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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Clyde, the evil cat, is asleep on the job, the rodent hunting job that is. He much prefers prey of the feathered variety. I can’t help losing my cool because my neighbour’s open compost pile next to our shared back fence, is a cafe for rodents. Consequently, our life has been hell. This is because our dogs are hunting dogs. They are rodent hunting dogs. They are completely obsessed with catching rodents, and being Finnish spitz, they are not quiet about it. I sometimes hear a scittering when I am in my outdoor art studio and I see occasional rodent excrement resting delicately on my tile stash. Anyway, my dog, Fynn, decided he could also hear and smell the little beasties in my studio.
My True Love (TL) eventually investigated and much to his surprise found a rodent in an upside down self-watering pot. Crafty bugger, the rodent, not my TL. Anyway, the rat had taken up residence in the small, dry water well of the pot. Luxury accommodation. I was there to witness the mayhem at its discovery. I might have even contributed to some of the mayhem. My TL tried to contain the beastie in the pot but there was nothing on hand to trap it and I was frozen in fright so I was no help. Anyway, a rat the size of small Toyota sailed clear over the rim of the pot, whereupon I found my voice once again. Unfortunately, Fynnie dog can’t unsee what he saw. He will never forget the day he saw that rat run under my tile shelves. He will tell us about it. Every. Single. Day.
I reckon we need a song about an evil cat, a lazy cat. This cat’s name was Bill. Let’s listen to Ami Williamson sing Bill’s song. It is the stuff of cat lore. I bet Bill wished he had kept his legs crossed and his mouth shut.
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.
Today I met up with friends for coffee. It was the first time we had coffeed for about six months due to Covid restrictions. It took me a while to engage my mouth again. It worked. 95.8% of Canberrans over 12 years of age are now double-vaxed so more and more restrictions are being removed. To our north, Sydneysiders are also achieving high vaccination levels. Hence, double-vaxed Sydneysiders can now travel to Canberra (Australia).
Anyway, my friends and I did some e-bike baby-sitting for a lady who had come down from Sydney. Unfortunately, I didn’t ask her name but I do know the name of her dog. It’s Evie and Evie is a miniature Schnauzer. The two of them decided to hire an e-bike and go for a ride. Evie rode pillion in her mum’s backpack. It was Evie’s first time riding pillion. She was a little champion. Naturally, I had to take a couple of photos.
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.
There was a huge commotion in the backyard late this afternoon. Birds were screeching. Ama launched herself at high speed hoping to join the fray. My True Love beat her to it. One of the three magpie chicks had caught its wing in the dog fence, possibly trying to escape our big dog, Makea. Maybe the chick was already trapped before Makea arrived on the scene to complicate matters. The other magpies were screeching overhead and swooping to fend off the attackers. My True Love untangled its wing and popped it over the dog fence but it was injured and unable to fly.
In Canberra, we have this marvelous system where all vets provide a community service by treating injured wildlife. I was in two minds about whether to separate the maggie chick from its family and take it to the vet. It was pouring rain, the little bird was sodden and hurt, and of course, there was Clyde, our neighbour’s evil, cat to worry about. So My True Love and I reluctantly boxed it up and took it in. All going well, the chick should go to the wildlife carer tomorrow before being released back in the vicinity when it fully recovers. We hope its parents accept it back into the family again.
We are all in shock. We wonder whether we are now off the magpie family’s Christmas card list and will become swooping targets in future. Maybe the chick will become a swooper due to the trauma. Maybe I shouldn’t worry so much about evil Clyde and worry more about my own evil hounds. It is notable that Fynnie, our male dog, remained inside during all the commotion. As far as he is concerned, traipsing around in the rain is strictly for the birds.
How shattered ma and pa magpie must be right now! It breaks my heart. What song could possibly convey that? I dunno, but I am going with Lullaby of Birdland, performed by Andrea Motis, Joan Chamorro, Scott Hamilton and Ignasi Terraza (the latter playing a very special introduction).
Welcome to my regular (and early) 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. Today, I am going to get nostalgic.
I can’t remember a time when the house wasn’t dilapidated. The house sat upon tall timber pylons three storeys high, but there was nothing underneath it. The story goes that there were plans for a shop below the house but those plans never came to fruition. To the passerby, it might have looked like a giant birdhouse. This was fitting because two older ladies lived in that house. The younger was my grandmother, the elder was her mother, my great grandmother. My grandfather lived up the road. That was odd, but odd is normal for us.
Reflections of An Untidy Mind 