Wednesday, April 29

This is a piece I had to write on the topic 'The Way We Were'.  I immediately thought of Barbra Streisand's fabulous song.

As the song says, Memories light the corners of my mind.  I can’t express it better and the truth of it becomes more evident every year.  My generation is living longer than any previous one and we are working for fewer hours each week and for fewer years, so we have the luxury of more time to think, and to reflect on the memories we have accumulated  - those Misty water-coloured memories, softened by the passing of time.

The poet, Roger Robinson, talks about each of us having a ‘portable paradise’ which we carry around with us, concealed, so that no one can steal it.  When life puts us under pressure, he tells us, we should find a quiet place, spread the elements of our paradise out under a lamp and look at them again.

I think of my paradise, my memories, as being like a collection of interesting stones, carefully gathered over time, and lovingly saved.  Every now and again, I take them out, polish them and think of the way we were.

Scattered pictures, in albums, in drawers, in boxes, in photo-frames, sepia-tinted on the wall, in mobile phones and i-pads … in yellow Kodak envelopes and envelopes covered with foreign stamps, precious slides from our honeymoon, carefully stored in a grey box.

It’s good to look again at the smiles we left behind, and relish, once again, the smiles we gave to one another for the way we were.

Can it be that it was all so simple then?  It’s reassuring to think that life was simpler back then, but life is always more complex than we remember.  Our memories prefer to dwell on the better times.  They set aside the worries we had about paying the electricity bill in Winter, 1972, and focus on the pleasures of that summer weekend on the East Coast.  And, isn’t that a good thing?

Or has time rewritten every line?  Yes, some of the lines have been re-written.  We re-write our lives constantly, consciously and unconsciously.  But maybe the most significant lines are the ones which have been etched on our faces and on the backs of our hands, every line representing a memory.

If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we?                                                                      Oh, yes, in a heartbeat.

Could we?                                                   But that’s a much more difficult question.

Monday, 27 April

Marilyn and I had a rare excursion on Saturday afternoon.  We had a couple of medications to pick up at the chemist and there is always something we need from Coles so thought we would go when the rest of the population would be enjoying a quiet Anzac Day afternoon at home.  How wrong we were.  Both Woolies and Coles carparks were full, there were lines of customers waiting to be admitted and staff were out trying to keep some kind of order.  So much for staying home.

This morning I downloaded the Covidsafe app on our phones.  Normally, I wouldn't bother, preferring to stay under the radar as much as possible.  But, sensible people seem to think it is a community responsibility and we should all play our part.  What clinched it, though, was the fact that Barnaby Joyce was against it.  I've come to accept that Barnaby and I have opposing views on just about everything.  I believe in same-sex marriage, climate change, phasing-out of coal-fired power, sanctity of marriage, honesty in government, and Barnaby doesn't.  So, when Barnaby says that he won't download the app, I'm morally and intellectually obliged to do so.

I saw John Anderson, the one-time National Party leader, as part of a discussion on TV the other night,  He was thoughtful, articulate, intelligent and bi-partisan. I thought of Tim Fischer, another National Party leader in a similar mould, then I thought about the current bunch of no-hopers, Barnaby, Michael McCormack, Bridget McKenzie, not to mention Matt Canavan and Angus Taylor and despair.  Poor fellow my country.

Sunday, April 26

We found the mower man and he turned up on Friday morning.  We don't have any concrete or even a spot under cover so he works on the grass, if it's not too wet, or the gravel of the driveway.  He's got a little van, stuffed to the gills with, maybe 6 old mowers and bits and pieces he might need.  He's not young and he groans as he gets up and down from working on the mower.

He was here most of the morning, taking the thing apart and putting it back together.  It still didn't work so he decided it needed a new drive belt.  He dragged a bundle of various sizes out from under the seat in the van, chose one which looked roughly the right size and forced it on to the pulleys.  He was still not happy, so jumped in the van, drove into the local agent in Launceston to get the right one.  By this stage, I can't watch him; it's too painful to contemplate what's happening to his knees.

All back together, he takes it for a test run.  There's a strange noise and the mower come to a halt - the new belt has broken!  Craig spits the dummy, throws his stuff in the van and drives off, promising to come back on Monday.

I don't know why we persevere.  The alternative is for the agent to come with his big trailer to take the mower to the fully-equipped modern workshop, fix it with all-new, genuine parts, give it a good wash and return it.  There are only two problems with that scenario:  it can take up to two weeks from my phone call, before I get the mower back, and I'll have to hand over several hundred dollars.  Craig, on the other hand usually come the day after I call, fixes it on-site and charges me a ridiculously small amount.  And I like to support local small business, even if I sometimes tear my hair out.

Wednesday, April 23

I had thought that time would start to hang heavy as we lived under enforced isolation but, in reality, time flies. I am always up by 7 o’clock and never in bed before 10.30, yet I never feel at a loose end, scratching for things to do.  I don’t suppose I am particularly productive, but the important thing I’m not bored.


My Friday writing group, of course, isn’t meeting but we’ve been having virtual meetings on Zoom.  Last week’s was a bit of a washout so we repeated it yesterday with more success.  We had a guest speaker, a local successful writer who read one of her short articles and talked about opportunities to get published, then we each had a chance to read our own assignment.  I’m not sure people listen to what everyone else has written but the comments are positive and we can pretend they are sincere. We don’t meet again until May 1^st and my piece is already written so I’ll need to find something else to do in the meantime.


I’d like to mow but it’s too wet and the mower needs a service.  The fellow who generally fixes it on-site it is not answering his phone and all the other repairers have to come and take it away and  it always takes more than a week to get it back.  They’re also much more expensive and that’s always a factor.


We had another Coles delivery yesterday and they didn’t arrive until 9.15 at night.  Clearly, it’s a growing business and they have to accommodate.  When the delivery arrived, we were watching a show called Cobra, about a disaster which struck Britain.  It was a bit far-fetched but riveting.  I’ve been receiving ads over the past few weeks for a streaming service called Acorn TV, which specialises in British shows.  We have Netflix but it’s so heavily biased to US shows we hardly watch it.  Acorn sounds much more like our kind of things. It’s only $6.99 a month so we’ll probably give it a go.

We’ve always resisted watching TV during daylight hours but we read instead and I wonder why reading is so much more acceptable.  Maybe, in these unusual times, it will be OK to forego some reading time and improve our minds by watching some quality TV.  I notice Acorn offer Father Ted but we'll probably give that a miss.

Sunday, April 19

We don't normally take the advice of game show hosts about what to watch on TV (can you imagine taking Eddie McGuire's advice on anything?) but there was a question on Pointless yesterday about a show called A Very English Scandal and it starreld Hugh Grant so we thought it worth a look.

It's in three parts; the first episode is a bit sleazy, covering a homosexual relationship between a British politician and a naïve young bloke from rural England.  Once you get past that, it is riveting and Hugh Grant has just the right amount of upper-class pomposity and born-to-rule attitude which makes it all seem real.  It is, in fact, a true story, based on a scandal involving Jeremy Thorpe which made headlines in the 1970s.

The ending is infuriating, but the show is well worth a watch.

We also watched a London performance of Phantom of the Opera on aussietheatre.com.au which rounded out a very satisfying day's viewing.

Saturday, April 18

We watched a movie last.  It was called Knives Out and, among others, featured Daniel Craig and Toni Collette.  It wasn't a bad movie but suffered from the American obsession with expecting international actors to put on American accents.  Daniel Crag's accent was ludicrous: over-the-top Southern, and Toni Collette's was barely adequate.

What is it that makes it OK to insist that people in movies, especially those in starring roles, have to be demonstrably American?  Is it hubris, the idea that only Americans have the qualities to be heroes, or is it insecurity, the worry that other nationalities might have qualities that Americans lack?  Or is it the worry that their potential audience of Americans might might not have the sophistication or education to understand what people from other countries are saying, or appreciate what other nationalities have to offer?

We hear a lot about American 'exceptionalism' but the more we read in the papers about the train wreck that is their idea of society, the more we thank our lucky stars that we live in a real outpost of civilisation.

April 15

We had another order of groceries delivered yesterday and discovered an unexpected benefit.  When you orders something which they can't supply, they will substitute something similar and if the new item is more expensive, they will stick to the original price.  This is good!  I ordered a pack of 2x 200gm porterhouse steaks; they substituted 2x 240gm steaks for the same price. What's not to like about that system?

Also, mistakes can be made in he customer's favour.  Yesterday, we received 2 boxes of frozen yoghurt sticks but only got charged for one.  Life is pretty good.

Tuesday, April 14

I didn't note the day when this current lockdown started so I can't be sure what day number we've achieved.  I don't think the car has been driven for at least a week so I suppose I should turn the engine over in case the oil all flows to the bottom of the sump and sits there not doing its job.  Of course, I don't even know if that's a 'thing'.

Your life becomes simplified in involuntary detention.  I still wake at the same time and go to bed about the same time as normal.  We do almost nothing physical each day but still get tired.  I suspect our bodies adapt to the enforced inactivity and work out a more sedentary lifestyle pattern for us.

Marilyn has taken to home baking as a way of filling the time.  We get muffins and banana bread and apple cupcakes, all dependant on what she has in the cupboard and freezer.  The blackberries have finished now but there are still blueberries in the freezer.  Coles keeps us supplied with staples but, as we only order once a week, we often have over-ripe bananas which are wonderful for banana bread.

I'm looking forward to running out of bread at some stage as the plan is that Marilyn will make griddle scones; she has my Mum's recipe but I don't think she has ever used it.  Somehow the recipe calls for currants although I can't remember Mum ever adulterating her scones in such a way.  No matter, there's a big bag of currants in the pantry ready to be used.

Not all things are as they should be.  Standards are slipping a little.  Yesterday I was offered French Toast made with Turkish Bread and, for afternoon tea, my apple cupcake was served with a jam spoon rather that a cake fork.  It's important when times are hard to maintain the proper ways to do things.

We're still managing to avoid putting on the TV while the sun is still shining.  We may watch a Pointless with our lunch but we can still find plenty to occupy us without reverting to the goggle box.  But, who knows what we still stoop to as this crisis persists.

Friday, April 10

After the relative success of our Coles' delivery last week, we decided we needed to become more au fait with the new push towards on-line shopping.  I was relatively comfortable with using eBay so there was no hardship involved in ordering new ink cartridges for my printer.  Sadly Officeworks has lost a sale but maybe next time I could check their website.

Marilyn enjoys a glass of sparkling wine with her evening meal and she claims it has the double benefit of aiding her digestion and lifting her spirits so we check out the Dan Murphy's website and easily find what we are looking for.  They seem un-fazed about delivering to the back-blocks of Dilston and their delivery charge is reasonable so the wine is on its way.

Feeling confident, we turn to something more challenging.  When we were changing our doona over to the heavier one for winter, Marilyn happened to mention she would like a new doona cover when she was allowed back into Spotlight.  It didn't take a minute to open the Spotlight web-site which is easy to navigate and has coloured pictures to illustrate the various designs.  We chose a spectacular bedspread in a pattern of Australian native flowers and it even has a galah on it.  That's also on its way.

To complete the ensemble, Marilyn needed two plain black cushions.  Spotlight was disappointing so we tried Harris Scarfe, Myer and KMart without success but finally found what we were looking for at Target.  A few clicks of the mouse and they're on their way to us from Sydney.

We had great delight in making the orders, will enjoy the anticipation in waiting for things to arrive and will take pleasure in opening the parcels.  A triple bonus.

This could be the way of the future and that would be OK with me.

Monday, April 6

When your life slows down, as happens in enforced isolation, it's funny how the most unimportant events can take on significance.  We're waiting this morning for a truck to arrive, bringing a delivery of essentials from Coles.  Jamie, of course, has offered to do our shopping and a friend across the road goes to town everyday but we've decided to adopt the persona of the fiercely independent, cantankerous old buggers who resist anyone's attempt to be helpful, so we've put in an on-line order and we're looking out for the little red truck which will be here sometime in the next couple of hours.

There's on-going fun in making an order.  Marilyn started on Friday, scribbling down what she thought we needed.  This rough list was added to and refined on Saturday morning and I sat down on Saturday afternoon to input the order on-line.  You have to be careful as clumsy fingers can hit the wrong button and send all your work into oblivion.  You also have to be creative in working out where your favourite items are found.  There's no use looking for Ginger Snap biscuits if Coles calls them Gingernuts, and do sausages come under meat or smallgoods?

I think I've got it right and press the button to commit ourselves to the purchase.  Our order was acknowledged and we were immediately informed that the truss tomatoes we chose would be replaced by loose ones, which are cheaper.  What's the difference?

We were also told we could make changes up until lunchtime on Sunday.  Jamie and Nera popped in on Sunday morning with some supplies so I had to go back into the order to adjust it.

We've had three emails this morning with some necessary variations: a different brand of sugar, etc, and a warning that he would be here in 15 minutes.  And, as I write this, he drives up.

Marilyn's gone to instruct him where to stack it so I had better show willing and help bring it in.

The Icing on the Cake

My Writing groups, complying with the 'Stay at Home' ordinance, have been postponed for the foreseeable future but one innovative leader organised us to have a virtual meeting, using a program called Zoom.  After a few initial hiccups, we made connections and it worked pretty well. We're going to continue them until the virus clears and we can again meet in person.

This is my story, written for the occasion.

THE ICING ON THE CAKE                                                                                       3 APRIL, 2020

Stuart, when he was little, thought his father was the cleverest man he knew.  No matter what was happening, his father always had a wise saying that explained the situation. Not that Stuart always understood the meaning of the words but his mother and other people would nod their heads and mutter, “Very true.”

“Make hay while the sun shines,” his father would say when they were going for a walk and it took a while for Stuart to realise it had nothing to do with hay but was the sort of thing you said when you were going to start doing something.  “Early to bed and early to rise” was another popular saying in the house, and was always said when his Dad tucked him in at night.  There were a couple of Dad’s favourites which Stuart would get mixed up: “Give him an inch” and “Give him enough rope” but they seemed to make perfect sense to his Dad.  Every time there was a shower, you could depend on Dad to say, “It’s raining cats and dogs” and, if it was sunny, “The sun is splitting the trees.” 

By the time Stuart was in Primary School, he was becoming a little embarrassed by his father.  The other kids used to tease Stuart by quoting often-heard phrases, like “Actions speak louder than words”, and “Children should be seen and not heard.”  Stuart stopped inviting his mates home because he couldn’t be sure his father wouldn’t regale them with more of his folk wisdom: “the proof of the pudding is in the eating,” or “East or west, home is best.”

High School was little better. Stuart discovered his father’s little quotes were called aphorisms and he found lists of them in various books in the library.  At one stage, he tried the tactic of trying to beat his father at his own game and would drop aphorisms into his own conversation.  Sometimes he would start a well-known saying and leave it to his father to finish it: “The more things change, …”  But it only seemed to encourage the habit.

Stuart hoped things would get better as he grew older but it was not to be.  His father always watched the Breakfast Shows on commercial television and he picked up their habit of talking in clichés.  More and more trite sayings were added to Dad’s vocabulary.  Stuart couldn’t understand how his mother had tolerated it all those years but Dad said she had ‘selective hearing’ and was used to it.

Stuart began to avoid seeing his father and inevitably drifted away from his family as he made his own life.  It seemed a very trivial reason for cutting them off but, by this stage, Stuart was a well-respected academic and his father didn’t fit the image that Stuart was developing for himself. His father often said that “absence makes the heart grow fonder”, but Stuart could not believe there was truth in that.

There was only the occasional phone call with his mother to maintain contact and one day Stuart received the news that his father was in hospital, not expected to live.  In the lift on its way to the hospital ward where his father lay dying, Stuart thought about what the old man might say: something resentful, perhaps, like ”Oh, the prodigal returns” or “A bad penny always turns up” , but even Stuart, with all his experience, didn’t anticipate the words which were squeezed from his father’s lips, “Well, this is the icing on the cake.”

Corona virus joke

What do you call 30 people in Australua?

Four weddings and a funeral.

Applause for the Public Service

We noticed that both of our driving licences are due for renewal within the next two weeks.  The process is that we sign the forms and turn up, in person, at the Service Tasmania office in Launceston to have a new photograph taken.  Not being keen to mingle with the virus-covered crowd, we decided that Marilyn would ring Transport Tasmania and play the 'frail oldies' card to see if there was an alternative.

"No worries," said the pleasant young woman on the phone. "We'll pretend you're interstate.  Send us the forms and a passport photo, and we'll sort it out."

The nearest post box is near the local café, which has been closed for a couple of weeks through fear of the plague.  There's not another building for miles around and I'm not sure whether the box is still in use.  Nevertheless, I took the letters done and posted them just two minutes before the designated pick-up time of 5.00 pm.  There was a substantial spider web built across the slot which didn't fill me with confidence and there wasn't another vehicle in sight in any direction.  However, we need to trust our public institutions in these difficult times.

At 1.09pm today, we each received an email from Transport Tasmania to say that our licences had been renewed.  In that 20 hour period, an employee of Australia Post had opened the box and collected the mail.  It had been sorted and put on a vehicle to take it to Hobart, where it had been sorted again and put in a bag to go to the Transport Department.  Someone there had opened the two letters, updated the licences and contacted us to say everything was as it should be.

Pretty good going, I would say.