"With this ring ..."

Jack was ev'ry inch a sailor,
Five and twenty years a whaler,
Jack was ev'ry inch a sailor,
He was born upon the bright blue sea.

This morning, when in the process of tidying away a few of my plastic boxes [full of fabric, wool, and other items that may be useful one day] My Other Half found a treasure he had forgotten about.  It could be true to say that we both tend to keep items for future use ... though I will admit his addiction is stronger than mine!

A grey milk crate, those most useful of items, was found in a corner.  In it were several L.P. records.  Luckily we haven't progressed into the modern world that much that we don't own a suitable player.  The radio is not only a radio, but plays C.D's, and records ... the vinyl type ... do you remember them?

I recall, with clarity, summer holidays at the beach spent in the Family Crib [the modern word for this is a Holiday Bach, or Holiday Home; depending upon where one was born and raised ... Crib does appear to be  used solely in the southern South Island, New Zealand], where not long after my arrival I would haul the old gramophone out to the passage-way at the front door, choose my record [usually Jack was Every Inch a Sailor], and wind the handle as the music belted out, surging across the dusty road, over the river, across to the other side.  The gramaphone must have been elderly then, but the concept of music of my own choice was wonderful.

Back to this morning ... One of the records was Hank Snow, a country musician of the past.  At lunch time we switched off the radio, My Other Half placed the vinyl on the turntable, and Hank Snow filled the room.  Many of the songs were familiar; one, "With this Ring I Thee Wed" I knew 90% of the words, and as my singing voice is not one of my greatest assets, his nasal rendition blended well with my warbling.

We did wonder how the modern miss or mister would accept Hank Snow!  I commented, between warbling, that I knew the words.  How did I know them?  Because when I first heard the song way back last century the words were the main part, sung clearly and not drowned out with music.  

Soon these relics of the past will be museum pieces; folks will query what they are. 

Hip hip Hooray!

After days of folks informing me they are unable to reply to my postings I have indulged in a little detective work ... I have solved the problem.  A Hip Hip Hooray Day!

Busy Sunday

It appears that Blogger is still experiencing problems!  After signing in I go straight to the dashboard, but should I try to view my blog ... I need to sign in!!  After already doing that.  Ah well ... at least I can post.

The weather is supposed to pack up, which for farmers means it will improve giving much needed rain to aid germination of their crops.  To the rest of us, a little rain is welcome; a storm we can do without.  Though often a forecast storm fails to eventuate.

This morning The Other Half and I had a working bee.  I have been promising myself to tackle the litter for days, and with the prospect of strong winds, decided today might be the day.  Gum trees are native to Australia; the perfume of eucalypt permeates the countryside.  Gums grow to the left of us; gum trees grow to the right of us; they grow above us, and their falling leaves litter the ground.  They give a welcome shade in the heat of summer, but those leaves on the ground!!  They create a constant task of clearing, of raking up, and disposing off on the soon-to-be bonfire.

I raked and wheelbarrowed in my red wheelbarrow, ten loads of bark and leaves.

The Other Half added to the ever increasing woodstack.  A chain saw is essential to reduce to firewood the fallen limbs, from the aforesaid gums ... they tend to fall over in a strong wind, especially if that wind is followed by rain.  Every fallen branch is dragged to the wood cutting area, and gradually it finds itself cut into manageable sizes for winter warmth.  Once cut the smaller pieces are tossed onto a pile, while the larger pieces, those that will burn for a hour or two, are carefully stacked onto the base of what was originally a bed. 

Let winter arrive!  We are ready.

Peaceful afternoon

This is the best time of year in the mid-west of Western Australia!  The terrible heat of summer has dissipated, the sun still shines much of the day and the breeze today was negligible.
 

As I sat in my armchair, stitching, [rocking chair just isn't 'stable' enough for stitiching!] and listened to the birds wheeling and circling my mind wandered ... as it does when one is content.

Radio talkbacks over recent days have centered upon childhood [and politics, though I choose to switch my ears of for much of that topic ... too depressing ... too confrontational].  The experts suggest that today's children are over protected; mollycoddled is the word I would have used.  I think the experts just may be correct in their analysis.

I remember a childhood of living in the country, near a swift flowing river, paddocks to wander over, a bike to take me on 'explorations', of gazing up into the night sky for a glimpse of the first satellite into space [OK that gives my age away within a decade].  All exciting events.  Fishing with my Dad, watching my Mum bake and being given the privilege of  'jamming' Shrewsbury biscuits together, or carefully sprinkling red jelly crystals on Belgium biscuits.  Eating them was important as well!  We didn't sit around waiting to be entertained; we made our own entertainment.

My brother and I played Dentists, as we had a gnarled old cherry plum tree in the garden.  This tree grew small spikes that we transposed into the dentist's drill.  No crying allowed!

We dressed up.  Around age 7 I remember tottering in a pair of my Mum's high heels, an old hat carefully perched on my hair, knocking on the door, and pretending to be an important visitor.  I was invited inside for a glass of cordial [I didn't know fizzy drink existed], and a cake.

All these thoughts tumbled through my mind as I stitched ... I suppose I have always been a dreamer, but it is preferable to being a worrier.

Aloe

Driving into town the tall aloe plants growing alongside the main highway are eyecatching. It wasn't until I moved to the mid-west that I knew aloe could grow as high! In my previous experience aloe vera was a small plant, often contained in a pot near the back door, close enough for a quick dash to pull off a fragment to 'dress' a slight burn or graze.

In Western Australia, and perhaps other regions ... I am not familiar with the rest of Australia ... aloe plants grow prolifically near to places of human population. Aloe, along with the pepper tree, must have been part of the herb folk-lore of early settlers.

Not having photographed the aloe plants growing alongside the highway to show you, I searched back through my CD's of photos [just imagine taking as many photos 20 years ago with a 'normal' camera as we do today with their digital cousins!] for a photo of an abandoned homestead, not far from the Rabbit Proof Fence between Yalgoo and Morawa.

Near to this old homestead, that must have been quite a building in its day [leaving one wondering why it was allowed to go to wrack and ruin ... perhaps its isolation had some bearing, or maybe the poor farming land surrounding it were reasons for depopulation], is a sign that reads, "The Outback starts Here".

My initial reading of that sign was on my first trip north, by coach, to a job ... how I wondered exactly where I was heading!

In the Outback potions would have been essential in treating minor wounds etc. Life must have been tough for the men and women carving out a home in this formidable environment.

The media [note the small m]

Once upon a time newspapers gave us News. Once upon a time the radio played music, or serials that we followed either in the evening or in the morning at baby bathing/feeding time. News and weather were regular ... on the hour, and certainly at meal times when the man of the house would be there to listen. I recall the silence that was maintained at the table whilst the news and weather were on!

If we wanted gossip we could stop and speak to Mrs Know-it-all down the street, or try to avoid a telephone call from Mrs Down-the-road who seemed to know everyone's business. I saved movie star photos, mostly black and white, simply because magazines boasting colour photos were too expensive.

Today news is not news ... it is opinions. Serials? There are programmes purporting to be serials, but usually trivia dressed up in saccharine, liberally laced with half-truth and supposition. The newspaper seldom 'reports' news ... it fills its pages with biased opinions, seemingly in the hope 'public opinion' will suck in the details, swallow them whole, and before we know it ... what they supposed becomes a truth. Except these 'opinions' were not the calculated views of the public ... they are picked up and given credence because so many today do not want to be outside the 'public opinion'.

This state of affairs makes me cross! I dislike being cross because of what over-bearing, self-opinionated, want-to-make the rules people hoodwink those who do not, who cannot. think for themselves.

End of moan ... thankfully the sun continues to shine, the world continues to turn on its axis, and there are birds and bees, flowers and trees to make a pleasant diversion from the media.

Sky Hooks

Many a new employee of construction related businesses, particularly those just left the swaddling confines of the classroom, have been dispatched to the nearest 'builders warehouse' to pick up a sky hook. While the youth stands at the counter stammering out his request, he is unaware he is about to begin an important induction into the job. Innocently the customer is asked if he would like a left hand sky hook, or a right hand model. The lad is not sure ... his neck takes on a rosy hue that moves with alacrity up to the forehead hair line. Should, he wondered, make a swift phone call to the boss, or should he show his abilities to problem solve, and make an uninformed decision.

As he stands, unsure, uncertain of exactly what a sky hook looks like, he becomes slowly aware, by the barely concealed grins and the gathering audience, that perhaps he is having his leg pulled. A lesson is learned ... and another day he will be part of that sniggering group relishing the embarrassment of a young employee slowly coming to the realisation that while he may be looking foolish, at least if he takes the opportunity to slightly turn the tables, he will have passed into manhood in the eyes of his fellow workers.

Recently I heard of an idea by a city entrepreneur to build several blocks of sky scrapers over the river, and adjacent highway, land being extreme expensive in the city centre. A councillor who wanted to know what would happen in time of flood scuppered this idea. There would be no place for the water to run to.

Like a flickering black and white movie a vision slipped into my mind. Just imagine if there were sky hooks! It would not matter if they were right handed or left handed, it would not matter if they had stick-on arms or whether they were attached by invisible cords [in the interests of aesthetics], or heavy iron chains ... as long as they held a building in place. No more would a building code need to incorporate earthquake proof construction methods as they would be held in place by sky hooks, not held to the earth's crust by deep footings. Instead of buildings hogging good farming land a city could be established in the sky ... leaving of course regular spacing for the sun to penetrate to ensure the carrots, the cabbages, and the animals and humans, received an adequate supply of sunshine. A whole new existence would alter the concept of modern day life on earth.

In the future of such an invention a lowly new employee would be sent to the hardware warehouse for a shovel or a trowel ... the obsolete tools of the past. No longer would a building be set in concrete, instead it would float, anchored by the wonderful sky hook, closer to the heavens. Of course there needs be some way for the human masses to reach these buildings of the future ... an escalator into the sky. The land would not be covered by inessential housing, by space taking shopping malls, or sprawling suburbs. That precious land could instead be covered by sporting fields, swimming pools, farms, gardens, forests, or parks where folks could escape to from their floating suspended elevation.

Just imagine! While some may laugh ... consider what scientists are working towards this day ... a new colony on some distant planet, where the lucky, or unlucky, few would need to wear special clothes and masks just to survive, where life as we knew it is not as we know it.

I rub my eyes ... I sit up and look around. Was I asleep? Did I dream? Or am I in a state of suspended animation?! A cartoon character walking on a stage on earth, or a puppet on a string?