Thursday, December 1

Nera has accepted a job in Tuncurry which is near Forster in NSW.  She will be based in a Nursing Home in the town and it is expected that the contract will run for about three months.  Because it's for a significant amount of time, Jamie will travel with her and they have booked good accommodation nearby.

They leave on the Spirit tomorrow evening, leaving Archie behind for the oldies to look after.

We're disappointed that they won't be here for Christmas but it's a great opportunity for Nera and we can only wish them well.

Wednesday, November 30

They say that most people don't notice many of the signs of getting old.  They can't avoid noticing that they are walking a little slower, that their back hurts when they climb stairs or they're just a touch forgetful.  But it's all the other stuff, all the other signs of decay, which we don't address.  We're all good at telling ourselves lies.  

And, if I'm honest I have to accept that everything is not as it was.  I am slower at picking up on cues.  If Marilyn says, as she did today, 'Bring me the mop and bucket,' I have to stop and think, "Where is it?  What does it look like?"  So, I'm much slower at reacting.  And, even, when it's in front of me, I don't always recognise it.  When looking for a mop bucket, my mental image is a cylindrical, galvanised iron pail with two rollers on the top and a foot pedal to move them closer together.  There is nothing like that in our house.

A mop bucket is, in fact, a brightly coloured oval-shaped container with two compartments, one of which can be made to spin by pressing a foot pedal.  What chance do I have?

A hundred times a day, also, I find myself making a mental note about something I have noticed or something that has occurred to me or something that I have found in the news.  The plan is that I can use it as a post in my blog.  I might as well not bother.  Within minutes of making the mental note, my mind is blank. When I sit down to write today's clever thought, there's nothing there.

It's frustrating when there's so much happening in the world which is worth a comment and I've missed it.

Monday, November 28

I've been reading a book by Mary Trump, Donald's niece.  She had written a previous book which was all about her uncle and gave some insight into what he was like growing up.  It's fair to say there was no love lost.

This second book is somewhat different.  She mentions Uncle Donald in scathing terms but it's more abut the history of America and how the country has been shaped by things like slavery and the treatment of the native population.  I've read it all before, of course, but it's still an horrific story and most Americans still haven't come to terms with the long-term effects of the policies which were in place.

There are parallels for Australia, too, in our history and treatment of Aboriginals.  There's no easy fix but it would help if people acknowledged that mistakes were made.

Sunday, November 27

I was reading an article this morning about a bloke who is setting out to live longer.  His plan involves eating better, having a strict workout regime, monitoring the performance of his vital organs and so on. I wonder if it's worth it.  His breakfast, for example, was a 'murky concoction involving olive oil, cocoa flavanols and something derived from algae,'  For lunch, he might have a 'blended green slurry of lentils, broccoli and mushrooms.'

The article asks, who wants to live forever?  Not me, certainly, and a poll in Britain revealed that only a third want to live to 100.  The older the respondent was, the less enthusiastic they were about getting very much older.  Of course, those of us of a certain age can see old age up close and it's not attractive.

Maybe Americans are different because there is a huge amount of money in the US being poured into companies working on extending human lifespan.  There are books being written about it, like The Bulletproof Plan to Age Backwards and Maybe Even Live Longer.  With a catchy title like that, it's sure to be a bestseller.  The author plans to live to be 180.  Good luck with that!

One school of thought is that we might be able to engineer our way to longer life with replacement bits and pieces designed to keep us going.  Where will it all end?

Thursday, November 24

I think my last couple of posts had the wrong date on them but who cares.  I know today is Thursday and the fact that it is designated the 24th is simply for convenience.  If I called it something else, it wouldn't make any difference.

I've mentioned before that it's bird-nesting season here.  The other day, I noticed a goldfinch outside the window and he seemed to be gathering cobwebs from some shelves.  He hovered and gathered them up in his beak and flew off.  It seems that several small birds use cobwebs to line their nests.  Jamie has a large nest made of sticks and mud in the corner of his carport.  He rang the other day to say that four chicks had hatched and their heads were sticking out of the top of the nest with bright yellow beaks wide open.

Archie now has to be taken to the yard on his lead in case he gets too excited and frightens the parent-birds away. 

Wednesday, November 22

 The topic for this weeks' story at the Writing Group is Travel.  My heart sank when I read that as I envisaged reams of purple prose describing visits to Vienna, drinking the most divine coffee and eating sacher-torte.  Other people's travel stories are unbelievably tedious.

I decided to write about one of the most bizarre places we've been: Sagada in the Philippines where they bury their dead in caves or hang their coffins from huge cliffs.  It wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea but I would be very surprised if anyone else in the group has experienced anything as exotic.

I've posted it on my other blog, 1000 Words or Less, if you're interested. The address is jmjjn.blogspot.com.

Monday, November 21

I haven't been to the gym for a few days because of working at the exams and the bit of a cold I had in the middle of it, but I managed to get back today.  I never thought I would become the sort of person who dutifully toddles off to exercise but 'stranger things happen at sea' - (another one of my Mum's sayings).

We did a bit of moving furniture around yesterday.  It's a small unit, of course, so there's not a lot we can do but Marilyn wanted her treadmill out of the second bedroom so that our summer visitors aren't tripping over it.  Jamie came to lend his muscle and everything is now looking good.  I'm still going through our accumulated junk and throwing out what I can.  The fellow across the road has a Red Cross bin outside his house so I can get rid of stuff immediately.  If I just put it aside to take to Vinnies or the City Mission, the next time we're in town, I might be tempted to change my mind.  However, if it's already in the bottom of a charity bin, I would be very reluctant to retrieve it.

So much to do, so little time!

Sunday, November 20

We're watching a show on Acorn TV called Darby and Joan.  It's about a woman (Greta Sacchi) who travels to Australia from England looking for her husband (John Waters).  She meets up with a retired policeman (Bryan Brown) and they travel in a Winnebago along the Far North Queensland coast.

John Waters is listed as one of the 'stars' but we've only seen him, briefly, in the distance wandering across a desert, and we're already up to Episode 5.  Maybe he'll make a splash in the last few episodes.

Greta is looking good for her age but Bryan Brown is a wreck.  He was born in 1947, which makes him younger than me but his wrinkled, crepey skin and his gaunt appearance makes him look ten years older. He took his shirt off in one scene and his purple heart operation scar looked terrible.  He's obviously tagged as the love interest for Greta but he looks like her grandfather.

Still, the stories are interesting: old-fashioned, Australian, see-a-problem, solve-it, put the crook in gaol. And the NQ scenery is spectacular.  It won't win any International awards but it's good fun.

Saturday, November 19

I changed my mind about this post so have deleted it.

Friday, November 18

It's the final day of our stint at the Exams.  We're both working this morning but I have the afternoon off which will give me a chance to get to my Writing Group.  Marilyn is rostered on and she's pleased about that.

While I'm at the Writing, Jamie texts to suggest he picks me up and we can go out for a coffee.  That suits me as my alternative plans were to sit in a shady spot somewhere until Marilyn was finished.  It's particularly hot today.

Marilyn and I have both done 7 sessions, plus the training.  We're paid a flat rate for each and it's a handy little sum.  In previous years we might have put it to a holiday but those days are gone.  Apart from the ever-lurking Covid, we're just not motivated to go to all the trouble of packing and sitting jammed in plane seats.

And, talking of Covid; another 800 passengers on a Princess ship have succumbed to the the dread disease.  I hope they think their holiday was worth it.  I'm glad we've cancelled our cruise.  You can see it all on You tube anyway and we don't have to wear a mask in our own lounge room.

Thursday, November 17

 I'm actually writing this on Saturday but I wanted to keep things in some sort of chronological order ... who knows why? 

We're supposed to have 34 for Ancient History but 8 haven't turned up.  I suppose it's not everyone's favourite subject and it's certainly not easy.  My off-sider is a white-haired, grandmotherly lady called Nancy, surname Dear.  It suits her perfectly and it's hard to avoid referring to her by her full name.

"Nancy, Dear, would you check the roll, please?"

While the students were gathering outside the classroom, she caught sight of a girl dressed like someone out of Sound of Music: long-sleeved, orange blouse, black waistcoat, full black patterned skirt.  She had her hair in long pigtails.  Nancy was enchanted.

"Isn't it nice to see that some girls still dress in the old-fashioned way?" she gushed.

"Can you see the pattern on the skirt?" I asked her as the girl came closer.  Nancy realised it was covered with skulls.

"Oh, I thought they were flowers," she said.

There's a boy in front of me who's clearly transitioning to female.  What a hard road he faces and I wonder how his classmates are responding to it.  I hope that they are supportive.

There's another girl dressed all in black, with a very white face and black lipstick. Do they still call them Goths?  Otherwise, it's a pretty standard bunch of very well-behaved, motivated teenagers.

Wednesday, November 16

I'm not on the roster today so I have another day to rest up before a big day tomorrow.  Marilyn has a morning shift and I've dropped her off .  I have a couple of chores: hang out the washing, make the bed  and there was something else which I've forgotten.  The weather has picked up so I might sit outside with my coffee.

Jamie and Nera have just come back from a few days in Melbourne.  Jamie was offered as job with a big video production company so they went over to check it out.  He spent three days at the studio but eventually decided it was not for him.  The job would have been fine but a move to Melbourne would have been too costly.  They have a good set up here and trying to re-establish in Melbourne would have negated any benefits from the bigger salary.  I can't say we're unhappy; as we get older, it will be reassuring to know they're just a ten-minute drive away if we need them.

Tuesday, November 15

I haven't gone to work today.  Last night, going to bed, I had a sneezing fit.  I had taken an anti-histamine earlier but its hadn't helped.  It was just as well I had a large box of tissues. beside me  This morning, I felt no better; I had a sore throat, a runny nose and constant sneezing.  I convinced myself that I had Covid and was on the decline.

So, this is how it ends, I thought? At my age, death is always looking over my shoulder but, surely, it's not going to come in such an appalling way: coughing, sneezing and spluttering.  With a heavy heart, I took the RAT test and waited 20 minutes for the red line to appear ... but it didn't!  Negative!

I still didn't go to work.  The kids didn't need to deal with my constant sneezing and clearing of my throat. The Supervisor wasn't happy but that can't be helped.  And I survive to live another day, as they say in the classics.

Monday, November 14

I'm reading a book called Freeze Frame by Peter May.  It's part of a series with the main character being Enzo McLeod, a half-Scottish, half-Italian forensic expert who lives in the south of France. The author has written other series as well, some set in China and others in the Hebrides.  They're not bad books and I look out for them when I remember.

In this latest one I am reading, the Scottish weather is mentioned.  We've all heard about how it rains all the time; it's a bit of a standing joke.  I checked Google and it seems to have some validity. Google BOM suggests it rains on 175 days of the year in the Lowlands and 300 days a year in the Highlands.  Not much fun!  I found a website which claims that Scotland has 100 different words for rain, like the Eskimaux have 100 different words for snow.

A recognise a couple: drookit (meaning drenched), smirr (very fine rain), but I've never heard of aftak (a lull in a storm) or daggle (to fall in torrents).

I lived in Scotland for the first 7 years and 10 months of my life.  I walked to school every day and when I was old enough, I played in the street, we went for holidays and walked to visit our grandparents at least once a week.  And I have no memory of ever experiencing rain.  I remember wearing a blue coat when it was snowing but never a raincoat.  What does that mean?  Has my memory blocked all the wet days out?  Did I become so inured to it I didn't register that it was happening?

Or is Scotland really a tropical paradise and there is a world-wide conspiracy to blacken its appeal?

It's funny; I have very clear memories of Blantyre and of Burnbank and of Johnshaven on the East Coast where we went for a visit just before we left for Australia.  And, nowhere in my memory is it raining.

Sunday, November 13

In my cleaning-up I came across a cheque book which I haven't used since 2011.  In fact, only 9 cheques were written between November 2005 and 27 April 2011.  A couple are for cruises and one is for the deposit on 13 Sherborne Drive, Dilston. (a very large cheque!)  One is for $1000 for the Consulate of Nepal, written abut a month before we travelled there.  Clearly, cheques were losing popularity even then.

Finland banned cheques in 1993, and other European countries follow suit; New Zealand did away with them in 2020 and Australia is fast going down that track.  Only 1% of transactions now involve cheques and 80% of those are by people over 65 years old (the other 20% are over 50).  

They'll hang around for a while in less developed countries.  Last year, for example, 27% of US workers were still paid by cheque.  Sad, really!

Friday, November 11

 You can't pick the people you work with in this job.  There are some ex-teachers who know the ropes and are well on top of it; they're easy to work with.  There are other, retired people who have had successful careers in life and are now looking for ways to stay involved and to supplement their income.  They are generally competent and have a no-nonsense approach to the task.

And, there are some who clearly can't hold down a full-time job and make do with these casual positions.  They're a mixed bunch.  Some are keen and focused, anxious to make a good impression.  Others, though, can be a worry.

I had one yesterday as my off-sider, who rang all my alarm bells.  She began by complaining about the fellow she worked with the previous day, how he wouldn't let her do anything.  Her whole demeanour was meek and submissive and she seemed surprised and grateful when I asked her to mark the roll and it was fine.

But, then she began questioning the things I told her to do and I became fed up with her niggling.  I was told this morning that she had rung the supervisor last night to tell her she couldn't get on with the other staff and please take her off the books.  No real loss!

Thursday, November 10

There's a new hairstyle that seems to becoming popular with boys: the front is very long and thick and the back is trimmed quite short.  It's almost like a reverse mullet.  It might look alright in the mirror but, to an onlooker who can see the back and sides, it seems strangely unbalanced.  And, it's a particular problem when you're writing.

Tilting the head forward makes the long bits flop over the face.  There's one fellow in today's exam room who is having to deal with this problem.  Frequently, he has to push the hair back so that it doesn't cover his eyes when he's writing.  I timed how often he pushed it back; it varied from as little as 5-second intervals, to 41 seconds. Guessing that he pushed it back an average of about every 30 seconds, that's 120 times per hour and 360 times in a three-hour exam.  What a distraction and what waste of energy!

If you have any sense of vanity, you would realise that this hairdo is not a good look bit what do I know?

Wednesday, November 9

 It was the English exam. today. Every student at the college studies English so it was all hands on deck. Just before we started, an officious-looking person scurried in to tell us they'd found a mistake in the paper.  She quickly wrote on the blackboard:

        Section A, Question 4 should read: Rita Hayworth NOT Rita Haywood.

How exciting!  I couldn't wait to check the paper to see how Rita Hayworth managed to get involved in a question in the 2022 TASC English paper.

It was a section discussing various genres of literature and the book mentioned was 'Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption, written by Stephen King and published in 1982.  I know the story best from the fabulous film, The Shawshank Redemption.  Rita Hayworth is the subject of the poster Andy uses to cover the entrance to the tunnel he is digging (spoiler alert! if you haven't read the book or seen the movie.)

These kids were expected to write three long essays on quite complex topics.  I would have found it hard to do even now.

Tuesday, November 8

This is the first day of the HSC Exams and Marilyn and I are both working as supervisors  I think we have 14 or 15 sessions between us over the fortnight which is much the same as last year.  I must say I'm not looking forward to it as much as I have in previous years; maybe I'm just getting old (or lazy). Marilyn, on the other hand, is relishing the idea.  She looks forward to meeting our fellow-workers and she enjoys working with the students.

I've always been happier with younger kids but Marilyn's forte is clearly teenagers.

Anyway, it gets us out of the house and that can only be a good thing.

Monday, November 7

I put together a collection of music for the car.  It's mostly stuff from the 60s: Dusty Springfield, The Carpenters and the like.  I only play it when I'm on my own and try to sing along as best I can.  The problem is that I can't get one of the songs out of my head.  It's Silver Threads and Golden Needles and I find it intruding on my thoughts even when I'm occupied with something else.

It's a song with no redeeming features and, even when it came out originally, we used to make fun of it, exaggerating the Southern American accent and 'twanging' the lyrics.  I think the phenonemon of having an unwanted song in your consciousness is called an 'ear worm': a very good description.

I don't remember ever thinking of Silver Threads ... as one of my favourite songs; it was always a bit of a joke and I was much more interested in the Everley Brothers but, more than 50 years later, it's haunting me.

Friday, November 4

I've picked up the latest book by Richard Osman.  His first two became overnight sensations and everybody in the literary world was waiting for his latest.  And here it is: The Bullet that Missed.  It's set, like the first two in a nursing home where the Thursday Murder Club meets regularly to discuss unsolved murders.  It's an interesting scenario and has unlimited scope for further books.  

If he can keep it up he might end up like Alexander McCall Smith who has 25 books in The Ladies No 1 Detective Agency series or MC Beaton who has 28 Hamish Macbeth adventures.

Thursday, November 3

 I dropped my car off for service after the gym this morning and was walking home.  I had my walking stick with me as I find it useful to keep my balance and it makes people treat me with more courtesy.  There was a group of school kids coming towards me, taking up the whole width of the footpath but, as I got nearer, they clustered together to give me more room.

The tallest girl clearly wasn't satisfied with that and ordered them to 'get in a line'.  She repeated it several times, with a rising inflection in her voice and, eventually, the line was to her satisfaction: shortest in front and her at the back.  I almost saluted her as we passed but had to confine myself to muttering 'Thank you'.

It was an interesting story on the news about the 'five lions' who escaped from Taronga Zoo and threatened some people who were camping in the grounds.  Five lions?  One male adult and four cubs.  A beat-up, of course, but it reminded me of a time in Townsville when I took some of my students for a sleepover at the local Crocodile Farm.  The owner was one of my parents and was trying to launch this aspect of his business.  Where we pitched our tents was not far from the pond where the biggest crocodile lived.  Nothing went wrong, of course but I heard that, months later the old croc had escaped and was re-captured in the very paddock where we had been sleeping.

Wednesday, November 2

I've just come back from the hairdresser where I discovered there has been an accident just outside of town.  A couple of her customers had rung to say they couldn't get through; a truck had turned over and dropped its load all over the road.  The interesting thing is, it was carrying potatoes!  What a job it will be to clean it up and. clearly, most of that will be left to the police.  No doubt they are spitting chips.