Follow That Man

Some hospitals have a bit of kit that allows friends and family to track the whereabouts of their loved ones that have been admitted to hospital. I’m not sure whether I like it. For example, when your True Love is in theatre, the app indicates this. However, it doesn’t tell you what is taking so long. Of course, as the anxiety builds and the hours stretch out, the tracker is prone to wondering what happens if the patient (the tracked) dies In Theatre? Fortunately, people come out of theatre sooner or later and when they do, the app indicates that the patient has Exited Theatre. It is left to the tracker to imagine in what condition the patient exited the theatre. When the last update occurs late in the evening, the tracker may have a certain reluctance to call the hospital for information given the hour.

Information provided to families with loved ones in a particular hospital advises that due to the Covid situation, visitors should consider the need to visit and encourages calling loved ones instead. The few times that I have been to hospital to be spliced open to remove wrigglers, I was groggy for days afterward so I do not think it would be at all wise to ring the tracked directly after surgery because clearly that person would be in recovery and not taking calls or back on ward and potentially indisposed, or worse. Having discussed this situation with the wrigglers, we can only presume that someone from the hospital would ring us if the patient was in a bad way or worse. There must be some limits to this app. Surely? Presumably?

All will be revealed. I guess. Tomorrow.

I need a song. I can’t think of a better one than Katie Melua singing If You Were A Sailboat.

I have turned off comments so that I can freak out.

Take care, everyone.

Kind Regards.
Tracy.

One Way Or Another

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.

This week, I had the great pleasure to attend Jo Shevchenko’s launch of her poetry chap book, Journey – A Cancer Story. Jo blogs at http://www.outofthecave.blog. What a talented poet and all round nice person Jo is. Not only did I meet Jo for the first time in person, but I also met her friends and family. They made me feel so welcome. I also want to make mention of one of Jo’s friends who has faced her own journey with cancer. She told me about a seven day, 25 kilometres per day trek she was planning. Awesome.

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Ho Hum Election Comes

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you. But first, a poem about the Australian Federal election campaign.

The less I say I about the election campaign,
the better. Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oi, oi. oi.
Three word slogan, “You’re gonna die.”
That’s four, but who’s countin’?
Stick that up your Pine Gap.

It’s excruciating, ladies and gentlemen, but at least we get to vote and afterwards, whinge about the result. Let’s listen to Flogging Molly performing The Worst Day Since Yesterday. Sing it with me.

Stay well, everyone, and sift your oats from your blarney.

Kind Regards.
Tracy.

NaPoWriMo #28
RDP Interlace

Choose Your Own Poison

Tracy (front) and her sister riding Lightning,1972
An image flickers like an old home movie across the screen.  
A young girl stands by an open fridge door drinking thirstily from a large bottle of Passiona.  A woman, her mother, appears in the background and chastises her daughter for drinking too much soft drink.  Too much Passiona.  Always Passiona.

"Drink water," the child's mother says.
But the child doesn't stop. 

Images flicker alternately between the child vomiting violently, and drinking from the bottle of Passiona, before vomiting again.  The child becomes thinner and thinner.  
Images of the wasting child flicker faster until she is nothing but a wisp of fetid Passiona air,  translucent and ephemeral as she drifts in and out of consciousness.

When I was a small girl, I lived on a rural property on the outskirts of Sydney. Every week, the soft drink man would deliver a crate of syrupy, carbonated drinks to the property. They were supposed to be a treat, but I couldn’t get enough of them. My favourite was a passionfruit-flavoured fizzy called Passiona. In the 50 years since I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, I have always craved carbonated fizzy drinks on those rare occasions when my blood glucose levels have been seriously high. It is worth noting that I became a Type 1 diabetic in the months after I recovered from a serious bout of the measles. Isn’t it fortunate that there are now vaccines to protect against many serious viruses that can trigger our immune systems to go into hyper drive and attack our own bodies?

The (optional) task for Day 14 of National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) is to write a poem/piece that takes the form of the opening scene of the movie of your life.

There’s more to this movie, but this is a start.

Take care, everyone.
Kind Regards.
Tracy.

NaPoWriMo #14
Ragtag Daily Prompt – Changeling

,

Not War

I have previously written about climate wars, culture wars, water wars and war wars, wars on rodents, waste, corruption, hunger and homelessness; the collapse of essential ecosystems; the persecution of climate activists, minorities and refugees; the jailing of protesters; and so on. I am not going to repeat myself here today. Instead, I would like to thank from the bottom of my heart, all those people who work tirelessly to keep us safe and who provide humanitarian aid in our darkest hours. They are the light that gives us hope.

Moving right along, it’s not a cat photo or video, but it is a reasonable substitute. I give you Ama and Makea. Enjoy.

Please, no more war writing and photography prompts, otherwise I will have to pull out the dead rat photo. If you have something to say on any of the topics above, say it anyway. It is always an important time to stand up for the issues that matter.

Mediate, not meditate, is my new favourite saying.

Kind Regards.
Tracy.

Hello Darkness

The theme for this week’s Lens-Artists Photo Challenge is Low Light. I thought I would join in. I enjoy low light photography. The words moody and dramatic spring to mind. It’s the realm of the arty farty, don’t you think? I like that word. Realm. I like arty farty too. Anyway, today I have four photos. The first three were snapped by my True Love (TL) and I took, and mucked around with, the fourth one. Please note that we don’t do mornings.

Kangaroo mob in the late afternoon.

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Love You, Miss You

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.

I’m dispensing with the big finale to 2021. I don’t have the energy for it. Congratulations if you survived 2021. Instead, I would like to dedicate my Friday song to my mum, who I haven’t seen for over three years. I hope to see my mum again next year.

The song I’ve chosen is Leo Sayer’s More Than I Can Say.

Say it loud, sing it often.

Take care, everyone.

Kind Regards.
Tracy.

Friday Joy

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you. What a week it has been. It has exceeded all my expectations! You don’t want to know.

Today I also want to recommend a couple of podcasts to my readers who might be looking for some entertainment over the hols. My True Love (TL) is a great fan of podcasts. I have difficulty coping with endless talking, but I think the constant exposure to his vast trove of podcasts has slightly re-wired my brain. This year, my TL particularly enjoyed Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History podcasts. As for me, I’ve always had a fascination with how we (humans) came to be, why we came to be and whether there are others like us (complex life) elsewhere in the universe. I’m currently watching the BBC documentary, Universe with Brian Cox. The more we learn about the universe, the more insights we can gain on our own world and on the philosophical and existential challenges for our future. On that theme, my TL suggested I listen to The End of the World with Josh Clark podcast series. I’ve just started listening to the latter but already the suspense is killing me. Maybe have a listen and we can discuss it next year.

I don’t know where I am going with this. Is this a wrap? Would I tease you? Of course, I would. Now, my TL thinks the only thing better than a ukelele orchestra performing Ode to Joy would be a class of first year recorder students performing it. Honestly, what’s wrong with the man! Here’s the Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain bringing the house down with Ode to Joy. Grab your uke (or recorder) and join in.

Finally, I want to thank all those wonderful people who have worked on the frontline of the pandemic this year, including health staff, clinicians, researchers, medical supply manufacturers, educators, community organisations, through to those who have picked, processed, packed and delivered our food and all those other essentials to our car boots and homes throughout the year. Unsurprisingly, given the explosive growth of the new Omicron variant, they are now busier than ever and more than likely, exhausted. We owe you a great debt.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Stay safe, stay sane.

Kind Regards.
Tracy.

Christmas Tale

The year that my sister, brother and I had our last Christmas together with our father, was probably the same year that my father bought a jet ski and a schmick new wetsuit to affirm his mid-life experiment. In keeping with the new purchases, he also rented a holiday house at the south coast over the Christmas/New Year holiday period. It was our first ever trip to, and holiday at, the south coast. Summer holidays at the coast are a Canberra tradition that was normally beyond our means. My father also paid for my brother and sister to fly down from Queensland for the festivities, the offer to pay the airfares alone being insufficient to bribe them to make the trip south.

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