying to figure stuff out. A smallish population of 25mil or so, on an island, after a solid 16+ months, are still at risk and are still being controlled.

Yesterday there was to be an “anti-lock-down” rally in Sydney. The second of its kind in a few weeks… The authorities were out in force and prohibited the rally from occurring. Yet, a year ago, the BLM (burn loot n murder) rallies were going full speed in all major metropolis’s, without issue. Guess you can protest systemic social injustices, only so far, eh?

The cost of the sloppy controls and regs is huge. Everyone somehow thinks the authorities have money to spend. Just heard a news report saying that the $700 a week “assistance” was not enough to survive. Few folks really, really understand that it is the Taxpayer who is footing the bill, and shall foot this bill for a long time to come.

Like a teen who gets a couple credit cards and maxes them out. It may not look like a lot, a couple 1500$ debts, growing at 18.5%? But as the years tick by and teenhood goes into adulthood, the debts hang around like a millstone for a long, long time.

I’m glad I am an old fart. These lockdowns would bother me if I was, say, 10-20 years younger. If I had a life outside of oldfarthood, if I had things “to-do”.

As it is I do feel the inconvenience of it all. Perhaps its more than just an inconvenience?

My mother is 94, lives in Iowa, and is fading. She’s a tough old bird, and may well be around for some time, but being able to visit her during the North American summer would be nice.

My daughter, CK, gave birth to a son a few months back. He’s our 18th grandpup, CK’s first child. They are in The Solomons. Thank goodness for modern social media, but being there would be nice.

A huge portion of our family lives in The Solomons. We have two grandsons, two granddaughters, our son PJ, and his wife here in Aus with us. Which is very good. But the other 14 grand-pups and numerous grown children lead their lives without opportunity of us joining in.

Perhaps, worse of all, my “dream-boat”, DD ICE, sits in Gizo. It may as well be on Mars. There is no possible future window of opportunity where I’ll be onboard, again. A big part of my “retirement-plan”, ICE was to be my oldfart, sea faring adventure. A dream of a life time… Sail the Pacific from West to East. Take a few years, circumnavigate Aus, NZ, head for the equator and explore the islands. Visit many friends along the way. Experience Easter Island from sea. Explore the West Coast of the Americas, from Chile to Alaska.

Yes, I did have grand plans and delusions.

As predicted over a year ago, the Kung Flu is leading to a very fascist attitude in our modern world. Is it all a “Shamdemic”? The idea that the authorities shall soon require you to “get the jab” is a bit much for me. Here in Aus it is happening as we speak. relaxation of restrictions is now tied to % of population vaxx’d.

I dont think Governments should be making blanket rules that impinge on personal liberties. The lockdowns are of course draconian, and have proven to be of little help, and have caused huge harm. The idea that you MUST get the jab in order to be a member of society is very heavy-handed.

I am not opposed to the Vax. Im not unfamiliar with being vaxed by command… in the old days you had to have a WHO vaccination book to travel to certain places. I still have mine from the 80s.

Shall I get vaxed? Why have I not gotten it yet?

I explained recently that my age and station in life sees me pretty much self isolated without being forced. I have no real desire or need to spend too much time out in public. I have more than enough to occupy my time positively. As I age I find I dislike crowds, being in public. My agoraphobia grows as I age. I probably visit less than six places with any regularity: I buy fuel at one or three places, I buy veggies at the same place weekly, I visit one of 3-4 grocery stores every few days, and buy grog from the same grog-shop all the time. Masks are mandatory in the shops, as is a sign-in through a govt app when you enter a shop.

Face diapers are compulsory in public.

I dont go “out”, eat out, have coffee, visit others at all, any more. Have not been one to “go out” for ages. Sunday lunches at the local pub used to be nice, but not any more.

I have taken to buying a lot of what I need on-line. Just ordered a bunch of plywood and paint to build a couple dog houses. Delivery is only 40bucks. But this is nothing new for me. Ive been ordering on line for as long time. Loading and unloading 10 sheets of construction ply is easy, if someone else does the work.

The Vaxx situation has been terribly mismanaged, mis-messaged. According to what I hear, its is not as easy to get the jab as it should be. But I speak secondhand at best. When the times comes I shant be too disagreeable. And the time shall come.

I am watching the terrible situation in Afghanistan get worse. The entire region is poised, once again, to return to the Middle Ages/ the Dark Ages, as the extremists are given back control. Yes, “given back control”.

More ineptitude and stupidity is hard to find. A couple decades, a few trillion dollars, several thousand wasted lives, for what?

It’s a “been there, done that” T-shirt. I mourn for the people whose lives have been, and shall be ruined. As refugees spill out and put pressure on systems already broken.

Speaking of “broken systems”… I find it sadly humorous that the US0fA is falling further and further down the “rabbit-hole”… I heard that over 1million illegal emigrants have crossed the southern border in this year- to date. Thats almost a quarter of a million people a month. And thats just the Souther border.

Many of the folks crossing are from Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe. The offical-word tells us that the folks are from failed South American countries, but that is only half of the story. Half the truth.

The current situation is such that the word “is out”, The Border is open for one and all. So do what you can, be there or be square.

But what about the Cuban refugees that are being sent back? Why the dual standard?

Speaking of dual standards… The DNC led Congress has initiated an investigation into the “insurrection” of January. Refused to let Republicans sit on the committee.

From where I sit, this BS is self-fulling-prophesy. Like the Russian-collusion BS, if you spend enough time and energy and $$ chasing a falsehood, if becomes TruTh.

Speaking of TruTh… there is none.

There used to be many common Truths. Unassailable Truths.

Nothing is unassailable these days.

Nothing is Holy any more.

I was educated by people who taught me about the importance facts. Historical facts, Scientific facts, Numerical facts. Life was based on facts.

Not anymore. And I dont get it.

And thats kinda OK. As stated, I am an olFart. And am hapi being an olFart. I’m kinda good at it. My life is pretty damn good.

For an oldFart.

Smiles all around

More Later…

A sunny, windy winter’s day here in QLD. The wind dries things out but we have heaps of water so we’ll survive easily.

Not sure how many of the folks out there are familiar with the use of electric fences on farms. They are standard world-wide. I don’t think the basic technology employed has changed over the past many decades. An insulated-from-ground wire or “tape” is electrified either with standard Ac power or with a battery. The electric shock produced is enough to keep a 1000kg bull off the wire. Calves jump and often get a couple good shots before they can get away. The cows are smart, rarely get hit by the shock.

Just the other day, I was “out back” checking fences in my 4x4buggy. Gracie was with me. I have one long run of electrified fence way back. Its a standard unit hooked to an old tractor battery and with a mini solar panel to keep the battery fully charged. I believe the units I use produce upwards to 6000 volts, The current is strong enough to shock but not really injure. The amperage is very low, measured in milliamps. So high volts with minimal amps not really dangerous, but…

I went to check my set up. I can hear that its active. You can hear the pulse of current, is sounds like a metallic “click”. Every 3 seconds or so you hear the unit send a charge of electricity down the line.

I see the earth lead is not where I think it should be. I was out here a while back and moved it, but was on the wrong Side of the fence so did not clamp the earth lead to the steel post holding the solar panel up. Instead I clipped it onto the steel barbed wire line going the other direction. Suitable, but not correct. A good grounding makes it work better so… I unclip the earth and prepare to move it, as the unit goes, click – click – click…

Right hand has the earth lead as my left hand gets close enough to the electric tape for the charge to jump the gap. Current in my left hand, through my chest, and out my right. Didn’t last long but when I managed to drop the lead I was two frankenstien-stiff-steps from where I’d started. I vividly felt the current. Knew intuitively I had to drop the lead but it took some effort, as my body went stiff and my arms rose like I was conducting a symphony.

Of course Gracie laughed her arse off.

I shook my self like a scalded dog. Laughing too, I shivered from head to foot.

Promptly turned the damn unit off, fixed the ground properly, commenting as I did so that “I sure as hell shoulda turned that off in the first place”.

While Gracie laughed all the time. I think she is still laughing.

Smiles all around

I’m sitting on the back porch of the old farm house. About330pm on a Thursday afternoon. My Molosser pups lie near by. The air is quiet and warm.

We’re in a valley so, this-time of year, we get sunshine 8am – 5pm. Yesterday we had a winter’s souwesterly blowing that was coooold. Today, no wind, so for now its very pleasant.

Nights recently have been near freezing, but days warm up quite nicely. From where I sit I get blue sky, white clouds, green farmlands and an amazing golden sunshine bathing all in warmth. But the warmth is fleeting. The sun light transient. Once behind the hill, the cold settles in quickly.

From this back-porch, on a little farm in Queensland, I watch the world.

And I am increasingly confused by what I find… the lengths of deception and outright lying this covid adventure has offered is extreme. No doubt that deception and outright lying has been SOP for a long, long time, yet we’re hitting new levels of deception and untruths.

I am a long-term avid reader of sci-fi. ManKind’s psyche, free will, destiny, and more has been thoroughly hashed over by many decades of Sci-Fi. Yet, I ponder, what the fuck is going on? It is stranger than Sci-Fi. I find my self A Stranger in a Strange Land…

I cant choose a single hip topic to have a rant about. There are too many to choose from. And I am not up to the arguments, the discussions. The emotion.

I once commented heavily about what I was reading and hearing and doing. Though I still do research and pay close attention to “the matters of the day”, I am no longer commenting. Much…

Not any more. Being a Farmer offers a lot of distractions but little exciting news. Often one days becomes another. Not like the days of yore when Grace and I would be busting-hump through some airport, almost late, and living by the “carry-on-only” travel mantra. Hotel room to hotel room, taxi to taxi… country to country… those were the days!

I used to call it “time travel”… leaving Brisbane at 8am on a Monday morning and arriving at LAX 6am on a Monday morning…

And those days are gone, victim to the KungFlu. The world has changed, and I am merrily ensconced here in QLD. Where its getting cold…

Farming is a good gig. 16 cows, 10 claves and a big-arsed bull named Hank. Two amazing Maremma guard dogs, and two monster Molosser pups. And 2-egg-laying-hens. Lots to smile about.

More later

It was a grey n moist Thursday morn here. Woke to a dense, foggy dawning. The maremma guard dogs are quieted by fog.

Pretty busy day… Mr. M turned 16 so we had to rush into the local Transport office for him to get his licence. It’s a big thing, turning 16. Who can recall their 16th bday?

After feeding the dogs and managing my chores, I took M and Zai into Palmwoods, did what I had to do, and rode a bike back. I beat the rain.

I am now sittting in the old farm house. I got it to myself for the next few days. Me and the 4 dogs and 27 head of cattle.

It’s nice.

With my daily tasks sorted, back at the farm by myself, for an unknown reason I decided to tune in and see what the various news channels were selling today. It didnt last long… I must admit my tolerance for the bile and bullshit purveyed as “NEWZ” is low, very low.

Any sense of respect – respect of others, and respect for one’s self- is long evaporated. Folks of all walks and predilections say, do, sell, buy what suits them one day, and flip flop and change when beneficial. When the audience applauds. No one has any honour, trust is an old fashioned thing, being truthful is just about illegal.

The elected leadership of a people tells us a lot about The People. We have seen dismal days before. I despaired when rayGun was elected, then GB#1. I thought Clinton a say-anything southern politician from day-1. He lied so convincingly. Very polished. They called him”slick Willie”. GB#2… WMDs… The Obama era, where a systemically racist culture elects a non-white with an non-anglo name into the highest office of The Land… then The Donald, and now Uncle Joe…. All democraticall elected into office by the same electorate.

Thats a WTF sorta situation…

A combination of “cancelling” and “cultural dogma” has led us to a land where you are only racist if you are white, what once was historically true has been revised. Rewritten. Facts don’t mean much at all, any more.

A divergent opinion, to that of the hoard, is a scary thing. It makes folks run, hide. They dont know how to handle a logical straight forward discussion. Facts are not facts anymore. Facts have to be vetted and approved or they are cancelled out, removed, rewritten. Or they will hurt some one’s feeling. If you disagree you are racist.

Places like Baltimore are failing, have failed because of the systemically racist system that suppresses the residents therein. Suppresses all, of all colours, races and creeds.

At the same time the racist system spends more in Baltimore, per student, than almost anywhere else in The Land. Average federal spending per student per annum is 14,000.00. Baltimore students are worth 17,000.00 per. It costs more to fail, I guess.

Another WTF situation?

The racist systems spends 25% more on the suppressed???

Don’t make sense, do it?

Chicago had in excess of 50 shootings this past week. Newz does not faithfully report, or confirm number of deaths. Some folks scream that its the guns, ban the gunzzz… some claim its the police, defund the police and all will be well…

Detroit has seen 5 children gunned downed in the past week. On top of the normal adult shootings.

Guns? Police? Tell me what the problem is. Gotta know the problem in order to gain a solution.

No one will speak of the social fibres that have eroded and leave us a society that has no respect, honour, trust, fidelity… No one can mention the fatherless homes that are the norm, and the lost and lonely – and violent – progeny produced.

And in Baltimore we pay 17k a student for this result.

So much foolishness. So much waste.

But I do ramble.

Let me speak of positive things like beautiful skies…

A good herd of cattle…

Puppies….

Calves…

Smiles around

More later

Sunday morn here. A chilly Sunday morn. Bright blue skies, golden sunshine and crisp air. It’s a very nice place to “BE”.

I am thinking of a conversation I recently had with an old friend, where we shared personal situations dealing with less than copacetic people and situations. In it we used an old phrase, “Petty Tyrant” to describe people with malevolent intent.

In my situation I have been dealing with a negative-neighbour and a boundary dispute. It’s been ongoing for a year. Lawyers are involved. It’s not a pretty scene, and offers enough negativity to go around.

So I consider and have a look and find this:

The use of the term “petty tyrant” is borrowed from the work of Carlos Castaneda, whose teacher, Don Juan Matus, encouraged him to seek out petty tyrants in order to confront and defeat his self-importance and self-pity:

Self-importance is man’s greatest enemy. What weakens him is feeling offended by the deeds and misdeeds of his fellow men. Self-importance requires that one spend most of one’s life offended by something or someone.          Carlos Castaneda, The Wheel of Time

Other teachers, philosophers and psychologists have understood the horror of spending one’s life offended by other people. Petty tyrants, people who seem intent on harming us, are a necessary asset in confronting our victim-hood and its resulting loss of poise.

I find this conversation to be timely and fitting. In a world where everyone is so offended by so much. Where angst and anger are emotions de-jure. Where lashing out senselessly is common and accepted as socially OK.

And the beat goez on…

Smiles all around

Just got the news that my old friend and family member, Don Verrips passed away.

I have not seen Don since 2017. It’d been decades since I’d seen him, but we picked up where we’d left up, got caught up, and were “close” again.

I first met Don in 1966/ 67. He was dating my sister. I was 7 and he was 16/17 when we first met. He very much left a firm stamp on my growing up. A small dude, he was fierce, like little dudes are.

The marriage with my sister did not last but his argumentative, aggressive attitude suited me so we were friends all along.

His only offspring, Daughter Tracey, embodies his attitude in a fine style. She is tough, not to be messed with, articulate and vocal. And very short.

Don never weighed 120pounds, with ball bearings in his pocket. Even when we last met he was basically a runt. But not one to be challenged or messed with. The size of the fight in the dog kinda thing.

So here is to Don…

Ive searched for a photo and will keep looking I know I have some.

Adios buddy…

It is a clear, crisp Saturday here in the little valley. Nights are cold and breezy. We leave the house open so the nights require nice, big, heavy blankets. Makes sleeping easy under all that weight.

Chords, How cold is it in SA? Always hotter or colder in SA. I did a 1000k run into NSW a week ago, and it inspires me to cross more boarders. Might look at a run down your way. Only problem is getting caught on the wrong side of a lock-down. I think SYD just got nailed again. WA is never safe.

Damn this travel restriction BS sux, eh?

Woke this morn, as each morn here on the farm, and dress for going outside. The big dogs, the puppies, the herd, all need attention. I get out of bed and go outside to be a farmer.

Joe has been gone a couple weeks. A few hours a day keeps things on an even keel. I have a lot of projects to undertake but am happy to move slow.

I gave Joe’s house to Gracie. She’s going to turn into in her church… The House Of Grace…

Guess I wont be spending much time there.

Had a calf born early yesterday. It’s the 16th calf born out o f16 cows in 10 months. So the new calving season will start soon. I just sold 7x 10-8month old calves last week. A grand a piece. Better than a poke in the eye.

This new born means I have 8 calves here ranging in age form 6th month old to new born. Will sell these 8 in December or January, depending on market.

Not getting rich but having a good time.

This morn I opened a new, fresh paddock up to the herd. They were keen to get to the fresh green grass. The mamma of the new born went with the herd. Left her baby hidden in the grass somewhere. The mammas will hide their new borns for most of the day as they feed. Then come evetime, with full udders, the calves get a big feed.

So I go look for it. Find it easy enough. I think its dead. Not uncommon how sound these new borns sleep. 30kgs and all legs. Moving many direction. I lay on top of it and get control the the legs. Manage to get a good two armed carry grip and lift the bugger up, kicking and blleeetting. A few steps to the buggy… second step I turn my left ankle.

Fall straight on top of the calf, keep control of it. If I let go now, it’ll be gone quick as a deer. And probably get lost and things will be busy and not bueno at all.

I get it to the buggy, get to mamma. Mamma is at the gate, head down, not hapi. I talk her into being calm, push the ne born toward her, keep it from bolting away.

All is good but my bloody ankle.

Not swollen, not really injured too bad, but sore. If I turn it again, too soon, it’ll take ages to come back. So I sit, watch dumb old swashbuckling movies and drink lunch.

Life is guud. Gracie appears hapi here on the farm. Of course the amount of walking and movement we do is easily double what a normal suburban life offers, so we are very much healthier here. The animals are fun and mentally stimulating. The cattle are intelligent beings with interesting personalities. Ive learned if you say “please” they cooperate well.

The puppies are a hoot. Eating massive amounts. I am told I need to cook for them so its rice and beans and veggies and loads of meat. I’ll weight them soon but reckon they’ve gained a couple kilos since I brought them home.

The Maremma are cool. Not pets at all. Often quite timid and skittish. But bloody great guards.

And the beat goes on.

Smiles

Its 342pm, I am in Parkes, NSW. I drove down to pick up my next furry-buddy adventure.

It’s cool that their people sent a pillow they have been raised with.

I am in a dog friendly motel. An older, run down place that suits my needs well. It has an old style water closet and bath room affair. The hand basin is a small room that I can close or open makes a great puppy pen.

It’s not a great pict but they are hugging their pillow, recovering from the travel. I can see different personalities already.

They are a matched pair of bitches. 10weeks old. About 10kgs each. They have been reared by honest dog-people. Knowledgeable dog-people.

Thus they send the pillow.

The dominant sister had created a bond with her dog-person mommy. Mommy named her, “Nia”. Nia is used to being the favourite. She is playing shy and unhappy with me.

The other sister, the little sister had not been named. She is ready to be friendly.

Gracie and I had discussed possible names and my favourite was, “Quel”. Quel in Gracie’s home-language means girl.

So we got Nia and Quel.

And the Adventure Begins…

I have written about dogs in general, some of the dogs I have shared space with, and say each time that I am a dawg-person. Either you are or you are not. Middle ground does exist, but once you live with a good dawg, spend years interacting and coexisting, then bury and grieve, you learn that its all but impossible for a dog-person to NOT have a dawg.

So I bought Two!

I am known for a certain level of excess in my life. If a one-day party is fun, well hell, a two-day party gotta be better? Why adopt and raise one kid when you can adopt and raise a half dozen, and end up claiming something like 18 grandchildren?

I actually think that these two female pups represent a certain amount of constraint on my part.

And I smile.

I think the pups represent my retirement, my next retirement. Retire early and often… These pups should live an easy 10 years, could be 15. They are of a high level of breeding. They are going to be very smart, very trainable. If the trainer is smart.

I am 11 to 12 hours away from home. Traffic, road works and posted or personal detours not included. Grace is holding down the farm while I am travelling. She has the dogs and the cattle there to manage. And a big garden to play in.

Some may ask why I am buying these pups, while I have two maremma on the farm… The answer is in dog-talk: different breed are bred for different things, have different characteristics and abilities. The maremma are guard dogs. Working dogs. They do not make great pets. They bark a lot, a whole lot, that’s their job. They are naturally part wild, they normally bond and live with a herd, or flock as domestic guards. You dont groom maremma. Mine guard my property, are the sentries over the herd and the buildings. Tho trainable, their nature is to be a bit wild. Farmers around here consider a maremma to be half dog, half werewolf.

These pups would probably be called mastiffs. But they aren’t. They they are working dogs bred for size, and intelligence. They can be trained to do just about anything, but excel at domestic protection.

I do like big dogs, and have decided on two females for two main reasons: a) I’m aware that the single dog in a house can be lonely. A dawg needs company of outs own kind. And nothing is better than a good bitch guard-dog, than two good bitch guard-dogs. b) is that I have time to have two big dogs noting my life of world-wide travel and adventure is done. I don’t expect travel to open up and life to go back to “what-it-was”. So I’ll raise and train these two great pups.

They both hug their pillow in the tiny water-closet. Quel wags her tail as I try to call her out. She hears me and responds but is holding back. Nia just looks at me. Not in a bad way, but she is sad. She misses her mommy.

This place could not be better. The stars have alight ed.

I am a bit concerned that the pups will eventually wake up and want attention. I have a long drive to do tomorrow. We will take a break every two hours. It’s going to be a good initiation into the coming adventure.

I was out sorting the truck and a guy was sitting outside his room with his dawg running around. He is obviously a dawg-dude. Has a big truck and a trailer and dresses for work. A contractor away from home, with his dog. He’s reading the paper and having a smoke. His dawg, Holly, is having a good run around.

I like dawg and kid friendly, run down, country town, highway motels.

Last night I got et-up on one leg by bed-bugs…

OK, time flies when you are having fun… been dealing with the pups. They are very intelligent, aware, know what is going on. Very slow to become my buddy. Very slow. Like I would expect from a very smart dawg.

I sit in the restaurant of the “Moonraker Motel”. It smells like we have either survived a flood without changing the carpet or there is a permanent rot, decay that has set in.

I like it.

I’m having a 4XGold and the daily special… 300gm Scotch Fillet. You never know. I asked the waitress what to order and how it should be cooked. We’ll see how we go. I am a well travelled veteran and try not to order sea food in Iowa, nor steak in Gizo.

Though I have had fresh shushi in Des Moinse and a great steak in Gizo.

Local colour : This place appears to be run (owned) by a Indian continent male with a big blond Aussie female. Its is family and small. Laughter comes form the kitchen. The male on the phone taking an order is firm but concise. He wants the order to be right even if the customer is not sure. He repeats the order three times before confirming.

It’s only 637pm. Plenty of time for a couple 4Xstubbies.

Personal drama filters out of the kitchen. All kitchens are the centre of gossip. I like it. A single bloke just walked in. He is a “regular” by the look of it. Should I be civil and say G’day?

I am very good at being rude. But I won’t.

It’s all done. Had a good meal and a great conversation. The place was friendly and quite enjoyable.

I spoke to the proprietor, Vas, and am right in my assessment. We both agree it is good to be an emigrant in The land of Aus.

Hunt For Red October is on TV. 859pm. Puppies are bedded down. Plenty of newspaper on the floor. It’s been a good day. Puppies make everything better.

Smiles

Its my Mother’s birthday today. She is 94.

So a big holler over the oceans to the toughest, most capable, most fearsome, most creative, fun loving, and loving woman I know.

Here’s to Happy Granny… wish we could celebrate with you. But then my parties are hard work. The one good thing about the KunFlu BS is no big, hard work, long recovery parties allowed… Maybe next year? We’ll both have to go into training. Your 85th bday party (as pictured above) left me exhausted for days.

Big smiles

A Wednesday morning here in lovely QLAND. The air is chilled, the cloud cover rather thick, rain is coming.

And rain is good.

Ive been hanging out here on the little farm in our happy valley close to Woodford. Had a bit of dry weather so we slashed a couple large fields. The grass had gotten so thick you couldn’t walk through it. It was a big task to mow it all down. Took maybe 15 hours to do the two big paddocks, close to the houses. I don’t intend to use right now. Considering that we are moving into winter, the dry season for us, I don’t want a thick load of fuel this close.

I dont intend to use these fields soon. We don’t need to. We have cut the herd in half, with only 16 breeding mammas, a big arsed bull named “Hank”, and 13 calves of varying age. I’ll shift 6 teenagers out soon. Prices are good so they’ll go to market and be shipped out west where they’ll graze and grow for another year or so.

Our’s is a small calf-factory type operation. Sold 22 breeders and claves a few months ago. I decided I didn’t want to get too big, work too hard. The 22 we sold were all young heifers. All bred here. They were like pets, but like teenaged, unruly poets.

The ones we kept are older, easier to manage, matrons of the paddock. The fewer head the more docile the herd. The old mamas are well trained. And they do move like matrons on a domestic mission.

Like ships afloat on a sea of green.

With 16 cows we can expect 16 calves in any 12 month period. I think the oldest calf in the herd was born July last year. Makes him almost a year old. The Youngest is maybe a month old. I expect 3 more calves soon, then we start again… all but the one that calved recently should be pregnant as we speak. Hank does a pretty good job.

Last eve Hank caught a whiff of a cow next door. The neighbour’s cows were on the north fence line, maybe 600meters from Hank. But he caught a whiff and sat on the fence where he was and bellowed for a couple hours. We laugh because Hank has a lisp and sounds much like Mike Tyson.

The farm is a good place. Kinda boring, a lot of walking, the big, old house is cold. Colder in the house than outdoors this time of year. Nice heavy blankets cover the furniture. The bed has a thick down comforter on it, with flannel sheets. Grace and I were just commenting how much sleep we are getting. It’s 914am and I’m bundled and zipped up. It’s 19c/66f, and it wont warm up much with this cloud cover.

Grace says I should put a heater in but I disagree. Like the heat of summer, the cold of winter is so short its not really worth the effort. Not like in the Northern Climes where you need a pile of fire wood the size of your house to survive a winter. Nope, here we just add layers of clothes. Sit in the sun. If eves get too cold I light a fire out back.

The farm is kinda boring in that life is simple here. Feed the dogs, watch the cattle, manage the few daily tasks that arise, noting it is a small farm. Nothing big or arduous or heavy here. I have a few projects to plan… the big rains pushed over a couple fence-lines in the back. I’ll schedule Mendozza to come home from school to help me. He’s a competent labourer and a very good machine operator.

But the life of a hobby-farmer is pretty good.

More later

Big smiles

Queensland is quite the place. I seriously don’t think you can find better weather anywhere on our globe.

Sure, I hear the peanut gallery… go ahead, have your laugh… but for me, QLD is the place to B.E.

Weather today is 29c/17c… 84f/64f. Great sleeping weather. Quite warm and sunny outside, but the pool is frigid cold. Very deceiving. Will sleep under a nice quilt tonight.

The best thing about autumn in QLD is that we don’t have to prepare for snow, for really, really cold. We might see freezing a few times a year, and we might get a bit of frost some mornings, but all in all my house stays open year round. We never turn on a heater.

Noting well though, Grace does like to take hot water bottles to bed with her.

Woke this morning in Toowoomba. Went up to see Mendoza, take him out to supper and spend the night at a nice hotel. Toowoomba is a cool, old QLD regional Capitol. Lovely architecture. Wide, clean streets, lots of cool cafes and eateries. Not a bad place to spend the night away from home.

We know Toowoomba well. Like Tville a lot. Sons Paul and Don went to boarding school here.

The school Mendoza attends was founded in 1875. Its very much a Harry Potter type brick and stone edifice. Large well cared for green grass and majestic old trees. The boys attend school in suit and tie.

Ive done the trip between here and Tville so many times it is like and old friend, or an old familiar pub. The 2.5hour drive is easy and enjoyable. A night in Tville is always gud, always nostalgic.

The world at large is rather confused. But, what is new?

I love it when one moralistic party or fraternity or sorority claim the high ground over another. Conservative v Liberal. Sexisit v feminist, racist v progressive. Black v White… an age old theme. Divide and conquer.

To own the moral high ground one must have “god on their side”, no? Both cannot claim sacred endorsement, or can they?

I think of Catsro who for years and years, decades and decades, gave the same, long, tiring speaches about “The Enemy”. His sacred high ground was nationalism… He died with the same invisible enemy at the gate as he fought against in the 50s.

But then, without an invisible enemy, Young Castro’s reason for controlling all and everything is questionable. Same goes for Old Castro.

Think about it… I have written about invisible enemies before. I don’t buy in. I prefer enemies I can see, and there are plenty of those about.

I see Australia shall soon implement “diversity quotas” in public work places. Your ability no longer matters. The best “man” does not win. Your hours of hard work and perseverance preparing may not have been positive, may not matter at all…if you do not meet the right criteria, the correct profile. What does matter is meeting the quota. Then everyone will eb happy and the world will be gud again.

But… I thought “Racial Profiling” was a mucho-negative thing?

But what do I know?

Im from QLD, and loving it!

Big SMiles

MoRe LaTer

Must have been busy, otherwise occupied… been a couple weeks and I have not been blogging.

Not sure why. Nothing too arduous or time consuming going on. I’ll put it down to laziness.

My house is quiet for now. Everyone off to church. I am watching UFC and cooking. So far the fights have been OK. I have a big pot of p’kin n beast stewing. It can simmer for hours and only get better. The Main Event bout is just coming up. All is copacetic.

As a matter of personal reminder, I need to mention here a couple things: Jeffery Epstein comes to mind first. What has happened to Epstein’s purported suicide? And GM’s arrest. Not much newz available per GM’s arrest and incarceration. She has thus far been refused bail.

This leads to a discussion on the Zero-tolerance to abuse… sexual, mental, emotional, spiritual… I find it interesting that it’s often those who profess the most support that are the worse perpetrators. The highest office in the land is NOT free of abuse. Those who we admire and enrich play us for fools.

Consider all the names of world leaders found in Epstein’s flight logs. It’s more of a question “who was not” on JE’s Lolita Express?

But, as we support Zero-tolerance (in many things) we agree to allow the US voter system to remain open for manipulation, grooming, abuse.

I note with some unease that here in Aus, a 30 year old sexual assault claim was levelled against a high ranking official. And taken seriously. Reminiscent of the Kavanaugh situation. Complete with credible witnesses and indisputable proof.

Much like Dopey Harry and Gold-Digger Meagan claiming that Charlie is a racist.

In many ways I am coming to appreciate the Aussie system more and more… You have to vote. It is a requirement. No vote and you get fined. So its no big drama… you go vote. Everyone votes. You have to fill in forms and mail them in – to NOT vote.

The Main Event ended in a No Contest/ eye poke decision. Kinda disappointing.

And the beat goes on.

More later

A slow, leisurely morning thus far. Its 29c/ 85f out and its only 10am. Will get a lot warmer before it gets cooler…

The weather has been quite warm and humid lately so the aircon is on and the house is comfortably chilly. I am sitting wrapped in a granny-blanket and checking the morning news on-line. I must say that the recent news-cycle is deficient in entertainment. Since Orange-man has been replaced by St.Biden things have gotten boring, sleepy, sad in many ways.

As I check the news I find article after article of bland tasting mush. Of course the in-control-Democrats in DC are preparing to consume each other. You can see it coming…

St. Biden is frantic to appease all and every faction that sold their souls so he could sell his. Everything from the Climate-Debate, to Gender-Realignment, to ending the USA’s self reliance on energy, to kissing arse in China and the USSR… The Pay-To-Play game is back and happening. Come one, come all.

Of course, the vaccine has been rolled out and the post-KungFlu morning is dawning bright and happy. Or is it? Here in Aus we’ve had a few deaths over the vaccine… Waiting to see what the response will be.

I dig the shit outta the fact that the legislators in the US are finally making some bow-waves in regards to relief to the many who have suffered through lockdowns and industrial suicides… I see a 1400.00 lump-sum payment going out. I also see a huge payment going out to the legislators and their aides as well.

I wonder how long the Antifa and BLM dogs can be kept on their leashes? Once a dog learns to kill chickens its damned hard to teach them to stop.

I have come across numerous discussions of “Renewable Energy Sources” that still do not get the facts straight. One of the things I like is the fact that we condemn carbon based energy as being “dirty”, but turn a blind eye to the waste and contamination that comes from our “green-tech”…

And…

https://www.wired.com/story/solar-panels-are-starting-to-die-leaving-behind-toxic-trash/

Ive discussed this before but… It aint “Green” at all.

But the world is racing to the cliff. Being herded to the cliff, more like it.

Doom n Gloom, eh?

Gracie has told me I take her to do shopping for the house. She does not want to drive. Recently had some medical work done to her eye and is milking it for all its worth. So I’ll be her taxi driver…

And the world is good.

More later

Smiles all around

Yep, another one. One I kinda forgot. But trading emails with my ol bud, DB, brought this up…

Between spring of 1979 and January 1981 I shared space with a Wolf. An interesting creature that taught me a lot about a lot. His wild-side was never fully domesticated, though he was a very good “dog”. He was all ways and basically a Wolf.

One of the things I figured out fast with “Nuclear Fusion” was he’d trade being domestic for being allowed to run wild.

For much of his life he lived comfortably as a house dog. He cooperated and was a very, very good “house dog”. But we had to go wild regularly.

And we did. He’d take me running through field and forest at night. I tell my grandkids that I learned to see in the dark from “Nuke”.

We’d go spend long weekends in remote camp sites. Summer, winter, didn’t matter. It was being wild that was important.

June/ July 1979, Nuke and I humped into a favourite spot in NE Iowa. Near the college town, Decorah. This place was state/ county owned. There was a little access point where you parked. Most folks sat there and thought they had found wilderness, but… if you humped-in 3 hours or more you got to a set of horizontal springs that were magnificent. A series of falls, with freezing water, fresh and sweet, filtered through thousands of feet of porous stone. Falls fell horizontally through limestone cataracts. Water seeped out of the cliffs, high huge sandstone cliffs lined the valley. A fine cold mist filed the air.

The small streams that surrounded had fish.

I dont know the name of the streams/ rivers but know the parking spot was called “Malanafy Springs”.

No one ever went there.

I humped-in a complete camp site… tent, sleeping bag, fishing gear, a light hammock, and… a big cast iron pot and three old metal tent posts.

I knew the area well and was inclined to hump-in, set up camp and use the spring water and the cast iron pot to make a big stew. I’d stopped at the local HiVee and bought some meat and veggies.

So I set up camp and have my pot of stew simmering by day’s end. Intending to stay there for days.

Nuke and I came up to be wild… to not be stressed by towns and people and rules about Wolves.

Weather is fine. My old 61 Dodge (push button transmission) is in no danger. We can simply disappear, go wild. For as long as we want.

My buddy, Nuclear Fusion, a Mekenzie Valley wolf, is my protection and my best friend. We enjoyed each other’s company. Going wild regularly was a requirement with Nuke.

Very little in these woods will “get you”. Possibly a rattle snake, but doubtful.

I intended to live pretty much naked for a week. We’d wake each day and go shower under the 34f falls. Fish and hike and go tramping with Nuke taking the lead. He taught me much.

We both liked fishing. All fish are tossed in the pot. Maybe Nuke gets one or two, but he likes cooked fish as well as raw.

The stock-pot started with meat and potatoes and carrots and such. We both live out of the pot. But we don’t eat much. As the days pass the pot becomes a fine, rich thick mess of gruel, with flakey chunks of fish and plenty of bones.

When we ran out of food or got tired of what we were eating we’d pack up and go home.

I was unemployed, hanging out between college terms. Taking the summer “off”, working a bit of construction. My folks owned an “INN” that served grog and food from 7am to 2am. Located in a two-horse-town in northern Iowa. I had a place to live and worked for the folks when they were busy or took off for as weekend. But mostly I was young and free. Enjoying the things I enjoyed with my buddy Nuke at my heel.

Or was it me heeling to Nuke?

I didn’t worry much about clothes while in camp. A pair of cut offs and maybe a sweat shirt if it got chilly. But mostly I put the same clothes on each day as Nuke did. I really enjoyed “running wild”, running naked, running free.

A lovely afternoon at camp… you can hear the falls in the distance. We’ve been up and fished and replenished the pot and got fire wood and were just hanging out. I was laying in my string hammock, Nuke was laying between me and the fire. We both dozed and listened and sniffed the air, then dozed some more… It was good.

We were both undressed.

Nuke heard it first and cocked an eye at me… it was a distinct noise of “people” coming up the train leading to us… leading to the falls.

I gave him a one-eyed acknowledgement and played possum. He held steady…

We were on the main trail to the falls, not unusual if someone walked up but, so few made the trek to the falls I had never expected this…

I did not have time to get dressed. Standing up and introducing myself didn’t look like a good move. So I pretended to snooze. As did Nuke.

I peer through closed eyes… A mature man and woman with a couple younger folks slow as they note the camp site, caught sight of a naked, hairy dude in a hammock with a jet-black canine.

They detour around the camp site and carry onto the falls. They did not return via the main trail so we never saw them again.

And, I am sure that to this day the guy and his family talk of the day the went hiking and encountered a wild man and his dog in the woods.

Big smiles all around…

A lonely summer’s eve here in QLD. It’ll drop to 18c/ 65f before dawn tomorrow. The weather here is great. Tee shirts and shorts every day of the year. Some folks wear jumpers or hoodies or sweatshirts during winter. I wear funny hats.

I am writing today thinking about mortality.

My two grand daughters are swimming in the pool near. I am ostensibly the adult-in-charge but I told Gracie I ain’t qualified.

It’s a gentle eve. Lots of fauna noise and activity. Nova and I have been out through the back-40 on the Segway looking to see what’s out n about. She’s is a very good observer.

A year ago my ol’ compared and partner in crime, Pat P., passed.

Earlier this year my last, bestest, greatest Dawg, Kuma, passed.

Another old friend, we met in the 5th grade.

The only reason we met was because we were both catholic, and both the same age. We were tossed in a classroom with about 30 other same-aged catholic children.

By 5th grade I was a introverted book-reader. I was never good at school but read a lot. Loved the old and the new… Herman Melville and SE Hinton. Margaret Henry.

The classroom was a confused place. To a huge degree it was socialisation not education. I was not inclined to compete much in sports. I went to work delivering newsparers about that time. Delivered papers after school. So never joined the various sporting teams; football, baseball, basketball…

And my friend was the same. In a small pond we found friendship where we didn’t really fit in.

We were close compadres until our paths split when we were 17/18 years old. We saw each other sporadically until I split for good in January 1981… I’ve always know where he was and what he was doing. As I believe he has know of my where-abouts.

Over 50 years later we are still friends. We still share memories.

I’m big into memories. I exercise my memory. Have done so for a long time.

By examining my memory, my retrievable memories, I purge both demons and angels. By writing and virtually publishing I give what I can remember, what I write about, away. It’s no longer mine completely.

As a sail or as an anchor, memories effect us hugely. By sharing them both atonement and healing can be found.

I think that’s a quote from Freud?

Can healing be found through reconciliation with memories? Maybe, I’d like to think so.

My friend of 50+ tells me he has Alzheimers. His memories are fading.

I’m more than happy to be as much help and support as I can.

Noting very well that MORTALITY comes in many shapes and forms.

Smiles all around.

Cherish your memories.

Open Letter To All whom I may have offended and All whom may have offended me

We Can Be Friends

I think it’s more of a function of age than anything else… this getting pissed off with people because of differences of opinion. 

What happened to the old “we agree to disagree”? Not acceptable any more. 

I find that pretty much all of my age group is inherently grumpy, and the political scene is a trigger that can set us off. Our skin has gotten thin with age. 

My trigger is stupidness. I struggle to hold my tongue when I see someone being fucking stupid, swallowing the propagandistic political hooks baited with recycled BullSHit. 

A lot of it all comes from a recent heightened sense of political awareness. Or, maybe, an overall heightened general awareness? As we age our sense of time changes. Mortality means more for me at 60 than it did at 30. 

My trigger is stupidity. 

What is your trigger?

Is it religion, or race, or gender, poverty, or industrial-military might being misused or… 

Difference and disagreement is good… or it used to be good. Passionate discussion has always been a positive pastime. Debate until you change your point of view. Listen and learn. And maybe offer few lessons to others. We learned through sharing and interacting. 

But not any more… Is it a product of age? 

I have been kicked to the curb, abused, defamed, gang rapped, trolled, and much maligned by what were once friends, who now, because I don’t agree with them, consider me the opposition party. The enemy.

Just because I do not agree with YOUR Truths of Today does , for some, mean I am the opposition. 

Which gives some folks the right to tell me how despicable and terrible and horrible and nasty I am. 

I am tempted to reprint a dialogue I had with one close friend last October. But I won’t. Its petty of me even to raise it, but that individual steam rolled right over me, starting with a great line… “I don’t care about the facts this time…”, and ended with a very loving, or one-time loving line… “I used to be proud of you…”.

Another dear, dear old friend went into melt down when Hillary lost the 2016 election and for some reason chose me to attack. 

I was never a Clinton supporter of any kind and wrote a rather lengthy discussion about the change in the electorate and the fact that we got a megalomaniac from the private sector instead of an entrenched political swamp creature. I wrote looking at the situation from both sides. But all made little difference in the long run. Boy, that individual was not happy with me. Still aint. Considers me The Enemy.

I consider it all a function of age. As we age, we get grumpy.

Intolerant may be a better word.

But why are we getting stupid-er at the same time? 

I think of my last trip to the USA… Late in the year, 2018, I was divesting myself of an apartment we’d had in Pasadena. When I went to the US my daughter told me I could not wear a red  hat I liked, said it made me look like a Trump-guy…

We’d kept the apartment on Cordova as a fail-safe to our Australian Emigration plan. We were home and hosed in Australia, accepted as residents, no longer the need for the pad in Pasadena, the back door…

I was about done with my move. Had divested all possessions: motorcycles x2, Jeep SUV, household goods. Was sleeping on a leather sofa I just left in the apartment. 

That’s when I inadvertently found a very, very old and dear, dear friend living within blocks of Cordova. After being there for a few years we found each other, living in such close proximity, just as I was moving out. 

Of course, we met up, after almost 20 years, we sat and caught up on life. We had a lot of ground to cover. 

One of the “things” that came up was the fact, as I had it explained to me, that my white privilege had enabled me in everything and every-way in my life. 

This was the first time I had the whole privileged thing explained to me, and I listened, really listened about White Privilege… I had read of it and had an idea but my dear friend explained it to me in depth, over supper. 

I did not agree and said so. I spoke of my life, explained my position, argued the proffered explanation and disagreed that any of it made much sense and none of it applied to me. 

The topic was changed. I never met my friend again. I had not measured up, I guess, not been acceptable, any longer, because I did not agree.

Did not agree with what though?

Part of the problem is the “MEME, disguised as fact or news”. Part of the problem is people are naturally lazy, and our modern world has enforced this trait. Few do the home work. Few research and study. 

I admit to being a repeat Offender. 

And…

My bedside manner sucks. 

One thing I am guilty of, with another friend, is not allowing them to be stupid. It goes back to dumb memes… It combined sports and politics… A retired sporting hero saying something positive about Trump… my old friend states that the ex-hero was never any good so should not be listened to. 

I got involved, aiming to correct my dear friend’s social stupidity I tendered that the ex-hero was indeed a legend in his times, but just because he held records did make him an authority on the political scene. Sure, his endorsement of Trump was kinda news, but the public blasting of the ex-hero because of his endorsement was herd mentality. The cancel-culture at work. I stated publicly that my old friend was way too smart to stand in line and say “moooo” with the other brainless bovines on-line. 

Nope, we went back and forth. I was wrong. I lost. Because the ex-hero supported Trump, all his past achievements were cancelled-out. 

Another one was the idea that the world is systemically racist. One on-line-friend attempted to counsel me, to explain to me how I was racist, had to be racist, and didn’t even know I was racist.

My answer was “go fuck yer self”. 

So, indeed, my bedside manner does suck.

Apologies for me are easy. I apologies for having such a terrible bed side manner. But not for the facts. 

I apologise for being rude and blunt but that’s nothing new for me. If you know me and are still offended by my ways, well, not much I can say. 

I apologise for not being a pussy, a frightened creature seeing doom and gloom and terror and sadness. 

I apologise for calling out the bullshit, for insisting that we use facts when we talk matters of importance.

But I’ll never apologise for putting small children on fast machines. For raising my pups to be risk-takers. 

I’ll never apologise for insisting my tribe are not timid. 

I’ll never apologise for having so fucking much fun in life.

Smiles all around

More later

Sunday afternoon here in QLD. A nice warm day with a bit of breeze. Lets have a look around the globe: (in celsius) Palmwoods = 29c, Des Moinse = -1c, London = 2c, Sweptstone = -1c, Missoula = -2c, Los Alamos = -3c, Pasadena = 9c.

I am thinking today about “maturity”, being mature.

I am assisting my 18yrold Grandson, Angelo, into his next stage of “mature” life, University. I’m not doing much for him, but I keep the pressure up, keep checking on his progress. I talk to him about maturity. MATURITY AND RESPECT.

I’d like to sound wise and wax prophetically about the past, how growing up was different and how “coming of age” now a days is alien to “what is wiz in de-daay”,. But thats BS at best. Life is a drama, a struggle, a battle from day one to day zero. Its not easy for a young-guy, period. Its not easy for a young-gal, period. Just like its not easy for an old fart. Or a middle aged mother of four, or… Life just aint meant to be easy.

Joyful, tearful, scarred-up, bruised, scraped, abraded… sure, daily. But never easy.

I kinda see much of life similar to the perverse propensity to watch scary-as-shit movies. Or to hop on scary-as-fuck roller coasters. We like the buzz. We need the buzz. To coin a bit of WE… we all need to feed the rat. A shot of adrenaline is great Rat food.

My RAT likes speed. Likes exhaust fumes and good brakes.

Got away- for-the-day on two-wheelz the other day. Had to go check up on the ’61 Thunderbird.

So a nice 5hour round-trip ride. Down in the morning, an hour of bike talk, then run back. Traffic was good. My old BMW is running well…

I forget that the best thing about a decent bike ride is the isolation. Gear up and you’re in an isolation chamber. Not totally isolated but perhaps separated, a part from the immediate world. It goes back to n”be here now”.

Two-Wheelz are deadly. Riding is not easy. It takes concentration. The more concentration the better you ride.

I slept really well that night.

So, as the world turns, as boys become girls, as feminists become apologists…

Don’t forget to feed your RAT.

Smiles

I have written much about my passion for “blood sport”. And the bloodiest sport I know is UFC. And a couple of the bloodiest battlers known are fighting today.

Away we go…

Smiles

It is Inauguration day in the USofA. J.B. Has been duly sworn in with his VP, K.H.

All is well in the universe! Like the ending scene in Star Wars, after all the fighting and death and carnage, where Solo, Luke and Lieha stand on a podium before a throng of worshiping citizens, receiving medals of honour. All smiles and joy and hope and promise.

I did a round of the world’s headlines: “Democracy has overcome”, “A New Era”, “Ivanka in Tears”, “The inauguration Trump wished for”…

I’m rather impressed how it all came down. How it all worked out. How it all got manipulated and perverted to a point of fear and loathing. But it worked out, I guess.

I watched one series of FB comments where someone had stated that Biden was not their president, and another person said he’s been elected Prez, so respect the Office… sure, sound very sensible.

Belated but sensible.

I shall not comment on the depth and breadth of the hypocrisy being purveyed about. Nope, not one word about the foolish, childish, gleefully disrespectful tweets, comments, headlines and bylines. Especially the one where Melanie is called “immature” for something she said to Jill Biden.

Such rank BULLSHIT!

But that’s ok.

What’s not OK is the US electorate being zoomed so blatantly, so openly, so cooperatively.

It’s not OK, Not OK at all.

More later

On January 11, 1981, I arrived for my first time in Solomon Islands.

Days before, at the tender age of 23yrs and 4months, I had “left” the USofA. Had become an “expatriated American”.

As a Peace Corps Volunteer I was an employee of the US Government, working directly for the Ministry of Education, S.I. I made $90.00-solomon-dollars-a-month plus housing. I taught manual arts at 2 very rural boarding schools. For a year at Siota, then at Choiseul Bay. I was a PCV for 5 full years.

As a long-haired liberal arts student, with the best do-Gooder intentions, I fit rather well into the Ex-Pat way of living. I got along with the islanders, and perhaps was entertaining to the other, more well-healed, less raggedy ExPats. I can only say that I was well treated by all I met.

An expatriate, or ex-pat, is an individual living and/or working in a country other than his or her country of citizenship, often temporarily and for work reasons. An expatriate can also be an individual who has relinquished citizenship in their home country to become a citizen of another.

One thing that I found confusing was this: The further away from living in America I got, the more patriotic I became. And the more intelligent I became about the USofA. More learned, perhaps… It was a sink or swim scenario…

I was young and learned quickly that Aussies and Britts, and others, loved to “take the piss” out of Yanks. I was not in Yank-Land. Guam and the North West Pacific is indeed Yank-Land. The Marianas, Kosarae. Not the Solomons. I was a target. All Yanks were targets. There were not vey many Yanks in residence.

And it could get a bit messy. Especially when meeting elder Ex-Pats with polished debating skills.

It was common to be called upon to defend the US “way of doing things”. It’d start with “…you Yanks…”, or “…your President…”.

These were the early days of Reagan. He was inaugurated shortly after I left the US. I found defending “Raygun”, The President, very difficult. But I could and did defend America. Poorly at first. And after a few communal embarrassments, not knowing what I was defending, I researched and studied the US Constitutional situation, v the Common Wealth/ Parliamentarian situation. I armed my self with knowledge and facts.

At that time I had, supposed, deep rooted ideals and beliefs. I was young… My ideals and arguments were poorly formed and inadequately articulated, I admit. Mostly I had inherited said ideals from my peers or consciously rejected those of my parents. Few had I seriously thought through.

I am a child of the 60s. A teen of the 70s. I protested and door knocked at a young age. Considered myself an activist. Rallied against nuclear energy without knowing what it was. Thought much of little, and little about much. I was a product of the system of the time, wore an old army shirt, buttons and badges and slogans and all. I considered myself “cool”.

I didn’t know my elbow from my asshole. I was uneducated and ignorant of the worldly-way of things.

I considered myself very wise and astute.

I got my butt kicked in verbal debates. For years, maybe a full decade.

For years I did not have the tools to “fence”, to compete with the more astute and experienced debaters.

So I did my home work. I always had a mini-reference library. In the days before internet and instant info, I’d collected a number of tomes. From Plutarch’s Lives, to a number of biographies, to those old two and three volume encyclopedias, some decades old. As the years went by I bought a set of Encyclopedia Britannica. I read and started to learn a lot about a lot. Read the Greatest Works of Western Man.

Most people know a little about a little. Few folks know a lot about a lot. Most know enough to make them dangerous.

But facts beat everything.

Or, at least, they used to…

I’m not going to go far here but I will raise the spectre of a young, I believe to be abused child, Greta Thunburg…

https://www.hitc.com/en-gb/2020/11/13/greta-thunberg-net-worth-climate-change-activist-i-am-greta/

Here we have a child who for some ungodly reason is paraded around, listened to, because she espouses utter bullshit with a huge amount of emotion.

Facts are meaningless, I guess, if a youngster is the bearer of politically correct bullshit.

All and many applaud and smile and support. Even though the “facts” according to Greta, being sung and praised, are unsustainable, flawed at best, hopelessly confused and often just plain wrong. She even got to make a race for the No-Ball Prize. With a gallery of buffoons and PC policemen clearing the road.

She didn’t win.

Yep, and I shall get kicked for saying this…

In our modern world the facts matter less than the modern accepted TRUTH.

TRUTH before facts. I think Saint Biden said that.

It’s happening as we speak. After numerous occasions, months of violence driven by the LEFT, federal buildings invaded, innocents killed, months of BLM BS, ANTIFA led disobedience and destruction… which was whitewashed, disregarded, misreported, ignored, said to be either a MYTH, or a SUMMER OF LOVE. Now, as the RIGHT acts-out, its sedition.

Treasonous.

Do not get me wrong. I hold no allegiance to any political party or individual. I think all and everything political is corrupt. Period. Plain and simple.

Violence is wrong. Almost never justified. Almost never.

So I watch now, as things like civil rights mean less and less. Lock downs and house arrest is a common occurrence. Been so now for about 8 months. Communities of millions, under house arrest, locked down, under law, enforced by – force. World wide.

And its getting worse!

I love the modern pussified-world ideal that everyone should have all their needs satisfied by the central Government. “I’m too weak and feeble to care for myself. So take care of me, please. But I want a nice bed, and a cool set of wheels, and daily rations of booze and tobacco and my drug(s) of preference, and, oh yeah, food, and medical care and education for my kids… here, you take the kids and raise them, you’ll do a better job. I’m busy.”

Its is a farce in more ways than one! There are too many accepted farces to talk about…

In this calendar year, 2021, noting I’ll publish this by the 11th – there have been well over 1 million abortions world wide.

https://www.worldometers.info/abortions/

According to WHO, every year in the world there are an estimated 40-50 million abortions. This corresponds to approximately 125,000 abortions per day. In the USA, where nearly half of pregnancies are unintended and four in 10 of these are terminated by abortion [1] , there are over 3,000 abortions per day. Twenty-two percent of all pregnancies in the USA (excluding miscarriages) end in abortion. [2]

Am I the only one that see this as a huge stain on our communal soul? I get well and truly roasted each time I raise this issue. I’m not suppose to have a say herein. I’m not a woman! But we cry because of the sins of our ancestors whist murdering our future. I simply do not get it.

Moving on…

I love it when the BS RACE CARD is pulled out and used, time and time again. The modern day ultimate putdown… You are Racist… I’ve been called it a lot. Yea, go figure…

Is RACE a major problem? I’m not so sure. My world is not racist. I hope your world is not. But if you take it upon yourself to seek out, find, name, ingest racism, it’s your call. Life is a mirror. Be a racist and you’ll sure as shit see racism. I don’t have that problem. I am most defiantly NOT Racist. I will get shouted down… For many, too many, racism is a big, big deal.

But we can fix it all… fix it with $$$$$… It can pay to be a VICTIM.

Reparations… The exchange of something of value for sins of the past. Almost Catholic in its concept…. The idea is of a systemic, societal, race driven evil that we all must atone for.

How far do we go back? Who gets compensated, and for what?

My grandmother’s people were dispossessed by the Ottoman Empire. They were Greeks in Turkey. They were sent “home”, maybe “ran for their lives” after living in the same place in Turkey for generations. They got off easy. They missed the genocide.

The Greek–Turkish population exchange came out of the Turkish military’s reaction against Christian minorities in the late days of the Ottoman Empire and its subsequent massacres of them: Adana massacre of 1909, Armenian Genocide of 1914–1923, and Greek genocide 1914–1922.

The Armenians got genocide. My Greek forbearers got to live but lost everything. Side note here… My maternal Grandfather and his brothers fought in the Greek-Turkey wars…

The Greco-Turkish War of 1919–1922 was fought between Greece and the Turkish National Movement during the partitioning of the Ottoman Empire in the aftermath of World War I, between May 1919 and October 1922.

Reparation… to repair something… The idea is simple, the Government of the day uses tax payer money to alleviate a moral wrong, a historic ill, a blot on our communal soul.

Pay the money and its all well. All ills gone. Positive and virtuous futures guaranteed for all…

????

In one word: FUCKOFF!

Why are we being so fucking stupid?

Moving on…

I love the corny concept of WHITE PRIVILEGE.

Just because I am “white” I have been privileged. And I should be ashamed. I owe someone something somewhere.

Sure makes sense to me…

Again, in one word: FUCKOFF.

Explain to my emmigrant ancestors how privileged they were. Explain to the Irish that their centuries of subjugation by the English was privileged. Explain to the Jews and Roms and many other races that suffered under the hands of Hitler of their privilege.

Nope. FuckOff!

And we, adults, parents, grandparents, teachers, coaches and caregivers encourage our off spring to be virtuous and ignorant and compliant. To parrot the untruths of the masses, the PC masses. Just like poor little Greta Thunberg… she makes sense by not making sense. By being a symbol for that which is accepted as TRUTH, but remains false.

So much of our world revolves around untruths…

The beginning of slavery was something like 1669, and the first slaves were africans, enslaved by whites and taken to the Americas. All whites in America thus owe all blacks in America some form of reparation… ???… !!!

Should we talk about GLOBAL WARMING?

The sky is falling, the sky is falling.

Quick, we only have 91 months before the world ends… we must do something!

QUICK!!!!

Again, fuck the fuck off!

Seriously. In the known history of mankind we are currently better off, better fed, better housed, world wide, without exception things are better, easier, freer, safer, warmer, cooler, more prosperous, more long lived, more productive, more travelled, more educated… than in known history.

Sure, not everything is rosy. Starvation, plague, civil unrest, terribly corrupt leaderships are still a reality. But go back 100years. Where were we then? Are things now perfect, idyllic, better… Maybe not perfect but things today are sure as shit better than 100 years ago.

The Spanish flu, also known as the 1918 flu pandemic, was an unusually deadly influenza pandemic caused by the H1N1 influenza A virus. Lasting from February 1918 to April 1920, it infected 500 million people – about a third of the world’s population at the time – in four successive waves. The death toll is typically estimated to have been somewhere between 20 million and 50 million, although estimates range from a conservative 17 million to a possible high of 100 million, making it one of the deadliest pandemics in human history.^[3][4][5]

World War I (or the First World War, often abbreviated as WWI or WW1) was a global war originating in Europe that lasted from 28 July 1914 to 11 November 1918. Contemporaneously known as the Great War or “the war to end all wars“,^[7] it led to the mobilisation of more than 70 million military personnel, including 60 million Europeans, making it one of the largest wars in history.^[8][9] It is also one of the deadliest conflicts in history,^[10] with an estimated 9 million combatant deaths and 13 million civilian deaths as a direct result of the war,^[11]while resulting genocides and the related 1918 Spanish flu pandemic caused another 17–100 million deaths worldwide,^[12][13] including an estimated 2.64 million Spanish flu deaths in Europe and as many as 675,000 Spanish flu deaths in the United States.^[14]

All just a short century ago. And things, though getting better in 1921, had just gone through a terrible stretch.

Where am I… I do ramble about sometimes…

No I do not think racism systemic. No I do not think that spending billions of tax payer money fighting Global Warming is sensible. No I do not believe I am privileged by my birth. Nor do I believe others are cursed by their birth.

Of course there is, has always been, an Elite Class, one that looks down on the “average man”.

Is this class my enemy? Not sure they are my friend, but not too sure they are my enemy either. I don’t like the idea of having unknown enemies. Invisible entities that I fear and blame for all that is wrong in my world.

So, for 40 solid years I have been an expatriated American. And this shall not change. My luck has held out. Ive been absolutely and insanely lucky in my life. I grew up in a big house in rural Iowa, surrounded by a very large and loving family. I got to find the mythical Solomon’s Islands while still young and adventurous. My 30 years in the Solomons was one huge and enjoyable adventure including building my own family, learning the ways of the bush and the ocean, meeting and befriending many, many interesting folks along the way.

Ive ended up here in The Land Of Aus. A great place to be when old. Just as the Solomons was a great place to be when young.

I shall never call the USofA home again. I may never get back, noting the ways of the world and the state of travel and the confusion of crossing borders.

And thats OK.

One thing I have decided to be very conscience about… Be Happy Where You Are.

Smiles.

Big Smiles… Here’s to forty more years of ex-pat life.