Thursday, November 7

I'm showered, shaved and dressed, ready for my trip into the hospital.  I can't have breakfast but I had a litre of some concoction to ingest which has taken away my appetite, anyway. Check-in time is 11.30 and Jamie will drop me off.

But that's not the important item on today's news.  The real big issue of today is that Donald Trump is, once again, President of the United States.  Words fail me.  One report I read said that it was the smallest turn-out of voters in years.  Many people were either not interested or too lazy to vote.  The ones who did make the effort were the enthusiastic followers of Trump.  The story of Trump just keeps on giving and it's not over yet.

Wednesday, November 6

 I'm afraid my project to feed the birds in our garden has failed.  Marilyn commented that I would need to formulate a plan to clean up the increased incidence of bird droppings on the concrete driveway and that was an issue I hadn't considered.  It was going to cost me about $10 for a bag of bird seed and there was no way of predicting how many bags I would need in the future.  

The final straw, though, was when I saw the lady next door tying plastic bags to the corners of her clothesline.  I was flummoxed at first but realised that this was a primitive bird-scaring device to protect her washing from being stained by the errant droppings of passing blackbirds. My kindness may have the unintended effect of encouraging more feathered passers-by to visit.

There are always unintended consequences, so it's time to think again. 

Today is a fasting day in preparation for tomorrow's exploratory operation.  I can have black coffee, jelly and not much else but I've survived it before and I will survive it again.  I think they wrote a song about it.

Tuesday, November 5

 I don't know which is the more important event happening today: the Melbourne Cup or the US election.  They say that the Cup is the 'race that stops a nation' but I suspect most of the world is holding its breath to see, instead, what results from the idiocy that has overtaken the USA.  How 'the world's greatest democracy' as they like to call themselves could seriously consider Trump as an appropriate leader is beyond me.  There was a movie years ago called The Gods Must be Crazy. Maybe it's time for a remake.

Marilyn is meeting up with other Ladies Who Lunch at the Carrick Hotel today and is rummaging around in her wardrobe to find an appropriate fascinator to wear. Apparently, it's de rigueur to wear something on your head at a Melbourne Cup do.  Who would have thought!

My heart sank when I found I had to write about A Tree in a Meadow but here is the result

A TREE IN A MEADOW                                                                                      24 March, 2023

If you saw it for the first time, you would say it was a tree, just a tree, a nondescript tree in a meadow.  It would be surprising if you paid this particular tree any unusual attention but that’s because very few people know the story of what makes this tree special.  I know because I’ve lived in the house across from this same meadow and I know the true story of why this tree in this meadow is different from other trees.

When we were kids, this tree was a favourite place for our games.  It wasn’t a very big tree but little kids could still hide behind its trunk and play tricks on their friends.  On warm days we had picnics in its shade and, when we were older, we climbed into its branches and tied ropes to them to make swings.  We used whatever we could find to make cubby-houses around its base and, in our imagination it was a stagecoach, a World War II destroyer and a racing car.  There was no end to the ways in which this tree became the focus of our games.

One day, soon after my 16^th birthday, I carved a heart into the bark of the tree and inscribed the initials of the girl whose face filled my dreams.  I took my courage in both hands and invited her to walk with me through the meadow and contrived to wander beneath the branches of the tree until she was confronted by my clumsy scratchings.  I don’t know what I expected; perhaps, that she would squeeze my hand (in my imagination, we were holding hands as we walked along), simper (I thought I knew what simpering was) and say how lovely it was that I had expressed my feelings in that way.

However, it didn’t work out exactly as I had hoped.  She didn’t even see the carving even though I had stopped directly in front of it, and I was forced to point it out to her.  To my horror, she burst out laughing.

“Oh, William,” she giggled.  “How ridiculous. What were you thinking?” And she laughed.  Yes, she laughed. 

I was shocked at her reaction and even more upset when she went on to say how disappointed she was that I had desecrated this glorious tree.  Desecrated?  What I had done was a gesture of my affection for her and an expression of my hope that we could possibly have a life together.  There was not much hope of that now.  How could I possibly have anything to do with someone who threw my expressions of love back in my face?

We didn’t speak much on the way back to her home; in fact, I said goodbye to her at the corner and let her walk the last hundred yards on her own. 

The next day, I borrowed some of Dad’s tools from the shed and erased as much of the heart from the tree as possible.  It made a bit of a mess and I felt a little bit guilty but I was determined that there would be nothing left to remind people of my embarrassment.  I avoided the tree after that.  At 16, I was involved in other activities and I’m sure I never even ventured into that meadow again.  That is until the day after my eighteenth birthday. 

I’d had a few drinks with my friends the night before and was resting my sore head by sleeping in when I was awakened by the sound of police cars in the street outside.  I staggered to the window and saw the revolving lights on the roofs of the police cars and heard the shouts of what seemed like dozens of police officers running across the meadow.  They surrounded a tree - my tree - and shouted at something, someone (?) in the branches. Soon, a dishevelled figure dropped to the ground.  He was quickly overpowered, handcuffed and led away to one of the cars.

I watched the TV news later to get the details of what had happened.  Apparently, this fugitive had held up a local service station at gun point, and escaped on foot.  The police were called and given the information that he was hiding in the branches of what some of the locals, apparently, had taken to calling the Lover’s Tree.  The police spokesman said they could identify the tree because of the damage to the bark caused by a disappointed lover who had his romantic advances rejected.

I’m older now and the feeling of embarrassment has faded but that tree will always be special to me, for a whole host of reasons.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monday, November 4

I suppose it would be possible to work out how many days I have been on this earth .. it's only Mathematics, after all.  81 years x 365 days is 27565; add 20 to include leap years, which would mean 27585 up to my last birthday; 9 months from February to November (9x30=270) but February is only 28 days and others have 31, not 30 .. and it's all too complicated for me this morning!  Let's say it's close to 28000 days that I've been taking up space.

I didn't work for the first 18 years of that and I've been retired about 15 years.  That's 33 years when I was unproductive.  And I'm probably fairly typical.  I wonder whether there is some government department somewhere who are calculating this level of cost benefit analysis.  It would be interesting to see the results and I wonder what governments would do with the information.

Sunday, November 3

 I have to go in for a colonoscopy next week.  It's a regular check-up and the last one led to an operation which reduced my bowel by several metres.  Not much fun.  Before the event, I have to be careful with my diet and make some changes to my medication.  So, this morning I had to plan out everything for the next few days leading up to the hospital visit on Thursday: removing certain medications from my routine, making sure I had Rice Bubbles available for breakfast, and so on

On the Wednesday, I have a very carefully-explained procedure to follow, including drinking various preparations.  The last time I went through this nonsense, I vowed it would be the last time but, in fact, here we are again.

The good news is that the new bird feeder is a roaring success.  It took a while for the dopey creatures to find it but this morning there were 4 or 5 blackbirds and several sparrows fighting for access.  I've just brought in the tray for washing and refilling.  I think we can count this as a plus.

Saturday, November 2

 We often sit on the little strip of concrete at the front of the house for our morning cup of coffee.  It faces east so we get the morning sun and, at this time of the year, we enjoy the comings and goings of the birds looking after their new broods of chicks.  There's a blackbird's nest in the guttering above our heads and the two adults spend their day flying back and forth with worms for their offspring.  On the house opposite, a family of sparrows has taken over a stretch of guttering as well so there is quite a bit of activity.

The birdbath is always popular even if it's only for a drink so I realised that we needed a bird feeder as well.  Jamie had given me a packet of expensive, organic muesli which I couldn't tolerate so feeding it to the birds might be a way to get rid of it without criticism.

I had a 3-shelf wire construction for pot plants which was not being used so that would provide a base.  Marilyn gave me a flat wooden tray which would be big enough for seeds at one end and scraps of meat at the other.   She was becoming quite enthusiastic about the project.  I was happy just to put out the tray and see what happened but Marilyn wanted to go a bit further,

She found a pot plant to 'give it a bit of colour' and a decorative concrete toadstool to stop the tray from wobbling when the birds landed on it. 

It's not exactly as I envisaged but I hope the birds appreciate the trouble we go to.

Friday, November 1

 I'm not sure I like Fridays.  It's the day our cleaning lady arrives and she might arrive as early as 7.15.  Today it was 11 o'clock before she turned up but we had to be up and ready in case it was our turn to be on the early shift.

There's no time for a shower; that will have to wait.  The bed has to be stripped and all the linen put in the washing machine.  When that's done, I can have my breakfast but there's no time for an omelette; I'm lucky if I get a slice of fruit toast.  And then we wait.  It's not the fault of the cleaner; she's given a list of people to attend to and, no doubt, everybody gets a turn at being first.  At Last, we hear a knock at the door and it'll only be an hour and we can get back to normal.

I've included my attempt at a fairy story.

IN SEARCH OF A HAPPY ENDING                                                SEPTEMBER 25, 2023

The Prince realised that things had started to become unstuck on their wedding day.  He was so used to being referred to as Prince Charming that he had forgotten that he would have to be married under his given name and Ella’s reaction when the celebrant intoned, “Do you, Algernon, take this woman ….?” was less than sensitive.  She could, at least, have saved her splutter of laughter until they were back in the privacy of the palace.  He would have been able to explain to her that Algernon was only a family name and he rarely used it, and then only for official documents.

Of course, his mother professed to love the name and insisted on using it whenever she  came to visit.  It was like a bludgeon to remind him that he was still her little boy and not the celebrated leader of the most prosperous kingdom on this continent.

“Algernon, it’s so lovely to see you, Algernon, and your lovely wife, er, umm Ella.  Come and give your mommy a big kiss, Algernon.  Mummy has been missing her favourite boy.”

Ella had been less than nice about Algernon’s relationship with his mother. Surely, the Prince thought, Ella should know that mothers often failed to realise that their little boys have to grow up some time.  It was not that he wasn’t up to the job of being Prince of this kingdom.  Oh, he was aware there were rumblings from the peasants but the Prime Minister seemed to be keeping those rumblings under control, at least for the time being.

And, anyway, Ella shouldn’t look so smug.  It hasn’t been that long since she was Cinderella and making her living cleaning the fireplaces of her betters.  It’s true, she has a pretty face but that’s not enough to warrant marrying a Prince of Royal blood and being able to live in the most luxurious palace in the kingdom.  She’s had no education, never read a book, can’t speak a word of any foreign language and is flummoxed by the questions on even the dumbest of quiz shows.

Oh, how nice it would be if we could have an intelligent conversation which didn’t include references to the Kardashians or the latest beauty treatment.

The real problem is that, since he brought Ella to live in the palace, she has been enjoying the lifestyle here just a little too much.  She’s probably never previously had three meals a day and, with the good living, she’s becoming just a bit too chubby.  He shuddered to think how she might look in five or even ten years from now.

‘Marry in haste, repent at your leisure,” his father used to say.  He used to add, “A truer word was never spoken,” and that’s the truth.

He heard a timid knock at the door and Ella walked in.  Her eyes were red and she was obviously upset.

“We need to talk,” she said.  “We’ve been married nearly six months and I’m beginning to think I made a mistake.  I think you took advantage of me, and coerced me into marrying you before I had a chance to think it through.  If I had known what a pompous, shallow, Mummy’s-boy you were, I would have never agreed to be your wife.”

“I want a divorce.  We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.  If you agree not to contest the divorce and make sure I have enough funds endowed on me to live a comfortable life somewhere else away from this stifling palace, the scandal should all blow over in a few months and I promise you’ll never hear from me again.”

“Or, if you choose to be difficult, I will make sure your name is dragged through the mud and, when I’m finished, you’ll be forced to abdicate and find another job.  I wonder how the peasants would feel if I told them how you like to spend your evenings playing hanky-panky with the scullery maids, or how you have regular deliveries of Class A drugs come to the palace.  After all, it’s their taxes which pay for these indulgencies.”

“Maybe you’d have to change your name from Prince Charming to Prince Alarming.  I think that’s a better description at the moment, don’t you?”

As is expected in the world of Fairy Tales, things are not always as they appear.  But, when reality rears its unwelcome head, the story-teller must always find a way to reach a happy ending.  That is the case in this story too.  You’ll be pleased to hear that Ella received all she asked for, Charming was able to continue his indulgencies, his mother had her darling boy all to herself, and they all lived happily ever after.