Sunday, January 1

 Happy New Year to everyone!

Marilyn decided that it was time to replace the plants we have lost since we put our display shelves together last summer.  They're set up just outside our lounge room windows so we can enjoy them at any time.  They've been great but winter took its toll and it was time for refreshment.

We went in to Bunnings the other day to start the process.  Marilyn had an idea what she wanted, not in the sense of what plants particularly, but rather how many and how big they should. be. They always have what they call 'potted colour' which make a pretty good display.  I would have bought everything we needed from the '$5 or less' table but I wasn't in charge.

I thought we had more than enough but we needed to go back today.  This time we took Archie.  He loves a trip to Bunnings.  He was snoozing in the back seat until we turned into the Bunnings driveway, when he realised where we were and came alive, whimpering and bouncing around.  I got a trolley and a box and he jumped in, knowing the routine.  Everybody stops to talk to him and he loves being the centre of attention

.

Now he's on the lounge, conked out from his big day.

 

Friday, December 30

Does time speed up as you get older?  I'll have to give it more thought and probably do a bit of research, but, at a guess, I would suspect it is the case.

On most days we seem to get very little done and yet there are not enough hours in the day to do it.  

No doubt someone has said it before me but it's no fun getting old.

Wednesday, December 28

 One of my regular jobs is to make the bed each morning.  I always get up first and head off to the gym before breakfast.  Marilyn read for a bit with her coffee, then gets up just before I'm expected home, pulls back the bed to air and leaves it for me to sort out at the appropriate time.  I think it annoys her that, invariably, she needs to remind me that it hasn't been done.

"It won't make itself," she will say, or "Has the bed fairy been yet?"

It's not that I'm avoiding the job or that I am strategically 'forgetting'; it's that there is nowhere in my brain a little system that will remind me that the job has to be done.  The only trigger I have that the job has not yet been completed, is if I happen to walk past it and see that it is still folded back.

Marilyn has a virtual check-list in her brain which tells her what needs to be done for the day: wash, put out the clothes, bring in the clothes, make lunch, water the lettuces, and so on.  Mentally, she ticks them off and she won't rest until everything is complete.  My brain doesn't have that facility.  I need a written checklist to keep track of what responsibilities I have.

Not as efficient, I grant you, but I suspect I was one of the last of the pre-war models before modern technology began to have an influence.

The Coles man has just delivered an order for us: nice fellow, a bit older than most of the blokes who drive their trucks.  He apologises for standing on the doorstep but he's not allowed to deliver early and he is, in fact 2 minutes ahead of time.  He and Marilyn chat about inconsequential things for 2 minutes, he checks a box on his screen and leaves for his next delivery.  One thing he did say is that the only thing to do with the 8 or 10 red patterned bags which were used to bring our stuff is to bin them.  Apparently, there is no way for them to be recycled.  Australia's only recycling plant for 'soft plastics' has had a fire and China doesn't want any more of the world's rubbish.

Where will it end?

Tuesday, December 27

 We didn't get our water back until 11 o'clock last night.  It must have been a major issue because it affected the whole town.  Marilyn and I drove over to Jamie's and filled up all the containers we could find and, in the spirit of Christmas, shared it with Jen, the young woman who lives next door.  By 2 o'clock, the  council, I suppose, was giving out water to people in the Main Street, 'Bring Your Own Container!'.

I came across a nice story this morning: Taipei hopes it will become the cleanest city in Asia by having their garbage trucks play classical jingles to alert people they are on their way.  It seems to be working and people are becoming programmed to respond to the jaunty song.  Most of the trucks play Beethoven's 'Fur Elise'.  When asked why this song was chosen, a spokesman said, 'We bought the trucks from Germany and they came pre-loaded.'

I don't suppose they've worked out how to change the record.

Monday, December 26

I've just come back from the gym to be told we have no water. My heart always sinks when I hear things like that because I know I'm expected to resolve the problem and I have no clue where to start.  In fact, I start by checking the Taswater website, find there is a burst main in Longford and breathe a sign of relief, knowing I can leave it to the experts to sort it out.  Luckily there is enough water in the kettle for a cup of coffee each.

We had a very enjoyable Christmas Day yesterday.  Two friends, Steen and Clare, came for lunch so we had different people to talk to and Archie had two extra laps to sit on.  He's very cool about visitors and give them the big welcome as if he is delighted to see them.  

When they left, I gave them some rhubarb from my 'garden'.  They were reluctant but I insisted.  Nobody leaves our house without some rhubarb!

Sunday, December 25

Happy Christmas to all my readers!  I've said this tongue-in-cheek, of course.  All my readers is a bit of a stretch. I note from the stats that a total of one (1) long-suffering person read the blog yesterday.  Anyway, Happy Christmas to him or her, whoever it may be.

I've come to the realisation that I'm a slow-learner, in the sense that I tend to jump to the same conclusions even though those conclusions have been shown to be wrong in the past.  Last night, I was aware of the sound of sirens a couple of streets away.  That's not unusual: the ambulance and police depots are not far away and we hear sirens quite often.  My first thought is how sad it is that someone's Christmas is being ruined by a car accident or an illness, or something worse.

The sirens continued and I heard them coming closer. It still didn't occur to me what was really going on, so I wandered outside to see whether they were coming up my street.  They were.  It finally dawned on me that it was the annual lolly drop by the firies, the amboes and the police.  How many times have I heard it all before and how many times have I wondered how awful it would be if my house went on fire on Christmas Eve?  And how long, I wondered, before I made the connections with Christmas Eve and sirens equalling lollies?

Most of our neighbours had come to the front gate as well so it was good to be able too wish them Happy Christmas.  They were all female, of course; the bloke next door is away again.

Saturday, December 24

I seem to have been up for ages.  Archie woke us early, barking loudly, then rushing outside to rush up and down the back yard trying to wake all the neighbours.  I finally calmed him down and any potential home invaders had taken to their heels, but it was impossible to get back to sleep.  Marilyn decided she would have a cup of coffee; she alway has two milk arrowroot biscuits with her first coffee of the day and she happily shares them with Archie.  It's become part of the routine when he is with us.  This morning, though, she decided 'no biscuits, naughty dogs don't get treats'.  I'm not sure his doggy brain would have made the connection between barking at imaginary burglars and being deprived of biscuits.  But, what do I know?

I arrived at the gym a bit earlier than normal; every light was on in every area but there was only one bloke there.  I haven't seen him before; he was big with a folded towel over his head held down by pair of headphones.  I think he might have seen too many Rocky movies.  He walked around a lot and made moves with some of the equipment but I don't think he was serious.  I finished my routine and, when I left, he was still there posing beside various machines.  I hope somebody else turned up soon to give him an audience.

Friday, December 23

It's going to be a quiet Christmas this year with Jamie and Nera in NSW but we've invited a couple of friends to come for lunch.  They're also on their own, never having had children and with no other family nearby.  Because we have them coming, Marilyn is going to a bit more trouble to make sure they're well fed. She's ordered prawns, turkey and ham and various sweet things but there will be nothing hot.

It's crazy that, even though this is the hottest time of our year, Australians still insist on hot meat and vegetables for their Christmas dinner.  Well, at the Christies there will be cold food and minimal washing-up.

 

Wednesday, December 21

The local berry farm is advertising that they're again open for business so I went along this morning to see what they had.  There was the usual crowd of young mums there drinking coffee and eating cake while their kids played in the sand pit but there wasn't much activity among the vines.

I was disappointed that only the strawberries were ready for picking and they're all grown at ground level and it's too hard now for me to grovel around on my knees.  The blackberries don't come on until mid-January so I'll have to wait until then.  I consoled myself with a punnet of raspberries picked by someone else, which Marilyn will use for her Christmas Day fruit salad.

The local newspaper tells me that about 8000 pickers are expected to be here for the season, mostly from various Pacific Islands, and farmers are having trouble finding appropriate accommodation for them.  Local councils are not co-operative and the state government is dragging its heels on finding solutions. One fellow is Deloraine has had his application for building new picker accommodation in council for several months with no action.  Berries are a growing chunk of our agricultural industry here and it depends on enthusiastic workers from overseas.  

Monday, December 19

When I get to the gym in the morning, I always check the sign-in book to see who is there before me.  It's always a bit of a toss-up because so many don't bother to follow the procedures.  I suspect many of those who come at that time are 'illegals' using the facilities without paying, but not my problem.

Today, I saw that there were three people before me: Raylene, Gaelene and Brick. You couldn't invent three names like that!  I'd seen the two women's names before but Brick was a new one.  I imagined what he would look like: short, muscular, laconic.

In the gym, there were the two women and two men, one of whom was clearly a regular who hadn't bothered to sign in.  He was probably in his 60s, shortish, longish grey hair and a grey walrus moustache. In my imagination the moustache is stained with nicotine but that's probably not true.  He always wears a shabby pair of grey track-suit pants and an off-white t-shirt in need of ironing.  An old hippy, I assume.

Brick was unprepossessing: not very tall, not very muscular, wearing a baseball cap.  I wonder how he copes with his name.  Some parents have a lot to answer for.

Sunday, December 18

 It's mid-morning and I've just come back from the gym.  I was late today because I over-slept but there were few other people there so I managed my routine without having to wait for particular equipment.  Marilyn's getting in the shower as I am writing this.  I think we're going out for lunch today; I remember being told that we're meeting up with a couple of friends at some time but I'm unsure of the details.  I won't give myself away by asking for clarification; no doubt I'll work it out when Marilyn starts to get dressed.

Archie is in full play mode this morning, dropping one of his soft toys at my feet so that I can throw it for him to retrieve.  When I come back from the gym he meets me at the door with the one we call M. Aubergine, a purple thing that looks like an eggplant, in the hope that I'll throw it for him.  All his toys have names: another purple one is Tiny Talong (talong is the filipino name for eggplant).  He's got into the habit of taking one of his toys outside and then forgets where he left it.  Every now and again, I have to take him out and show him where it is.  There's a labrador living next door and they talk to each other through a crack in the fence, so Archie is always checking whether he is there or not.  Marilyn thinks the other dog's name is Howard, or something like that.  What a name for a dog!  He seems to spend most of his time inside; not a great idea for a big dog.

Saturday, December 17

We had to go into Launceston yesterday. It seems to be always for the same reason: something to do with our health.  This time it was for Marilyn to have her annual eye check up.  Everything is good and no need for new specs.  We had been into the same agency last week for hearing tests and ended up with sparkling new hearing aids.  We had fallen for an ad campaign years ago to have our hearing tested and were issued with simple hearing aids courtesy of the Federal Government.  It seems we are now eligible for an updated model.

I was keen because the new ones have in-built blue tooth which means I can listen to podcasts while I am doing my morning exercises and don't have to put up with the little earpieces I bought which keep falling out.

The town was a nightmare: we hadn't counted on the Christmas rush and struggled to find a parking spot.  Because we don't have large suburban shopping centres like more populated cities, everybody here comes to the city and it doesn't cope. However, we survived and are having today at home to recover.

The sun is shining and it looks as if I'll be mowing the lawn this afternoon.

Friday, December 16

 I love reading about obscenely wealthy people who decide to give away some of their money.  Today's example is Mackenzie Scott who achieved billionaire status by divorcing her even more wealthy husband, Jeff Bezos.  Her net worth is estimated at $27bn ( I assume that's US dollars).  She's decided to give away 'more than half'. 

How big a deal is that, in reality?  If she gave away $14 bn she would still have $13bn to keep her warm in the cold Californian winters.  If most other people in the world gave away half of their accumulated wealth, they'd not survive.  Ms Scott won't even notice the disappearance of those billions.

I reckon people should not be regarded as generous until their donation is real sacrifice.  All I can say to Ms Scott is 'Big deal!"

Thursday, December 15

A few of our friends joined us for a Christmas lunch yesterday at Stickybeaks, our favourite local cafe.  There were other people there, of course, but not one one of them was younger than 75.  Grey hair was the norm and walking sticks were everywhere.  The menu reflected the wishes of the clientele: roast dinners, schnitzel, lambs fry and bacon, chips with everything.  I had my usual: lamb shank with salad and chips with apple and blackberry crumble to follow.  I might have had golden syrup dumplings but knew that would be too indulgent.

I took the bone from the shank home in Marilyn's bag for Archie.  He couldn't believe his luck and took it outside to enjoy it on the back lawn.  When we weren't looking, though, he brought it back inside and hid it in our bedroom and Marilyn wasn't pleased when she found him up on our bed having a little chew.

It's a rather bleak day here.  I've been out to a doctor's appointment this morning but have nothing planned for the rest of the day.  With nothing else to think about, I've been re-reading some of the previous posts on this blog, re-living some of the adventures we've had when we were more active.  Great times!

Wednesday, December 14

I don't normally read the results of the many polls which are taken across Australia every month.  Apart from not particularly caring what other people think, I don't trust the polls themselves.  It's surprising how often polls reflect the bias of the organisation promoting the poll.  

But I happened to notice one yesterday which asked the question, 'Overall, do you think that 2023 will be a better or worse year for Australia than 2022?'

Good question!  And the response was good too.  50% of 18-34 year olds said Better, 44% of 35-54 year olds said Better but only 29% of the 55+ cohort said Better.  Clearly, the older we get, the more pessimistic we become.  What a miserable lot we oldies are.  We live in the best country in the world where we'll never go hungry, where we'll be looked after if we are sick, where the sun shines all the time, where we don't have to worry about 'home invasions' or ratbags with guns wandering the streets, and the best we can say when asked our opinion is 'we're going to the dogs.'

It reminds me of a poem by John O'Brien:

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
  In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
  One frosty Sunday morn.

Tuesday, December 13

I had an email from Charlie Prell this morning.  I have never heard of Charlie Prell so how did he happen to have my email address?  Normally, I would just ignore it or, if I were particularly bothered, I would delete it.  However, this morning, with nothing better to do, I opened it to see what he was selling.

It read: This Christmas, buy your farmer friend a farm gate sign.  OK.  I know a number of farmers, although I don't buy any of them Christmas presents; however, I dig a little deeper to see what the signs might say, imagining things like: THANK A FARMER WHEN YOU EAT YOUR NEXT BAG OF CHIPS, or FROM MY FARM TO YOUR PLATE!  YOU MIGHT SAY THANKS.

But, neither of those was available.  All there was on offer was FARMERS FOR CLIMATE ACTION.  Boring!! I know it's a worthy cause but does putting a sign like that on a farm gate make any difference?  

Sunday, December 11

There were a couple of articles on the internet this morning talking about the alternative ways of travelling from Melbourne to Sydney.  With the cost of flying going through the roof, coupled with a drop-off in standards, people are looking at how else they can travel. If you take into consideration the environmental factor, flying doesn't stack up, so there has to be a better way.

Flying is the quickest but the cheapest is a bus, 4 or 5 passengers in a car can be economic, the train is slow.

I've said it before: we need a high-speed rail connecting at least Sydney,Melbourne and Canberra.  It will be expensive to build but wouldn't it be luvverly.  Probably not in. my lifetime, though.

Saturday, December 10

Browsing the headlines this morning tells me that the most important thing happening in the world today is the Football World Cup, and that's as it should be.  The news from Ukraine is depressing, Victoria celebrates another 'Danslide', and there's an oversupply of mangoes (or is it mangos?). 

Should I be bothered that Harry and Meghan are 'hitting back at criticism' or that Elon Musk's net worth has halved?  I'm afraid I can't get raise any enthusiasm for either issue.  I suspect the world would be a better place if Harry and Meghan, and Elon Musk moved to a desert island and became hermits.

I sent out our Christmas letter yesterday and already have received several replies.  Perhaps the most interesting one is from our friend Mary who is spending Christmas in Kyoto.  She has rented a small townhouse (machiya) on the Tasegawa Canal and she tells us the weather is sunny and crisp.  It sounds fantastic and we can visualise exactly where she is.  Yes, I suppose I am a bit envious.

Friday, December 9

I've just caught up with the news that the Quantum of the Seas, the ship we had booked for our cruise, arrived in Brisbane from Honolulu on November 27th with about 200 passengers on board with Covid.  If we had decided to go ahead with our holiday, we would have been joining the ship on that same day it arrived.  We seemed to have had a lucky escape.  

And it's not the only one. The cruise lines, of course, are playing down the issue saying that the protocols they have in place will protect the passengers but we have experience of what really happens in these situations.  They've always had a requirement that passengers have to use a hand sanitiser before going into the dining rooms but there's always a handful of people who absolutely refuse to comply, and they get away with it.  I like to think they are Americans claiming their constitutional right to free-dumb, but they might just be Australian bogans who don't know any better.

Over the years, and a number of cruises, we learnt to avoid the buffets and have our meals served to us on a plate straight from the kitchen.  At least we had a chance, then, that they would be unsullied by careless passers-by.

Looking back, we were pretty optimistic that everything would be fine and the cruise would be a delight but it was not to be.

Thursday, December 8

I have a routine each morning: I check the headlines, check my emails and check Facebook.  Of course, Facebook is more and more about advertising.  I usually have to wade through dozens of exciting offers before I see the reports from friends or pictures of birthday parties I wasn't invited to.

Yesterday, among all the ads for things I don't need or want,  there was an ad for a shirt with a message on the front.  Surprisingly,  it said: 

It's a Christie thing: you wouldn't understand.

I know that direct marketing is very focused nowadays but this seems ridiculous.  

This morning the same ad appeared, with the name Christie replaced by John.  Spooky!

This is a link to the original ad (if it works).

https://www.facebook.com/100087120409990/posts/pfbid02S91uBSwMCzeErGKxboa9hS12qnCg29cSvogB5yvFf1m1eci9JNrAm7sTXSMpQyJsl/?mibextid=Nif5oz

Tuesday, December 6

It's our Probus Christmas lunch today and we're heading down to the little town of Chudleigh where the ladies of the town have promised to give us a lunch to remember.  There's not much at Chudleigh but they've nominated themselves as the Town of Roses and encouraged everyone in the main street to plant a few in their garden.  I don't know if it attracts any tourists but every little bit helps.

They also have an old-fashioned Show in the Spring and the town seems to be thriving.  We'll have our lunch in the local hall and there's sure to be plenty of food.  

Monday, December 5

I've often heard terms like Baby Boomers and Millenials bandied around and idly wondered what descriptive term they use for people like me: born during the war years and lived through the most productive period in the world's history to date.  This morning, I discovered I am part of the 'Silent Generation'.

Wow!  Could they have been more right?  It fits me to a T. I never complain, I never whinge, I just get on with life dealing with whatever fate hands me.  

According to Google, we of the Silent Generation handle adversity well (tick), we dealt with the COVID issue with 'stoic optimism', (tick) we value the stability of peacetime (tick), believe in 'waste not, want not' (tick), embrace traditional family values (tick) and take little for granted (tick).

It's nice to hear something positive about the group I belong to even though that group is rapidly disappearing.  The Silent Generation was born before 1946 so there can't be that many of us left.  

Sunday, December 4

I must sleep very soundly.  Marilyn asked me this morning whether I had heard Archie barking in the middle of the night and I had to confess that I hadn't.  She said it was probably loud enough to wake the neighbours and she wondered what had set him off.  Her first thought was that there was somebody in the yard, but I think it was probably next door's cat wandering where she shouldn't.

In fact, we had been shopping yesterday and bought some new towels. Marilyn had washed them and I had hung then out late in the afternoon.  It's rare for us to leave washing on the line overnight but an alert 'snowdropper' could have had a good haul if he had come by at the right time.

The yard, of course, is surrounded by 5 foot high walls and the gate is always locked so a passing burglar is an unlikely scenario.  The real issue is why didn't Archie's barking wake me up?  What if it had been a real emergency and I had slept through it?

Saturday, December 3

I had always thought that I would find it difficult to fill my time when I was no longer working and trying to take advantage of any spare moments by being involved in various other activities.  I'm lucky that I have always enjoyed reading and have never had trouble switching off from society for a a few hours to immerse myself in a book.  But there needs to be more to life than concentrating on a book while the world passes by.

But now that I've reached that time of life where paid work is a rarity rather than an imperative, where going to a social occasion hardly ever happens and the highlight of a particular day might be to visit the podiatrist, the days seem to be passing faster than ever.  For example, it's 69 days to my birthday: a milestone birthday, in fact, after which I can't pretend that I'm middle-aged any more.  How long is 69 days?  Let's think: 69 days ago was September 26. and, checking back on this blog I find I was writing about what I was doing to fill my days.  'What's it all about?' I was asking.  Was that nearly 10 weeks ago?  And, what's happened in the interim?

I feel I'm in a speeding car, hurtling along to an unknown destination with me holding on trying to make sense of it all.