Our first Christmas in the Tweed. Just Richard and I. Not many presents either. We have our big present. We live here in this beautiful place. Nevertheless we did get each other presents; nice token presents; perfume for me, scotch whiskey for him. But the best present was what we did afterwards. We drove to Mt. Warning and walked up part of the track.
Old growth forests of any sort aren't common anymore so it is a thrill, a deep visceral thrill, to walk among ancient trees, to be a small being among old giants. It is a sacred place. The aborigines desire that Mt. Warning not be scaled but of course we don't respect that and people by the thousands climb it every year. I'm not sure I want to climb to the top. What I do want to do is follow the rainforest track until it ends and the cleared final section begins. We didn't do that on Sunday but I will one day soon.
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Saturday, December 17, 2016
In Sickness and In Health (nothing to do with marriage)
What a week. I've been sick. Talking about one's illness is boring so I won't except to say it took me an entire week to come to my senses and do something about it. And that something wasn't going to the doctor.
I come from a long line of Christian Scientists and although I don't consider myself a Christian and instinctively shy away from anything with Christian overtones (not because Christianity is inherently bad but because of the bad things done in its name), I do believe in the power of the mind, I do believe we are all spirit and that our spirit is essentially the same as the Great Spirit or Infinite Spirit or God from which everything has its being. And if I am that than I am capable of healing myself. So after a particularly excruciating morning in which I spent most of the time doubled over in pain I took myself off to bed. And then to the couch as the house painters were painting outside the bedroom.
I lay there and visualized the pain as a knot. I thanked it for its presence (after all I have lost 2 kilos!) and for what it came to teach me but now it was time to let go its grip and relax.
Cameron and his girls were coming. I had to be up (and straight up, not bent over groaning) and about before they arrived. And I was. By the time they came the pain had gone. I'm sore. Whatever it was, in the space of a week, left a bruised feeling but that's nothing. The cough is still here (an entirely separate affair?) but that too is nothing. And I'm working on that.
I am rereading In Tune with the Infinite by Ralph Waldo Trine. Finished it and started reading it again. It is chock a block with underlined words and sentences that held special meaning for Mom. In the back is written: Beauty: Eternal Spirit Truth Infinite Life Love. In fact, although the book doesn't especially emphasize beauty, Mom does. She reads the book with beauty in mind. To her it seems important to find the beauty in everything. She also wrote that sins were like mathematical mistakes made in ignorance. Once one knew better than one didn't make that mistake again.
Having done a little research (thank you Wikipedia - just did this years small donation) I have a bit better knowledge and appreciation of my roots through the maternal line. Apparently many of New Thoughts movers and thinkers in its early years were women. Grandma Hazel was a Christian Scientist and I believe Aunt Joanne was cured of a serious (incurable?) disease through Christian Science. So the female emphasis continues.
Unity Magazine used to be a daily part of my teenage life. I read it and liked it but wasn't really ready for it and even then I was put off by the Christian overtones. Didn't know that Unity Church also has its roots in New Thought.
I'm just grateful. Mom's emphasis was on beauty. Perhaps. Her artistic nature, necessarily dampened down by the life she led, found some release in the beauty of the everyday? I'm only guessing. I don't know. My daily emphasis seems to be in gratitude. Just so damn grateful to be alive to see the beauty in the every day. And to be pain free.
I come from a long line of Christian Scientists and although I don't consider myself a Christian and instinctively shy away from anything with Christian overtones (not because Christianity is inherently bad but because of the bad things done in its name), I do believe in the power of the mind, I do believe we are all spirit and that our spirit is essentially the same as the Great Spirit or Infinite Spirit or God from which everything has its being. And if I am that than I am capable of healing myself. So after a particularly excruciating morning in which I spent most of the time doubled over in pain I took myself off to bed. And then to the couch as the house painters were painting outside the bedroom.
I lay there and visualized the pain as a knot. I thanked it for its presence (after all I have lost 2 kilos!) and for what it came to teach me but now it was time to let go its grip and relax.
Cameron and his girls were coming. I had to be up (and straight up, not bent over groaning) and about before they arrived. And I was. By the time they came the pain had gone. I'm sore. Whatever it was, in the space of a week, left a bruised feeling but that's nothing. The cough is still here (an entirely separate affair?) but that too is nothing. And I'm working on that.
I am rereading In Tune with the Infinite by Ralph Waldo Trine. Finished it and started reading it again. It is chock a block with underlined words and sentences that held special meaning for Mom. In the back is written: Beauty: Eternal Spirit Truth Infinite Life Love. In fact, although the book doesn't especially emphasize beauty, Mom does. She reads the book with beauty in mind. To her it seems important to find the beauty in everything. She also wrote that sins were like mathematical mistakes made in ignorance. Once one knew better than one didn't make that mistake again.
Having done a little research (thank you Wikipedia - just did this years small donation) I have a bit better knowledge and appreciation of my roots through the maternal line. Apparently many of New Thoughts movers and thinkers in its early years were women. Grandma Hazel was a Christian Scientist and I believe Aunt Joanne was cured of a serious (incurable?) disease through Christian Science. So the female emphasis continues.
Unity Magazine used to be a daily part of my teenage life. I read it and liked it but wasn't really ready for it and even then I was put off by the Christian overtones. Didn't know that Unity Church also has its roots in New Thought.
I'm just grateful. Mom's emphasis was on beauty. Perhaps. Her artistic nature, necessarily dampened down by the life she led, found some release in the beauty of the everyday? I'm only guessing. I don't know. My daily emphasis seems to be in gratitude. Just so damn grateful to be alive to see the beauty in the every day. And to be pain free.
Monday, December 12, 2016
I've lost my eagle. That's what I dreamed. My eagle had flown away and I didn't know how I would get him back again. I tried to climb over a barbed wire fence but knew even as I struggled with the strands he was far far away and not coming back. I had a walkie talkie but it didn't matter who I spoke to, the eagle was gone.
I awoke with that dream in my head, feeling sad, feeling bereft. Feeling trapped, earthbound, inert, sluggish, all those gravity fed words.
So time to take myself in hand, once again. This dream reflects present perceived reality. Reality is more a series of chores and obligations with very little soaring. I am rarely alone, which is a bit hard to adjust to, or if I am, like now, I can expect a friendly query, 'What are you doing?'. Well meant but lethal.
Took a Natural History Illustration course through the University of Newcastle. A great kickstarter to getting some art done. Learned a lot too. Relearned some things as well. Happily some of the participants (about 600!) have started a group on facebook. They are still fleshing out the details but it seems it will be a place where assignments are given and feedback is received. I'm in. Have not one original creative idea in my head right now so best to keep the pencil going.
Even now, I've set the timer on the mobile to sit here for 30 minutes and write. To write anything and everything that comes to mind, just to get something going. A world of chores awaits; gardens to be worked, weeds to be chipped, painting to be done (A frame interior), enough chores to keep me going for a year. But I have to start choosing something like this. Just to keep my hand in.
Incidentally, doing a search of free university courses, there are quite a few for creative writing. Perhaps a creative writing course is something I could do in the future.
Sad news too. Both rainbow lorikeets have died. Found Yasi inert on the bottom of the aviary, the brand new roomy aviary. She almost seemed paralyzed. Didn't even try to take her to the vet. Fed her with a 1mm syringe. At first she seemed to want to eat but later it was obvious she did not, could not. Her eyes sank into her head, she was weaker and even more immobile. She was dead by evening.
Kept an eagle eye on her mate, Pablo. All seemed well. Two days ago, when I took the food and water in, he drank and drank and drank the water which was not a good sign. But he was eating, calling out to the wild birds, looking normal. Then yesterday morning, the feathers on top of his head were parted. Not like from an injury but almost as though either he wasn't preening or he got into something sticky like the grapes we put out on a wire every day for him.
Last night I thought he looked iffy. And he seemed a bit sluggish, a bit reluctant to move down the branch away from me, although he's always been semi-tame. His body shape seemed a bit unusual too, as though his crop was empty - but his food dish was mostly empty so he had been eating.
This morning he was dead on the bottom of the cage. No poopy behind, no funny smell, no sign at all of what went wrong. I've had the birds for years. I'd look up how long but my wild bird file seems to have gone walkabout. Yasi was named after Cyclone Yasi which made landfall in north Queensland in January 2011. Pablo had had several *friends* before Yasi. Birds that came good and were released.
Could have sent the body for autopsy and get a workup on bacteria etc. but know how expensive it can be with little result. The scalys seem bright and cheerful. Although their aviaries are near the rainbows, they don't have contact. Fingers crossed.
Saw a platypus yesterday. At the bottom of our street, two ponds are joined by a culvert. After rain the northernmost one sends a healthy stream of water to the southern one. We'd seen a turtle sunning himself on a concrete ledge a few days before so decided to sneak up and see if we could have another look without disturbing him. The turtle wasn't there but a platypus was. They are much smaller than I imagined. Thought of them as ferret sized but they seem to be just over a foot long, and that's including the tail.
We stayed and watched him for awhile. He leaves a trail of bubbles as he searches the bottom for edibles. How brilliant to have healthy waterways that can support a platypus and a turtle! On our street!
Phil has come and started painting the outside of the house. Finally we will be rid of the baby poo yellow and burnt orange. The former owner of the house is the nicest woman but our colour choices are very very different.
I awoke with that dream in my head, feeling sad, feeling bereft. Feeling trapped, earthbound, inert, sluggish, all those gravity fed words.
So time to take myself in hand, once again. This dream reflects present perceived reality. Reality is more a series of chores and obligations with very little soaring. I am rarely alone, which is a bit hard to adjust to, or if I am, like now, I can expect a friendly query, 'What are you doing?'. Well meant but lethal.
Took a Natural History Illustration course through the University of Newcastle. A great kickstarter to getting some art done. Learned a lot too. Relearned some things as well. Happily some of the participants (about 600!) have started a group on facebook. They are still fleshing out the details but it seems it will be a place where assignments are given and feedback is received. I'm in. Have not one original creative idea in my head right now so best to keep the pencil going.
Even now, I've set the timer on the mobile to sit here for 30 minutes and write. To write anything and everything that comes to mind, just to get something going. A world of chores awaits; gardens to be worked, weeds to be chipped, painting to be done (A frame interior), enough chores to keep me going for a year. But I have to start choosing something like this. Just to keep my hand in.
Incidentally, doing a search of free university courses, there are quite a few for creative writing. Perhaps a creative writing course is something I could do in the future.
Sad news too. Both rainbow lorikeets have died. Found Yasi inert on the bottom of the aviary, the brand new roomy aviary. She almost seemed paralyzed. Didn't even try to take her to the vet. Fed her with a 1mm syringe. At first she seemed to want to eat but later it was obvious she did not, could not. Her eyes sank into her head, she was weaker and even more immobile. She was dead by evening.
Kept an eagle eye on her mate, Pablo. All seemed well. Two days ago, when I took the food and water in, he drank and drank and drank the water which was not a good sign. But he was eating, calling out to the wild birds, looking normal. Then yesterday morning, the feathers on top of his head were parted. Not like from an injury but almost as though either he wasn't preening or he got into something sticky like the grapes we put out on a wire every day for him.
Last night I thought he looked iffy. And he seemed a bit sluggish, a bit reluctant to move down the branch away from me, although he's always been semi-tame. His body shape seemed a bit unusual too, as though his crop was empty - but his food dish was mostly empty so he had been eating.
This morning he was dead on the bottom of the cage. No poopy behind, no funny smell, no sign at all of what went wrong. I've had the birds for years. I'd look up how long but my wild bird file seems to have gone walkabout. Yasi was named after Cyclone Yasi which made landfall in north Queensland in January 2011. Pablo had had several *friends* before Yasi. Birds that came good and were released.
Could have sent the body for autopsy and get a workup on bacteria etc. but know how expensive it can be with little result. The scalys seem bright and cheerful. Although their aviaries are near the rainbows, they don't have contact. Fingers crossed.
Saw a platypus yesterday. At the bottom of our street, two ponds are joined by a culvert. After rain the northernmost one sends a healthy stream of water to the southern one. We'd seen a turtle sunning himself on a concrete ledge a few days before so decided to sneak up and see if we could have another look without disturbing him. The turtle wasn't there but a platypus was. They are much smaller than I imagined. Thought of them as ferret sized but they seem to be just over a foot long, and that's including the tail.
We stayed and watched him for awhile. He leaves a trail of bubbles as he searches the bottom for edibles. How brilliant to have healthy waterways that can support a platypus and a turtle! On our street!
Phil has come and started painting the outside of the house. Finally we will be rid of the baby poo yellow and burnt orange. The former owner of the house is the nicest woman but our colour choices are very very different.
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
Cat Ode, A Poem
Cat Ode
Four felines, eight chromatic orbs
Sixteen paws - lawless unlawed
Quatrains of tails, poetic prose
Posing.
A quartet of cats
inharmonious harmony
Oriental asymmetry
Kaffir confusion
On stage so we can see
Inharmonious poetry
No domestics these
A name they don to please
Us asleep, bed refugees
Killers of toes and whimsical foes
Black belts, black tails
Black pads, black masks
Adorable thieves
And flower faces
Wrinkled noses
Assiduously biting
Some microscopic imperfection
On a sculptured foreleg
Artful tyranny
Thank Bast!
Who needs TV
When they have we?
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Timing is Everything
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.
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.
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).
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