Wish I could start this post with, The Dogs are Back! Alas, it isn't so. It has been 10 days today and while part of me wants to remain positive, another part says, no way. When they went missing for 9 days all those years ago, even though it was winter, they were younger dogs. Younger and stronger. Now they are both on arthritis supplements. Jamaica especially carries no extra weight. Jamaica is also on the special diet for a tender tummy, the hypoallergenic food so 'roughing it' just isn't in his lexicon. But worse than that this is the Tweed. It's rain forest and thus has many biting and bloodsucking insects; flies, mosquitoes, sand flies and especially leeches. I have had two on me since we've been here and I wasn't wandering through the bush. I can't see how two fine boned and finely fleshed dogs with little in the way of a protective coat can survive.
Other than that, and that's a big that, I am so grateful to be here. Rang our ex-neighbours yesterday and heard the gut-wrenching news that the quarry is going ahead. Trucks have been in and out, the rock crusher is coming and quarrying is to start early next year.
Despite The Lost Dogs, the ups and downs of getting here, the doubts, the fear, the stress, ultimately I believed all was as it should be, that the timing was right and we were doing just as were supposed to do. For a moment last night, when I was breathing in the night and gazing at the black silhouettes of The Sisters and Mt. Warning, even losing the dogs seemed a part of the greater whole and therefore part of the mysterious warp and woof of existence. After all, they have their destinies to fulfill as well. They could've chosen not to run away or to only run a little way and then come home. They chose, for whatever reason, otherwise. So, with this enveloping feeling of rightness, even the news of the quarry seemed to be part of the final look of the jigsaw.
We were right after all. All was, and is, as it should be and trusting in the process, in the rightness of being and timing, is the path to peace. With or without wayward dogs.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Friday, September 16, 2016
Radar and Jamaica Lost
New beginnings. Settlement day for this property was September 1; the first day of spring, the night of the new moon. This property is everything I wished for and more but my joy has been overshadowed by tragic circumstances. Four days ago the dogs went missing. We'd been leaving Jamaica off the lead during the day as he was happy to potter about the house and not go anywhere. Radar, on the other hand, twice went walkabout. The first time we gave him the benefit of the doubt (while Jamaica was tied up, just in case) and, true to his nature, he went bush. The second time Richard let him off for a pee and forgot about tying him back up again. But the third and final time, the rope which had held for over a week tied to a vise, came undone. Jamaica was off and now, so was Radar, trailing 5 feet of rope. They disappeared and haven't been seen since. I fear the rope has become entangled in the thick underbrush and even if he wanted to come home, he can't and Jamaica, always the underdog, won't leave him.
Year ago, when they were much younger dogs, they went missing for 9 days. We'd had rain so there was groundwater to drink but I doubt whether they ate anything other than pulling at something dead and stinking which they both reeked of when they were finally found, collapsed on the side of the road 2 kilometres from home. They were skeletal. Their paw pads where shredded and oozing blood and serum. They were within days of dying.
During that 9 days, in an area where everyone knew them, knew they were missing and they knew their way around no one saw them. Here they don't know their way around, no one knows them and we've had rain or showers every day to wash away their scent trail so even if Radar isn't caught up in some tree root they couldn't retrace their steps.
We've put notices up in Uki, on telegraph poles and have rung all local vets and the pound. My new and lovely yoga teacher, Julia put a notice up on the Uki Community page while Karen, Wilma's daughter, who lives at Stokers Siding has added the information to two other Facebook groups.
Every night Richard and I wake up, separately and together, hear the rain, feel the cold and think of them. This is their last photo.
Year ago, when they were much younger dogs, they went missing for 9 days. We'd had rain so there was groundwater to drink but I doubt whether they ate anything other than pulling at something dead and stinking which they both reeked of when they were finally found, collapsed on the side of the road 2 kilometres from home. They were skeletal. Their paw pads where shredded and oozing blood and serum. They were within days of dying.
During that 9 days, in an area where everyone knew them, knew they were missing and they knew their way around no one saw them. Here they don't know their way around, no one knows them and we've had rain or showers every day to wash away their scent trail so even if Radar isn't caught up in some tree root they couldn't retrace their steps.
We've put notices up in Uki, on telegraph poles and have rung all local vets and the pound. My new and lovely yoga teacher, Julia put a notice up on the Uki Community page while Karen, Wilma's daughter, who lives at Stokers Siding has added the information to two other Facebook groups.
Every night Richard and I wake up, separately and together, hear the rain, feel the cold and think of them. This is their last photo.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Getting Close!
She says she wants it. She says she will pay the price asked for. She rang the realtor. The realtor rang me. Said he would email her a contract today,
Driving into town this morning, I thought my heart would burst with joy. I didn't realize how important moving close to the sea was until it became possible. Seeing things with the mind's eye can make things real. Most days when I do yoga I listen to #13 of the ABC Hush Collection. There are several pieces, one right after the other, which evoke the sea. Specifically me in a kayak on the sea. Me in a kayak riding big smooth wave sets. Me in a kayak riding big smooth wave sets while watching humped back whales glide underneath.
Every day I listen to those songs and every day I see and feel me on the water. The harp and piano equate with sun sparkled water. The rise and fall of the violins, the rise and fall of the waves. I just close my eyes and I'm there.
Now I am calling the Universe to provide the perfect property, one with a view, with birdsong from the bush with paddocks suitable for the horses, with a characterful house, and something which provides for Richard all that he requires (big shed and a location where the bush doesn't enclose the house. He has a thing about trees being too close to the house).
The house we missed out on at Burringbar provides the benchmark. The house pad was clear of trees yet the bush rose in a wall behind the house from which the birds sang symphonies. The house was high enough to provide a stunning view of serried hills to the west (and coming storms!). The house itself was perfect. Two wings, each with bedrooms and baths and private decks, with the living areas and kitchen in the center. It was as perfect as I could imagine.
We've seen, desired and watched other perfect properties sell in the time we've been looking so I know they are out there. Am not convinced the properties in contention number among them THE property. But I could be wrong. It all is in the viewing.
Which hopefully I'll be going to do next week. Once we've signed the contract, I'm contacting realtors and Helen (for a bed to stay in).
Driving into town this morning, I thought my heart would burst with joy. I didn't realize how important moving close to the sea was until it became possible. Seeing things with the mind's eye can make things real. Most days when I do yoga I listen to #13 of the ABC Hush Collection. There are several pieces, one right after the other, which evoke the sea. Specifically me in a kayak on the sea. Me in a kayak riding big smooth wave sets. Me in a kayak riding big smooth wave sets while watching humped back whales glide underneath.
Every day I listen to those songs and every day I see and feel me on the water. The harp and piano equate with sun sparkled water. The rise and fall of the violins, the rise and fall of the waves. I just close my eyes and I'm there.
Now I am calling the Universe to provide the perfect property, one with a view, with birdsong from the bush with paddocks suitable for the horses, with a characterful house, and something which provides for Richard all that he requires (big shed and a location where the bush doesn't enclose the house. He has a thing about trees being too close to the house).
The house we missed out on at Burringbar provides the benchmark. The house pad was clear of trees yet the bush rose in a wall behind the house from which the birds sang symphonies. The house was high enough to provide a stunning view of serried hills to the west (and coming storms!). The house itself was perfect. Two wings, each with bedrooms and baths and private decks, with the living areas and kitchen in the center. It was as perfect as I could imagine.
We've seen, desired and watched other perfect properties sell in the time we've been looking so I know they are out there. Am not convinced the properties in contention number among them THE property. But I could be wrong. It all is in the viewing.
Which hopefully I'll be going to do next week. Once we've signed the contract, I'm contacting realtors and Helen (for a bed to stay in).
Tuesday, July 19, 2016
Is the House Sold or Is it Not
Waiting to see if we've sold the house. A woman viewed it, loved it. I liked her, felt the house would fit her and vice versa. Wanted to see her in it rather than that hard-edged woman we'd had before who was fine about her dogs 'sorting out the bandicoots' - but that's another story. Anyway, this woman; whippet owner, Egyptian Mau cat owner, said up front she couldn't afford the $399,000. Told the realtor she'd make an offer of $360,000, which after toting up the numbers, we accepted, just to see the house 'go to a good home' so to speak.
Blow me down, she reneged. Said all she could give us was $350,000. We said no even though (despite her saying previously she had to check with her bank) that the $350,000 was a 'cash' buy. Then today, she offered $355,000. Said no. Finally came up with $357,500. Said no. Why can't people say what they mean and mean what they say? We dropped $39,000 to meet her. In response, she drops another $10,000! Told D last time he rang to tell her 'good luck with her house hunting.' He rang back immediately after we'd hung up to ask would I still accept $360,000 or was I just pissed off and done with her? Yes, I would accept but must say I've got a bad taste in my mouth. The gloss has rubbed off and now I wish I'd stuck to my guns about price. If her eyes were bigger than her stomach, that's not my problem. The price is clearly marked on all the ads. It's not a secret.
Anyway, waiting for that final call. Think she'll have her panties in a twist now and won't come up with the extra cash.
Blow me down, she reneged. Said all she could give us was $350,000. We said no even though (despite her saying previously she had to check with her bank) that the $350,000 was a 'cash' buy. Then today, she offered $355,000. Said no. Finally came up with $357,500. Said no. Why can't people say what they mean and mean what they say? We dropped $39,000 to meet her. In response, she drops another $10,000! Told D last time he rang to tell her 'good luck with her house hunting.' He rang back immediately after we'd hung up to ask would I still accept $360,000 or was I just pissed off and done with her? Yes, I would accept but must say I've got a bad taste in my mouth. The gloss has rubbed off and now I wish I'd stuck to my guns about price. If her eyes were bigger than her stomach, that's not my problem. The price is clearly marked on all the ads. It's not a secret.
Anyway, waiting for that final call. Think she'll have her panties in a twist now and won't come up with the extra cash.
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Acceptance with Enthusiasm, Thank You Grace Speare
Re-reading Grace Speare's Everything Talks to Me after mentioning it to a friend. For some reason it seemed time to visit this book again. I hadn't realized that I've been in the doldrums. Coasting. To help combat this I've returned, somewhat sporadically, to journaling. I needed a place to 'talk' without having to care whether it read well or not. Also, there's something quite blissfully basic about grasping a pen and making marks on a page. I'd forgotten how satisfying it is.
Back to Grace Speare's book. Ah, she's a good one for helping me to re-focus. One of the phrases that leaped out was 'accepting with enthusiasm'. There is often this dichotomy with me; one of accepting all that is knowing everything is as it should be or trying, with positive thinking or visualization or just plain wishing, to make things happen. In the first instance it is plain gratitude without desire. Great in theory but I can't sustain it. I want change. I want improvement. I want something else.
And there's the crux: wanting.
In the second instance. I think positively of the present (gratitude) while visualizing a different future (moving house for instance). I can juggle this a bit better. Every day I can and do appreciate the beauty of this place yet I visualize moving to a place near the sea. Another example is being grateful for the health and strength of my body now while going to the gym to increase strength and change my physique for the future.
I know I've written about this before and I'm no closer to having an answer, only varying degrees of leaning one way or another depending upon what is needed at the moment.
Like "Acceptance with enthusiasm". It's kind of an excited twinkle in the eye that looks with bubbling joy at the present.
I feel as though I've got my mojo back. Another thing that helps is not taking on board other people's 'stuff'. The world will continue to do what the world will do without me getting caught up in the cruelty, stupidity and blindness of it all. I know we are all connected, that the Dallas shootings, for instance, somehow affect me directly but if I succumb to the negativity, does that help? Surely there is a way to feel for all those involved yet at the same time try see it with love and compassion, even the shooter whose mind must have been a horrible maelstrom of hate and negativity.
Admittedly I am not strong enough to cope with wave after negative wave. I've unsubscribed from many animal welfare sites and I avoid looking at graphic images or reading graphic accounts of horror. I know The Horror exists. That's enough. I know we need more love and I think we need more beauty. And I'm sure we need more laughter. Lots more laughter.
While being connected and part of All That Is, my tiny little mind can't grasp the enormity of it. What I can do is keep my own house in order. That's hard enough. Learning to live in changed circumstances and stay cheerful, optimistic, patient and kind is a big challenge for this selfish, impatient and too often spiteful person. It's a big challenge to my particular weaknesses and one I suspect I'll be working on until my last breath.
Yet it's not all guilt and failings and railing against present reality. I decided to retire from riding a couple of weeks ago. Had the farrier pull Balthazar's shoes. After a spell Balthazar needs to be ridden consistently, day after day, to help him get over separation anxiety. I just couldn't manage it. Consequently every ride was a challenge and definitely not fun for either of us. Balthazar turns 18 next month. I've been riding more or less consistently for 40+ years. For the past 5 I've ridden alone. I've no desire to compete so have no goals except to enjoy the bush by riding through it. As that seemed out of reach, I retired both of us.
As soon as I made that decision, I felt better. Had no idea I carried this burden of guilt because I wasn't being fair to Balthazar by getting him through the Separation Anxiety phase. Suddenly too, there is more time. And I'm not so tired either.
If I'd been listening, to myself as well as Balthazar, I'd have come to this decision sooner. Every day is different. Everything talking to me may as well be speaking Urdu if I'm not listening.
Back to Grace Speare's book. Ah, she's a good one for helping me to re-focus. One of the phrases that leaped out was 'accepting with enthusiasm'. There is often this dichotomy with me; one of accepting all that is knowing everything is as it should be or trying, with positive thinking or visualization or just plain wishing, to make things happen. In the first instance it is plain gratitude without desire. Great in theory but I can't sustain it. I want change. I want improvement. I want something else.
And there's the crux: wanting.
In the second instance. I think positively of the present (gratitude) while visualizing a different future (moving house for instance). I can juggle this a bit better. Every day I can and do appreciate the beauty of this place yet I visualize moving to a place near the sea. Another example is being grateful for the health and strength of my body now while going to the gym to increase strength and change my physique for the future.
I know I've written about this before and I'm no closer to having an answer, only varying degrees of leaning one way or another depending upon what is needed at the moment.
Like "Acceptance with enthusiasm". It's kind of an excited twinkle in the eye that looks with bubbling joy at the present.
I feel as though I've got my mojo back. Another thing that helps is not taking on board other people's 'stuff'. The world will continue to do what the world will do without me getting caught up in the cruelty, stupidity and blindness of it all. I know we are all connected, that the Dallas shootings, for instance, somehow affect me directly but if I succumb to the negativity, does that help? Surely there is a way to feel for all those involved yet at the same time try see it with love and compassion, even the shooter whose mind must have been a horrible maelstrom of hate and negativity.
Admittedly I am not strong enough to cope with wave after negative wave. I've unsubscribed from many animal welfare sites and I avoid looking at graphic images or reading graphic accounts of horror. I know The Horror exists. That's enough. I know we need more love and I think we need more beauty. And I'm sure we need more laughter. Lots more laughter.
While being connected and part of All That Is, my tiny little mind can't grasp the enormity of it. What I can do is keep my own house in order. That's hard enough. Learning to live in changed circumstances and stay cheerful, optimistic, patient and kind is a big challenge for this selfish, impatient and too often spiteful person. It's a big challenge to my particular weaknesses and one I suspect I'll be working on until my last breath.
Yet it's not all guilt and failings and railing against present reality. I decided to retire from riding a couple of weeks ago. Had the farrier pull Balthazar's shoes. After a spell Balthazar needs to be ridden consistently, day after day, to help him get over separation anxiety. I just couldn't manage it. Consequently every ride was a challenge and definitely not fun for either of us. Balthazar turns 18 next month. I've been riding more or less consistently for 40+ years. For the past 5 I've ridden alone. I've no desire to compete so have no goals except to enjoy the bush by riding through it. As that seemed out of reach, I retired both of us.
As soon as I made that decision, I felt better. Had no idea I carried this burden of guilt because I wasn't being fair to Balthazar by getting him through the Separation Anxiety phase. Suddenly too, there is more time. And I'm not so tired either.
If I'd been listening, to myself as well as Balthazar, I'd have come to this decision sooner. Every day is different. Everything talking to me may as well be speaking Urdu if I'm not listening.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
America Yawns, Starts to Wake Up
I'm starting to feel proud to be an American again. Today the Democrats are staging a sit-in in the House to protest the lack of action concerning the accessibility of guns. To most of the world it seems a no brainer. Too many guns available to people who should not be allowed access to them. But in the name of the 2nd amendment, everyone, whether they are on a no fly list or not, should be allowed a gun.
But
The sleeping giant is waking up. Hypnotized too long by a combination of inertia, apathy and fear, the powers that be in Washington lay in thrall to the Right to Bear Arms cult, promulgated by the NRA to be as sacred as the Ten Commandments. But the 2nd amendment says more than the 'right to bear arms'. It starts with the words, a well-regulated militia. Not a free for all militia.
It also states: The fifth and last auxiliary right of the subject...is that of having arms for their defence, suitable to their condition and degree, and such as are allowed by law.
Suitable to their condition and degree. So a person on a terrorist watch or no fly list is suitable? I think not. I may not be the brightest LED light in the room but I feel pretty confident in saying a would be terrorist is not suitable gun ownership material.
I watched some of the live coverage from the House. It was wonderful. I don't know who was speaking, don't know what time of day or night it was, don't know the names of the gun victims whose photos were held up by other sit-in sittees were, but I do know, rather than cringing and feeling ashamed to call myself a Yank, I was proud.
It is a small step the Democrats are taking but they are taking that first step - and they ain't sleep-walking!
But
The sleeping giant is waking up. Hypnotized too long by a combination of inertia, apathy and fear, the powers that be in Washington lay in thrall to the Right to Bear Arms cult, promulgated by the NRA to be as sacred as the Ten Commandments. But the 2nd amendment says more than the 'right to bear arms'. It starts with the words, a well-regulated militia. Not a free for all militia.
It also states: The fifth and last auxiliary right of the subject...is that of having arms for their defence, suitable to their condition and degree, and such as are allowed by law.
Suitable to their condition and degree. So a person on a terrorist watch or no fly list is suitable? I think not. I may not be the brightest LED light in the room but I feel pretty confident in saying a would be terrorist is not suitable gun ownership material.
I watched some of the live coverage from the House. It was wonderful. I don't know who was speaking, don't know what time of day or night it was, don't know the names of the gun victims whose photos were held up by other sit-in sittees were, but I do know, rather than cringing and feeling ashamed to call myself a Yank, I was proud.
It is a small step the Democrats are taking but they are taking that first step - and they ain't sleep-walking!
Sunday, June 5, 2016
The Drumstick
Taking 15 minutes to start this blog. Of late I always seem to be doing something else. In 15 minutes we have to take the dogs for a walk. Otherwise, on this really miserable cloudy, cold and windy day (with the odd stinging rain added just to illustrate how truly awful the day is), we run out of daylight. No one likes plunging about in the mud (yes, we've had rain) in the dark. Especially me.
It's not as though I've not thought about posting. I've had blog soliloquies trailing words through my head. One began with the sight of a discarded drum stick lying on the sidewalk outside the gym. I was on the cross trainer. A nice place to think, anything to avoid the pain of the 30 seconds of going flat out torture that are endured in the hopes of getting fit. So I stared at the drum stick and the more I stared at it the sadder it looked.
It probably came from the local Kentucky Fried Chicken. Is there any good-sized town anywhere in the world that is KFC free? And that drumstick. Symbol of a short miserable life and the unremarked death of a living creature, whose remains, after being stripped of flesh, were tossed onto the sidewalk.
Not many people are lucky enough or interested enough to get to know a chicken. A chicken is a stupid animal, yes? Without intelligence, feeling, emotion or sensitivity. It eats, shits, squawks out some eggs, if it is lucky to live that long, and dies without a murmur. It is merely a commodity, created only to give it's life to us.
But of course that is the easy attitude. Reality is different. We indulge in species-ism. Humans are at the top of the species pyramid and every other creature was created to serve us either with their toil or with their lives. Or both. That is their fate. That is their obligation because they were not born human. And that ultimate sacrifice is our due. No matter how deserving or undeserving we might be. The most craven and despicable among us are Gods compared to a mere chicken.
Bloody awful it is too.
There is a video of a chicken being hugged by a young boy http://www.huffingtonpost.com.au/entry/little-boy-hugs-chicken_n_5173773.html?section=australia. The chicken not only initiates the hug but stretches her head along his shoulder while he strokes her back. The chicken is happy and, it's so apparent, loved and loving. So too the boy. This white chicken, wrapped in the arms of her boy friend, is not a commodity.
The discarded drumstick was a sad, tragic reminder of what we miss by refusing to see what miracles are in front of us if we will only open our eyes. It still makes me sad when I think of it. Sad? It breaks my heart - so I will end this now before I cry again for crying will not bring that chicken back. But at least I can salute her. And apologize for the ignorance and callousness of the human race.
It's not as though I've not thought about posting. I've had blog soliloquies trailing words through my head. One began with the sight of a discarded drum stick lying on the sidewalk outside the gym. I was on the cross trainer. A nice place to think, anything to avoid the pain of the 30 seconds of going flat out torture that are endured in the hopes of getting fit. So I stared at the drum stick and the more I stared at it the sadder it looked.
It probably came from the local Kentucky Fried Chicken. Is there any good-sized town anywhere in the world that is KFC free? And that drumstick. Symbol of a short miserable life and the unremarked death of a living creature, whose remains, after being stripped of flesh, were tossed onto the sidewalk.
Not many people are lucky enough or interested enough to get to know a chicken. A chicken is a stupid animal, yes? Without intelligence, feeling, emotion or sensitivity. It eats, shits, squawks out some eggs, if it is lucky to live that long, and dies without a murmur. It is merely a commodity, created only to give it's life to us.
But of course that is the easy attitude. Reality is different. We indulge in species-ism. Humans are at the top of the species pyramid and every other creature was created to serve us either with their toil or with their lives. Or both. That is their fate. That is their obligation because they were not born human. And that ultimate sacrifice is our due. No matter how deserving or undeserving we might be. The most craven and despicable among us are Gods compared to a mere chicken.
Bloody awful it is too.
There is a video of a chicken being hugged by a young boy http://www.huffingtonpost.com.au/entry/little-boy-hugs-chicken_n_5173773.html?section=australia. The chicken not only initiates the hug but stretches her head along his shoulder while he strokes her back. The chicken is happy and, it's so apparent, loved and loving. So too the boy. This white chicken, wrapped in the arms of her boy friend, is not a commodity.
The discarded drumstick was a sad, tragic reminder of what we miss by refusing to see what miracles are in front of us if we will only open our eyes. It still makes me sad when I think of it. Sad? It breaks my heart - so I will end this now before I cry again for crying will not bring that chicken back. But at least I can salute her. And apologize for the ignorance and callousness of the human race.
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