So grateful for hot water.
Because we would be away for two weeks He decided to turn off the hot water and wrote himself a note to turn it back on again when we got home. We arrived at 1pm but the hot water heats overnight. No problem - the washing machine is happy to use cold water. A shower would have been nice - I'd skipped one in the morning as it was so cold in our caravan park cabin.
The kettle heated the water for a cuppa and even for a bit of washing up that didn't go in the dishwasher. But got me to thinking.
When I was a kid my Dad used to light the copper every Monday morning for Mum to do the washing. The copper was built in the corner of the laundry and the water bubbled away (yes, boiling water) and the washing was poked with a copper stick. On Saturday night Dad fired it up again and bucketed the rain water into the bathroom for us all to have a bath - one after the other. I had the luxury of first go since I was the youngest.
The rest of the week we had the flannel wash. Don't ask! For that we filled up a dipper from the hot water 'fountain' over the kitchen sink and carried it to the bathroom basin. Imagine a primary school age kid carrying hot water through the house. I also remember an old friend telling me that during the dislocation of the 1950s flood she kept herself clean for a whole year using basin washes.
In our big old house in Laura we had a wood stove. It was quite nice to light it in the winter afternoons so the kitchen was warm when the family arrived home from school. I would put the kettle on and often thought how it would have been when that was the only way to boil the kettle and how horrid it would be to have to heat the woodstove and the kitchen in summer just to get a cup of tea.
So this morning when I got up and ran the hot water tap, how glad I was to have hot water so easily and the shower was wonderful.
I was just really glad He didn't turn off the water bed as well. We had two very cold mornings in caravan park units so to come home to a cold bed - that would have been the end.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Monday, August 31, 2015
Gratitude
Those who have been following my travelblog (all 3 of you!) will be glad to know we are safe home.
You will also know that I have had some grumpy moments of not appreciating being away and of wishing I were in my own place. I have to admit that not liking holidays is really a first world problem.
So I want to finish this series by saying I really am very grateful for:
* the opportunity to take a break from the routine chores and responsibilities
* being able to take time out and contemplate the world, the universe and everything (well, nearly everything)
* time to be renewed and invigorated
* space to have time to spend just with DB - unhurried (mostly) and to share ideas and thoughts
* being able to see the beauty of the Blue Mountains ( we're a bit short of mountains in the Riverland) and the Central Coast area of NSW
* for a car that goes well and safe travel (journeying mercies as my Grandma would have called it)
and for the special people:
* Mary rallying the troops and getting on with the job at Sing Australia Riverland
* Wendy for keeping Open Door open or at least I assume so. Anyway for a few weeks it wasn't my problem!
* Joella for keeping the home fires burning and the cat fed
* DB for being tour guide. I just said, "You sort it out and I'll come with you." So he did the research and the Googling and the mapping out of routes and the bookings and it all worked well. Even the long days of travel to get home, that I thought were ludicrous, turned out to be pleasant.
Home! So good. So blessed.
You will also know that I have had some grumpy moments of not appreciating being away and of wishing I were in my own place. I have to admit that not liking holidays is really a first world problem.
So I want to finish this series by saying I really am very grateful for:
* the opportunity to take a break from the routine chores and responsibilities
* being able to take time out and contemplate the world, the universe and everything (well, nearly everything)
* time to be renewed and invigorated
* space to have time to spend just with DB - unhurried (mostly) and to share ideas and thoughts
* being able to see the beauty of the Blue Mountains ( we're a bit short of mountains in the Riverland) and the Central Coast area of NSW
* for a car that goes well and safe travel (journeying mercies as my Grandma would have called it)
and for the special people:
* Mary rallying the troops and getting on with the job at Sing Australia Riverland
* Wendy for keeping Open Door open or at least I assume so. Anyway for a few weeks it wasn't my problem!
* Joella for keeping the home fires burning and the cat fed
* DB for being tour guide. I just said, "You sort it out and I'll come with you." So he did the research and the Googling and the mapping out of routes and the bookings and it all worked well. Even the long days of travel to get home, that I thought were ludicrous, turned out to be pleasant.
Home! So good. So blessed.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Zero tolerance
I recently read of a study that claimed the percentage of people who like strangers talking to them is 0%. I have to admit it was on Facebook and maybe it was American or something. But I was really surprised.
I enjoy engaging with people. So when I watched the woman on the ferry trip of over an hour manage with 4 kids - one a babe in arms, a toddler and one who had his 4th birthday that day and an older sister, on the way off the boat I commended her with a 'Well done. Your kids were great.' The potential for them to be horrendous was there but she had been firm and organised and we all enjoyed our ride. Do you suppose she was offended at my comment?
On the same trip a couple about our age sat near us. THEY started the conversation and we had a pleasant exchange of present circumstances and travel plus discovering mutual teaching backgrounds. The return trip was much the same as the more than an hour on the way out, so water, beautiful blue though it be, could have been monotonous. As they left they wished us well and that was it. Passing conversation with strangers, but somehow the world seemed a better place for it.
I wouldn't want to be insensitive to the wishes of people around me; it's usually possible to read the body language, as I encounter people and say g'day or simply make eye contact, and act accordingly.
So I must admit I chat to all sorts of people - at the checkout, on the street, in shops and at tourist spots. I think it's worth taking the chance to make the connection and brighten the day.
Zero tolerance for talking with strangers. Rhubarb!
I enjoy engaging with people. So when I watched the woman on the ferry trip of over an hour manage with 4 kids - one a babe in arms, a toddler and one who had his 4th birthday that day and an older sister, on the way off the boat I commended her with a 'Well done. Your kids were great.' The potential for them to be horrendous was there but she had been firm and organised and we all enjoyed our ride. Do you suppose she was offended at my comment?
On the same trip a couple about our age sat near us. THEY started the conversation and we had a pleasant exchange of present circumstances and travel plus discovering mutual teaching backgrounds. The return trip was much the same as the more than an hour on the way out, so water, beautiful blue though it be, could have been monotonous. As they left they wished us well and that was it. Passing conversation with strangers, but somehow the world seemed a better place for it.
I wouldn't want to be insensitive to the wishes of people around me; it's usually possible to read the body language, as I encounter people and say g'day or simply make eye contact, and act accordingly.
So I must admit I chat to all sorts of people - at the checkout, on the street, in shops and at tourist spots. I think it's worth taking the chance to make the connection and brighten the day.
Zero tolerance for talking with strangers. Rhubarb!
Saturday, August 29, 2015
All you can eat
When we are away on holidays we tend to stay in places where we can do our own cooking as well as eating out from time to time. This gives rise to some interesting catering arrangements and some dodgy food.
Craving good veges it has been know for us to buy a kilo bag of carrots and then have to eat them all within a week as they can't be taken back on the plane or across the border. Or a kilo of frozen peas because that is the most economical way to buy them. The last few days of a holiday can involve interesting combinations of what we have left eg a can of beans plus leftover sausage and lots of those peas. Or noodles plus broccoli and tuna. Today's sandwiches of Vegemite and peas on multigrain bread were actually rather nice.
I can't resist looking at all the eating places and their published menus to see just what is the most interesting and best value, so of course the 'All you can eat dinner' at the Bowling Club caught my attention.
What is so attractive about all you can eat, filling yourself up to the max? I was intrigued that this place has a time limit so it's all you can eat in and hour and a half.
I remember the old Sizzler days when it was really convenient to meet there for a meal with our kids who were studying in Adelaide. Where else would let you hang out for hours at a time with heaps of food as well. I don't really care to remember the soft serve eating competitions and there are some interesting tales of teenage boys and the all the you can eat Pizza Hut Tuesdays. Was it really only $5 or am I just old?
Yesterday we were travelling and the hour for lunch had long passed and still no sign of the longed for fish and chips (no making our own sandwiches this time.) Almost serendipitously we happened upon a takeaway at Smith's Lake. Wonderful fish and chips were obtained but even more fun was chatting to the cook about his preference for Vegemite and cheese on toast and how I like Vegemite and avocado and so on. That food tasted good because I was hungry and somehow there had been a connection, if only briefly, with the provider.
There seems to be a huge emphasis on food these days with food shows on TV, food magazines and weird and wonderful recipes. Not to mention the photos on Facebook of what people are eating or cooking. When so many people in the world are starving. And that's why we find ti helpful at times to have a day off. Yes, a day off from food. Good for one's health so they say and my doc is happy with the results. Makes us appreciate the abundance of food we enjoy every other day and breaks the tyranny food has over us. Because when you hear someone say,'I'm starving' it's very rarely true in our situation.
All you can eat? Maybe...
PS Well we did eat at the 'All You Can Eat' venue because it seemed good value if you wanted to have 3 courses: two choices of soup, 4 roast meats and veg, cold meats and salads, seafood, party pies, pizza and nuggets, many Chinese dishes and many desserts. However, I wouldn't usually order 3 courses and if there is a menu listing mains I would hardly expect to have some of them all. I probably ate more than I needed. (OK, I definitely ate more than I needed.) It was quite nice but on the whole I think I probably enjoyed the well cooked steak (medium rare) and veg we had a few days earlier.
Craving good veges it has been know for us to buy a kilo bag of carrots and then have to eat them all within a week as they can't be taken back on the plane or across the border. Or a kilo of frozen peas because that is the most economical way to buy them. The last few days of a holiday can involve interesting combinations of what we have left eg a can of beans plus leftover sausage and lots of those peas. Or noodles plus broccoli and tuna. Today's sandwiches of Vegemite and peas on multigrain bread were actually rather nice.
I can't resist looking at all the eating places and their published menus to see just what is the most interesting and best value, so of course the 'All you can eat dinner' at the Bowling Club caught my attention.
What is so attractive about all you can eat, filling yourself up to the max? I was intrigued that this place has a time limit so it's all you can eat in and hour and a half.
I remember the old Sizzler days when it was really convenient to meet there for a meal with our kids who were studying in Adelaide. Where else would let you hang out for hours at a time with heaps of food as well. I don't really care to remember the soft serve eating competitions and there are some interesting tales of teenage boys and the all the you can eat Pizza Hut Tuesdays. Was it really only $5 or am I just old?
Yesterday we were travelling and the hour for lunch had long passed and still no sign of the longed for fish and chips (no making our own sandwiches this time.) Almost serendipitously we happened upon a takeaway at Smith's Lake. Wonderful fish and chips were obtained but even more fun was chatting to the cook about his preference for Vegemite and cheese on toast and how I like Vegemite and avocado and so on. That food tasted good because I was hungry and somehow there had been a connection, if only briefly, with the provider.
There seems to be a huge emphasis on food these days with food shows on TV, food magazines and weird and wonderful recipes. Not to mention the photos on Facebook of what people are eating or cooking. When so many people in the world are starving. And that's why we find ti helpful at times to have a day off. Yes, a day off from food. Good for one's health so they say and my doc is happy with the results. Makes us appreciate the abundance of food we enjoy every other day and breaks the tyranny food has over us. Because when you hear someone say,'I'm starving' it's very rarely true in our situation.
All you can eat? Maybe...
PS Well we did eat at the 'All You Can Eat' venue because it seemed good value if you wanted to have 3 courses: two choices of soup, 4 roast meats and veg, cold meats and salads, seafood, party pies, pizza and nuggets, many Chinese dishes and many desserts. However, I wouldn't usually order 3 courses and if there is a menu listing mains I would hardly expect to have some of them all. I probably ate more than I needed. (OK, I definitely ate more than I needed.) It was quite nice but on the whole I think I probably enjoyed the well cooked steak (medium rare) and veg we had a few days earlier.
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Service or not
As we've travelled and stayed in hotels and holiday units we have found quite a range of approaches to the servicing of rooms. Consider the following:
1. A hotel in a South Australian country town which shall be nameless and was by no means budget priced had a very small room and bathroom. There was no sign of servicing of the rooms for the 4 days we were there. By the time we left the bathroom looked awful and the coffe cups which we used a lot were stained. There was no hope of cleaning the bathroom not even a toilet brush, and nothing but the bathroom sink for the cups with no dishwashing equipment. It was yucky. In later conversation the manager was somewhat dismayed that this had occurred. Maybe her staff let her down.
2. In Darwin they serviced the rooms every day. Signs on the wall rattled on about saving water and how if we hung up our towels they wouldn't be washed etc. In both the Hilton and a less up market holiday unit this was completely ignored despite my reminding them at reception that we were happy to reuse the towels. So much for saving water.
3.We arrived at a very pleasant motel unit in the evening and the next morning suggested to the chirpy host that we really didn't need the room serviced that day. He was more than happy about that and so were we. I sometimes find it just a wee bit obtrusive to know someone is going to come in and poke around and there are times when ti is nice not to be disturbed.
4. Another place we were at made it clear that there would be no servicing of the rooms if you only stayed for 3 nights. That was fine by me. Happy to make up the bed, hang up the towels, wipe down the kitchen bench and so on, with items supplied to make this easy.
So to service or not, what do you think?
1. A hotel in a South Australian country town which shall be nameless and was by no means budget priced had a very small room and bathroom. There was no sign of servicing of the rooms for the 4 days we were there. By the time we left the bathroom looked awful and the coffe cups which we used a lot were stained. There was no hope of cleaning the bathroom not even a toilet brush, and nothing but the bathroom sink for the cups with no dishwashing equipment. It was yucky. In later conversation the manager was somewhat dismayed that this had occurred. Maybe her staff let her down.
2. In Darwin they serviced the rooms every day. Signs on the wall rattled on about saving water and how if we hung up our towels they wouldn't be washed etc. In both the Hilton and a less up market holiday unit this was completely ignored despite my reminding them at reception that we were happy to reuse the towels. So much for saving water.
3.We arrived at a very pleasant motel unit in the evening and the next morning suggested to the chirpy host that we really didn't need the room serviced that day. He was more than happy about that and so were we. I sometimes find it just a wee bit obtrusive to know someone is going to come in and poke around and there are times when ti is nice not to be disturbed.
4. Another place we were at made it clear that there would be no servicing of the rooms if you only stayed for 3 nights. That was fine by me. Happy to make up the bed, hang up the towels, wipe down the kitchen bench and so on, with items supplied to make this easy.
So to service or not, what do you think?
Take me home...
Spoiler alert: If for some reason you read this stuff and think I am a mature and wise person who has it all together then you should probably not read this one.
Last night I didn't sleep well. This is not unusual but my night was filled with restless sleep and troubled dreams all of which seemed to feature trying to get somewhere and being foiled in the attempt.
When morning came I woke not only with tousled hair but with my brain scrambled and a feeling of sadness. Why? We are on a lovely holiday and enjoying slow starts (well I am; he gets up and goes for a walk and comes back with photos to show me) we've taken leisurely walks and some not so leisurely We've enjoyed time together and plenty of books to read. And did I mention the great bargains at Vinnies. The sign said Winter Stock Clearance. $2. When I asked which were the winter items I was told 'Everything'. Wow so the sparkly jeans (yes, that makes three pairs now) were $2 not $7. And I could have bought a red handbag identical to the one I was carrying except minus the frayed handle. I didn't although I did buy another black one and we couldn't resist a possible substitute for the old Urnie at church.
And we've had interesting meals - craving some good Riverland pumpkin - with DB committed to eating the whole 8 pack of ice creams that were such a bargain.
But the shaky feeling comes. The feeling that says all is not right with the world and I'd rather not get out of bed today. Is it still concern about Millie cat? Is she OK? Or about those at home who are battling brain tumors or facing other life challenges? Or missing the singing fun with Sing Australia Riverland when there is so much to get ready for performances coming up?
Or am I just a wuss? Too wrapped up in myself, too set in my ways? Aching for the familiar and for all to be right with the world. I just want to go home...
PS As is the way of these things, I did get up and things did get better after a wobbly start. The sun shone a little through the clouds and so the day went...
Last night I didn't sleep well. This is not unusual but my night was filled with restless sleep and troubled dreams all of which seemed to feature trying to get somewhere and being foiled in the attempt.
 |
| On the way to the top of Tomaree Head |
And we've had interesting meals - craving some good Riverland pumpkin - with DB committed to eating the whole 8 pack of ice creams that were such a bargain.
But the shaky feeling comes. The feeling that says all is not right with the world and I'd rather not get out of bed today. Is it still concern about Millie cat? Is she OK? Or about those at home who are battling brain tumors or facing other life challenges? Or missing the singing fun with Sing Australia Riverland when there is so much to get ready for performances coming up?
Or am I just a wuss? Too wrapped up in myself, too set in my ways? Aching for the familiar and for all to be right with the world. I just want to go home...
PS As is the way of these things, I did get up and things did get better after a wobbly start. The sun shone a little through the clouds and so the day went...
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Holidays?
What's so good about holidays? First of all you have to decide when to take them and as soon as you do there are all sorts of events that you realise you will have to miss. Choosing is hard. At least when we were teaching holidays came around routinely and we all stopped. But once we got into other work there seemed never to be a good time to be away. You had to fit in with the program and needs of others and work like steam to get things done before you left, only to be confronted with a zillion things to do on your routine since no one else did it while you were away.
It's even worse if you run a small business on your own. How can you leave it when the orders keep piling in and that means money? You can hardly relax while you know the customers are waiting for you to come up with the goods. I well remember the year we suggested to our friends who ran the neighbourhood ServWel that if they took a couple of days off between Christmas and New Year and added that to the pubic holidays they could have a week off and we'd mind the shop. What fun that was!
So having carved out two weeks to be away then you have to decide where to go and where to stay and what clothes to take to cover all eventualities. And when you get there where to eat or what to cook and where to find the supermarket and......
Then do you spend the days relaxing and reading or should you make sure you see all the sights? To tell you the truth sights are not my thing. Climbing up to see the view from Tomaree Head was all very well but more interesting were the people we encountered on the way - tourists young and old and others in lycra running up and down just for the heck of it. We chatted to quite a few and that was good. The one hour ferry trip included scenery and dolphins and pelicans, but the return trip involved chatting to a couple about their experience as teachers and comparing notes. Which do you think I enjoyed most?
So after a week it seems I've nearly had about enough especially when there are doubts about the wellbeing of the cat even though she has presented a rat nicely dissected in the back room. How do people stay away for weeks on end? I want to be with my own things, in my own bed and with my own cat, er people.
Can I go home now?
It's even worse if you run a small business on your own. How can you leave it when the orders keep piling in and that means money? You can hardly relax while you know the customers are waiting for you to come up with the goods. I well remember the year we suggested to our friends who ran the neighbourhood ServWel that if they took a couple of days off between Christmas and New Year and added that to the pubic holidays they could have a week off and we'd mind the shop. What fun that was!
So having carved out two weeks to be away then you have to decide where to go and where to stay and what clothes to take to cover all eventualities. And when you get there where to eat or what to cook and where to find the supermarket and......
Then do you spend the days relaxing and reading or should you make sure you see all the sights? To tell you the truth sights are not my thing. Climbing up to see the view from Tomaree Head was all very well but more interesting were the people we encountered on the way - tourists young and old and others in lycra running up and down just for the heck of it. We chatted to quite a few and that was good. The one hour ferry trip included scenery and dolphins and pelicans, but the return trip involved chatting to a couple about their experience as teachers and comparing notes. Which do you think I enjoyed most?
So after a week it seems I've nearly had about enough especially when there are doubts about the wellbeing of the cat even though she has presented a rat nicely dissected in the back room. How do people stay away for weeks on end? I want to be with my own things, in my own bed and with my own cat, er people.
Can I go home now?
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Friends (2)
When we are away I often feel that I don't want to relate to people. I just want to take a break and be a bit anonymous.So we arrived at church and soon after meeting Val she suggested we call in for a cuppa if we weren't doing anything in the afternoon. I murmured indistinct things and on we went and found a seat.
It's good to know that there are people of the wide church family to meet with but sometimes it can be a bit awkward.
Different places have different culture and even knowing which door to enter can be a problem, Of course all the locals know but I remember turning up to a church which later became our home church, but on the first occasion we went at night to the Youth Service and parked on the tennis court at the back as everyone else did. So which of the 5 doors was the one. Someone saw us and ushered us in - via the kitchen door!!
Some churches are so welcoming that as we've lingered after church and had no one approach us I've hastily suggested we head off to Maccas for coffee. As our minister says 'Church morning tea can be the loneliest place on the planet.'
But this lot were good. Bad luck we didn't know morning tea was before the 10.30 service but we were immediately greeted - not by anyone who looked like they were official greeters but by one person who then introduced us to the others. The congregation was smaller than usual and since the organist was sick we had songs with canned music and visuals which were a bit challenging but we sang heartily.
As we left, Val repeated her invitation and wrote her mobile number down for us should we decide to visit. Gentle and welcoming but not insistent. And so after lunch we rang and agreed to go for afternoon tea. We sat in her beautiful apartment overlooking the water, along with her friend Maureen who had also been invited, and shared our stories. How pleasant it was. Friends - new friends...
It's good to know that there are people of the wide church family to meet with but sometimes it can be a bit awkward.
Different places have different culture and even knowing which door to enter can be a problem, Of course all the locals know but I remember turning up to a church which later became our home church, but on the first occasion we went at night to the Youth Service and parked on the tennis court at the back as everyone else did. So which of the 5 doors was the one. Someone saw us and ushered us in - via the kitchen door!!
Some churches are so welcoming that as we've lingered after church and had no one approach us I've hastily suggested we head off to Maccas for coffee. As our minister says 'Church morning tea can be the loneliest place on the planet.'
But this lot were good. Bad luck we didn't know morning tea was before the 10.30 service but we were immediately greeted - not by anyone who looked like they were official greeters but by one person who then introduced us to the others. The congregation was smaller than usual and since the organist was sick we had songs with canned music and visuals which were a bit challenging but we sang heartily.
As we left, Val repeated her invitation and wrote her mobile number down for us should we decide to visit. Gentle and welcoming but not insistent. And so after lunch we rang and agreed to go for afternoon tea. We sat in her beautiful apartment overlooking the water, along with her friend Maureen who had also been invited, and shared our stories. How pleasant it was. Friends - new friends...
Monday, August 24, 2015
A special day
I read an article the other day that claimed that a large percentage of people when asked what day it is have trouble coming up with the correct answer. And that Friday is the most popular day of the week. I remember my parents in law in their declining years having the same problem as they said one day seemed like any other except for Thursday when the rubbish bins went out.
In the throes of coping with being a new mother to a squawking baby I realised there were no weekends to look forward to. Is that why Friday is so popular - heralding the end of the working week and a change of pace.
Now in my retirement years it's a bit the same but for a different reason. The days just roll on by. Plenty to but all the same. Except for Sunday. It s the day to change focus. To seek out like minded people. To stop and think about things divine and look up instead of around.
When I was growing up Sunday were days to not do things - no shopping, no TV and so on. Our day was full anyway with church and Christian Endeavour in the morning, Sunday school in the afternoon and church again at night often with youth events thrown in as well
Some may feel restricted by the notion of Sunday being a different day. But I see it as a day of rest in the sense that it is a chance to stop the stuff of the rest of the week.
Years ago when we were renovating our large decrepit house we worked on plastering and painting long into the night after out little ones were tucked into bed. It was tiring even though satisfying. But how grateful I was for Sunday. A day off. A change to change pace and refresh. How many in our world today need this. I know I do. Sunday. A special day.
In the throes of coping with being a new mother to a squawking baby I realised there were no weekends to look forward to. Is that why Friday is so popular - heralding the end of the working week and a change of pace.
Now in my retirement years it's a bit the same but for a different reason. The days just roll on by. Plenty to but all the same. Except for Sunday. It s the day to change focus. To seek out like minded people. To stop and think about things divine and look up instead of around.
When I was growing up Sunday were days to not do things - no shopping, no TV and so on. Our day was full anyway with church and Christian Endeavour in the morning, Sunday school in the afternoon and church again at night often with youth events thrown in as well
Some may feel restricted by the notion of Sunday being a different day. But I see it as a day of rest in the sense that it is a chance to stop the stuff of the rest of the week.
Years ago when we were renovating our large decrepit house we worked on plastering and painting long into the night after out little ones were tucked into bed. It was tiring even though satisfying. But how grateful I was for Sunday. A day off. A change to change pace and refresh. How many in our world today need this. I know I do. Sunday. A special day.
Saturday, August 22, 2015
And yet...
This morning when I woke I realised I was still feeling a bit sorry that we hadn't taken our planned route yesterday via Wiseman's ferry. That was they way we'd thought to go and the host where we are staying told us how wonderful it was. And yet there'd been good reasons for being persuaded to take another route. It seemed logical perhaps but turned out to be one we were uncertain of. We stopped several times to check and were a bit anxious about it all. Part of it involved an uphill road through the mountains which was so circuitous that the hairpin bends had a recommended speed of 5 km. Hairpins? Hair raising. Then we hit the motorway with heaps of traffic and were so glad when we finally arrived in the right place. It took ages and I felt frazzled (and I wasn't even driving.)
SO I felt some regret about it all - and did I mention I loved ferries. I could watch the Waikerie ferry go back and forth for ages seeing how many cars and whether there was ever a time when there was no car waiting and so on.
And yet... What is the point in being sorry about yesterday's trip. I did wonder about retracing our steps just to see, but life isn't like that. Decisions are made and we need to travel on. I remember wondering about whether we had made the right decision to send our oldest for schooling in Adelaide. The wise principal who offered him a place at the school counselled me to make the decision prayerfully and go forward in faith. I have often returned to that. How can we ever know whether what we decide is the best of alternatives?
And yet... I am reminded of the ancient writer Habakkuk (nobody calls their child that these days) who declared that even though his fig tree didn't flourish and there were no grapes on his vine, he would still 'rejoice in the Lord.' So today the sun in shining, the sea is sparkling, we have enjoyed the generosity of strangers (Nick gave us the loan of two bikes for sight seeing and a bloke near the beach carried my bike down the steps for me) and there is so much to be grateful for. So 'je ne regrette rien.' No regrets.
SO I felt some regret about it all - and did I mention I loved ferries. I could watch the Waikerie ferry go back and forth for ages seeing how many cars and whether there was ever a time when there was no car waiting and so on.
And yet... What is the point in being sorry about yesterday's trip. I did wonder about retracing our steps just to see, but life isn't like that. Decisions are made and we need to travel on. I remember wondering about whether we had made the right decision to send our oldest for schooling in Adelaide. The wise principal who offered him a place at the school counselled me to make the decision prayerfully and go forward in faith. I have often returned to that. How can we ever know whether what we decide is the best of alternatives?
And yet... I am reminded of the ancient writer Habakkuk (nobody calls their child that these days) who declared that even though his fig tree didn't flourish and there were no grapes on his vine, he would still 'rejoice in the Lord.' So today the sun in shining, the sea is sparkling, we have enjoyed the generosity of strangers (Nick gave us the loan of two bikes for sight seeing and a bloke near the beach carried my bike down the steps for me) and there is so much to be grateful for. So 'je ne regrette rien.' No regrets.
Friday, August 21, 2015
Friends
When I was quite young my older sister set out to write a list of everyone she knew. I remember she was using a green notepad and I was impressed by the number of people she had scrawled on her list. Nowadays people just amass friends on Facebook, not that I'm knocking Facebook as I've happily reconnected with friends from previous times and enjoy keeping in touch with them. (You know who you are, Sarah and Heather and Narelle and...
When we married we moved from our childhood city when we and have lived in 5 different places in the 44 years since. My other sister still meets with friends from kindy days nearly 70 years ago. Now I didn't go to kindy but I don't have friends from either primary or high school days either. When you move it seems hard to keep in touch. Christmas cards or letters continue for a while and maybe birthday cards and phone calls but eventually things fade. Over the years there have been a few who refused to give up. When we moved 11 years ago I was reluctant to leave the city where I thought we'd returned for good. Dear friend Pam - a work colleague and church friend - not only visited us on the first weekend but rang regularly and we caught up often. I still miss her after her death from cancer 5 years ago.
Other friends fade into the background but always remain a part of you life story. Today on our travels we visited Laurie. She and Max lived in Laura for a number of years while we were there and had the gallery and craft shop just across the road from us. They quickly became friends and were particularly important to our youngest daughter. In fact when we were to move, she announced that she would stay and live with Laurie and Max. We walked their dogs at times, admired their artwork, which often resulted in being given pieces of it and we still have the native orchids Max gave us.
When Max died Laurie returned to New South Wales to live and in the last 20 years or so we have seen her just a handful of times with only intermittent communication. But today's travels were to take us within cooee of her place so we rang a few weeks back to say so.
Yesterday was Laurie' s birthday and today she hosted us for lunch - a pleasant meal where time stood still as we caught up, admired old familiar paintings on the wall and talked of days gone by. Friends.
So blessed.
When we married we moved from our childhood city when we and have lived in 5 different places in the 44 years since. My other sister still meets with friends from kindy days nearly 70 years ago. Now I didn't go to kindy but I don't have friends from either primary or high school days either. When you move it seems hard to keep in touch. Christmas cards or letters continue for a while and maybe birthday cards and phone calls but eventually things fade. Over the years there have been a few who refused to give up. When we moved 11 years ago I was reluctant to leave the city where I thought we'd returned for good. Dear friend Pam - a work colleague and church friend - not only visited us on the first weekend but rang regularly and we caught up often. I still miss her after her death from cancer 5 years ago.
Other friends fade into the background but always remain a part of you life story. Today on our travels we visited Laurie. She and Max lived in Laura for a number of years while we were there and had the gallery and craft shop just across the road from us. They quickly became friends and were particularly important to our youngest daughter. In fact when we were to move, she announced that she would stay and live with Laurie and Max. We walked their dogs at times, admired their artwork, which often resulted in being given pieces of it and we still have the native orchids Max gave us.
When Max died Laurie returned to New South Wales to live and in the last 20 years or so we have seen her just a handful of times with only intermittent communication. But today's travels were to take us within cooee of her place so we rang a few weeks back to say so.
Yesterday was Laurie' s birthday and today she hosted us for lunch - a pleasant meal where time stood still as we caught up, admired old familiar paintings on the wall and talked of days gone by. Friends.
So blessed.
Massive Mountain Musings
The person who wrote Psalm 19 suggests that the beauty of nature indicates the glory and handiwork of the one who created it. I have pondered this as I have looked a the majestic Blue Mountains form every angle - with light and shade, floodlit at night and in several daytime moods.
We have not been alone in contemplating it all. Hordes of tourists walk the same paths and I've enjoyed contemplating them in all their variety of voice and dress. Such variety and interest. But why do they take so many photos? What are they going to do with them? I remember how my Dad loved to show his slides - and how Mrs Jaques invariably closed her eyes and went to sleep the moment the lights went out. These people would have a zillion more photos. Do they show them all to friends in interminable slideshows? Nearly as long as Rosie Clarke's dance concert of over 4 hours with 3 intervals. (That bit's for you, Joella.)
And then there are the ubiquitous selfie sticks, some quite small rather like a car side mirror and some over a metre long and held aloft above the crowd. Why do they have to put themselves in the picture? And yet when I went through my Dad's slides I discarded all but the ones with family in them.
Returning to the Psalms I mull over the fact that the writer of Psalm 8 wonders about the significance of humanity in the face of the one who created all things. And yet says that very same creator sees humanity as special - like angelic beings and 'crowned with glory and honour.' Wow, so God really does put us right there in the picture. That's amazing.
PS Psalm 121 asks 'I look to the hills but where does my help come from? ' and replies 'My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth.' (GlenB translation.) Those mountains are mighty but even more wonderful is the one who made them, who protects and guides and loves me. Now that's massive...
We have not been alone in contemplating it all. Hordes of tourists walk the same paths and I've enjoyed contemplating them in all their variety of voice and dress. Such variety and interest. But why do they take so many photos? What are they going to do with them? I remember how my Dad loved to show his slides - and how Mrs Jaques invariably closed her eyes and went to sleep the moment the lights went out. These people would have a zillion more photos. Do they show them all to friends in interminable slideshows? Nearly as long as Rosie Clarke's dance concert of over 4 hours with 3 intervals. (That bit's for you, Joella.)
And then there are the ubiquitous selfie sticks, some quite small rather like a car side mirror and some over a metre long and held aloft above the crowd. Why do they have to put themselves in the picture? And yet when I went through my Dad's slides I discarded all but the ones with family in them.
Returning to the Psalms I mull over the fact that the writer of Psalm 8 wonders about the significance of humanity in the face of the one who created all things. And yet says that very same creator sees humanity as special - like angelic beings and 'crowned with glory and honour.' Wow, so God really does put us right there in the picture. That's amazing.
PS Psalm 121 asks 'I look to the hills but where does my help come from? ' and replies 'My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth.' (GlenB translation.) Those mountains are mighty but even more wonderful is the one who made them, who protects and guides and loves me. Now that's massive...
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
People for breakfast
So here we are happily ensconced in a guest house in the Blue Mountains. It's quaint with its games room and library and lounge areas with (fake) fires. Oh and quaint plumbing so I know exactly how many times the people next door went in the night. Cooked breakfast daily is included in the tariff. So this morning I was up and showered and dressed (even though I considered going in my jamas - they really are very nice jamas and I could have tossed a jacket over the top, a scarf even) and downstairs by 8 am. That was the the stated time for breakfast but the dining room doors were locked until 10 minutes later. Hm!
Now I am not a morning person. Years ago David gave me a poster that said 'I think I'm allergic to mornigns' and learnt to avoid me and certainly not speak to me when I first get up. These days I usually head back to bed with my toast and cuppa and a book to read. I well remember the horror of managers' meetings in Melbourne where I not only had to spend a couple of days with state managers and then dine out with them but also had to front up in the morning for breakfast. I tried hiding behind a newspaper but invariably some cheery type would join me and make small talk or even worse talk about issues from the previous day's meetings.
So this morning I loaded my plate with stuff -eggs, bacon and all that healthy food and we sat in silence. But really, sometimes, I just can't help myself. People are such interesting things. I went to get some juice and there was a young guy about 40 years younger than all the rest of the guests. He just didn't meet the demography so I had to ask him about himself. A uni student as it turns out studying science. Back to my table to munch in silence. Four blokes were talking about life and all and one was describing how he is now a househusband and does all the grocery shopping since his wife still works. He went on to say that he peruses the supermarket catalogues at length to get the best deals and that his wife thinks that's nuts. The other guys were about to get stuck in to him when I rose from my table and went to his defence. We discovered we were all ex teachers, and that they had come on the train from Sydney (all for $2.50 because of pensioner fares.) Now I really enjoyed our brief exchange. How can it be that my non communicative morning persona was eclipsed by my busy body, nosey parker, talk to anyone style.
Tomorrow? Guess I'll just have to wait and see....
Now I am not a morning person. Years ago David gave me a poster that said 'I think I'm allergic to mornigns' and learnt to avoid me and certainly not speak to me when I first get up. These days I usually head back to bed with my toast and cuppa and a book to read. I well remember the horror of managers' meetings in Melbourne where I not only had to spend a couple of days with state managers and then dine out with them but also had to front up in the morning for breakfast. I tried hiding behind a newspaper but invariably some cheery type would join me and make small talk or even worse talk about issues from the previous day's meetings.
So this morning I loaded my plate with stuff -eggs, bacon and all that healthy food and we sat in silence. But really, sometimes, I just can't help myself. People are such interesting things. I went to get some juice and there was a young guy about 40 years younger than all the rest of the guests. He just didn't meet the demography so I had to ask him about himself. A uni student as it turns out studying science. Back to my table to munch in silence. Four blokes were talking about life and all and one was describing how he is now a househusband and does all the grocery shopping since his wife still works. He went on to say that he peruses the supermarket catalogues at length to get the best deals and that his wife thinks that's nuts. The other guys were about to get stuck in to him when I rose from my table and went to his defence. We discovered we were all ex teachers, and that they had come on the train from Sydney (all for $2.50 because of pensioner fares.) Now I really enjoyed our brief exchange. How can it be that my non communicative morning persona was eclipsed by my busy body, nosey parker, talk to anyone style.
Tomorrow? Guess I'll just have to wait and see....
Take it or leave it...
We noticed it as soon as we crossed over the border out of South Australia. Way more roadside litter and a fair bit of it was cans and bottles. No 10c deposit in the Eastern states. I have been surprised when people in SA discard bottles - at the lakefront or in the Centre where I previously worked. But if they didn't want them plenty of others would pick them up. After all 10 cents is 10 cents and 10 of those make a dollar. Nothing wrong with my Maths! After all I was brought up in the Depression. OK, OK I wasn't but my parents battled in that era and passed on those values to me. I'm also happy to get 4c a litre off my petrol even if I am using a voucher picked up in the Coles car park. (Yes, yes, Hannah, it's embarrassing to be with Grandma when she does that but you'll cope.)
It's bonanza time in summer when tourists leave me piles of 10 centses (is that the plural?) and the money we get from the recycle centre goes to support the work of Christian Pastoral Support Workers in schools.
Sooo, today we stopped at a tourist lookout in Cowra and there were bottles - quite a lot of bottles. I picked up a couple to at least put them in the bin and there were a dozen more in there. The fine print says the 10c refund is for when the bottle is sold in SA. Who knows whether some SA tourists had put them there. Big moral dilemma. Twelve multiplied by 10 is.....(you do the Maths) and it would be for a good cause.
What would you do?
It's bonanza time in summer when tourists leave me piles of 10 centses (is that the plural?) and the money we get from the recycle centre goes to support the work of Christian Pastoral Support Workers in schools.
Sooo, today we stopped at a tourist lookout in Cowra and there were bottles - quite a lot of bottles. I picked up a couple to at least put them in the bin and there were a dozen more in there. The fine print says the 10c refund is for when the bottle is sold in SA. Who knows whether some SA tourists had put them there. Big moral dilemma. Twelve multiplied by 10 is.....(you do the Maths) and it would be for a good cause.
What would you do?
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
The journey's the thing
They (whoever 'they' are) say the journey's the thing, not necessarily the destination. I wasn't completely convinced about this when I was studying for a Bachelor of Ministry and it took 10 years part time. I loved the lectures and tutorials and the conversations and the readings, but I really really wanted to have that piece of paper that said I'd finished and even a photo in a gown and funny hat to show that I'd graduated.
But the last few days as we travelled I thought about this again. I don't like to go away. I love being home. But we needed a break and thought it might be nice to see Katoomba in the Blue Mountains as we had spent just an hour or so there once seventeen years ago on our way through after travelling to Sydney for the weekend for a wedding.
I was feeling a bit snowed under, so said to the Dear Man, 'You decide where to go and I'll come with you.' You see, I'm not that good at scenery, I quite like historical stuff but I'd just as soon read a book. But I do like being together with no distractions. (Well maybe a phone call or text message here and there.)
So we've been travelling. Talking to each other, reading out loud from favourite books (THE book and others) and stopping to eat and get coffee - free thanks to some vouchers given to us, which makes it heaps more fun.
The days have been long but OK and the journey satisfying. However I do like it when we stop and set up camp (not literally, people. You should know be better than that. Not camping, but in cabins or similar.) Then we draw the blinds, eat, read, check emails if we feel like it and sleep in our own little cocoon. So while the journey is appreciated so is the destination - with the best one of all being home.
But the last few days as we travelled I thought about this again. I don't like to go away. I love being home. But we needed a break and thought it might be nice to see Katoomba in the Blue Mountains as we had spent just an hour or so there once seventeen years ago on our way through after travelling to Sydney for the weekend for a wedding.
I was feeling a bit snowed under, so said to the Dear Man, 'You decide where to go and I'll come with you.' You see, I'm not that good at scenery, I quite like historical stuff but I'd just as soon read a book. But I do like being together with no distractions. (Well maybe a phone call or text message here and there.)
So we've been travelling. Talking to each other, reading out loud from favourite books (THE book and others) and stopping to eat and get coffee - free thanks to some vouchers given to us, which makes it heaps more fun.
The days have been long but OK and the journey satisfying. However I do like it when we stop and set up camp (not literally, people. You should know be better than that. Not camping, but in cabins or similar.) Then we draw the blinds, eat, read, check emails if we feel like it and sleep in our own little cocoon. So while the journey is appreciated so is the destination - with the best one of all being home.
Monday, August 17, 2015
It's cool
It wasn't the trucks going past on the highway that kept me awake last night although I think I could tell you how many there were and how many seconds they took from first hearing them humming in the distance to full bore and then receding again. (Yeah, OK, I'm a compulsive counter. As good as counting sheep, surely.) Neither was it the heartburn (but, gosh those curry meatballs were good.) And not Himself getting up to get a drink with the resultant squeal of the tap. (He often needs a drink in the night so why hadn't he thought of it before bedtime, but then again this is the man who can be sitting in the car with seatbelt on before thinking to rummage in his pocket for the car key. And it wasn't the constant drip of a raindrop onto the metal air conditioner just outside the window as in a recent trip to Kimba. That was like a cross between the old Chinese water torture and the beat of a metronome.
No. It was the fridge. Humming gently and then stopping. It was such a gentle hum that I thought it would be convenient white noise to drown out the roaring of trucks.
I was reminded of many other episodes with fridges in the same room as the beds. And the various solutions. Sometimes I've turned them off only to find the frozen stuff thawed and puddles of water on the floor - particularly bad where there is carpet. One memorable time in Broome there was an especially noisy fridge only a metre or so from the bed. The whole unit was open plan apart from the bathroom. Hmm. Yep. We could do it. SO each night we moved the (smallish) fridge into the bathroom and shut the door. Then next morning we reversed the process. Except that one morning we hand't got to it when the cleaner turned up. We fled before giving any explanation.
So last night after all my careful ignoring and screening out techniques I simply got up and in the dark fumbled around for the power point. Nothing. So I snapped on the light only to find there cord disappearing into the kitchen cupboard. Further investigation revealed a double adapter behind the fridge so I wrenched it apart and enjoyed the silence. And so back to bed.
Great solution. Nothing melted. Who needs a fridge anyway? Freezing cold morning in Balranald. That's cool!
No. It was the fridge. Humming gently and then stopping. It was such a gentle hum that I thought it would be convenient white noise to drown out the roaring of trucks.
I was reminded of many other episodes with fridges in the same room as the beds. And the various solutions. Sometimes I've turned them off only to find the frozen stuff thawed and puddles of water on the floor - particularly bad where there is carpet. One memorable time in Broome there was an especially noisy fridge only a metre or so from the bed. The whole unit was open plan apart from the bathroom. Hmm. Yep. We could do it. SO each night we moved the (smallish) fridge into the bathroom and shut the door. Then next morning we reversed the process. Except that one morning we hand't got to it when the cleaner turned up. We fled before giving any explanation.
So last night after all my careful ignoring and screening out techniques I simply got up and in the dark fumbled around for the power point. Nothing. So I snapped on the light only to find there cord disappearing into the kitchen cupboard. Further investigation revealed a double adapter behind the fridge so I wrenched it apart and enjoyed the silence. And so back to bed.
Great solution. Nothing melted. Who needs a fridge anyway? Freezing cold morning in Balranald. That's cool!
Sunday, August 16, 2015
In the dog house?
Where to sleep tonight? Well not in our own cosy bed since we are on the road for a touring holiday. Just driving to spend time together and get away from the many demands on our lives. So our first night is in a standard unit in a caravan park. It's well equipped with a decent size fridge for the food we brought from home and a microwave to heat the curry meatballs lovingly made and given to us for the trip by friends (my regular angel) as well as hotplates and small oven. Only a minor hiccup that both taps over the sink have green tops and the ones in the bathroom have one green one and one missing. Surely hot water will come out of one of them eventually. And perhaps I won't notice the sound of the trucks going past on the highway.
There are just two of us but when I saw the bunk beds and the single bed in addition to the double, I couldn't resist asking, "Where do you want to sleep tonight?"
After unpacking and eating I did the usual more detailed exploration - little soaps, fluffy towels, four sachets of coffee- wouldn't want to overdo the caffeine. One each now and in the morning is the dose, I guess. And I've surfed the TV channels without finding the ABC. Not that I want to watch but it's just fun to do when you're on holidays. Gideon's Bible - yep, still in an old version. And then the list of instructions for guests.
It 's a pet friendly park but there are a few rules. These don't apply to us so I nearly miss it. The final sentence. "We do have kennels available for guests (sic) use." So I have to ask again, "Where do you want to sleep tonight?"
There are just two of us but when I saw the bunk beds and the single bed in addition to the double, I couldn't resist asking, "Where do you want to sleep tonight?"
After unpacking and eating I did the usual more detailed exploration - little soaps, fluffy towels, four sachets of coffee- wouldn't want to overdo the caffeine. One each now and in the morning is the dose, I guess. And I've surfed the TV channels without finding the ABC. Not that I want to watch but it's just fun to do when you're on holidays. Gideon's Bible - yep, still in an old version. And then the list of instructions for guests.
It 's a pet friendly park but there are a few rules. These don't apply to us so I nearly miss it. The final sentence. "We do have kennels available for guests (sic) use." So I have to ask again, "Where do you want to sleep tonight?"
Friday, August 14, 2015
Lost things 3
Some people talk about 'losing' a loved one when that person dies and the standard comic response is 'how careless'. My mother died just on a year ago. She was 95 and had spent her last 5 years in an aged care facility, mildly confused at times but still able to walk, even run a few steps on her last birthday - to prove she could, and to enjoy reminiscing about times past. Her walking stick assisted her balance but was more often used to brandish menacingly at people or things she disapproved of.
My Mum was a feisty lady. Her father died in an accident on his motor bike before she was born in 1919 and she regretted her whole life the lack of a father. (I wonder whether in the life beyond she has met the father she longed for all her life as well as the Father she loved all her life.)
My father died at the age of 65 leaving my mother a widow at 61. She never looked for another partner believing my Dad could not be replaced or surpassed. She travelled and filled her life with family and service to others, doing driving for the elderly long after she was older than those she drove.
But the time came when she could no longer live alone and the achingly difficult time came to pack her up and place her in aged care where she was well cared for and eventually content.
I visited regularly and in the last year or so found her increasingly snoozing in bed although she would get up for meals and walk me to the door when I left. Mum's eyesight was dim and her hearing poor. I would sit close beside her and we'd drink coffee and eat biscuits and chocolate - some of the few remaining pleasures. I would rub cream into her hands and do her nails and there would be plenty of hugs. She always knew who I was even though she couldn't see me or hear me well.
And so the end came. Gently and peacefully. Staff alerted me that she wasn't eating well. I had a few days' warning that things were declining. Being three hours away, I waited. The doctor visited and made sure Mum was comfortable but that no interventions were considered. My cousin promised to visit and let me know how things were. She reported that Mum had greeted her and when Beth read from Psalm 121 'I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence comes my help?' Mum joined in the familiar words. A few hours later I was alerted to concerns about oxygen levels and not long after I was gently told Mum had died.
Did I regret not being there? No. I believe Mum was a very private person and didn't wish to be surrounded by people waiting for her to die as she'd seen so often in the nursing home.
Many times she had said she was tired and asked the Lord every day to take her home and I would respond by saying that I liked having her around and that perhaps God wasn't ready for her yet. But finally the day came. Did we lose her? No, no, no. John Newton in his famous hymn says "I once was lost but now I'm found.' Mum lost? No. Found, found, found.
PS It was my task to view Mum's body for identification purposes. The funeral people did a lovely job and made it easy. She was dressed in a favourite dress and holding a jumper she had kept for 34 years to remind her of my Dad. I looked, I touched, I blessed the one who mothered me and quietly left. My husband messaged our children.'We went to see Grandma but she had already left.' Yep, gone home...
My Mum was a feisty lady. Her father died in an accident on his motor bike before she was born in 1919 and she regretted her whole life the lack of a father. (I wonder whether in the life beyond she has met the father she longed for all her life as well as the Father she loved all her life.)
My father died at the age of 65 leaving my mother a widow at 61. She never looked for another partner believing my Dad could not be replaced or surpassed. She travelled and filled her life with family and service to others, doing driving for the elderly long after she was older than those she drove.
But the time came when she could no longer live alone and the achingly difficult time came to pack her up and place her in aged care where she was well cared for and eventually content.
I visited regularly and in the last year or so found her increasingly snoozing in bed although she would get up for meals and walk me to the door when I left. Mum's eyesight was dim and her hearing poor. I would sit close beside her and we'd drink coffee and eat biscuits and chocolate - some of the few remaining pleasures. I would rub cream into her hands and do her nails and there would be plenty of hugs. She always knew who I was even though she couldn't see me or hear me well.
And so the end came. Gently and peacefully. Staff alerted me that she wasn't eating well. I had a few days' warning that things were declining. Being three hours away, I waited. The doctor visited and made sure Mum was comfortable but that no interventions were considered. My cousin promised to visit and let me know how things were. She reported that Mum had greeted her and when Beth read from Psalm 121 'I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence comes my help?' Mum joined in the familiar words. A few hours later I was alerted to concerns about oxygen levels and not long after I was gently told Mum had died.
Did I regret not being there? No. I believe Mum was a very private person and didn't wish to be surrounded by people waiting for her to die as she'd seen so often in the nursing home.
Many times she had said she was tired and asked the Lord every day to take her home and I would respond by saying that I liked having her around and that perhaps God wasn't ready for her yet. But finally the day came. Did we lose her? No, no, no. John Newton in his famous hymn says "I once was lost but now I'm found.' Mum lost? No. Found, found, found.
PS It was my task to view Mum's body for identification purposes. The funeral people did a lovely job and made it easy. She was dressed in a favourite dress and holding a jumper she had kept for 34 years to remind her of my Dad. I looked, I touched, I blessed the one who mothered me and quietly left. My husband messaged our children.'We went to see Grandma but she had already left.' Yep, gone home...
Lost things 2
'Oh no, not another brooch', I hear followers of my blog (all three of you!) say. Nup. This is how it was today. I have psoriasis on my scalp - itchy and flaky but mostly unseen. In later years it has extended into my ears. Now I know I was taught not to put anything in your ear other than your elbow (very funny) but my specialist suggested ointment on a cotton bud should be gently inserted into the ear to alleviate the situation.
Routine task. Out of the shower, towel dry, comb hair, cotton bud into ear and remove. Oops! No bud on the end. Just a stick. Ouch! And I only really noticed it after doing both ears. But rather thought it happened after the right ear.
What to do? Dig around with a crochet hook, pointy tweezers? Just wait? Well the latter seemed reasonable except that we are due to head off on holidays and who wants to end up in some strange town looking for a doctor because your ear is festering around some foreign body.
I jigged up and down a bit, poked around a bit (yep, I confess to the crochet hook and the tweezers) and then rang the clinic. What chance of an appointment on a Friday during cold and flu season. And no chance at all of seeing my own lovely doctor. Oh well, give it a go.
First of all the on call doctor for the day was my very own doctor and secondly he had an appointment at 3.45. Yes, please. Then they gently explained that because it was an on call appointment ('emergency') there would be a charge of $70 some of which I'd get back from Medicare. Okey-dokey, Worth it for the peace of mind.
SOoo I rode by treddly to the clinic and had just sat down to read my book when I was called in. My doctor looked tired so I asked how he was and we chatted about this and that. I told him my ridiculous story of the lost cotton bud and he duly inspected both ears thoroughly. Nothing in sight. Reassuring. He also took my blood pressure (good), asked if I needed prescriptions (no thanks) and checked whether we were all up to date with routine tests. A pleasant visit.
I headed to the desk with credit card in hand only to be told that I had been bulk billed. 'He can't do that,' I said as I really appreciated being able to be checked out. The reply was,'It's his pleasure.'
Lost things? Not at all. So much gained and to be grateful for. Although I do wonder where on earth that cotton bud is...
Routine task. Out of the shower, towel dry, comb hair, cotton bud into ear and remove. Oops! No bud on the end. Just a stick. Ouch! And I only really noticed it after doing both ears. But rather thought it happened after the right ear.
What to do? Dig around with a crochet hook, pointy tweezers? Just wait? Well the latter seemed reasonable except that we are due to head off on holidays and who wants to end up in some strange town looking for a doctor because your ear is festering around some foreign body.
I jigged up and down a bit, poked around a bit (yep, I confess to the crochet hook and the tweezers) and then rang the clinic. What chance of an appointment on a Friday during cold and flu season. And no chance at all of seeing my own lovely doctor. Oh well, give it a go.
First of all the on call doctor for the day was my very own doctor and secondly he had an appointment at 3.45. Yes, please. Then they gently explained that because it was an on call appointment ('emergency') there would be a charge of $70 some of which I'd get back from Medicare. Okey-dokey, Worth it for the peace of mind.
SOoo I rode by treddly to the clinic and had just sat down to read my book when I was called in. My doctor looked tired so I asked how he was and we chatted about this and that. I told him my ridiculous story of the lost cotton bud and he duly inspected both ears thoroughly. Nothing in sight. Reassuring. He also took my blood pressure (good), asked if I needed prescriptions (no thanks) and checked whether we were all up to date with routine tests. A pleasant visit.
I headed to the desk with credit card in hand only to be told that I had been bulk billed. 'He can't do that,' I said as I really appreciated being able to be checked out. The reply was,'It's his pleasure.'
Lost things? Not at all. So much gained and to be grateful for. Although I do wonder where on earth that cotton bud is...
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Paying it forward
Since my doctor posed the question, "What is your purpose?" I have made it a bit of a hobby to ask others what they think is their purpose in life. One close to my heart replied that it might be a bit cheesy but she thought her purpose was to make the world a better place.
Recently we watched the film Paying if Forward an intriguing story of one little boy inspired to do one act of kindness with the expectation that the person receiving would in turn 'pay it forward' by doing something for someone else. I don't want to spoil the plot but the film has themes of forgiveness, redemption (becoming someone better) and sacrifice - the ultimate price being death. Sounds familiar somehow...
This may sound rather grand but what might it mean for me? A smile in passing, a gentle word of encouragement or something more.
One day when I was feeling a bit down two friends turned up, got out of the car, handed me some beautiful roses and gently refusing to stay, went away, leaving me touched by their kindness and words of comfort.
Another friend told me how she was talking to someone in the street who was struggling with health issues and said how she loved pavlova. My friend promptly went home and made her one. Hadn't even known that person's name before.
And when an old friend in a nursing home expressed a desire to eat crumbed brains (shudder!) I found some, cooked them as she had described and watched the delight she showed as she munched them. I did not eat any!!
Conversations in the supermarket, text messages of love in hard times, a handwritten card in the mail. So many opportunities.
Making the world a better place one act of kindness at a time. Not at all cheesy.
Recently we watched the film Paying if Forward an intriguing story of one little boy inspired to do one act of kindness with the expectation that the person receiving would in turn 'pay it forward' by doing something for someone else. I don't want to spoil the plot but the film has themes of forgiveness, redemption (becoming someone better) and sacrifice - the ultimate price being death. Sounds familiar somehow...
This may sound rather grand but what might it mean for me? A smile in passing, a gentle word of encouragement or something more.
One day when I was feeling a bit down two friends turned up, got out of the car, handed me some beautiful roses and gently refusing to stay, went away, leaving me touched by their kindness and words of comfort.Another friend told me how she was talking to someone in the street who was struggling with health issues and said how she loved pavlova. My friend promptly went home and made her one. Hadn't even known that person's name before.
And when an old friend in a nursing home expressed a desire to eat crumbed brains (shudder!) I found some, cooked them as she had described and watched the delight she showed as she munched them. I did not eat any!!
Conversations in the supermarket, text messages of love in hard times, a handwritten card in the mail. So many opportunities.
Making the world a better place one act of kindness at a time. Not at all cheesy.
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Lost things
Does everyone hate losing things or do some people see it as an opportunity to buy new stuff? Somehow it seems our brains are hardwired to have a half memory about things that should still be there. A bit like when I am wandering around eating a piece of toast or a biscuit and put it down and later my brain remembers that I didn't finish it at the time. Why is that? Is it a protection mechanism?
Recently we were away for 4 nights staying in two different places. We got home and unpacked and some time in the night I thought I was missing my favourite sparkly jeans - the ones I go from the op shop in Port Vincent for $7 which not only fit but had sparkles on the hip pockets. A search didn't bring them to light but a phone call to the motel did. Yes they'd slipped down under the voluminous quilt and the bed. (That'll teach me not to hang them up straight away when going to bed.)
So does the brain have an inventory of all things we are attached to even unfinished toast?
It wasn't[ so clear in the case of the flash drive. I needed to take one away with me. There is always one in my handbag (along with biros and hankies and scissors and matches for lighting birthday cake candles and a texta and cough lollies and Panadol and...) but then I remembered there was one I used to use for work and ti was no longer in my drawer. Only a half memory came to help. Yes it had the falsh mob video on it (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETn0T_io-po if you're interested) and David had dropped it in to Mary on the afternoon of the day we made it and she'd given it back a week or two later. Then what? Did I give it to Graeme because it had the edited out bits that included his grandkids or did I just imagine it? So off went an email to enquire. He didn't remember it and couldn't see it but his eagle eyed wife found it and it came back to me. Such pleasure over a less than $10 device. One more lost thing found.
And lastly the mystery of the disappearing brooches. Last year I put on my new (to me, anyway) shiny parachute silk pink jacket. It had two spots that looked like where a brooch or nametag had been pinned so I got out a shiny silver utterly cosmetic jewellery brooch and pinned it on. Nice. And off I went down the street to shop. When I got home there was no brooch. Oh dear! No big deal. I reached for my little silver filigree bird brooch, which I was fond of as DB bought it home for me from China some years ago. Off I went to Singing that night and when I got home there was no brooch. Some at singing had noticed it so I rang the school to check and searched the car. Nothing. Last week I got out that same jacket and knowing of the disaster last year I carefully pinned on a brooch (a silver Japanese character which I bought in Sydney when at a conference. I am sure the twisty safety catch was engaged. I went shopping, I went for a walk and then I went to singing. "Nice jacket," said one of the singers. "Yep, it's the one from which I lost two brooches last year." And I looked down. I could hardly believe my eyes. No brooch. Three lost from the one jacket.
"The Bermuda triangle of brooches," declared my friend.
So there you go. The flash drive returned, the jeans hopefully on their way in the mail and the brooches? My brain remembers that I had them but I fear that's all that remains.
I hate losing things.
Recently we were away for 4 nights staying in two different places. We got home and unpacked and some time in the night I thought I was missing my favourite sparkly jeans - the ones I go from the op shop in Port Vincent for $7 which not only fit but had sparkles on the hip pockets. A search didn't bring them to light but a phone call to the motel did. Yes they'd slipped down under the voluminous quilt and the bed. (That'll teach me not to hang them up straight away when going to bed.)
So does the brain have an inventory of all things we are attached to even unfinished toast?
It wasn't[ so clear in the case of the flash drive. I needed to take one away with me. There is always one in my handbag (along with biros and hankies and scissors and matches for lighting birthday cake candles and a texta and cough lollies and Panadol and...) but then I remembered there was one I used to use for work and ti was no longer in my drawer. Only a half memory came to help. Yes it had the falsh mob video on it (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETn0T_io-po if you're interested) and David had dropped it in to Mary on the afternoon of the day we made it and she'd given it back a week or two later. Then what? Did I give it to Graeme because it had the edited out bits that included his grandkids or did I just imagine it? So off went an email to enquire. He didn't remember it and couldn't see it but his eagle eyed wife found it and it came back to me. Such pleasure over a less than $10 device. One more lost thing found.
And lastly the mystery of the disappearing brooches. Last year I put on my new (to me, anyway) shiny parachute silk pink jacket. It had two spots that looked like where a brooch or nametag had been pinned so I got out a shiny silver utterly cosmetic jewellery brooch and pinned it on. Nice. And off I went down the street to shop. When I got home there was no brooch. Oh dear! No big deal. I reached for my little silver filigree bird brooch, which I was fond of as DB bought it home for me from China some years ago. Off I went to Singing that night and when I got home there was no brooch. Some at singing had noticed it so I rang the school to check and searched the car. Nothing. Last week I got out that same jacket and knowing of the disaster last year I carefully pinned on a brooch (a silver Japanese character which I bought in Sydney when at a conference. I am sure the twisty safety catch was engaged. I went shopping, I went for a walk and then I went to singing. "Nice jacket," said one of the singers. "Yep, it's the one from which I lost two brooches last year." And I looked down. I could hardly believe my eyes. No brooch. Three lost from the one jacket.
"The Bermuda triangle of brooches," declared my friend.
So there you go. The flash drive returned, the jeans hopefully on their way in the mail and the brooches? My brain remembers that I had them but I fear that's all that remains.
I hate losing things.
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Kimba - halfway across Australia
I vaguely remember passing through Kimba in the dark on the way to Ceduna in the early 70s and I knew there was a big galah. AND that it was a long way away; how far depended on whether you consulted Google or Whereis. About 6 hours travel time for us and about 5 hours from Adelaide. (And yes, some Kimba people still do it down and back in a day.)
The tourist brochure proclaimed it to be halfway across Australia and it sure seemed isolated with the nearest town nearly an hour away - and that's where the footy was on Saturday. And a visit to the vet with a sick cat means a one and a half hour drive EACH WAY.
So we arrived in Kimba on Thursday evening and left mid afternoon on Sunday. We saw very little of the town (but I did check out the galah before we left.) So what did I do in Kimba? I met a whole heap of wonderful people!
On behalf of the Uniting Church I was leading a team of three (two Davids and me) to spend time with the Kimba Uniting Church reflecting on their situation and their impact on the town. It was not a troubleshooting exercise but a chance to encourage people in what they are doing and see what they might want to be involved in. So between the three of us we met with 50 or so people including members of the community. We met with church leaders and shared meals together. And before we left we gave them a draft report on what we found.
Kimba Uniting Church is a modern very visible church in the main street. It runs an Op Shop and is associated with the Shed Men. The church building provides a great venue for a Community Centre and for events such as funerals where people are cared for lovingly in their time of grief.
I think the church people were stunned when we reported back how highly they are regarded in the community as a solid place in changing times, and as those who care and provide support.
While we were there it rained which put a smile on the faces of farmers. The community relies on a reasonable rainfall for their brad acre farms.
I discovered a whole lot of connections with other people and places and just wished there was more time to hear all the stories. So I saw the big galah but more than that I saw not just the halfway point of Australia but its very heart - with people who live and love and care and share a message of hope in troubled time. Thank you, Kimba. I do hope to be back. And I'll bring pumpkins next time!
The tourist brochure proclaimed it to be halfway across Australia and it sure seemed isolated with the nearest town nearly an hour away - and that's where the footy was on Saturday. And a visit to the vet with a sick cat means a one and a half hour drive EACH WAY.
So we arrived in Kimba on Thursday evening and left mid afternoon on Sunday. We saw very little of the town (but I did check out the galah before we left.) So what did I do in Kimba? I met a whole heap of wonderful people!
On behalf of the Uniting Church I was leading a team of three (two Davids and me) to spend time with the Kimba Uniting Church reflecting on their situation and their impact on the town. It was not a troubleshooting exercise but a chance to encourage people in what they are doing and see what they might want to be involved in. So between the three of us we met with 50 or so people including members of the community. We met with church leaders and shared meals together. And before we left we gave them a draft report on what we found.
Kimba Uniting Church is a modern very visible church in the main street. It runs an Op Shop and is associated with the Shed Men. The church building provides a great venue for a Community Centre and for events such as funerals where people are cared for lovingly in their time of grief.
I think the church people were stunned when we reported back how highly they are regarded in the community as a solid place in changing times, and as those who care and provide support.
While we were there it rained which put a smile on the faces of farmers. The community relies on a reasonable rainfall for their brad acre farms.
I discovered a whole lot of connections with other people and places and just wished there was more time to hear all the stories. So I saw the big galah but more than that I saw not just the halfway point of Australia but its very heart - with people who live and love and care and share a message of hope in troubled time. Thank you, Kimba. I do hope to be back. And I'll bring pumpkins next time!
Thursday, May 21, 2015
I've 'bean' loved
How do I know I am loved? Let me count the ways...
Beans. Masses of green beans have kept rolling in from the garden since before Christmas. Starting with a small welcome handful and proceeding to flood proportions. I've eaten them - squeaky and gorgeous at nearly every meal. (What will we have with our beans tonight?) I've frozen them, taken them to family in Adelaide, given bags full to neighbours and friends (worth a small fortune if the $9.99kg price in the supermarket is to be believed.)
The cold weather comes and the vines wither but there are still green bits and the beans appear on the counter - just left there. A bit like when Millie cat brings in something in her mouth and lays it before me for approval.
Today there was just one bean. Some get lost where they climb the orange tree and the pods dry but being brought up in the depression ('Mum, you were not.' No but I was a product of that thriftiness) we use the inner white seeds in soups.
Yesterday there was something on the counter - not a word spoken.
How do I know I am loved? I've 'bean' loved.
Beans. Masses of green beans have kept rolling in from the garden since before Christmas. Starting with a small welcome handful and proceeding to flood proportions. I've eaten them - squeaky and gorgeous at nearly every meal. (What will we have with our beans tonight?) I've frozen them, taken them to family in Adelaide, given bags full to neighbours and friends (worth a small fortune if the $9.99kg price in the supermarket is to be believed.)
The cold weather comes and the vines wither but there are still green bits and the beans appear on the counter - just left there. A bit like when Millie cat brings in something in her mouth and lays it before me for approval.
Today there was just one bean. Some get lost where they climb the orange tree and the pods dry but being brought up in the depression ('Mum, you were not.' No but I was a product of that thriftiness) we use the inner white seeds in soups.
Yesterday there was something on the counter - not a word spoken.
How do I know I am loved? I've 'bean' loved.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
Why is there shampoo froth on the kitchen floor?
Slowly roasting a chicken at 110°C for 6-8 hours sounded like a nice idea for a cold day. . Gently anointed with oil and with garlic tucked into appropriate places and apricot stuffing. (Well those dried apricots that went dark and had been lurking in the freezer had to go somewhere.)
It was going to be quite a cooking day. Florence Nightingale Soup using a recipe from a library book. Chicken and noodles and rice and a multitude of veg ready to share with the masses at Monday's soup kitchen. Sandwiches - of many varieties to serve at church lunch. Plenty in case people forget to bring stuff or for unexpected guests. Freekeh salad. (Who on earth calls a trendy grain freekeh? Especially when you have only just come to terms with the fact that quinoa is heaps expensive and is pronounced 'keen wha'. ) Then perhaps whipped apple jelly with custard on top. Not that I do desserts but the kids at lunch (and there are some older folk who are big kids) might like it.
So in the oven went the chook and off I went to the shower. Warm water, frothy shampoo ... and the piercing sound of the smoke alarm. Will he hear it in the garden and respond? The second alarm kicks in. So loud even the neighbours must hear it.
Surely it will stop. There can't be anything much going on. The oven is only on at 110° and I even cleaned it recently after a terrible smoke episode. Is that how everyone thinks before they burn to death?
So out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel and pad out to the kitchen. The oven is quietly smoking even though it didn't complain when I cooked quiches last week. Turn on exhaust fans, open doors, explain to him who has finally come in from the garden and then back to the shower.
And that's how come there is shampoo on the kitchen floor. Sigh!
It was going to be quite a cooking day. Florence Nightingale Soup using a recipe from a library book. Chicken and noodles and rice and a multitude of veg ready to share with the masses at Monday's soup kitchen. Sandwiches - of many varieties to serve at church lunch. Plenty in case people forget to bring stuff or for unexpected guests. Freekeh salad. (Who on earth calls a trendy grain freekeh? Especially when you have only just come to terms with the fact that quinoa is heaps expensive and is pronounced 'keen wha'. ) Then perhaps whipped apple jelly with custard on top. Not that I do desserts but the kids at lunch (and there are some older folk who are big kids) might like it.
So in the oven went the chook and off I went to the shower. Warm water, frothy shampoo ... and the piercing sound of the smoke alarm. Will he hear it in the garden and respond? The second alarm kicks in. So loud even the neighbours must hear it.
Surely it will stop. There can't be anything much going on. The oven is only on at 110° and I even cleaned it recently after a terrible smoke episode. Is that how everyone thinks before they burn to death?
So out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel and pad out to the kitchen. The oven is quietly smoking even though it didn't complain when I cooked quiches last week. Turn on exhaust fans, open doors, explain to him who has finally come in from the garden and then back to the shower.
And that's how come there is shampoo on the kitchen floor. Sigh!
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
The early bird
Drat the early bird. What's so good about morning? Why do people look so smug when they say how early they get up and how beautiful it is and how much they get done?
Okay, I know the psalms talk about praising God early in the morning. And I often do some praying then, usually because I woke up way too soon to the song of the birds or sooner and it's a good thing to do when I'm tucked up in my cosy bed and it's way too early to get up.
But sunsets are wonderful too and does it matter when I do stuff as long as I accomplish what I set out to do? And does it matter if I do it in my dressing gown against the cold morning, waiting for it to be warmer before I dress for the day.
Maybe that early bird is in her nest soon after sundown while I burn the midnight oil. Somehow no-one looks smug about working on into the night hours. Those who do are more likely to be pitied than praised.
Besides even the birds don't get it right. For years we had chooks and because we raised our own chickens (Oh, the miracle of seeing those little chickens emerge from the eggs!) often we had more roosters than was a good idea. Roosters are early morning birds, right? Not in our back yard as the neighbours would testify. In the middle of the night there would be a cockadoodledoo as our rooster talked to the one across the block. You could have wrung its neck - and eventually one of our neighbours did just that on our behalf.
So surely there are times that suit different people (or chooks). What works for one may not work for another and why should one be thought of as superior unless of course there is a risk of neck wringing rather than hand wringing.
So, I'm not an early bird and I love my mornings - preferably in bed, with a cuppa, a good book and the cat at my feet.
Okay, I know the psalms talk about praising God early in the morning. And I often do some praying then, usually because I woke up way too soon to the song of the birds or sooner and it's a good thing to do when I'm tucked up in my cosy bed and it's way too early to get up.
But sunsets are wonderful too and does it matter when I do stuff as long as I accomplish what I set out to do? And does it matter if I do it in my dressing gown against the cold morning, waiting for it to be warmer before I dress for the day.
Maybe that early bird is in her nest soon after sundown while I burn the midnight oil. Somehow no-one looks smug about working on into the night hours. Those who do are more likely to be pitied than praised.
Besides even the birds don't get it right. For years we had chooks and because we raised our own chickens (Oh, the miracle of seeing those little chickens emerge from the eggs!) often we had more roosters than was a good idea. Roosters are early morning birds, right? Not in our back yard as the neighbours would testify. In the middle of the night there would be a cockadoodledoo as our rooster talked to the one across the block. You could have wrung its neck - and eventually one of our neighbours did just that on our behalf.
So surely there are times that suit different people (or chooks). What works for one may not work for another and why should one be thought of as superior unless of course there is a risk of neck wringing rather than hand wringing.
So, I'm not an early bird and I love my mornings - preferably in bed, with a cuppa, a good book and the cat at my feet.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Thank you, my dear doctor...
"What is your purpose?" he asked.
I visit my doctor roughly every 6 months for the routine stuff. So this time he worked through his list: results of blood test, liver function good, cholesterol still improving, sugar levels dodgy; checked BP and lungs, whacked in a flu shot ("because I knew you needed one"); organised scripts required and a referral and papers for the breast cancer checkup.
But in amongst all that he asked, "So how have you been?" I hesitated a little. Physically fine but a bit measly a while back over all this retirement stuff.
Then that question about purpose. So what is my purpose in life ("What's it all about, Alfie?") Sure I love having more time to read, am enjoying Sing Australia and learning to conduct. I like slow starts to the day and have projects and church and so on. But purpose. My mum ended her days saying she asked the Lord every night to take her home. At the age of 95 she was ready and had done enough.
So is it all about doing? I have been reading The Path of Celtic Prayer by Calvin Miller which I got from the library. In one chapter he lisst three things which struck me as giving meaning to life:
In amongst the talk of what gives purpose I listed the things I do and heard myself saying how I'd intended to write (including blogging) more in my retirement, so her I am. Thinking out loud and realising that being is as important as doing. Who do I want to be? What do I want to do? What excites and energises and brings life?
So the longish consult ended. How grateful I am for my doctor who cares for me in such fullness.
And then when I went to the counter to settle up I discovered he'd bulk billed me. Thank you so much, dear doctor.
I visit my doctor roughly every 6 months for the routine stuff. So this time he worked through his list: results of blood test, liver function good, cholesterol still improving, sugar levels dodgy; checked BP and lungs, whacked in a flu shot ("because I knew you needed one"); organised scripts required and a referral and papers for the breast cancer checkup.
But in amongst all that he asked, "So how have you been?" I hesitated a little. Physically fine but a bit measly a while back over all this retirement stuff.
Then that question about purpose. So what is my purpose in life ("What's it all about, Alfie?") Sure I love having more time to read, am enjoying Sing Australia and learning to conduct. I like slow starts to the day and have projects and church and so on. But purpose. My mum ended her days saying she asked the Lord every night to take her home. At the age of 95 she was ready and had done enough.
So is it all about doing? I have been reading The Path of Celtic Prayer by Calvin Miller which I got from the library. In one chapter he lisst three things which struck me as giving meaning to life:
- to live to complete the dream I have for you, God
- to live until my season of worship is complete
- to live long enough to bear a saving work to those outside of your grace
In amongst the talk of what gives purpose I listed the things I do and heard myself saying how I'd intended to write (including blogging) more in my retirement, so her I am. Thinking out loud and realising that being is as important as doing. Who do I want to be? What do I want to do? What excites and energises and brings life?
So the longish consult ended. How grateful I am for my doctor who cares for me in such fullness.
And then when I went to the counter to settle up I discovered he'd bulk billed me. Thank you so much, dear doctor.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Ek is lank; hy is kort. Languages fascinate me.
I speak English Aussie style and that was fine for the first 12 years of my life. Then it was high shcool and Latin and French were not an option - just what was expected of the class. So I persisted with both languages on into University and ended up with a Latin major. My hope was to be a language teacher but we were sent (that's how it happened in those days) to a small country town high school where no languages were taught - although I did learn a few words from the students that had not previously been part of my vocabulary.
One of the other teachers and I decided the students needed some exposure to a second language so we carved out a few minutes from our lessons each day and taught them Indonesian using vinyl 45s and a workbook put out by the ABC. No matter that neither of us had known the language before.
Apa kabar? How are you?
Kabar baik.
Sounded fair.
I did get a chance to study Indonesian for a year by distance from Adelaide Teachers College which still existed in 1974 but the exam came two weeks after my first baby arrived and the supplementary exam was on the day we moved from that town to another nearby. That was the end of that.
Then the Primary School my children went to thought it would be good for kids to learn a language. This was before all primary children had exposure to another language. I offered to teach some French on a voluntary basis and had visions of myself singing Frѐre Jacques and so on. But no. There was a change of principal. He rang to thank me for offering to teach a language - German. Okey-dokey. Guten Morgen. Wie gehts?
I read the grammar book and went to my friend Brigitte who had arrived in Australia at age 11 not knowing a word of English. So I learned ahead of the children. Eins, zwei, drei.....
Next came Greek - New Testament Greek as part of my theology studies. Fabulous once I got used to the script but I knew α alpha and β beta and π pi and a few others from Maths and the language had similarities to Latin. What shivers went up my spine when our teacher read the beginning of John's Gospel. Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος. In the beginning was the word.
So we moved to the Riverland and I thought that was the end of language study. But there was an advertisement for Italian classes so after a term I could just about read it - again closely linked to Latin - and order two cappuccinos. Due cappuccini per favore. Pretty handy if I ever get to Italy.
And at last Hebrew. During my theology studies I had been frustrated not to be able to read those strange symbols none of which appeared in geometry formulae. There was a 3 week intensive and I was between jobs. The bliss of being able to concentrate on working it all out. I was the dunce in the class when it came to reading Hebrew aloud but loved decoding and deciphering; even reading from right to left didn't phase me. And the shivers came again with the blessing at the end of each class. The Lord bless you and keep you spoken in Hebrew and ending with שָׁלוֹם shalom.
And suddenly it's Afrikaans. Ernest and Hannelie joined the singing group and then came to dinner with us bringing their charming children. I couldn't resist. 'How do you say hello?' 'Hallo.' Well that was fine. And 'My naam is....' and 'Wat is jou naam?' So here we go again.
I wonder how much use 'Ek is lank' (I am tall.) 'hy is kort' will be? Dankie, Ernest en Hannelie!!
One of the other teachers and I decided the students needed some exposure to a second language so we carved out a few minutes from our lessons each day and taught them Indonesian using vinyl 45s and a workbook put out by the ABC. No matter that neither of us had known the language before.
Apa kabar? How are you?
Kabar baik.
Sounded fair.
I did get a chance to study Indonesian for a year by distance from Adelaide Teachers College which still existed in 1974 but the exam came two weeks after my first baby arrived and the supplementary exam was on the day we moved from that town to another nearby. That was the end of that.
Then the Primary School my children went to thought it would be good for kids to learn a language. This was before all primary children had exposure to another language. I offered to teach some French on a voluntary basis and had visions of myself singing Frѐre Jacques and so on. But no. There was a change of principal. He rang to thank me for offering to teach a language - German. Okey-dokey. Guten Morgen. Wie gehts?
I read the grammar book and went to my friend Brigitte who had arrived in Australia at age 11 not knowing a word of English. So I learned ahead of the children. Eins, zwei, drei.....
Next came Greek - New Testament Greek as part of my theology studies. Fabulous once I got used to the script but I knew α alpha and β beta and π pi and a few others from Maths and the language had similarities to Latin. What shivers went up my spine when our teacher read the beginning of John's Gospel. Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος. In the beginning was the word.
So we moved to the Riverland and I thought that was the end of language study. But there was an advertisement for Italian classes so after a term I could just about read it - again closely linked to Latin - and order two cappuccinos. Due cappuccini per favore. Pretty handy if I ever get to Italy.
And at last Hebrew. During my theology studies I had been frustrated not to be able to read those strange symbols none of which appeared in geometry formulae. There was a 3 week intensive and I was between jobs. The bliss of being able to concentrate on working it all out. I was the dunce in the class when it came to reading Hebrew aloud but loved decoding and deciphering; even reading from right to left didn't phase me. And the shivers came again with the blessing at the end of each class. The Lord bless you and keep you spoken in Hebrew and ending with שָׁלוֹם shalom.
And suddenly it's Afrikaans. Ernest and Hannelie joined the singing group and then came to dinner with us bringing their charming children. I couldn't resist. 'How do you say hello?' 'Hallo.' Well that was fine. And 'My naam is....' and 'Wat is jou naam?' So here we go again.
I wonder how much use 'Ek is lank' (I am tall.) 'hy is kort' will be? Dankie, Ernest en Hannelie!!
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