No to Scams!

Once upon a time I received money in an envelope; it was called my pay.  Straight away I headed to the bank and deposited a hefty proportion of that pay packet, saving some for board [I lived at home with my parents and board was expected back in those days], some I placed in my purse for 'sundries that may have included stockings [yes, before pantihose!  and nowhere near as easy to wear as pantihose], going to the movies, and perhaps a look at the sales.

 

Later when married for some time my husband was paid with money in an envelope until one day he was requested to give his bank account number to the company as thenceforth pays would be direct debited.  Instead of putting money in the bank we were encouraged to take it out!

 

Time moves forward.  Plastic cards almost took the place of money.  Herein lies my tale.

 

Yes, cards are easy to use; easy to spend with, which I suspect is more than half the reason the banks like them as if anyone is not careful enough to keep within their bank balance a loan [with interest] might be required from the bank.  Banks have become Big Business!

 

Fortunately I had a good grounding in keeping hold of money.  I now have a debit card which I will admit is invaluable in spending 'on line'.  Oh so very easy to log in, search for a fabric [as most of my sundry spending these days is on fabric to cater for my addiction of stitching and patchwork], type on the card number, if they don't use PayPal, and wait for a parcel to arrive in the post.

 

Recently my debit card was updated.  I did not request it be updated to a 'wave by' [or some similar foolish name] card.  In fact one of my first forays into the shops, a little bakery that sells quite delicious decadent cakes, I was asked if my card was one of these 'wave bys'.  I must have looked quite blank.  The shop assistant grabbed my card, waved it above a machine, and before I knew what had happened the transaction was complete.

 

On my way home, some time later, it suddenly occurred to me ... what if my handbag/purse was snatched?!!  In some places it is quite common [sad what some humans have descended into isn't it!?]  Since then I have insisted I insert my card into the machine and put in my PIN. 

 

Whilst at the newsagents last week my eye was taken by a stand displaying metal 'card holders'.  I asked why metal.  The reply was that they are meant to stop folk who have a scanner from scanning a card whilst it is in a handbag/purse/wallet/pocket and spending money that does not belong to them.  I bought a pretty pink one!!

 

 

Some days I wish we had money to spend!

Kangaroo

The kangaroo family/mob [had to look up the collective noun for these animals!] have once again been grazing on the green grass across the road.  I grabbed the camera, which does not have telescopic lens ... unfortunately ... but I did wind the view finder to its best view, sneaked across the road trying to walk quietly on the gravel.  My quarry was in sight!  However he [or she] had excellent hearing and stood up listening.  I managed a couple of photos before it bounded away beyond my picture taking distance.

 

 

The best photo I cropped, but you will see the distinctive shape and colour of a  red kangaroo which are the most common in this area.

The white blobs are melons that grow wild and prolifically and over which I wage a continual war.  I must add that our place does not have melons ... they are pulled out at the 'poking head through the soil' stage!

Green, green.

Searching through my mind for a title the Tom Jones song flickered into my consciousness ... and how apt it is.

After the dryness of summer we have had rain, not just one rainfall, but several over the past weeks and a transformation has occurred.  Outside it is Green, green!  We now have a lawn which to me is rather upside-down as in New Zealand I mowed lawns in Summer, here in Western Australia I mow lawns in winter.

 

The photo shows the greenness ... and while it appears to be just a photo of rural Western Australia [which it is] there is a wonderful tale surrounding this scene.

 

Two weeks ago as I was adding more rubbish to our bin parked across the road where it waited patiently for the bin-man I heard a strange noise.  I looked and there down the neighbours' boundary fence were two kangaroos trying desperately to jump across or through the high wire that kept them from the shelter of a small bush area.  The smaller kangaroo managed.  It took several minutes of what was obviously a time of panic for the larger kangaroo to finally find a place to jump over.

 

I believed there were kangaroos living in that bush area to the top left of the photo. 

 

Last night as I sat eating my meal I noticed some brown blobs in the paddock.  Even though I had new spectacles [not as good as my old ones for distant viewing!] I wasn't certain if they were kangaroos or dead grass.  Leaving my meal I grabbed the binoculars, hurried outside for a better view.  Four kangaroos were grazing near the large gum tree.  One, a large one, must have heard me for it raised its head [and it was then I knew I was looking at kangaroos] and loped out of sight.  The others continued to graze for the best part of quarter of an hour. 

 

We have kangaroos nearby!!  I feel sorry for folks not living in a rural area as the sudden appearance of native animals and birds keeps one fascinated.

ANZAC Day

25th April is the day we remember those who gave their lives in war.  Ninety nine years ago the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps fought for freedom at Gallipoli; many lost their lives; many came home changed men. 

 

World War 11 [1939 - 1945] followed, more death and despair, the Korean War [1950 - 1953], the Vietnam War 1962 - 1975], and now the Afghanistan conflict [2001 - ] continue to take the lives of young men, leaving widows and fatherless children to lead some semblance of a normal life.  Some, too many, who come home are so seriously affected they can no longer face life; truly a great sadness.

 

Women left at home attempt to bring some normality to their loved ones serving abroad, and  in World War 1 a recipe for a 'good keeper' sweet treat was concocted.  The result ... Anzac biscuits, that are a firm favourite with the home-maker who bakes not only around ANZAC Day, but throughout the year.

 

Not having an oven I buy biscuits.  Last year ANZAC biscuits were sold in a tin; and this year I found two different tins full of these chewy biscuits in the supermarket.  I bought one which will be used as is it's last year companion, as a storage container for sweet treats.

 

ANZAC biscuits

 

120 g butter

1 tblsp golden syrup

1 cup desiccated coconut

pinch salt

1 tsp baking soda

1 cup plain flour

1 cup sugar

1 cup rolled oats

2 tblsp boiling water

 

Sift flour and salt.  Melt butter and golden syrup on stove, dissolve baking soda in boiling water.  Mix all ingredients together, roll into balls and place on tray lined with baking paper leaving room to spread.  Bake in moderate oven 350° F 15 minutes or until golden.  Cool on a wire rack before serving.

Letters

We often hear it said 'He is a person of letters' meaning he is of an intellectual persuasion. 

 

But ... there are those other people of letters who literally write letters regularly, to family, to friends, to acquaintances, letters of complaint, thank you letters, and letters of apology.  To me folk who put pen to paper, or in the modern idiom, fingers on keyboard and print out [which is eminently more readable in many cases] are the true people of letters.

 

Sadly people of letters are becoming a rarer breed.  Although the Internet offers several ways of communication much is fly-by-night; fluffy and following the thoughts of the millions of that moment.  Some, thankfully, is interesting and well worth sitting down to read and appreciate.

 

As a child I liked to write letters; more importantly I loved to receive letters, and it soon became evident that to receive a letter one had to first write one, or at least reply.  Aunts and Uncles became my main targets as they were as thrilled to receive my scribbles as I was to receive their replies.    Thus a lifetime of letter writing was nurtured.

 

When my parents departed this world I took it upon myself to become the 'family correspondent'; after all my only brother had left pen and paper behind upon completing his school days, though [said in a whisper] when he was courting he did write letters.  Those letters were composed at the kitchen table with a lot of input from myself and our parents.  To this day I am sure the recipient was not aware of how public his letters were. 

 

Elderly relatives died and my list of correspondents faltered.

 

Then I discovered pen-pals!  People from across the ocean wishing to correspond with folk of like minds.  By this stage a portable typewriter became my main tool of keeping in touch, and on a Saturday afternoon with the children either in bed, or at the swimming pool, and husband occupied in his shed, or in the garden, the kitchen table took on the appearance of an office.  The number of pen-pals altered as other activities captured their attention more than writing. 

 

Many of those letters had small booklets enclosed and these little treasures held the names and addresses of other pen-pals wanting to increase their circle of friends.  Fun!  Did I want a pal in this particular country or would I prefer one there?  All the time the cost of stamps was kept forefront; after all the grocery money had to be adjusted to fit in overseas postage.

 

Letters passed to and fro; photos of children; snippets of a life lived in another country added to the tapestry of my life.

 

Time marches on; the Internet arrived, and slowly, one by one many of those letter writers fell by the wayside and emails were exchanged.  Emails that were jokes, or fripperies; not letters that could be read and re-read.

 

But, some of us keep up the old tradition of letter writing [or letter typing and printing out, complete with photos] and today I have just written two such letters.  Page upon page of what I hope the recipient at the other end will find interesting. 

 

I do wonder how, in say 100 years, people will communicate?  Will mail be delivered into mailboxes?  Will pen and paper, or typewriter and printer be  normal, or will everyone send a text ... minus the vowels?

Old is new is old

Most mornings I read the free on-line headlines in the newspaper that was once my daily newspaper, The Otago Daily Times, as I like to keep up with what is happening 'at home'.

 

This morning's smaller headline spread a smile on my face.  From the article I gleaned that knitting is making a comeback in Otago where I hasten to add, wool is the most suitable fibre for winter wear.  In my 'mother' days I knitted; kept five children in knitted jerseys, and when the need arose knitted for myself and my husband.  Knitting was what I did at night with one eye on the television; knitting occupied any spare moment during the day, and a wool shop was a goldmine. 

 

Upon my departure to Australia and needing to keep the number of 'things' I brought with me, taking into account where I might live and how much space I may have, and just how much of my decades of accumulation were important enough to transport. High on the list, in fact very high on my list, were knitting needles. 

 

 Over the years my collection of knitting needles had grown ... bamboo ones [wasn't too keen on them as the action of knitting split the bamboo leaving me feeling as though I had swallowed a fly]; plastic needles that bent like palm trees in a storm, steel needles that pierced the eardrums as they click-clacked against each other.  My Mother did not like knitting, though she did through necessity; her reason being the click clack, click clack.  My favourite needles were, and still are, plastic coated steel lined.  Soft gentle click clacking, and they come in pretty colours.

 

I have a collection of knitting wool that needs getting into ... unfortunately the temperature in Australia is much warmer than South Otago and the need for woollen garments less.  I do still knit, mainly for new arrivals though a cardigan half completed in a bag will be finished and worn ... next year perhaps?

 

 The newspaper article reminded me of the hours I had spent knitting as I pondered upon the thought that knitting is almost a pastime of the past.  Perhaps knitting will show a resurgence, and once again women will pick up the needles, knit something they can wear, and feel rather pleased with the result.

 

Oh ... it isn't just women who knit.  My bachelor uncle who was a keen cricketer and bowler [indoor and out] knitted jumpers for the cooler days when he played sport.  It was he who showed me a great way to cast on, a method I use to this day.

Deep down I hope knitting, and other skills from last century, will once again be taken up, and fashion is once again dictated by those who put time and effort and their own particular stamp on a design.

Beautiful Iris

Much of my life I lived in complete ignorance of Garage Sales; that changed when I moved into my present home.  Significant Other is an avid Garage Sale viewer and slowly this harmless addiction has crept into my psyche.  One need not always purchase!  One should always look ... and common sense should always prevail.

 

Saturday mornings see us driving into town armed with The Rag, our local once-a-week newspaper, advertising when and where that day's garage sale can be found.

 

Many of the folk who regularly seek out garage sales are the same week to week; a kind of camaraderie exists, though there are a few who have their eye only on bargains.

 

Yesterday was a diamond day; well an Iris day.  The goods were spaciously laid out and there in the middle of a table sat a gorgeous Iris article.  From the distance I assumed [wrongly! one should never assume as a tutor once told me, to assume makes an ass out of u and me] this delectable looking article was pottery.  The price would probably be more than what I had in my purse.  But ... luck was on my side!  This tin, with a lid, was in perfect condition and became mine for the princely sum of 50c.  Now that is a great bargain.  You may wonder how I will use it ... I am not sure, but never worry; I will find a use, and a space for it.