The Native Iowan

It’s a bit hot outside. The summer sun is blistering hot. There is a patch of plastic lawn by the pool. What I call “astro-turf”. This stuff is rubber and plastic, and gets very hot. Anyone who forgets and walks onto it may well do the tippy-toe quick-step to cross, get off the hot green rubber.

So I’m sitting inside. Our house is designed for the weather… The eaves have over 3feet of overhang, 1 meter worth of shade. We have heavy block-out curtains to keep radiant heat away. The house is very open. Plenty of fresh air. It’s pleasant inside, if we keep the heat out.

So I’m sitting inside. Paying attention to the newz-cycle. And of course the newz of the hour/day/ probably week is that of Iran.

Everyone knows the whats and hows of the current cycle so I’ll say little therein.

I do though want to discuss this:

Why do the Iranians hate Americans, hate the USA?

I believe it started, really started in the 50s, when the USA/CIA and Brits/MI6 orchestrated a coup to over throw the democratically elected PM, Mosaddegh. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mohammad_Mosaddegh

Historically Iran had been a Shah-dom, a mini empire controlled by the Qajar family from late 1700s well into the 1900s.

Just found this which I find very cool: http://www.iranreview.org/content/Documents/31-October-1925-Ending-of-the-Qajar-Dynasty.htm

The military coup that ended the Qajar Dynasty, and brought in Pahlavi, simply brought on more of the same dictator-type bullshit.

After WWII, the world was a different place.

As many lands and many peoples realised an opportunity for change. An opportunity for more self determination. As many countries shook off their Colonial yokes, Mosaddegh came on the scene. And he appears to have kicked the beehive real hard.

Mosaddegh supported the nationalisation of the British controlled Iranian Oil Fields.

Since before WWI all oil in Iran was in the sole control of the Anglo Persian Oil Company.

A percentage of all profits from Anglo Persian came back to Iran but I doubt if the average Joe in 1950 got much from it.

From what I read I feel there was a sense of joy around Mosaddegh and his policies. The common Joe at the time could feel inspired by some thing new and different. A new possibility?

But, nooooooo… the Brits talked the Yanks into deposing Mosaddegh. Where we end up with the last Shah, Pahlavi, being firmly ensconced on the Peacock Thrown. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mohammad_Reza_Pahlavi

Supported heavily by the US and Britain, Pahlavi had a huge military. He ruled with a firm fist that was known for it’s brutalities. Check out the SAVAKs. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SAVAK

So, after feeling screwed over the oil deal with Anglo Persian (Later to become British Petroleum), and after democratically electing someone who may have offered hope for change, and after feeling joyful… the USA comes in and takes him out and puts nasty Pahlavi back in power… Where he sat until he was overthrown by civil revolt, and the Islamic State of Iran was born.

So, after a few hundred if not thousands of years of subjugation and slavery,… And after a couple big wars, there may, just may be a chance for positive change. But it was refused by the USofA.

Maybe we can see things from their perspective… just a little bit.

More later

6pm Sunday eve. Sun will set shortly. The shadows have come and the heat is gone. The air is almost chilly.

The wind chimes sing their gentle song. The birds are quiet, Kuma lounges near by…

In a conversation today about the recent military strikes in Iraq.

My ol-bud, DB, is a sharp witted, erudite, eclectic vagabond who has worked in 20plus countries over the last 40 years or so. He is an “Eastern-Europe” specialist and claims his Russian is “pretty good”. I met him in the 80s in the Solomons.

Funny how easy it is to meet larger-than-life folks “in de islands”.

So the assassination of an Iranian Terrorist/General in Iraq, as the US dumps millions into Iraq to help stabilise things… Lets just do this again… an Iranian Terrorist/ General in Iraq… Was he visiting his mother… buying an ice cream… I fucking doubt it!

I know some folks are prone to take the paranoid approach…

Oh no! They killed a real bad guy without permission, we’re all going lose, now, war and pestilence upon us… Oh no!!!!

Or the belligerent approach…

GawDamnSumaBitch deserved what he go. GawDamn about time!

I can see both takes. War is never good. Getting fucked in the arse is never good. Which do we prepare for? Or prefer?

As an “Islander” I am sympathetic with all indigenous peoples. Make no mistake about it, the Iranians and Iraqis and the folks living in what has been traditionally called Persia, have been very hard done by. For centuries. The cradle of civilisation has been barbaric and uncivilised since day one.

Consider that the Ottoman Empire ruled from India to Egypt for over 500 years. The Ottomans were known for many positive “things” such as masterful architecture and development in the sciences. They were also known for terrible brutalities and atrocities.

Recall, we are talking about the Iranian / Iraqi situation. Everyone wants to think the Persian people were a people who have had their home, land, wealth usurped and in some strange way the “Modern West” owes some form of recompense…

Back to my discussion with DB… The first oil extraction in “Persia” or as I call it, the Middle East started in 1908. One man by the name of D’Arcy started it all. He got the Iranian Government of that day, still a Shah style dynasty, and a subject of the Ottomans, to contract him to be the sole authority over Iran’s oil. It was known as the Anglo Persian Oil Company. And controlled all the oil in all of Iran.

Anglo Persian later became British Petroleum.

Post WWI saw the Ottoman Empire turned into spoils of war. By 1927 the Pahlavi military style Shah-ism was the new norm. Pahlavi was as much a dictator as he was a Shah. Probably more. His military might came through Modern West backing.

Consider that pre-WWI the Middle East was controlled by the Ottomans. The Modern West visited and coveted the lands of Persia, but did not control anything in the Middle East.

After WWI they were the masters of the Middle East, and its people, who had seen many masters.

I’m trying to figure out who to “side-with” in this discussion…

Who are the indigenous peoples? Who has been “hard-done-by” and when were they hard-done-by?

I suggest the original nomadic dessert peoples known as Persians have been as conquered and subjected and abused and diluted and assimilated and beaten to the point where none truly exist.

Like a Rapa Nui Islander. In 2020 those who proudly claim Rapa Nui lineage are also proudly claiming the blood of every nation on the globe.

So, where are we… Who has been down-trodden, who is good, who is evil?

And…

Wedefukawe?

Smiles

The birds are noisy this morn. Do they know its a new year?

The sky is blue with loads of clouds. The young family is still asleep. They went out for fire works last night and didn’t get home until 1am. I stayed home and was well asleep before midnight.

yes, my name is Mike, and I’m an olfart.

I shall clean up my file full of draft-posts. Go back through the year and see what I didn’t post or complete or see through to the end… Well in fact, as I go back, I see I don’t have much unfinished. I have a habit of writing titles and saving them, aiming to go back and remember what I was thinking then.

It don’t really work. here’s one worthy of saving…

From May 2019… It’s Monday. Rain and overcast here. A nice break from the warmth and sunshine for a bit, but it’s a Moody Monday. Queensland never complains about rain. unless it’s too much rain. For a land that lives in perpetual drought it rains too much, more often than not.

I really like Queensland. Morosa Valley is a haven. Rain or shine, the area here in Aus whee I reside is fucking great. And its great for many reasons including but not limted to: The weather, the people, the coast, the hinterland, the pubs and hotels and cafes, the windy alpine style roads which are great to drive and ride…. but mostly the weather.

So I’m hanging at the farm by my lonesome. Me and the she-white-dawg. And 30 mamma cows and 16 babies and 25 teenagers and big arsed Bull named Barney.

I like being a farmer. The quiet solitude of it all is grand. But it’s never really quiet. The big ol house is open to the noise and the weather. It’s either hot in summer or cold in winter. No aircon or heat. I wake with the birds and listen to the outdoors though the night. If it’s not cows singing it’s plovers squawking. A major roadway is nearby and the roar of the road is a pleasant buzz in the background.

Did I say that I really, really like Queensland?

Of course, I’m a tropical sorta guy, an island guy. Too much of my life has been spent living within the influence of the sea. I think of Gizo… if you cant hear the sea from our house, you can feel the low vibration of the surge on the reef on the weather side. The air is filled with a saline mist, a caustic reminder of our mother-ocean that settles on everything.

But I am also a flat-lander. A farm-kid.

Like many an old mariner, like many an old pirate, I have found my retiring years’ happiness inland. Perhaps the Britney-blue is too much work? Too harsh? Too dangerous. Mother-Ocean demands a young, vigorous lover. As I gain in years, I find the slow pace of a landlubber to suit my needs nicely…

I use my “Freddy Mercury” impersonation to call them, to engage them. This herd is as tame as I have every seen. They are of a breed that has used Brahman cattle to gain drought resistance. the Breed, Drought Masters, were developed here in Queensland to suit conditions here. A mix of short-horn-browns and Brahmin. Over the years they have proven they are true Queenslanders. Can you say “Animal Husbandry”?

For those who don’t know about cattle: There are two basic blood lines, Boss Indicus and Boss Torus. Boss Torus are what I’ll refer to as “European” strains, and Boss Indicus refer to the African/ Asian strains. Boss Torus breeds include Angus, Hereford, Jersey, and are not known for their docile temperaments. Boss Indicus include your Brahmin and Zebu strains, known for their large humps, they are renowned for their placid nature.

So, I think my herd is pretty cool.

Here’s a good picture of Barney… You can see his Indicus heritage. He weights a full ton, we can pretty much walk up and hand feed him. Post script: Last year we retired Barney. He was getting a bit old, his feet were a constant problem. So we sold him at the local stock sales. Barney was undoubtedly turned into a pile of hamburger. We replaced Barney with a 3yrold virgin we named Hank. young and lean, Hank is now king of the Morosa herd.

Here’s one where Mendozza and I got to watch the miracle of life… The calf here is new born. When I took their picture, the lilbastard had not taken its first steps. This mamma is so calm she let us stay close through the whole process, sharing with us her miracle.

Sometimes the miracle of life goes sideways. We lost a cow n calf to calving difficulties last year. We had one calf born that simply could not figure out how to suckle, it lasted 5 days, even thought we did everything in our power to help the poor bugger. We recently had another calf struggle to figger the teat out, but our efforts to pen mama up and tie one leg away and push the lilbastard in to feed, worked.

Did I say I like this farmer bullshit?

2020… an election year. Of course, Mr Trump has to go. By any means possible. Don’t matter how its done, but he simply has to go.

The economy is too good. We can’t have the system of social engineering and elite dominance over the working masses derailed by allowing the average man’s lives to get too good.

We can’t have the reigns of power usurped by such a vile creature. After years, decades, centuries and behind the veil, deep state control and slight of hand… After all the hard work and bullshit being sold as sugar, we can’t have a vendor show up and sell bone fide goods for a fair price. Unheard of! Impossible!

And what about Epstein? Oh, I forgot, we’re too interested in plastic straws and paper cups to worry about an international pedophile ring of Ultimate Elites.

The end of the world as we know it? Sure as shit looks like it if you live in California…

Sure looks post-apocalyptic to me.

And the beat goes on.

Think I’ll go hop in the pool.

Big smiles, all the best in the new year, and …

More later

It’s 230pm local time on the 31st December, 2019. In less than 10 hours we will be in 2020, a new year, and a new decade. 

I recall being in a small 4-room catholic primary school in Knoxville, Iowa. 4-room meaning we had 8 grades, 1-8, with 4 class rooms and 4 teachers. At one point there we five of us Hemmers in the school. I the youngest, my sister Constance the eldest and Jim, Jane, and Holly in there between us. 

I must have been quite young, early in my educational career. I recall a teacher, a nun, a Sister of the Notre Dam. Proper “penguins”. I clearly recall Sister Mary Richardene, and Sister Mary Karla. I remember really liking Sister Richardene, and fucking hating Sister Karla. I think the feeling between the young Mike, and Sister Karla were mutual.

Who in my family know the names of the other two penguins? They looked just like this…

But I digress…

I recall a classroom discussion. Where will we be in the year 2000? 

Consider, this was probably 1963 or there abouts. I am uncertain because I spent 2 years in First Grade. I liked Sister Richardene too much to leave. And, my dyslexia prevented me from reading well enough to suit the “authorities”. So, to be clear, it had to be 63 or 64. Maybe 65 because it could have been 2nd grade. 

Back to the main point of it all…

I have clear memories of trying to wrap my very young brain around “The Next Century”. Words like millennium were not used then.

All was so far off, so distant and far, far away. 

Not so any more. 

We are one-fifth the way into the 2000s. 

Amazing how time flies when you are having soooo, sooo, soo much fun!

And this year has been fun…

What do you call fun may or may not be what I call fun…

Getting inked by the magnificent and amazing Ifyrefini. Her and tehunga Turumakina are people I am indeed proud to call family…

Genius Jim kicking the 57 Indian over for the first time….

Gracie and next-door-neighbour, Anne, having a glass of wine in the softy QLD sunshine…

Fun, fun, fun… Me about 12 hours after my shoulder surgery…

The Amazing Ms Maya and Gracie. Easter Island was amazing…

Encounter to somewhere. Thank goodness for a nice shawl…

As the year ends, the new year approaches, and I sit here and muse, I need to say thanks and pay respect to a host of friend, relatives, in laws and outlaws… As the parrots swarm through the back yard, making a ruckus, as my big dawg, Kuma, reclines near by, as Nova and GG watch cartoons in the verandah… As the wind-chime tinkles n sings, I need to mention some names. People I am thinking about as this terrestrial year comes to an end…

Top of the list is my Sister,Jane, and her husband, Mike, who have chosen to share their retirement with my ageing mother. I have no doubt that their selflessness shall be repaid many-fold.  

With them is Brother Monk. They are a good team and Mother could not get better care anywhere.

In fact I should name the entire 412 2nd street cast of characters… Katie n Brian and kids. It’s so cool that the 412 rez has been Jane & Mike’s principle party-pad since, what… 1970? I dig the fact that we’re still enjoying that huge ol Skool 1890s river-town-house. It’s soooo cooool and such an honour to be able to be around your profound generosity.

Of course my dyslexic family is always high on the list.

Consider: I now have grown grand kids. We have a shit load of teenagers in the tribe and a whole-bunch of lil ones. Surprise-surprise, the tribe continues to grow.

My Brother The Rooster and his growing family in Germany.

Always… My big bro WE and his sweet-lady MsE. And of course lil mother, Talia and your new bundle of joy, grief, sleeplessness and life. I remember some Talia tales from when she was very small. A white lilbaby running on the beaches of Liapari… blond hair, blue eyes… send me a picture of your gandbaby.

Pat.P. How you doing? This getting old-shit kinda sucks, eh? I do indeed trust you’ll weather the storm… like a late night crossing to Vanga and using the light from my Casio watch to fix the engine. Or tying boat-warm stubbies of 4X onto fishing lines and towing them deep to make them drinkable.

Speaking of Pat.P… I am thinking of a re-connection I had recently. It was grand to see Salome and Nick Reese. Been a long, long time. I consider Salome as “one of my daughters” in that I’ve known her since the mid 80s, a thin blond haired high strung and magnificent Makini-gal. So nice to reconnect and spend time with your growing family. Need to do it again soon.

My soft hearted buddy, Big G. And his great kids.

Giuseppe, the master of Animal Husbandry. It is a pleasure to share time and space with you.

Speaking of animal husbandry… I have been toying lately with a thought… According to many from the loony-left of thought and politics… We should all, ALL, stop eating meat, it’s unkind, not healthy, barbaric, old fashioned, and is indeed in threat of being regulated and legislated out of existence.

Now, consider that it took mankind a fucking long time to master the art of Animal Husbandry. It took mankind a fucking long time to figure out how to care for and make a herd of animals productive. It is an art form. I am a farmer. I own a nice little farm and have around 70 head of cattle. It is a constant process of maintaining the health and happiness of the herd. It’s magical and amazing.

But if we legislate and regulate the eating of meat into history, so shall we loose the art of Animal Husbandry. Which would be a sad thing.

My lil valley paradise, Marosa,

And the beat goez on. I cant and didn’t mention all n everyone.

Such it is.

See you in 2020

Big smiles

Been attempting to post herein but tech-issues have plagued.

I post this as a test…

Smiles

It’s a nice Wednesday morn here. Temps as high as 32c/ 90f. A nice breeze moves the air. The sun is bright, the pavement is quite hot, and its only about 10am.

I have successfully completed all house-keeping chores here at the Palmwoods Ranch. The full property has been mowed and tidied up. The big winds and storms from last week threw a large amount of branches and dead-fall about. All is clean and organised and shall be good for another week or two. Or until our next thunder storm.

I’ll hop in the Ural later in the day, run down to the farm for a couple weeks of solitude and bovine therapy. Joe has to drive south to NSW and visit his elderly mother. With almost 70 head of cattle, two dogs and two puppies, the farm requires daily attention.

It’s a type of attention that makes me feel good, it makes me hapi, it makes me feel useful… In the last 6 weeks we’ve had 7 calves born. In this calendar year we have seen 26 cows produce 30 calves. This means that 4 of our cows dropped newborns in January and then again in November. Tells me we have very good, productive cows and a very good and active bull.

I dig the shit outta the Animal-Husbandry side of farming. In our first 18 months of farming we’ve had a cow die during birth, and another 2 other calves die from complications. We’ve sold and bought cows aiming to get good stock. We’ve sold some that we bought and moved on some that were old or not prime.

Our herd now is very, very positive. Very productive.

So, as I sit, prepare to shift down to the farm for a week or so, I have the bluez on and am watching the impeachment hearings. I’m watching as Volker and Morrison get grilled. I watch as the DNC led hearing sets verbal traps for the witnesses. As they ask entangling and convoluted questions. Noting well that a misstep can lead to a life destroying perjury charge.

It’s a costly and time wasting farce.

How come the general electorate does not cry FOUL! Instead of playing these BS games why don’t we legislate, do some work, get something honest and productive accomplished.

And the beat goez on…

Some Picts from recent adventures…

Gotta love shiny old Trumpets…

1950

1959

Gracie out in the rain swinging her bush knife…

Took the boys out for supper in Toowoomba…

GG enjoying the pool…

More later

I speak to those of my faithful followers who recall the Sea King restaurant in Honiara. Of course the Sea King has a couple different incarnations over more than 3 decades. Down by the Yacht Club, briefly across Mendana Ave, The big garish place by the Mataniko Bridge.

But no matter which Sea King you remember, you will remember the hot n sour soup. Nothing compares to it. It never changed. I had an image of a steaming cauldron of H&S soup ever cooking in the back.

I have found a place that replicates my memory of the H&S soup very well…

http://creasian.com.au

Gracie and I found this place by accident earlier this year. Today I woke up and rode my BMW R1200RT over 500ks, for over 5 hours for this… and its worth it.

And the girls here as killer…

If you’re ever any where near Coffs Harbour, do your self a favour.

Smile

OK, been a while. A lot of note taking place. A lot to think about, ruminate upon, and even – yes, for you 60s n 70s folks- to Grok.

Impeachment with out due process.

The Deep State is now revealed as a “positive”… They are patriots. “They Know Best”.

The selling of political influence is commonly sanctioned. It’s just part of doing business. We’re too busy to worry about it.

Early summer in southern hemisphere = GLOBAL WARMING!!! Early winter in northern hemisphere = GLOBAL WARMING!!!

The glaciers are melting! The glaciers are melting…

Open boarders, Come one, come all… free stuff for new comers, medical, abortions, sex changes… we’re open for business.

I see at least three standards/ levels of compliance: 1) Elites, 2) Protected minorities, 3) the Average Joe.

You be Elite and you are all but exempt from the laws.

You be any way, bit, form, or part a Protected Minority and we’ll throw the rules and reg and laws out the window. Cross the boarder. Claim state-sponsored subsistence… VOTE FOR US.

I’m kinda disgusted. Kinda tired. And do not see the attraction is a nonfactual, politically motivated future. There is a lot of BULLSHIT floating about…

Are we so degraded mentally and spiritually to NOT wish to maintain some semblance of control on our own future? Our own destiny?

But what worry… we’ll all be dust in 12 years… or is it 10, now?

Only print or discuss the “NEWS” that suits THE agenda. Don’t talk about the positives. There are none. Dig up the dirt, then accuse them of being dirt-diggers…

Mike’s thoughts in as few words as possible: Wars are bad, but often necessary. Boarders are good and very necessary. Citizenship and Nationality is something to be valued. Not degraded. All people elected to any political office is unworthy of the office. All elected entities are only concerned with their next re-election to office. Without the masses there can be no leaders.

How well can you say “MOOOO”?

We have rain here in Queensland. Not everywhere and never enough, and often too much. I live in a land of contrasts. I live in a world of contrasts.

And the beat goez on…

Morel later

It’s a rainy Saturday here in Queensland.

The rain is very good, very needed. We’ve been in drought since July. Only had one decent rain in the over 3 months. And we’re the lucky ones. There are areas of Aus that live in perpetual drought. Australia is a desert.

So I am sitting in my comfy recliner, wrapped in a granny-blanket, watching the bluez, listening to the latest goings-on and misdirections and prestidigitation.

The apologetic, self proclaimed victims that make up the DNC candidates makes me wonder what has happened. Where did it all go sideways?

I was planning to deliver my last two “rebuilds” to my buddy, Genius Jim at Blacktop Moto works… http://www.blacktopmotorcycles.com.au

I am an non-repentant Brit-Bike ol fart. Over the past 10 years I have collected and rebuilt (or am rebuilding) eight machines. These are the last two to go into Jim…

But the weather has delayed me. I don’t want to risk these machines, A stunning 51 TR6/ 650 and a very rare XR75 Hurricane. Both not easy to replace so I’ll hold off.

Jim recently got my 57 Royal Indian running…

Here’s a very cool 62 Norton Dominator… a machine that made us all wet our pants when we were young… known as the Snortn Norton… it was a beast… still is a beast…

Where was I… on this rainy Saturday… Oh yea, watching the bluez… and being nostalgic…

I was a young liberal, a DNC door knocker, vehemently anti-republican. Pro- Civil rights, pro-abortion, pro-legalisation of pot, anti-the tax man, anti-conscription… probably anti about more things than I was pro.

When did this all change? For the DNC and for me.

For me I went from being vehemently anti-republican to being vehemently anti-political. I have interacted with and played in political sand-boxes. I have been altruistic. I have spent a lot of time and energy looking for the political Mr. Right (Ms Right?). All ways open and optimistic that such was a reality.

I have irrevocably changed.

The DNC may not have changed all that much. Perhaps I have learned to see through the slight of hand. Have learned to identify the BS within the rhetoric?

I do think that I agreed with the DNC for ages… I read the liberal publications, agreed with the liberal view points and watched and listened as the liberal leaders used and abused their privilege and position. Just like I had accused the conservatives.

Since WWII… Since the beginning of the current economic era, since the end of FDR and The New Deal, we have had 13 duly elected presidents. The Donald is lucky #13. Prior to The Donald we have had 6 DNC and 6 RNC leaders.

I am a child of the 60s and the 70s. I was “there” in the heady days of green-army coats festooned with peace patches and McGovern badges. We made posters that said “make love not war”. We sang “we shall come” and “blowing in the wind” as we stood and marched in front of heavily armed police and National Guard. I remember when Kent State became infamous.

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

The song we marched to told us, “Tin soldiers and Nixon coming… four dead in Ohio”…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TRE9vMBBe10

I knew many returned from Nam guys. Some are still alive. Many had returned broken and terminally sad and sickened by life. Many died by choice. Many were simply reckless with their life and died accordingly: Accidents, mishaps or tragedies. Tragedies they were all.

I had marched for, sang for, protested for change. For an end to wars and racism and political lying and… well, I guess we all were looking for something unattainable.

And the beat goez on…

Its a nice overcast Thursday here in Qland. Up and running early. A fair bit to get done. Weather is perfect for 2wheelz.

2wheelz is guuuud.

I am going to write about two dear friends, and my most recent ink-addition…

By ol amigo, Vas Eliopolous, now Dr. Eliopolous, used to make us laugh with stories of med-school, training and mishaps. One of the things I recall laughing about was his tales of erroneous bed-side-manner. He told tales of Practitioners misreading patients and saying things that either caused alarm or confusion. Vas was a good mimic and could do the voices and facials well. He was a one-man stand up routine.

A few days ago I showed up at my Ink-Masters’ house for my first session in ages. My last couple attempts at body-art saw me wimping out. Tapping out early due to the pain. This session was to be my recently into the realm of offering myself as a canvas for a master (or mistress) artisan.

Check out https://www.artselemental.com…

You’ll see Tu and Ify on the front page. And get to see some of their amazing art.

I carry a fair amount of their work. For ten years I’ve been getting whaled on. More by Tu than by Ify… both arms, chest and back, legs and right thigh… belong to Tu. My neck and left leg carries Ify’s work.

So I’m going in to reconnect. To get back into the ink-thing, and to commemorate my affliction with totality. My ol-fart need to chase The Eclipse. To bask in the murky dusk of an absent sun.

Once you catch an eclipse you’ll understand…

I planned my new ink with Ify… sun in left palm, moon in right palm… totality on the back of right hand. Made sense to me and was eager to DO IT.

So I rock up. It’s always great to visit Tu and Ify’s home/ studio. They have great kids, always extra family around, and a positive vibe they share with poise and grace.

So I rock up, give hugs, grab the 3yrold, start catching up, and Ify says, “You know what you’re in for today? It’s really going to hurt. You ready for this?”.

Damn! I said to Ify that I loved her bed side manner.

Sure, we know all ink is less than fun. I equate ink to beating your hand with a hammer… sure feels good when you stop.

And Ify goes on about how bad the hands are to ink. How much it all hurts. She states, “I cringe to think of it.”.

Well damn!

Did I say damn?

So we do the inking. It do hurt like hell. But we chat and gossip and a few hours later its done and I am happy.

Whaddya think…

Sun…

Moon…Totality…

I tip my hat to the Ink-Mistress. And thank both Tu and Ify for sharing their vibe.

Big smilez

More later

Golly,

Golly! Time sure flies… sitting in QLD, in the middle of a drought, with teens home for school for 2 weeks, as seasons change, and my shoulder heals.

As long as I cook heaps of meat daily, the teens are happy – and even useful. Both are big and strong and actually do a lot to contribute, all in all.

Been on the farm, then back at the ranch. Two teens and two toddlers. Both a challenge. Neither easier than the other. Both a pain in the arse. The teens useful, the toddlers cute.

Back to the farm tomorrow. Without the toddlers.

So I sit, I sit and listen:

I hear the breeze. It’s not enough to ring my Mr. Frog wind chime

Funny how old meaningless things can mean so much. A ten-dollar wind chime I have repairs many times. 10 years old, and a valuable possession. It’s quiet today/ right now.

But the wind, but the wind, I hear it distinctly. The palms rustling, the trees talking. Too early in the eve for birds to be active. A few solitary calls. No mating and ruckus stuff like the doves and kookaburras have been of late. They hang around and make one hell of a fuss. The males preen and sing as the female plays hard to get.

The sky is powder blue with non-promising clouds. Thick grey-ish clouds but I don’t feel moisture in the air.

We need rain.

And the beat goez on…

More later

This is going to be a tale of an old-fart. An old-fart’s tale…

I think back in time. when I was still a “working-stiff”. Up in the morn, to work by a set time, a morning of bizzyness, a lunch of some sort- often liquid, an afternoon of more dizziness, head home at a set time, call into the local watering-hole, homeward after a set amount of lubricative sedative, family, n home and supper and shower and bed… then up in the morn again.

I cranked and wanked for a solid 30 years. I wore a uniform. Had hours and responsibilities and, as a business owner, I had bills and loans and debt and commitments. Monday – Friday was standard, with at least a half day on Saturday, and usually a quiet Sunday afternoon in-office catching up and closing out.

My job description was never distinct. I never got paid by-the-hour.

In the 90s I was lean and hungry and never said, “…no, I cant”, ever. My commercial loan applications were wonderful works of fiction.

In the new-century… As I was pushing 50, my business had grown, my debts and commitments increased, my schedule cranked and wanked more, and more. Bank-managers/ Wank-managers called me up and invited me out and negotiated for my business. I had good suits, and a bizzy schedule, and flew dizziness class, and had a damn good time of it all. Ended up with over 250 employees.

I “retired” as 2011 rolled around. At that time my routine completely changed. As retired-ol-fart there is no frenetic, demanding routine. Of course there is a routine but its not set-in-stone, or demanding, or penalising like before. What ever routine you have as an ol-fart is of your own making.

I gave up going to the pub and starting drinking at home. I decided I preferred my own cooking so gave up going out at all. My suits go unworn.

I found I normally woke earlier and worked harder once retired. I cultivated hobbies and rekindled old joys such as family and cultivation and dogs and things that shine and go real fast.

One of the things I recall from about 2005, when I was still kicking-arse and taking-… business-names… going into the Point Cruz Yacht Club (PCYC) in Honiara after work…

I’d buy my first liquid-sedative and slide up to what was notoriously referred to as “Table Number One”.

It took me a couple decades to graduate to Table Number One. From the lowly Volunteer, to the young-bloke trying to make a go in business, to the heard-of but still enigmatic Yank-from-the-West, to the guy who owed heaps to all the banks and was known by all.

Table Number One was reserved for the Old-Boys. The Bankers and Wankers and Managers and Accountants and Lawyers… And those business-dudes who owed enough to be impotent.

I was a young-bloke in the old-bloke clique.

So, one day as I dump my first brew down my throat, as I listen-in to the conversation that’s already started, I have a very clear thought… I bang my bottled-brew on the table and say in aloud voice, “Stop It! You guys are talking about your last doctor’s visit, about your next appointment. Stop it. What about fast cars and loud engines and beautiful boats and daring exploits and good looking women and , well, what about talking about fun stuff? Interesting stuff?”.

The collective of ol-farts looked at me for moment, pensively puffed their fags, sipped their quickly warming brews, then returned to their previous conversations.

Today’s story is one of an ol-fart feeling pretty damn good…

I’m 5 weeks and 3 days out from shoulder replacement surgery. And I feel pretty damn good. I’m done with appointments and rehab and physio. I feel pretty damn good.

It’s a hapi-ol-fart tale.

Smiles

It’s about 330am on the 6th of August. I lie ‘in a hospital bed, watching ol-Skool music vidz. I type this one handed. My other hand is in a sling, still numb from the nerve block I was given about 12 hours ago.

I’m surprised how good I feel. Considering they took a saw to my bones, I’m feeling no real pain. I’m sure it’ll come but feeling and movement in my hand has returned. I’m impressed.

The worse discomfort comes from being in bed so long. My butt aches.

But the shoulder feels pretty good.

There is the required IV in my right arm. A tube blowing oxygen wrapped under my nose. My left arm is in a sling and as the numbness wears off my thumb is what hurts a bit. Both legs below the knees are wrapped in pneumatic leggings. A small compressor alternately compresses one leg then the other. The damn compressor is quite noisy. Have morphine on tap but don’t need it. I think I’ll try a zap an experiment… there, l just pushed the little button, lets see what the effect is…

I am not a fan of hospitals. Have not been hospitalised since I burst an ear drum at the age of 13/14. But I guess this is all is part of ageing?

I’d like to think I could get out of here tomorrow.

Time will tell.

No noticeable effect from the morphine…

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