A woman may not

go to high school or university...so begins the lengthy list of things a woman may not do in Afghanistan under the Taliban.

"It does not have logic," a refugee told me. She was looking at the coffee a friend had just bought for her but I doubt she was seeing it.  A... left Afghanistan almost five years ago. Her English is a little stilted at times but it is good because she went to school there and was taught English. She had dreams of becoming a doctor. Next year she will, with any luck, begin to pursue that dream again. It is something she thought might never happen but she did not give up hope.

I won't give up hope for her either but we talked about the other things Afghan women are no longer permitted to do. Getting an education is one of the things that worries A... the most. 

In order to get an education there are other restrictions which would also have to be lifted.  Women are no longer permitted to go anywhere outside their homes alone. They cannot drive a car or take a trip in a taxi. They must be chaperoned by a male member of their family at all times.

If they visit a doctor, who must of course be a male, they must go with their husband or a male member of the family. They may not speak to the doctor. They can only speak through the family member. A male doctor may not touch a female patient. This must make it almost impossible for a doctor to treat a patient.  All this does indeed "lack logic". Presumably Afghanistan still has enough trained women from the previous regime to deal with at least some of the needs of women.

Recently there was another slew of restrictions places on women. They may not sing. They may not speak in public and must not raise their voice at home. They may not read the Koran aloud outside the house. Women must cover themselves in dark clothing and not show their faces in public. They cannot play sport or even take their children to a park or playground.

I went to university with a Saudi princess. Saudi Arabia still has some very repressive laws with respect to women but that girl had a father who was, in many ways, progressive even all that time ago. Her father and I had a chat one day as he was waiting for her to come out of a lecture. He was a pleasant and interesting man who wanted to see change. He had sent all his children abroad to further their education. It is likely he is long dead but I suspect that the restrictions on Afghan women would appal him. They would not make sense.

How do you manage the health of women under the restrictions being imposed? How do you provide all the services needed if they cannot educate the young, care for the sick and elderly and so much more? Who fills all the roles that women still fill in society? Here we have some men demanding they be allowed to be treated as if they are women. We talk about "respecting their right" to do that. In Afghanistan they would be put to death for even speaking about such things. Here we worry about the issues surrounding abortion. In Afghanistan women must be worrying about getting even basic health care. It would be particularly so for the girls who have not been given even the most basic of instruction when they are forcibly married to men they have not met before their wedding day. 

It is time we looked a little further afield and saw what his happening in places like Kabul and beyond. The women there have some very real issues to be concerned about. Some of them are concerned with their actual survival.  I want A... to be able to go back one day and be a doctor in the country she was born in.  Is that too much to ask? 

"Would you mind an upgrade?"

There is currently a story doing the rounds about the Downunder Prime Minister getting "free" upgrades to the best seats on aircraft. It is said he actually phoned a mate who just happened to be the CEO of the air line in question and asked for these.

If true then it is wrong. It would appear to be true as the Prime Minister is avoiding answering the question. It will be even worse if this in anyway influenced a refusal to another air line for more flights in and out of the country. 

Air fares here, particularly fares overseas, are expensive. They have always been expensive. We have long distances to travel.  Planes are expensive to buy and the cost of aviation fuel is too.  This is one reason why I have not been on a plane for thirty-five years. Still, I hope to go on one sometime in the not too distant future.

Will I get an upgrade? It is very unlikely, so unlikely that I am more likely to be hit by lightning or have someone buy me the winning lottery ticket.

But...I did have an upgrade once. I was checking in when the person behind the counter asked me to step aside.  I remember feeling rather anxious about this. I had a valid ticket and a valid passport and.... what was wrong?

A few minutes later I was quietly asked, "Would you mind an upgrade? Economy is overbooked but there is a seat in business. You can have that at no extra expense."

I took it of course. It was the sensible thing to do. I sat next to a very senior someone in the government of the day.  He asked, in a sort of polite but bored way, what I was doing there. It was the end of conversation until, some hours later, food appeared. He ate my bread roll...and asked more questions. He asked a lot of questions.  I did not agree with his politics but did not say anything. Our conversation was quite useful later.

I think I did earn that upgrade in the end but I still wonder what the bread rolls taste like.

"He died this morning"

the writer said and then went on to say, "I don't want sympathy. I don't even know why I am tweeting this."

I am not sure how the "tweet" even came to be in my timeline but it was there. It appears to be from a legitimate account, from a man whose son had the worst sort of brain tumour. 

Why would he write it? Why would he write it if he wasn't looking for sympathy? What's the point?

There is a point of course. We need to know about some of these things sometimes. We don't need to know about all of them all of the time but we do need to know sometimes. Knowing about all of them all of the time would be more than our mental health could handle. Is knowing about some of them some of the time good for us? I suspect it is. Perhaps that is why such things sometimes creep into our timelines, on to the printed page or into the airwaves.

We need to know about another family who have just lost a son in a freak accident, a family who may yet lose a daughter as well. This was no "crash" caused by inattention on the part of the father. Someone ahead of him had hit an emu. 

Our need to know is not because it is good or right or proper to dwell on these things but because we need to be reminded of the value of life, our lives and the lives of those around us. These things are a reminder to be aware of those around us.

Yesterday I had an unexpected string of visitors. I was only expecting one. He came to pick up several items from the shed. I had not met him before. He was pleasant enough but not seeing him again will not bother me. As he arrived so did someone I really do not know well. She knows I am moving of course. Was there anything she could take to the charity shop on her way through? I passed over a bag of things that were labelled "useful but do not keep". 

Then my new neighbour called in and offered to take me somewhere I need to go next weekend. I declined because I have made other arrangements but I wished I did not need to leave this address when I have neighbours like that. 

Mid afternoon and Middle Cat came with someone who was taking more from the shed. G... is a "handyman" and sympathised over the size of the job. 

While they were here S... arrived. She had half an hour to spare. What could she do to help? We loaded more books into her car and two more bags for the other charity shop closer to her home. 

When they were all gone I sat down for a moment to make another list. The house was quiet, almost too quiet. I went outside for a moment...and there was another visitor. This time though the visitor was avian not human. The little willy-wagtail sat within two metres of me. We looked at each other before it darted in to pick some more of the cobweb I have deliberately left for nest building. Most of the cobweb has now been used. I know I should clear the rest away but how can I? A visitor is using it...and I am lucky to have such visitors. 

It is also why I need to reach out to someone else.  

Making bread

is something I have done often - but only in a bread machine. I have never succeeded in kneading dough well enough by hand. My paws are simply not large enough or strong enough. Yes, I know there are "no knead" recipes around but they are not the same.

Our first bread machine came to us because my friend I... made her own bread. She used a machine. It was something she had bought to try and save money. In her case it did because she used the machine on alternate days. Her children knew that having bread in the house depended on them making sure it was used and cleaned.  Her family ate well on a very limited budget.

As I..'s family grew older and left home less bread was made but there was always fresh, hot bread if we went to visit. The Senior Cat really enjoyed that bread. 

"We should get a machine and do it too," he told me after Mum died. I hesitated. They are expensive to buy and the kitchen is tiny. Then I... phoned and said she had seen one in a second hand store. It looked almost new and there was, wonder of wonders, a short guarantee that the thing actually worked. At one tenth of the price of a new machine I asked her to get it. Next time she came out to us she brought it with her. It was the same make and model as hers. She gave me tips and I began to make bread. 

We did not eat a lot of bread but it was good to have, especially in winter when we could toast the resultant loaves to have with soup. At last I could make the heavy full grain bread the Senior Cat loved so much.

Sometimes I added one extra ingredient and sometimes I added another. I would put in extra pepitas or sunflower seeds. At other times I would add a cup of chopped walnuts. There were other things we tried as well. Very rarely I would leave the bread mix as it was or try a loaf with white flour. I took out some of the flour and added cornmeal. I took out a cup of the bread mix and added rye flour instead. The Senior Cat suggested things.

That bread machine finally gave up but it had more than paid to have it. The Senior Cat searched the internet and found a new machine. Phew! We had home made bread again. 

I always made the bread until he went into the nursing home. He told me quietly the bread there was "like soggy paper". I bought the very heavy German rye bread for him and the staff were good enough to make sure he had that for breakfast. The loaves are tiny and it keeps well so he would finish one before it went mouldy. 

At home I stopped making bread because I ate so little of it. I bought bread from the bakery. It is more expensive there but it is much better than what is available in the supermarket. I can freeze half the loaf.  When W... comes for lunch, as she does each month, I make bread if I need it. I make it for other special occasions. On Christmas day I am expected to provide a loaf made with white flour and cornmeal and cheese. It was an accidental combination but one of my nephews grumbles I do not make it often enough because it makes good toast.

Yesterday I was standing in the kitchen with Middle Cat and we were looking at what else needs to be packed.

"Are you going to take the bread machine?" she asked. 

I thought not. I won't have as much space wherever I go I told her.

Apparently this was not the right answer, "You know you really do need to take it. We need it and you know I haven't got any room for it."

I suspect it will get packed - and used.  

The "self-service checkout " at one

of the local supermarkets has just two machines. One has not worked for over a year. The other blinks on and off occasionally.

Nobody seems to be very concerned about this. I have not heard anyone complain. Even the man who rushed in on Friday to pick up milk before heading into his office did not complain. Instead he simply cheerfully thanked the girl behind the "quick" counter and rushed off again. It has been a very long time since I saw anyone using the available machine.

At the other end of the shopping centre there is a second supermarket. There are about eight self check out machines there. A member of staff is always posted there. Ostensibly their role is to "assist" people who are having problems. 

I have never used these machines. I have in fact never used a self-service checkout. Yes, I probably could work out how to do it but even in one of the big chain stores which sells clothing and haberdashery I have meekly gone up to the person supervising and got some help. I tried using a machine once but you needed a steadiness of paw I do not have and I failed. Is that what put me off?

No. What puts me off is that you pay just the same amount for what you are buying even if you do the work yourself. Supermarket prices have risen dramatically, especially since Covid. At the same time staff numbers have gone down. There are far more "own brand and made in China" items on the shelves than before but prices have gone up. I went hunting for something on Friday. I found it tucked away. The packet is now fifteen percent smaller and the price is twenty percent more. The own brand substitute  is smaller still in quantity - but the packet is the same size. At least it is local. In the supermarket with multiple self serve stations there is a different brand. It comes from China. It costs even more. Self service is not saving us money.   

Outside the supermarket I prefer I sometimes see the permanent staff going in and out to their shifts. They will always acknowledge me. I know their names and some of them know mine. If I need help to reach the top shelf and one of them is around I know I can ask and they will help without hesitation. I know the students who work there. In the library yesterday one of them stopped me and asked a question about his work as he prepares for an exam. It makes me feel useful.

I would rather wait a minute, even two minutes and be served by a person. I want to know that I have paid the correct amount for those things which need to be weighed. I want to make sure if I buy two of something that I actually pay for both of them. I can ask for a receipt and even pay with "real" money if I feel so inclined.  No, self service is not saving money. It is just isolating us even more than before.  

The call for "reparations"

is, at best, misguided. It fails to understand or acknowledge history.

May I suggest it is time to study history? No, people won't do that. It won't give them a reason to demand reparations now. There will be no money in it.

My ancestors invaded Scotland before Scotland was Scotland. My surname comes from the Norse word for "war".  Does that mean that the people who were living in what is now Scotland should be able to sue the Norwegians for reparations? 

Put like that it sounds ridiculous doesn't it? Is it really so different for anywhere else? How likely is it that some Pictish chief "sold" a woman into "slavery" for his own benefit? Did they ever negotiate a treaty with the invaders? Who took what out of it? 

Take a look at Africa, particularly western Africa. The British did not simply sail there, round up whoever happened to be wandering around and cart them off to England or America. No, they bought people from "kings" and "chiefs" - people who were powerful and already wealthy. Those enslaved were often seen as "criminals" because they had broken harsh laws in their own countries - in much the same way as people were transported to this country. The countries on the modern maps did not even exist then.

And yes of course it was wrong, very wrong, that there were others who made still more money selling people on to plantation owners who also exploited them and failed to give them respect, care and consideration as human beings. I am not making excuses here but I am suggesting there might be more to the story that is told when demanding "reparations".

There is a "stolen generation" story in this country. It is a story which suggests hundreds upon hundreds of indigenous children were forcibly taken from their families. They were, it is said, abused and made to follow "white" ways of life. There was a Royal Commission which seemed to confirm all the horrors we were told about in the media. We were told all this was worse than the story of the convicts and even of the slave trade. 

Nobody seems to want to mention that children were willingly sent off to get an education or that they were mixed race and being rejected by both sides of their families. Yes, some of them were very badly treated if we judge their care by modern standards. In many instances they were being cared for by the standards of the day and the expectations of them were also judged by the standards of that day. There is a complete failure to acknowledge the slave trade to the north of us in what is now Indonesia. 

I don't want to suggest there was nothing wrong in the past. There is an awful lot wrong in the past, especially viewed through today's glasses. That said all the calls for reparations and treaties and truth telling seem to me to be more about "what's in it for me" than any real concern about the past. It is a grievance industry which is unlikely to satisfy those making the most noise. Their lives have purpose while these things are not settled. They will need another cause if they get what they say they want.  

Surely it would be much better if we concentrated on the future, not the past? 

What makes someone want to be

a missionary? 

I am no closer to understanding that today than I was yesterday. Yes, I went to another funeral yesterday. I suppose I am getting to "that age" where funerals are becoming more frequent, especially in the generation above me. 

R... would have been just old enough to be my mother. I knew her for many years. Her husband taught with the Senior Cat at a time when they were both assistant teachers in a big primary school. Their careers took different paths, very different paths. The Senior Cat went on up the teaching path and B... turned to the Church of England. He married R...

I often wondered whether R... had any inkling of what they would take on. I suppose she could be described as one of the genuinely "good" people in this world. She started out as a teacher too but her real role in life was that of "mother" - and not just mother to her own children. They had four children of their own and went off to Africa as missionaries. 

The youngest of their children gave the family eulogy yesterday. She recalled being sent three hundred miles to boarding school at the age of seven because her parents were doing missionary work in a remote area. She spoke of how her mother made the long journey each half term to see her four children at school. She spoke of all the other things her mother did, how they gave up a room in their own small home to another missionary nurse when the promised accommodation did not eventuate. Her mother fed people, taught people, cared and comforted for people.

Yes, I suppose I admired her for all that. R... came to a talk I once gave at a church. I started out by asking everyone in the room to stand up...and they did of course. I then explained what I was going to talk about. I told them I was going to try and make them understand why it is so important to understand at least some of the language being spoken around you.  As I finished saying that I added, "Tafadhali kuketi cini". I waited and only R... sat down. I knew she had understood. I had just said "Please sit down" in Swahili.  (No, I do not speak Swahili. I wish I did. I know a few words and my late friend C... had told me how to say that for the occasion.) I knew it was very unlikely that anyone apart from R... would understand and it made the point. 

And R... rose to the occasion in two ways. She stood up again and said, "Cat has just asked us to sit down - in Swahili. I think it was a was a wonderful way in which to make us all understand what she will be talking about."

R... spoke fluent Swahili. B...did too. He says his is a little "rusty" now. After the service I spoke to the youngest child, a woman about ten years younger than I am. All I had to say was one word, the Swahili word "thank you" - "asante". She gave me a warm hug and murmured the response, "Asante sana".  At some point we will sit and talk about how it was for her as a child. Neither of us will understand how it was for her mother to go as a missionary to a country that is not safe - and was even less safe then. 

I cannot understand that level of commitment at all. I cannot understand that level of faith or belief. It seems to me there are very few people who do. 

R...and B... spent more than twenty years in Africa over two terms.  When we talked about it I think they felt the aid workers I work with were not truly committed. They saw them more as people who go in and out for their own benefit as much as the benefit of the community they go to help. That would not be true but R... and B... did not face the same restrictions. They took their children and one of the first rules the micro-aid worker is, "You don't take the children with you...or even your partner unless they are essential to the role." Micro-aid workers go in and out as quickly as possible. They are not there to socialise or develop relationships. They are there to do a specific job - and they must then leave. In many ways it takes the same level of commitment. They often take unpaid leave or use their holidays to do something...and it often involves personal expenses that are not tax-deductible donations to charity. 

For all that I know R...and B... believed in what they were doing when they went. They supported many of the people I have worked with over the years. Their knowledge of Swahili has sometimes been useful.

And, just once in a while, teaching other people the real meaning of "please sit down...and listen" was invaluable. I won't be able to go in and have R... ask if I want a mug of tea again but any time I go past their old house I will say a quiet, "Asante".

 

Tim Tams have been

"trending" on X. Really?

If you live Elsewhere you might even be asking, "What is a Tim Tam?"  

Upoverites will understand if I say they are much the same as Penguins - the biscuits, not the bird.  They are a Downunder institution. They may not be quite as popular as Vegemite (the Downunder salty spread which is similar to Marmite but definitely not the same thing) but Tim Tams are definitely a Downunder "thing".

I buy one packet a year - for my cousin. He likes to tell you they are named after him...not that they are. Tim Tams cannot be considered "food". They are thick rectangles of two layers of chocolate biscuit filled with something very sweet and very gooey. These layers are them covered in thick chocolate - all over, even the base. The chocolate has something waxy in it to try and stop it melting too much in the summer. They now come in a variety of "flavours" in the filling but they were originally simply chocolate. They are sugar and fat and the worst sort of carbohydrate.  They are not food.

Tim Tams seem to take up a lot of space in the biscuit aisle of the supermarket.  I have noticed this in a vague sort of way as I prowl past to the things I need. My cousin will shortly arrive from Upover and I will buy the required packet for him but, until then, they are of no interest to me or...wait! Why are they trending on "X"? 

I looked. They have doubled in price since I last bought them? How could they possibly double in price? 

I know the price of everything has risen so much this year that even the most basic things must now seem out of reach to some people. In recent weeks it seems that some things have suddenly risen dramatically in price. I am not too worried about things like Tim Tams or other chocolate biscuits or chocolate itself. I am more concerned about better bread and bananas or broccoli. Last year my preferred brand of bread was $3.90 but now it is $5.70. Will it be $7.60 this time next year? I can make a loaf last a week but I know families where one loaf is gone at breakfast time...and then another for lunch and after school snacks. 

How long would a packet of Tim Tams last such a family? Research suggests there are just nine biscuits in the packet and that would be just one and a half biscuits each. Could they afford it as weekly treat? 

No, we probably do not want people eating too many Tim Tams in place of actual food but people must like them or they would not sell. I am still not sure why they sell. The Senior Cat preferred Mint Slice but even then it could take him weeks to actually eat the entire packet.

And me? Well I still say Tim Tams are not a patch on Penguins and I was not that keen on Penguins...the biscuit sort of course. I have yet to meet the real thing.  

Changing the way we vote

is a conversation we need to have in this country.

I am not talking about which party we vote for or even which individual. That is entirely your affair. I do not want to know who you vote for or why you vote for them. 

My concern is about something rather different. It is of particular concern after the most recent events. Yesterday's blog post mentioned a Senator I, and many others, believe is not fit to hold the office of Senator. How did she get there?

Contrary to the belief of many people she did not get there because people marked her as a "one" on their ballot papers. There were only a very small number of people who did that, so small that she would not even have had her deposit returned to her. (The deposit is made to try and ensure candidates are serious about their intentions. If you achieve enough votes the money is returned even if you do not succeed.)

No, this Senator managed to achieve a place through what are known as "compulsory preferences". These need to be investigated.

As I have pointed out elsewhere in this blog there is no actual requirement to vote in this country. Yes, it is put to us that "voting is compulsory". Even the Electoral Commission tells us that. The reality is that there is a legal requirement to "attend the ballot box"  unless given a postal vote or legal reason to abstain from voting. There is a legal requirement to be on the electoral roll once you reach a point where you will be old enough to vote (eighteen) on your next birthday too. You are supposed to "mark" the ballot paper you receive but in the privacy of that little enclosure nobody can be sure you do. It would be foolish to waste the opportunity though wouldn't it?

The problem after that is as follows. There will almost always be more than one candidate. There may be many candidates. I think there were seven in this electorate at the last state election. In order for a vote to be valid the candidates all need to be numbered in order - in this case from one to seven. It does not matter if you do not want any of the other candidates. You put a "one" next to your candidate of choice and then go on until you have numbered all the boxes in order. 

We are told that this is fair and reasonable and that it prevents run off votes and more. No, it isn't fair or reasonable and it most certainly is not desirable because it is compulsory. It is the compulsion which is wrong. While there are perhaps grounds for making attendance at the ballot box compulsory there are no grounds at all for compelling people to make a second choice in order to have their first choice count. This "compulsion" can be manipulated, some would say "rigged".

Of the seven candidates on the ballot paper for this electorate there was one each from both the major parties. Most of the votes would go their way. That was bound to happen. There was no highly popular rogue candidate. After that there was someone from "the Greens" and their preferences would flow heavily towards the leftist candidate. There were two very minor party candidates and there were two "independent" candidates. The problem is that the latter were not "independent" at all. They were there to ensure the preferences flowed to a major party candidate. It worked of course. It works all the time. People win a seat on preferences.

Voting for the Senate is even more complex.  There are "quotas" to fill. You can also vote "above the line" for a party" or "below the line" for individual candidates. Thorpe actually had just 1.05% of first preference votes as a Greens candidate. Seven months later she left the party to sit as an independent. She is there for a full six year term and it seems nothing can be done about it. 

It is no secret that I have no time for the Greens. I have read their policy manifesto more than once and see much of it as dangerous nonsense which would be impossible to implement. At the same time I believe that they put the time and money into getting Thorpe elected and she should not have been able to use them in that way. The same could be said of any other elected member who deserts the party which helped them win office.

There needs to be a change to our electoral system. We need to ensure preferences at very least are voluntary. It would reduce the ability to manipulate the outcome. We also need to ensure that people who are elected cannot desert the party which put the time and money in to helping them get there. If you want to resign from the party go back to the electorate and get their permission to do it. There would be more than one way of doing that. 

It is time to start thinking about these things - or we could be dealing with more people like Thorpe. 

Senator Lidia Thorpe is

not fit to be a Senator. I am sorry to have to say it but I genuinely believe she is not fit to hold the position of Senator in our national parliament.

Thorpe entered the Senate as a "Green" and on preferences. She is, unless there is a double dissolution, there for a full term. It would be almost impossible to remove her.  It is also possible that removing her would give her even more firewood and oxygen than she has now. The media gives her far too much attention.

Her outburst yesterday at the reception for King Charles was not only extremely rude but very embarrassing. No matter how strongly you feel about an issue this is not how you behave as a representative of the people who have elected you. If you do not want to recognise a king as your monarch then you do recognise him as an invited guest in your country and behave accordingly. It is particularly the case when that person has been here before, indeed lived here for some months, and has a genuine and obvious affection for the country.

I suspect King Charles is not well. He does not look well. There is possibly more to the cancer and the cancer treatment than we are being told. To shout and scream at anyone is unacceptable but to do it to someone in that position is to show absolutely unacceptable behaviour. I saw this happen to someone else I once knew. He was a good, caring man and what he went through was also unacceptable and embarrassing for all concerned. I relived that yesterday and felt the same level of extreme discomfort.

There should be a means to remove a Senator who behaves as Thorpe did. She is not going to change. She is someone who has made a career out of "being aboriginal" even though at least half of her ancestry is not aboriginal at all. It comes from the very people she claims to hate so much. Perhaps that is the very reason she is so committed to her cause. To be otherwise might raise uncomfortable questions for her. 

It is unlikely that Thorpe will even be censured in the Senate chamber. To do that would just give her fuel for her imagined cause. I do wish however the media would stop giving her any time or space. It might dampen her hatred just a little.  

Picasso's "child with a dove"

was a painting chosen by my mother. It has hung on the wall in the living area ever since. 

No, of course it is not the original. It is supposed to be a very accurate reproduction. I am not sure why it is still there. It is a picture the Senior Cat did not particularly like and I feel much the same way about it.  It has never felt quite right to me although I am not sure why I feel like that.

Middle Cat asked me if I want to take it with me when I move. The answer is, "No." I doubt I would have wall space for anything other than the things I want the most. 

I considered the other things we have hanging and they mean more to me.  There are the two big pencil drawings of St Mary's church in Saffron Walden. The church itself is of no particular significance but they are original drawings done by a late friend. He was my art-lecturer in teacher training college.  He had no religious beliefs so they were an extraordinary subject for him to choose, especially as they give out a sense of calm and quiet. There is one of the exterior and another of the interior. The design of that church heavily influenced the design of St Peter's Cathedral which overlooks this city. I want to take those with me. Where I will find room for them I do not know but I hope there will be wall space somewhere.  

There is another pencil sketch, a portrait of me. This was also done by my friend. It is in the room which was the Senior Cat's bedroom. Middle Cat says I should take it with me. Perhaps. I cannot imagine hanging it anywhere people could actually see it. 

Then there is the water colour sea scape done by someone my maternal grandmother knew. I recognise it is "good" but, much as I love the sea, I don't think I want to live with it. I prefer the water colour done by Middle Cat. It shows a typical mid-north farm house under a stormy sky.  That will go back to her. One of her boys will hang it one day.

I prowl on. There is the sepia pen and ink drawing of the old woman which Middle Cat likes. I will be happy to hand that over because I think I would prefer to keep the small pen and ink drawing of John Knox's house in Edinburgh. It was done by my paternal great-grandfather when on leave from his ship and given to his then future wife.

And then, high above one of the bookcases, there is "the cat". It is long and thin. The cat has a knowing expression on his face as he looks as if he has just knocked down one precious plate and the other plate in the picture might be next.  This was done by a late friend too. Her mother gave it to me after the funeral. "Cat, she wanted you to have this."  It was unframed at the time and getting it framed was a nightmare. I need that picture. It says a lot to me.

But if I could keep just one thing I do not know if it would even be a painting or a drawing. I would want a photograph. Choosing which one would be hard, very hard. The wedding photograph of my parents? The wonderful photograph of the Senior Cat in gardening clothes? The photograph of my paternal grandfather's family when young? The one of my paternal grandmother's family on the front verandah of the farm house?

Or would it be the photograph of my paternal great-grandmother on her eighty-fifth birthday - because, without her, I would not be here to write this.  

Not enough volunteers?

Apparently our federal government is about to run a campaign trying to encourage young people to volunteer. It is being done because so many organisations which depend on volunteers are short of people willing to donate their time.

Why? I suspect there is more to this than people simply being unwilling to volunteer. I also know that some organisations simply would not exist at all without volunteers doing most of the work. Our local charity shop has one paid employee and that employee earns very little. There is more there than a simple shop. At one end there is the food van which goes out to feed the homeless. At the other end there is a storage facility where donations are also accepted. In the middle there is a school uniform shop for the local Catholic schools, the book shop and the usual clothes and "bric-a-brac".  It is also a place where welfare recipients are sent for all sorts of help. 

I don't volunteer there on a regular basis but I have sometimes had a call from someone there, "Cat I have someone here who has left their glasses at home. I haven't got time to help them. Can you come in for a few minutes." Translated that means "I have someone here who cannot read or write. They need some confidential help filling out forms and it might take an hour...or more." I go if I can and I sort out whatever I can. I have directed people towards more help - often from yet more "volunteers".  All of them are older people, often much older. There was one woman who worked there into her nineties. Quite a number are in their eighties now.

Where are the young people? I would like to say they are at work and that is perhaps true for many of them. There is more to it than that however. 

Volunteering used to be simple. Some help was needed and a call went out. People volunteered. It is no longer that simple.

You need to apply to be a volunteer. You will need at least one reference, possibly just a verbal one from someone already volunteering at the location but still a reference. You will need to have a "police check". Volunteers do not need to pay for these but they must be kept up to date. That is paperwork. Most of us have nothing to hide but it is still an intrusion on our privacy that was not needed in the past.

Then there is the "OHS training" and that must be kept up to date. As there is with one of my roles there might be a certificate of completion involving a test. Mine requires a 100% on the test. Most of the test has absolutely nothing to do with the sort of work I do in that location but it still has to be done.

In some roles there are first aid requirements and that means attending other courses and completing other requirements. This is even before you consider being a volunteer in some areas.

Of course if you want to volunteer as a fire fighter or an emergency service worker to clear debris then you need to attend (and go on attending) training sessions. Volunteer for Meals on Wheels and you may find yourself delivering the meals using your own vehicle at your own cost. This is only after the people in the kitchen have gone through rigorous training in order to prepare the meals.

There are other costs associated with volunteering. They are costs some people simply cannot afford. Time is just one thing. Transport is another. The ability to commit on a regular basis over a long period is another. 

We used to rely on "stay-at-home" mothers to run the school canteen. That was probably reasonably simple when it was a matter of pies, pasties, sausage rolls, buns and rolls or sandwiches. Now the nature of the offerings has changed and the facilities need to reach such high standards volunteers are scarce. Cubs and Brownies, Scouts and Guides, church youth groups, sports and more all need to be aware of "cultural sensitivities" and "gender issues". It is all done to an extent where volunteering is fraught with dangers and people simply will not volunteer. They will not volunteer for their own safety and because there is always the risk of abuse from parents or false accusations being made if you upset someone.

The nature of volunteering has changed and the government needs to recognise that. Are there ways to make it less onerous to actually volunteer?

 

This is illegal

but people will keep doing it. They are addicted.

Apparently cigarettes now cost $40 or more a packet in this country and smokers are objecting. They are turning to illegal tobacco sources instead.

If the reports in the media are correct then there are an increasing number of arson attacks on the legal tobacco outlets. They are in the grip of the criminal gangs who have moved in to provide cheaper products.

How much cheaper? I have no idea but I suppose anything less than the cost of the legitimate source is considered a bargain.

I don't smoke. I have never as much as tried to smoke a single cigarette. I have never taken an illegal drug. Unfortunately I have had to endure far too much of other people's cigarette habits. As I have grown into what might well be my ninth cat life I am even less tolerant of tobacco smoke. I have endured far too much "second hand smoke" in staff rooms. It was the second hand smoke which kept me out of the university "bar" when I was in London. It was not a disapproval of drinking or my allergy to alcohol.  I know many people enjoy a drink and it is entirely up to them if they choose to have one. My only concern is that people do not harm others when they choose to indulge. As I do not enjoy the sensation of having swallowed stinging nettles (which is how alcohol affects me) I can always have lemon squash.  What I cannot do is avoid other people's cigarette smoke.

But smoking is still legal in this country. The government still gets a great deal of money from the filthy habit of those who smoke. The tobacconist gets far less. It is my understanding that about seventy percent of the price of a packet of cigarettes is made up of taxes - the excise tax and then the GST.  Somehow it does not stop people from smoking. Smoking is addictive, very addictive. 

This is what the criminal gangs are relying on. They must have been laughing when the government told us that only chemists can sell "vapes". Many chemists have refused to sell them on health grounds. The gangs are bringing in the vapes as well but subtle marketing can also switch people to illegal tobacco. 

Banning tobacco altogether is unlikely to work. Banning vaping won't work either. Should we raise the age where it is possible to buy these things? That might help a little but how do you do it? Put the need for smoking related medical attention as a very low priority? I can hear the outcry.

Those illegally supplying what is at present a legal product do need to be targetted. They need to be treated harshly because smoking affects more people than the smoker. I need to go to a funeral this week. The woman in question never smoked. People around her did. They smoked heavily and it affected her health. She paid the ultimate price for their addiction. They need to be held to account.

 

The importance of cats

in the workplace is not to be underestimated. Anyone who doubts this only needs to look at the support for "Defib". Defib is a member of the London Ambulance staff but the new station manager apparently thought Defib could be dismissed without consultation, consideration or concern for the well being of his fellow workers. There was apparently a public revolt and Defib will stay.

Seriously, animals do matter in some workplaces. There is a nursing home near here which has a resident cat. It is "just around" but the residents like "Puss". There was a similar cat in a residential school I worked in. It seemed to know which children needed company. There were occasionally disagreements about the presence of an animal and demands for her removal but commonsense always prevailed and the cat stayed.

There were no resident animals in the place the Senior Cat spent his last days in but the staff would often bring in their dogs. They were popular visitors as long as they were well under control. A close friend of the Senior Cat took her dog in too. "Oh, I am not visiting," she would tell the staff, "C... is." C... was small and elderly and happy to sit on the Senior Cat's lap and be gently stroked. They understood each other well.

The matron in charge of the place the Senior Cat's brother lived in told us that the only time they saw him smile was when a dog came to visit. I have seen similar things happen in other nursing homes.

There is a business not far from here which has a resident cat. It appeared one very hot day. Someone put down some water for it. The cat stayed. It is still there eight years later. The premises are mice free so it might be said the cat is earning her keep. She is well cared for with her own sleeping quarters and regular check ups and vaccinations at the vet. The owner of the business would be happy to pay for this but the staff all chip in as well.

Somehow it is cats who make their mark on a place. That there is an official "Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office" at Number 10 (aka Larry) says more than people realise. There have been mentions of cats there since Henry VIII's time although not always officially recognised. 

Cats worked for the postal service for many years - and were paid for their services as mousers. They are common on railways. I remember the marmalade cat at the station of my early childhood. Mum would never let me pat it but it was actually very friendly. We children knew it was a "working" cat and treated it with respect.

It is no secret. I like cats. I get on well with cats. Yes, I often talk to dogs too, especially to dogs waiting for their humans to reappear outside the shopping centre. Cats do not need to do such undignified things as wait like that. 

The Cathedral Cats may have to wait however. Cantori, Decani, Matins and Vespers...I'll do my best to understand the next story you tell me but the humans may need to wait until Christmas.

 

 

Tea anyone?

Or would you prefer coffee?

If you have tea with me then it will currently be made with rain water and loose tea in a teapot unless you tell me you actually prefer a tea bag. Yes, I have an emergency store of the latter.

The Senior Cat insisted on what he called "proper tea". He might have had milky coffee at breakfast time but by "recess" time he wanted his  tea. The ritual also had to be repeated in the afternoon. I must have made thousands upon thousands of pots of tea in my time.

His mother taught me how to make tea in a tea pot. The tea pot she used was brown earthenware. It was old, very old. She always used the same tea - "China, not Indian" she would say. Grandma drank her tea black and without sugar.  Grandpa had milk and sugar and so did the Senior Cat. Tea was made with rainwater. The pot was warmed first and the water had to have only just reached boiling point. There was an art to tea making - interestingly told me all over again by the woman whose family owned a majority of shares in a very large tea estate.

Mum did not drink tea. She did learn how to make it "properly" but it was my job from the time she thought I could be trusted with the danger of boiling water. We kittens were not encouraged to drink tea...or coffee. Brother Cat and Middle Cat drink more coffee than tea. I have stayed with tea...milk and no sugar please.

I gave sugar away when I was teaching. The last school I worked in was the one where my classroom was next to the school office... and I was the person who had to answer the phone. Going into the staff room after that (if there was any time at all) meant finding all the milk and sugar had gone. (It was sent over from the residential section each morning.) I almost gave up tea entirely.

Going off to university I discovered the joys of tea again. It was an important part of university life. It ranked along with "Hobnobs" and "Penguins" - Upoverites will know what I am talking about. Some people had instant coffee but most of us drank tea...and more tea.  I remember A... making "builders' tea" for me. A... was the secretary to several of my lecturers...and, unofficially, cared for me too. If I came in wet and cold after school visits a mug of the dark brown liquid would appear in front of me with the instruction, "Drink that and warm up." I drank it then but I don't know I could now.

I associate tea with things like the Senior Cat and my godfather sitting at the kitchen table and reminiscing. I associate it with the Senior Cat and some world renowned magicians working out how to build an illusion. I associate it with friends who came in to laugh or cry with him and, now, me. 

I don't even ask whether I need to put the kettle on for W..., for G... or for S...  They need tea. If I offered coffee they would look at me in bewildered anxiety - no tea? 

Perhaps the best I can hope for when I have to move is that at least one of them will be able to find their way to the tea and that I will have rainwater with which to make it.  Tea is important...and they have no idea how to make it in any local cafe. 

"She wears her collar up,"

I was told. I knew what the speaker meant and it was not intended as a compliment.

The speaker was an old acquaintance from my student days. At the university in question there was a sort of "dress code" I suppose. The vast majority of students were aware of it.  

It only applied to one item of clothing and that was the polo shirt. There were a lot of polo shirts around at the time. I had three... one on, one off and one in the wash. They were made of the sort of material that did not need too much care and attention. Yes, convenient when you are spending sixty or seventy hours a week at lectures and then in the law library. 

You could look up from your case notes and see the students either side of you wearing something similar. Mine were sober colours I suppose. Fire engine red, sun yellow, sunset orange and other bright colours do not suit me but there were plenty of those to be seen. Mine were blue and green and navy. I had actually bought mine before returning to university.  I had no idea there was any sort of "code" attached to the wearing of them.

"Where did you go to school?" I was asked. I explained because it is often something students there did want to know. This was my first day and I did not want to appear stand offish or unwilling to engage in conversation.

"Oh, then I am just letting you know that you are supposed to wear your collar up," my informant kindly told me.

I must have looked as puzzled as I felt. Why would I wear my collar up? It sounded uncomfortable to me. Collars like that are made to sit, not stand.

"It means you have been to a fee paying school," I was told. Really? That was enough for me to leave my collar down. I couldn't care less what sort of school you went to. It is much more interesting to find out what sort of person you are.

I have no idea whether the practice continues. I hope not. It is a long time since I have been back. 

But among those I grew to be particularly friendly with nobody wore their collars up. Some of us may have had the "right" to do so but we chose not to do it.  We never really discussed it then but we understood it. All these years later we do not need to say more than someone "wears their collar up" to understand what sort of person we are talking about.  

We were saying "No"

this time last year, "No" to the "Voice to Parliament" for "indigenous" people.  Saying "No" cost the country more than a billion dollars in the end. The referendum alone was expensive.

The cost of that could have been greatly reduced by holding it at the same time as an election.  It would surely be a very good idea to hold more referenda at the same time as elections?

I can imagine this. You enter the polling station and make the declaration you have not voted before in this election and the electoral official hands over the voting papers. You head off and mark them and put them in the boxes holding the ballot papers under the watchful eye of yet another official. Would it really be that hard to add a question at the same time? It has been done of course - and no doubt it will be done again.

So, why didn't they do it this time? There were reasons of course. Most of them had to do with "keeping a promise" if you believe the Prime Minister. Yes, there was a lot of political pressure - mostly from within his own party. The media did not help of course. It never does. 

And then there was arrogance. How could the proposal possibly fail? I was reminded of the vote for this country to "become a republic". Those who failed to get it up like to say it was the way the question was asked. No, it was not. It failed in every state and territory as well as across the country. The majority was not there and those advocating for it knew that. They insisted on going ahead anyway. They tried to tell us that it was a "simple" matter, that it was about "growing up" and "being truly independent". It was all nonsense of course. There would have been a massive shift in the way we are governed. Looking at events in America right now I am glad we did not go down that path even if others still advocate for it.

Last year's referendum was the same. There was no way this was going to fail was there? The demands grew louder and more strident as time went on. How dare we vote against it? To do so would be "racist" and cause more "division". We would not be "acknowledging" the wrongs of the past.

It seems we have not actually manage to learn the lesson. States our still going ahead with "treaties" and "truth telling" and "voices". All this is doing is continuing to fan the flames of discontent among the activists who like to claim "disadvantage". Yes, there is disadvantage out there but it is being perpetuated by those very activists who insist on holding others back.  

It is not special recognition that indigenous people need. They need the same recognition...and perhaps the so-called "Voice" would have denied them that. I don't know but I still think we are approaching the very real issues from the wrong angle.

"I'll save you the price of

an inspection," one of the other viewers of a property tells me. 

I had already observed him looking in places that most people do not bother to look. He showed me. Yes, I could see the crack now he was pointing it out. It had been carefully papered over but, viewed from another angle, it was obvious. Then there was the damp place in the bathroom/laundry area and under the sink. I could smell those. He went on to point out some further issues.

"Don't buy it," he told me, "If you don't believe me...I am about to withdraw my own offer."

Moments later I heard him quietly informing the agent just that. I simply thanked the agent and left. Out in the street the other man was just getting into his car. I thanked him too but wondered what his motivation was.

He must have been able to read my thoughts because he said, "Oh, I know who you are. My neighbour told me you were looking for something.... I am looking for a single mother - one of my wife's clients. She really needs something but not that." 

We discussed the problem briefly. He went one way and Ipedalled off another.  I looked at the other place within pedalling distance but there are two steps at the front and four at the back. I can calculate whether there is room for a ramp by now... and there is no room. That might sound fussy but I really am not capable of taking the laundry basket down steps - even if it is only part full. Middle Cat could not even get up and down the steps the way she is right now.

And that brings me to thoughts of the laundry basket itself. I have mentioned it elsewhere. It is made of cane and came out of the Royal Society for the Blind workshop set up after WWII. It is close to eighty years old. 

My BIL recently said, "Why don't you get a new one?"  

No, it works perfectly well...and I might need the money for a building report if there is nobody around to save me the money. 

"It was the size of a brick"

a friend reminded me. We were looking at an old mobile 'phone and talking about one which was even older.

The one we were looking at was about the size of a thick Penguin paperback I suppose. It was certainly larger and thicker than those owned by my family and friends now.

I remember the phone she was talking about. It belonged to our late friend I... . I...worked at the airport and the phone in question was one of the very earliest phones available. It was not really quite the size of a brick but it was big. It was not something you could have carried around in your pocket.

From memory all you could do was make and receive calls on it. I do not remember seeing a screen. It was more like a "walkie-talkie". Very few people had one and the range seemed to be limited. That is about all I can remember - except that it made I...'s job both easier and more difficult.

Now it seems everyone has a phone and the use of them is causing problems. This country is intending to try and bring in a "social media ban" for those under the age of sixteen. This is intended to prevent them from accessing harmful content, bullying each other, becoming obsessed with them and much more. It is unlikely to work, especially as the tech companies are to be held responsible rather than the parents.

That made me consider the issue of adults and their phone use. Phones are much smaller now. Middle Cat can clip hers to a holder in the car and use it "hands free". If it rings while she is driving the identity of the caller comes up on a screen and she can choose to  accept or reject the call. All this is legal but I do not like it. I still see it as a distraction. 

And so many people still use their phones in the normal hand held way when they are in the driver's seat. They have one hand on the wheel and one on the phone. That conversation simply cannot wait. It may be about the most trivial matter in the universe but the conversation needs to be held there and then. 

I think it would be good if phones were as big as bricks again.  

Clearing out

"stuff" - or, dare I say, my BIL uses a much less polite word? His language might be described as "earthy" at times.

He also tends to "speak his mind" or simply say exactly what he is thinking. 

I had a number of very old photographs on the kitchen table and he picked them up, "You don't want these do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"What for?"

"Well that one is my paternal great-grandmother on her eighty-fifth birthday."

"Yeah, so what?"

"It is part of our family history and she was a very special person, very advanced in her thinking."

"She went to university?"

"No, you don't need to go to university to have ideas ahead of your time. For example, she voted in the very first elections women could vot in and she encouraged other people to do the same." 

My BIL looks disbelievingly at me but I know Great-Grandma's history. Yes,  she voted. She made sure everyone around her was enrolled to vote and that they went to do it. This state was the first to allow women the vote and she made sure women used it. She also made sure that the indigenous people she employed were enrolled, understood what they had to do and also "attended the ballot box". It might not have made her too popular with the men who had opposed the idea of allowing woman and "aboriginals"to vote but she believed in it. She also believed in equal pay for equal work, even if she did keep their post office pass books in her possession because the men tended not to give their wives the money she thought they needed to feed and clothe the children. 

So yes, I do want the photograph of my great-grandmother. I want the other photographs too. There are not many. Other people may not be interested but I am. Just because my BIL tells me I need to "get rid of stuff" does not mean I have to give away the really important things...and that photograph is very important to me.  

Rubbish bins out

for Tuesday morning collection please. 

Yes, this street has a collection on Tuesdays. There is always an issue because the bins from "the Court" across the way need to be put on to the curb in the street. The collection vehicles do not enter the Court which houses a block of "units". 

The arrival of two sets of duplexes and multiple cars at some residences also means there are always cars parked in the street as well. The collection vehicles cannot access the bins if cars are parked in front of them. People are aware of this and we do not usually have a problem.  Visitors who do cause an issue are quickly informed. 

And we have Ms Busybody to ensure that everyone does the right thing. Most bins are put out late on Monday - as is permitted. Ms B... then checks. She looks in every bin. Any item in the "wrong" bin will be removed and put in the "right"  bin. She is a passsionate recycler. There will be a knock on the door if someone commits the sin of putting something which can be recycled in the general waste bin. She is "just letting you know". 

This has been going on for years. New residents over the years have been warned about her behaviour. She has been warned over and over again. Nothing seems to work. This last week she informed me that I was not shredding my documents the right way. "You need to get a proper shredder. They are not expensive." 

P..., the wonderful person who washes the floors for me, was told off for putting something into the recycle bin. "They don't take that sort of plastic. You should know that with a job like yours."

The problem with all this is that Ms B... really does mean well. It really does distress her to see the rest of us do what she sees as a sin. I don't want to upset her. I listen. I make vague sympathetic sort of noises and all sorts of excuses to get away from her.

And Ms B... never uses her own bins. "I only have such a small amount. It can go wherever there is room." She never asks for permission to do this. She simply sees it as her right. Her bins sit there covered with a tarpaulin - to keep them as clean and new as they were when she first obtained them.

"I itch to use hers," a neighbour told me as we watched her put a label on a bin which was still out on Wednesday morning. I suspect we all do.

There is now a move in another council area to slap a an even larger fine on people who put their bins out too early or take them in too late. Perhaps they need to employ Ms B...?  

Rename the street?

There is a street in a small town in the south east of this state which was given the name of "Chinaman's Lane". It was given the name because people used to stop there to buy vegetables as they travelled to and from the goldfields in the next state. The vegetables were grown by Chinese people - who possibly did rather better than many of those who went to try their luck on the goldfields.

Someone complained about the name recently. They claimed it was "racist" and asked it be changed. They had bought a house in the street and they did not like the name. It was embarrassing.

The matter went to the local council and they voted against changing it. I am glad of that. The name should not be construed as "racist". It is a part of history.

It has made me wonder yet again about other names and renamings to fit political agendas. There have been attempts, some of them successful and others less so, to change other names here. Some people argue that explorers who have held what are now unacceptable views should not have anything named after them. Some say that those who are alleged to have committed acts which are now (and sometimes were) offensive should have nothing named after them. Some say that the names revert to what the local indigenous population of the time called a place.

There is a street named after my paternal great-grandfather in the port area of this city. It was named in recognition of his work mapping the "river" - actually a long inlet - and the coastline. His work, and that of another man, allowed the ships to come much closer to the area which is now the CBD. It is a part of our family history and we are I suppose very proud of it.

But what sort of man was my great-grandfather? I suspect he was a man of his time. I suspect his views about women were of their time too. We know his daughters, my great-aunts, did not go on to further education. All of them had the intellectual capacity to do it. They did work as "secretaries" and "assistant teachers" but there was no formal training for them at the time. Their brothers were apprenticed. All of them had work at which they succeeded but Great-grandpa was still a man of his time. Education beyond school was not considered very important, especially for women. Should we ask for the street to be renamed because of views which would be held to be mysogynistic now?

The granddaughter of the other man once told me that her grandfather "had no time for the aborigines". He apparently thought they were lazy.  She wondered if the few there were "hung around because nobody was prepared to employ them". It is certainly a possibility but we have no way of knowing. Do we ask for that street to be renamed because of views which would have been held by many others - perhaps even Great-grandpa?

And what of the entire area? Do we "revert" to the indigenous name for it? What was that name? What did it mean? Was it the only name given to the area? Did another tribe use that name too or did they use a different name? Does anyone really know or are we simply being told a story by someone who claims to know? 

It is actually very unlikely our ancestors were told actual names for places. The local indigenous population of the day had very different ideas about geography and cartography. They did not use maps or compasses. When our local council claims to be renaming some places with "indigenous" names they are doing nothing of the sort. Quite apart from anything else they are using what is alleged to be the plains language of this area for a hills people. The languages they spoke were quite different.

Retaining "Chinaman's Lane" is a well documented nod to the past and should be left as it is. Great-grandpa and his colleague, along with many explorers and others, were people of their day. Their names should be left too. They tell us something about our history.

For indigenous names it is much, much more complex but to give something or somewhere an indigenous name simply for the sake of some sort of political correctness is surely wrong? Might those early people perhaps even have found the appropriation of their "namings" offensive?

"The motherboard fried"

Middle Cat has informed me.

Yes, I am still struggling on an old lap top which uses, ouch, Windows 8.1. My computer, at least the tower, is with my BIL as he and one of his very experienced staff try to fix the problem.

"They reckon they can't save any of your data" Middle Cat cheerfully informs me, "You didn't do a back up."

Actually I did do a back up...but apparently the one I did is not recent enough and does not count for anything... or so she tells me. I refuse to believe that. Perhaps I shoud do a weekly back up rather than less often?  

My BIL is struggling with the problem because he hates to be beaten by anything. It's a problem. The engineer in him says he has to be able to fix it - or at least get the computer running again.

At the same time both he and Middle Cat keep telling me it does not matter if I do not have access to a computer and a number of work programs on it. They keep telling me, "Just tell people they will have to wait."

I have given up trying to explain it is not that easy. I know they do not understand my job. They do not see the work I do as being of any real value or importance. They think there are "ways around it" or "people can ask someone else" or "does it really matter?" 

Well yes, there are ways around some problems but they involve Zoom meetings at strange and unsociable hours. Asking someone else involves a great deal more than they understand and can take hours. Does it matter? Of course it does or I would not be doing it. 

The only good thing to come out of all of this is that some of those I have been training up to take over have had to step in and do more. It is not an ideal situation given the current state of world affairs. I am happy to report that the new volunteers appear to be learning some things very rapidly...but I woud like my computer back so I can go on teaching them.  

"You will always be welcome here"

are words I will remember. They are particularly poignant right now.

Regular and long term readers of my witterings will be aware I have mentioned attending a Bar Mitzvah here in this state. I thought of it yet again yesterday and the day before. I thought of my Jewish friend who had come to tell me of the deaths of the Palestinian family. I thought of the Jewish family who invited us.

We came to know the Jewish family because the Senior Cat was asked to teach their son some conjuring tricks. B... was a highly intelligent and very able student. He came once a week with his mother and we came to know her as well. We eventually met his father and his sisters. They came for a meal here and the invitation was reciprocated.

As always other things began to take over in B..'s life and one of them was his preparations for his Bar Mitzvah. Would we, they asked, please come to it? 

Yes, of course we would. We felt it was an honour to be invited. Did we really know them well enough to be invited to such an important occasion. 

My parents knew very little about Judaism, about what might happen, about what they might be expected to do. I tried to explain from my own limited experience but they were still rather anxious. They did not want to do the wrong thing.

They need not have worried. From the time we arrived at the synagogue we were treated with the utmost courtesy. We were made very, very welcome. It was clear that B... and his family were very well thought of and, if we were their friends, we were to be made welcome.

The Senior Cat was full of questions. I quietly told the person who greeted us that he would be and please to realise that this was a genuine desire to know. Of course he could ask questions. It would be a pleasure to answer them. 

We had to part for the service of course. I have to be honest and say I don't think my mother felt entirely comfortable. She always found it difficult to accept anything which challenged her own faith. I had some idea what to expect, indeed some of it was familiar. 

The elderly woman next to me gave me an approving smile more than once. At the end of the service she actually thanked me.

Later there was a meal and dancing and there were the usual speeches. Right around us people asked us how we came to be there and said how good it was we had come. When we left one of the congregation escorted us to the car and we thanked him. As he shook hands with the Senior Cat he said, "You will always be welcome here".

I have thought of this many times since then but particularly recently. We were strangers. We knew nobody apart from B... and his family. Despite that the congregation made us welcome. We felt included. Now I cannot help wondering how this family would be received at a church, a mosque or a temple. I hope they would be welcomed and know one or two places where that would be so but would it be with the same warmth displayed for us on that occasion?