Dumping rubbish on charities

us apparently a bigger problem over the holiday season - or so the article in this morning's paper would have us believe.

In the course of clearing this house and property we have had to give away a good many things. Some has gone to family and more to friends but a great deal has gone to charity. 

Giving it to charity has not been easy. It has not been simply a matter of throwing it in a car and dropping it off.  I know it could have been but I also know enough about how these places operate to know that this is not the way to do it .

Charities want clean and useable items. They want things which really are good enough to sell.

A good deal of my clothing comes from the local charity shop. I am all too well aware that what there are things on the racks which are new or almost new. Someone will have bought something as a gift but, for some reason, the recipient does not want it. There are also things which someone has bought and then decided they do not like. It might have been worn once. Occasionally items are donated from shops and still have tags on them. Bargains can be found.

Those bargains sit among a great deal of clothing I would not give to anyone. I know most of it will eventually go to "rubbish". The charity will pay to dump it. They will need the space. 

Knowing they did not have the space we put furniture we could not use out on the verge during the day. This is not something the council likes people to do at all. We put a note on each item saying it was free but it would be taken in during the evening if nobody took it. We never had to take anything in but would have done so if necessary. I would have preferred it to go to the local charity shops but it just was not possible. 

Taking items to "the dump" can only be done at certain times and it is expensive to do it. Many people see no reason to do this. They resent paying more on top of the rates. I can quite understand that - especially when stories come out about money being wasted by the council on some very frivolous things. It is little wonder that people then see the local charities as a dumping ground.

 Yesterday I put some unwanted boxes out on the verge intending to flatten them and put them in the recycle bin. I went back to get two more and found someone looking at them. He looked at me as I came out.

"Don't you want these?"

"No, you're welcome to them."

"Great, I'll just go and grab the car. Don't let anyone else nab them will you?"

I thought it was unlikely. He was back about five minutes later and filled his vehicle with boxes.

"I work at ....., " he told me and named one of the local charity shops, "We can use them to pack some of the unwanted stuff people give us."  

Almost anything is useful to someone - but it has to be in the right place and at the right time.  

Computer desks

come in many shapes and sizes. I know this because I spent part of yesterday looking at them. 

This was not by choice. I need a new one. The old one will not fit into the best available space in my new abode. The old one has never been very satisfactory anyway. The door on the side that I use for paper and "not wanted for now" manuscripts has never shut properly. The second shelf we thought might be so useful has had to be used for the screen - and that is then just that bit too high to be comfortable. The whole thing is chipped and worn.

Middle Cat's partner thought he would do the right thing and brought home a lovely table his work place, now ceasing operations, said they did not need. They were going to throw it out - along with a lot of other "useful to someone" things. My BIL does not believe in wasting things so he brought it back. He thought "it will do". No, it won't. It is too big, much too big. It has no drawers.

It might work for my BIL as he works differently from me but I have still received it gratefully as it will now be the "other work" table I have wanted for many years. There will no longer be a need to clear the dining table for the same purpose. This has to be a "good thing".

But, finding a new computer desk is another story. I tried the second hand sites first. Nothing on the various sites appealed or they were too far away for Middle Cat to collect. Most of them were almost as expensive (if not more) than what I thought a new one might cost. I went further afield.

I looked at cheap, spindly things which would not have accommodated a feather in weight (or so it seemed) to items of more solid construction. I looked at very cheap to very expensive. I looked at measurements and materials. Most used some sort of veneer. I expected that but some were painted black. No, I do not want black.

For a while I gave up in frustration and went to start sorting and packing what has been left in the shed. There is still a lot of to do in the big workshop which belonged to the Senior Cat. I went through ideas and options, sighed and tried to think some more.

Eventually I gave in and looked at the website of that company, you know the one I mean, where you can put your own together from a kit. Mmm...maybe. I liked the idea of the one which would fit into a corner - but there is not enough desk top for the screen, the keyboard and the printer. Yes, a mouse does require space. And of course this is one of the most expensive options - although still cheaper than the one I saw which cost five times that amount. 

If Middle Cat is feeling up to it - and she says she might be - we will have to go and investigate. I need to make sure there is a comfortable writing space. When I finally settle in I hope there is more writing time than there is now. I have always made time but more time would be even better.

  

"Is it too late to challenge a will?"

I had a very odd conversation with someone yesterday. He and his wife were strolling past this house, saw me and stopped. I recognised them vaguely from the shopping centre or the library or somewhere else local. I did not inquire.

"You know about the law, don't you?" he asked me, "I mean you write those letters to the paper about that sort of stuff?"

I admitted having written a couple of letters, letters which have mentioned constitutional issues but carefully added, "I am not a lawyer."

"But you might know..."

"G! You can't go around asking people you don't know about things like that!"

"I do know her, sort of and anyway it's important." 

I looked at them and wondered what was coming. It turned out that here was another person who wanted to challenge a parent's will. There have been a rash of them lately. Those responsible in the court system will know why. The legislation changes on the first day of January and it will be harder to challenge the wishes of the testator, All sorts of people are trying to get a claim in before then.

I wanted to say to this person that I could not tell him anything and that it was none of my business but he went ahead and told me anyway.  Yes, he wants to challenge a will. He has very little time in which to do it under the old legislation. 

"We didn't even get told he had died," he told me, "She had the funeral all over and done with - said he wanted it to be private and for not even his kids to be there. I'm okay but my sister isn't and I don't want her to miss out because of that b...."

If what this man had to tell me is correct then he will have a case anyway. His wife, who had been looking uncomfortable, relaxed a little as I asked a couple of questions. I gave him the name of someone I know and trust. That person will help him find a solicitor who specialises in the sort of problem he outlined. 

If you want to try and be a gold digger then make sure you at least invite the children to the funeral of the man you profess to love. 

 

The Sydney to Hobart yacht race

has once again been hit with tragedy. There have been two deaths - both apparently caused by the boom hitting their heads. Another sailor reportedly has a broken shoulder. Yesterday morning someone told me a third of the boats had pulled out of the race because of the wild weather. 

It makes me wonder why people want to do this. Those boats may seem big enough when they are there in the docks but, out on the ocean, they can be seen for what they really are - and that is small. 

I love the sea. I come from generations of sailors, engineers, doctors and teachers - all the "traditional" Scottish occupations. My paternal great-grandfather was a sailor, ship's pilot and marine cartographer. Without his work, and the work of a good friend and colleague, the area we know as "the Port" would not have been able to be used for the vital shipping which supplied the state with so much at the time. The work Great-Grandpa did was used as a basis for all the maps up and down the coast of the gulf until the late twentieth century. Now cartography is done.

But Great-Grandpa and his colleague sailed in all sorts of weather and through some very rough seas. There is a strip of water between the mainland and the island on which we once lived which is known as "Backstairs Passage". It has a reputation for being one of the roughest narrow crossings in the world. Sailing in and around that in order to map the coastline was fraught with danger. 

These two men did it because it was their work to do it. Never having known them I can only assume they also loved the sea. Their children must have because they were in and out of boats all their lives. My grandfather went swimming in the ocean every morning unless he was away from his home near the beach. The Senior Cat loved the water but did not get there nearly as often. All of us were taught to swim from a very early age. The two generations below me are like fish in the water. My great-nieces and nephew would spend hours in the pool or in the ocean every day. 

But would we go sailing now? The Senior Cat and Brother Cat once made a "Mirror Dinghy". It was in kit form and they built it over one winter so they could go sailing in the summer. They did sail for some years but then we moved inland again and it was no longer possible. The experience was not wasted for Brother Cat. He was in charge when he, his partner and friends hired a boat and sailed up the coast in a neighbouring state. "But the weather was good and the route was planned for us so we were always close to shore and help," my brother said. He did not see it as actual sailing, especially as the boat was equipped with an engine if things went wrong.

I wonder about all this and often think I would prefer to live close to the sea. When I was looking for new accommodation I looked and looked for something close to the sea but the cost was against it. Many other people want to live close to the sea as well. 

I wonder if those who do live close to the sea really appreciate it? Do they walk along foreshore every evening? Do they swim in the mornings? Do they simply sit and allow themselves to be calmed by the waves? It is surely extraordinary that something which is constantly changing can also often be calming as well.

But, out on the ocean proper, that constant change is part of the challenge. It is never safe even when it appears to be calm. Perhaps that is what attracts some of us.  

Moving furniture

is not something to be done unless absolutely necessary.  My lovely youngest nephew is here for a few days and gave up a morning of his precious holiday catching up with friends in order to help my BIL move some for me.

We moved the really important furniture. Oh, the bed or the table and chairs? No, the bookshelves.

Middle Cat and I had measured and we knew where I wanted the furniture to go. I thought it would be simple and it should have been but my BIL had other ideas.

I needed a new desk. The desk I have here has never been satisfactory and it would not fit into the space I had planned. Putting it anywhere else meant there would be other problems. I knew what sort of thing I wanted - not too large. 

"I've saved you some money Cat," my BIL told me, "They are throwing things out at work so I got you a desk. I've put it in the place for you."

Middle Cat warned me, "It's big."

I saw it yesterday. Yes, it is big. It is much too big. What is more it is a table rather than a desk. There is no shelving underneath it. It reminds me of a trestle table. Yes, it is that sort of size. I groaned inwardly. What can I say to him? He was so pleased with his bargain. He really does think he is doing me a favour. 

The living area does not look right to me. It is not simply that it is not the way I envisaged it. The issue is more complicated than that. The placement of the "desk" is wrong. It means the bookshelves are in the wrong place and the two chairs from the lounge suite will also be in what feels like the wrong place.

I hope Middle Cat can find time to look at what my BIL decided on yesterday. I hope she will agree with me. It is all very well people saying, "Just tell him" because I know I can try and he will not listen. He will tell me, "No, it's better this way. You'll get used to it."

I just wish I could move furniture by myself.  

"And these are for the reindeer!"

the twins tell me.

I had heard the twins coming down the path to the front door before I heard them. They were running, calling out to their father as they came. Their excitement was obvious even before they reached their destination.

Their destination was the front door of this house. I had left small Christmas presents for them and their little sister as well as their young friends across the street.

"You aren't Santa!" they tell me quickly before their father turns into the driveway and comes down the path. His progress has been slowed by the "baby" who is now a toddler. 

"No, I'm not Santa. Is Santa coming?" I ask them. They look quickly at each other and then one of them says very softly,

"Daddy is and Mummy is...but don't tell them."

They hold out the cards they have written for me. The cards reflect their personalities. The writing on one is extraordinarily neat and tidy for a child of her age. The other is more the sort of untidy script you expect from a child that age. 

"And..."they tell me together, "these are for the reindeer. They need something to eat every time. We made them." They hold out some very carefully wrapped home made biscuits. The biscuits have a slightly wonky look.

"Did you make them?" I ask and they nod looking even more pleased I have recognised their efforts. 

Their father gives me a look of sheer exhaustion mixed with pride. I know he has already taken them to spend time at the local library as a way of getting them out of the house on Christmas Eve.  D..., their mother, is more used to dealing with such things but how she has time to help them make biscuits of any sort is beyond me. 

The twins tell me what they are doing on Christmas Day. It will involve less work for their mother this year. S..., their father, is a willing helper but once admitted, "There are things D... does far better than I do."

I do know something though. They are good parents who are involved in the lives of their children, who expect them to say "thank you" and who will go along with the Santa pretence until the youngest child is old enough to stop believing in one sort of Santa and can believe in an even more important version.  

And I can treasure the "thank you" those cards represent.

 

The youngest kittens were in trouble

(Oops - I realise I did not let new readers know - this is the story the Cathedral cats told me for Christmas.  If you want to know more about them look at the posts for Christmas Day over the past few years.)

They were in very serious trouble. Bach had growled so hard they still sat there with their fur on end in fright.

"I told you not to put your paws anywhere near the tree."

They looked at him. It was a pretty tree. It had lovely round shiny things on it that were perfect kitten size play things. How were they to know it would fall over if they raced up and down the branches to grab the shiny things?

"If it had fallen on one of you then you could have been very badly hurt, even killed perhaps. Even Matins and Vespers never managed to make the tree fall over," Bach told them. Matins and Vespers were looking rather smug right now. Bach glared at the two older cats as well. In previous years he was sure they had pulled more than one ornament off a Christmas tree. 

The cats looked sadly at the lovely tree now lying on its side with all the pretty shiny things scattered around.

"How are we going to get the tree to stand up again?" Bach asked them. He knew such things were important to the humans, especially the choir boys.The other young cats had no idea. Nobody had any idea. All them went off with their tails and whiskers drooping. They liked the Christmas tree. They liked Christmas. It was quite a big tree. It was supposed to be standing in a wooden tub in the narthex. The choir boys always decorated it. They would add something new for each day of Christmas. Bach had to admit it did look good - until the kittens had knocked it over.

"What made you bring them over here?" he asked his long suffering wife. Cadenza sighed. Bach was right about the danger of course but he should have been there to help.

"You've forgotten? They had their first service this morning...a nice, short Matins. They actually behaved extremely well then. I was very pleased with them. Where were you by the way?"

"Helping Matins and Vespers clear out leaves from the gutter above the choir school. Someone thought it was funny to plug it so the water would over flow."

"Not one of ours I hope," Cadenza murmured.

"No, it was the choir boys. The Dean punished them all for something the cleaners did. They wanted to pay him back."

Cadenza let out a frustrated sound somewhere between a growl and a purr. The Dean was not a good listener.

Bach went back to thinking about raising the tree but could not work out how to do it. The choir boys would have to do it themselves. They might guess the kittens had done it of course. He would just have to hope that none of the shiny balls were broken but it had come down with a crash.

Eventually the rain lessened and Cadenza hurried the kittens back to where the Bishop's wife rubbed them down with a dry towel. Ouch! That was as bad as Cadenza's tongue! It was punishment enough after Bach growling as well. They did not feel like playing any of their usual games.

Bach went on sitting and staring at the tree and worrying. Cantori and Matins and Vespers all came to look again. They could think of nothing. Even Decani, who had gone back to his work in the library, could not work that problem out. He was not actually sure it mattered terribly much but he knew Bach was upset. He did not like Bach to be upset. He did not like any cat or human to be upset.

Tom, the organist, arrived early that evening. He had planned to spend some time working on a new carol. Mouse had come with him because he liked to spend time with the other cats. He found them all staring at the fallen tree. It had to be up before the early service. The human children would be very upset if the tree was not upright.

"We will get Tom to pick it up. He can do it," he told the other cats.

"How?" Bach asked. Humans were often very slow to understand what needed to be done and Tom had come in the side door as usual so had not seen the tree. Mouse thought about this. Then he carefully picked up one of the gold balls by the string it was attached to and went off to show Tom.

"Not now Mouse!" Tom told him when Mouse patted his leg. Mouse waited and waited. Tom went on playing the same fiddly bit over and over. Mouse sighed and went to find Bach.

"All of us take a ball and go and sit and wait for him to notice," Mouse told him. 

It might work. Bach found Cantori and Matins and Vespers and then Decani came to find out what was going on. He listened to what Mouse had to say and then went to find Brother Mark  the librarian as he came down from the library. Decani and Mouse thought it would take two humans to put the tree back in a way it would not fall over again.  Brother Mark would follow him. He always knew if Decani needed him to do something. The other cats were all coming down the aisle now. Each of them was very carefully carrying a gold ball by the string. They stopped and looked at Brother Mark and then Bach looked back at the narthex. Decani looked at them and then at Brother Mark.

"Ah, has the tree fallen over?" Brother Mark asked, "I thought I heard a crash earlier. I'll get Tom to help when he gets that bit right. " Bach let out a long purr of relief. The cats all turned around and went back to the narthex. They sat there waiting patiently.

A little later Tom and Brother Mark had the tree standing again. It wobbled until Brother Mark found the sand bags to hold it in place.

"No wonder it fell over. They should have been placed there from the start," he said, "I told the Dean we needed those bags. Where did he put them?"

Bach purred again with relief. There was a small dent in some of the shiny things but there did not appear to be any real damage to the tree...and perhaps the kittens were not quite as naughty as he had first thought.  

He padded slowly off to find Cadenza and tell her all was well. He looked at his youngest kittens. They were pretending to be asleep but he knew they were very wide awake and worried he might still angry. He thought of the Dean who had not listened to explanations when given to him and decided he needed to do something. He put a paw over the top of the kitten's banana box and looked down at them and then gave each of them a very gentle paw pat.

"Go to sleep. I was just worried you might have been hurt."

The kittens wriggled closer together and began to dream of shiny gold balls. 

The day before Cyclone Tracy hit

my family was planning our usual Christmas. It was our turn to have the clan at our place and my mother, Middle Cat and I had spent Christmas Eve doing all sorts of last minute preparations inside. The Senior Cat and Brother Cat had been making sure everything was tidy outside. The Black Cat was out somewhere.  Later we went off to the midnight carol service and were looking forward to the day to come.

Early the following morning everything had changed. The phone rang about five in the morning. The Senior Cat answered it sleepily but then sounded wide awake and very, very alarmed. Then he called me, not my mother, and passed the phone over to me with the words, "There's been a bad cyclone in Darwin."

"Bad" was an understatement. It was catastrophic. News was filtering through but much more slowly than it does now. Even without that I had already been called in to help because I was on a list of volunteers with the necessary emergency response training. Like a number of local teachers I had done a short course run by someone who had spent a number of years working in disaster relief. No, I was not going to Darwin. There would be enough people up there. I would be here waiting for people who had nothing but clothes they were wearing to arrive.

I know I ate something but it was not Christmas lunch. Nobody felt like celebrating as the pictures slowly came through.  A friend collected me in her car on Boxing Day and I left the house feeling very nervous. Could I really do what was required of me?

We were taken through procedures again. In my case it meant seeing certain information was gathered from people arriving. We were told nothing much more than "some people will be arriving but they won't have anything with them" and "some of them will be driving down". 

It also meant directing them to the food and clothing that the Salvation Army was already collecting ready to distribute. My parents and my brother left the house not long after I did to help with collection and distribution. Fifty years ago they were young and quite fit. They needed to be because, by the following morning, they were dealing with the mounds of clothing and furniture I could see arriving at the other end of what was then the biggest building in the state's showgrounds.

People had begun to arrive. They came in looking bewildered and exhausted. Some of them had driven through a night and a day in cars which were sometimes literally tied together. The police at the checkpoints further north had simply allowed anything remotely road worthy to continue further south. 

Most people were wearing nothing but shorts and flip-flops. One woman was wearing nothing but a nightie. There was a teenage girl with only a bra and pants and a beach towel hugged around her. Several men and boys were wearing nothing but a towel around their waist.

They queued in a reasonably orderly fashion I suppose but I hardly had time to notice. I remember one man blinking and squinting at the form he had been given and then breaking down because he had not been able to find his glasses in the devastation that had been his house. Someone handed him their glasses for a moment and that helped. It seemed such a little thing but the owner of the glasses was grabbed by both hands and it was done in silence. I remember how quiet it seemed. People were not talking.

Late in the afternoon though came the moment I doubt I will ever forget. I was helping a woman who was clearly overwhelmed by the situation. She was doing her best but she could not read or write and getting information from her had been difficult. Her exhaustion was evident too.  She had a number of children standing silently behind her as we tried to find accommodation for all of them. I was asking her for the ages of her children and I remember saying something, "So that's you and eight children Mrs...?" She looked at me, blinked and then screamed, "No, where's... " One of her children was missing. It seems impossible but she had come all the way from the north of the country to the south without realising one of her children was not there. He was a boy in his teens and she thought he had been with a friend when the cyclone hit. I never discovered whether he was safe. I tried not to think about that woman but I have often wondered what happened to her too.

I went on to the next family and the next...and the next. Many of them were women with children. The men had stayed behind to do what they could.  It was a moment of relief when a local woman came into the hall and took a friend and her two children away. Someone else arrived and took away a family to stay on the caravan in their property - instead of going on holiday themselves. It was little things like that which helped everyone.

My experiences at that time were the closest I have ever come to being a front-line worker in a disaster relief situation. It taught me a great deal, a great deal I would rather never have experienced. It was an experience which has enabled me to struggle with the role I eventually took on. And it has made me forever admire those who go out into the actual situations and deal with it all on a much more immediate basis, who sleep on the ground and eat the same rations as those they are trying to help. I was so lucky because I eventually went home to a fridge still with food in it. We eventually ate and slept normally but it was weeks before I stopped hearing the screams of the woman who did not know the whereabouts of her eldest son. She would be a very old woman now. If she is still alive I hope she is spending Christmas Day with her son.  

"No, you do not need money for that,"

is what I wanted to say. I managed to keep my mouth shut but it was difficult. 

I spent some time yesterday with a friend of mine who needed a bit of help. It was only holding one end of a very long tape measure but, as she said, "It is much faster with someone to help."

While I was there one of her neighbours called in wanting to know if F... would watch her children "for half an hour. I need to go and get one of the presents". 

F... gave in reluctantly on the understanding that the children came over to her place "with something to do".  The mother left and the three children arrived looking anxious.  Each of them had an i-pad. F... sighed and sent them to sit well away from each other on the lawn.

"I suppose I had to give in to that one but I have told G.... she has to make her own child-care arrangements over the holidays. I am not a free child minding service. They don't like me minding them anyway. I don't let them play with their screens."

"Expensive toys," I said.

"Hah! Their parents didn't pay for them," F... told me. I know G...'s partner is a very senior partner in a legal area. He earns a very, very good income every year. They have investments most people could only dream of, run two expensive cars and G... recently boasted that the mortgage on a five bedroom house with a swimming pool has been paid off. 

But no, they did not pay for the i-pads. The National Disability Insurance Scheme did because all three children are supposedly "autistic" and have "learning difficulties".

I have observed these children over a number of years. The eldest had some problems learning to read. He still prefers to kick a ball around. He can be sullen and moody, especially when he does not get what he wants. He can also be very pleasant and polite, especially if his mother is not around. The middle boy is almost silent. If what I have seen of his school work - homework done at F...'s place - is any indication he does not have learning difficulties but he does have some emotional issues. His older brother bullies him. The youngest boy is simply out of control. He knows how to behave in ways that will get him attention and will frequently say of school work, "I can't do it."  

I think all three boys have issues but they are not "autistic". Their "learning difficulties" are not related to any type of autism I have ever observed or read about. The oldest boy can read quite adult material without difficulty if it relates to something he is interested in. His maths is average for his age. He simply "hates school" and causes issues for other children because of it. The middle child is simply keeping his head down and trying not to attract attention. I estimate his work probably places him well above average - or would do if he was happy about saying more than a few words.  The youngest is very immature, the result of spoiling by his mother. 

F... talked to me quietly about the boys as we went on measuring up her new garden beds. "Their mother knows how to work the system. They all get some tutoring too. The i-pads were part of that."

F...was once a teacher of children who did have severe learning difficulties. She has worked with children who are severely disabled by autism. I think between us we know that this family is abusing the NDIS. 

It might be better to require the parents, or at least their mother, to attend classes in parenting. She needs to be told, "No, you don't need money for that. You need to spend time and effort on your children instead. You are encouraging them to be "disabled" and our taxes are paying for it." Last year they received a very large sum of money in assistance - assistance that could be better spent elsewhere. It won't happen.

Medication that does not work?

I see Johnson & Johnson have been hit with a class action for "knowingly selling medicines that do not work". Really?

There will be plenty of people who will put their hands up to be part of the action. I am not sure how they will prove they have taken things like "Codral" and "Benadryl" but I suppose it is possible. They might get a cent or two in "compensation" if the action works. It might bankrupt Johnson & Johnson I suppose...or it might not.

Of course the entire pharmaceutical industry relies on us taking medication to "cure", "recover", "treat", "control" and "live a normal life" for longer. And why do the hard work of going on a weight loss diet if that new wonder drug will do it for you?

Of course the pharmaceutical industry has produced some things of great benefit. They have taken the work of scientists and turned it into life-saving items like insulin, blood pressure medications and vaccines for otherwise deadly diseases. All that is surely to the good? At least one doctor friend reading this will tell me if I am wrong.

But there are other things I am much more concerned about. Anti-biotics should not be failing us - but is that the fault of the pharmaceutical companies or ours for over using them and diminishing their efficacy? I am fortunate in that I have not had cause to take an anti-biotic for well over twenty years. If I did get a bug that needed treating then how well would one of the current anti-biotic medications actually work?

When my grandparents were born "cholesterol" was not an issue. It may have been noted as far back as 1759 by de la Salle in France but it was not until 1955 that doctors started to express concerns about it. My paternal grandparents lived to their nineties. They ate red meat and drank full cream milk all their lives and never used cholesterol medication. Now they would probably be told to cut down the red meat or, preferably, not eat it at all. They would be told to drink only fat reduced milk, substitute plant based "margarine" for butter and never eat cream. On top of that they would be given "cholesterol lowering medication".  Perhaps they would have lived to 100?  

The pharmaceutical industry is there to make money for those who own the companies concerned or for their shareholders. As long as we recognise that first then perhaps we might cure ourselves of believing taking a pill or potion can provide an instant cure for everything? 

"Crimes against the person"

sounds dramatic and the story in the paper makes it seem dramatic too.The long list of rural communities and their crime rates makes depressing reading. It is especially so if you consider that these are the crimes which are actually reported. The actual rate would be even higher in some places, perhaps much higher. People have simply given up reporting the less serious offences against them because they know the police will not be able to do anything. They know that, even if the police do catch the perpetrators and charge them, the courts will let them off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. They know the courts will do that because government policy is what requires them to do just that. The perpetrators are all too often seen as people who have come from poor backgrounds, people who have been abused themselves. Courts are supposed to take that into account.

Some of the children involved are untouchable - and they know it. If you look at the names of some of the areas where the crime rates are highest you will see they have indigenous names. Not all of them have indigenous names of course but the other places with the worst crime rates also tend to have high indigenous populations. If there is a one in three chance of being the victim of an offence against the person in a community with an indigenous name then it is surely something we need to be concerned about?

No, I do not have the answers to the many problems but I do know that some of the problems and some of the answers lie in a change to the present government policies. There would need to be a radical shift in attitudes for this to occur and I recognise that is unlikely.

We need to be listening to women who want "welfare cards" to be brought back in. If they want to be sure they can spend money on essentials to feed their families rather than on alcohol or gambling then why should they be denied that? It is not as demeaning as having to go to a poorly stocked foodbank and beg for food. These women do not view it this way at all. They regard it as getting government assistance to handle the alcohol, drug and domestic violence issues in their communities. Not everyone needs to have their income support planned in this way but there are women who welcome it. The level of domestic violence and public drunkenness was reduced and school attendance increased. Why then did the government go against the wishes of those involved and remove those cards? The idea that the cards were somehow wrong has more to do with what bureaucrats and their advisers want than what people wanted. The very people who say that others need to be independent and able to make their own decisions are actually encouraging dependence on welfare and taking away the capacity to make other decisions.

We also need to ensure the children are learning English and then learning in English. That of course goes entirely against the notion that "culture has to be preserved".  We expect children of migrants to this country to go to school and learn English. They do just that and many of them do extremely well. Why then do we do everything possible to hold back indigenous children by insisting that their "culture" needs to be preserved? This is especially the case when what it is claimed is being preserved is actually nothing like the culture it is said to be. All too often what is being taught is not a culture which is being preserved but a culture which is being created. How can it be anything else when they see twenty-first century ideas on satellite television in remote communities?  We are setting children and young people up to fail when we insist on teaching them "in their native language".  Nobody wants to lose languages or cultural identities but if the alternative is a lifetime of unemployment and violence then we need to rethink our ideas about the consequences.  

Go Fund Me? NO!

It seems that almost every day there is a story in our state newspaper of someone who needs help. Then there is the call for donations through something like a "Go Fund Me" page or to a charity, often a little known charity, or for a one-off event.

I have often wondered how deserving some of these people are. Perhaps I should not judge anyone in this way but it is still something I wonder about. I have never donated to any "GoFundMe" request and I am even less likely to do it now than I might have even several days ago.

Why? It is because, as I have always felt there might be, one of these "requests" turned out to be a scam. Apparently "loving" parents chose to shave a child's head, put a bandage on and photograph him sitting in a wheelchair to claim he had cancer and they needed the funds for medical treatment.

I am beyond appalled by this. Parents who are currently sitting by the bed of a critically ill child must, if they know anything about it, be completely bewildered and even more stressed by it. Why on earth would anyone do this - except to steal from others while doing great harm to both their children? Their children have been removed for now but the question has to be "are they fit to be parents?" What is going to do more harm - return them or have family bring them up?

And how will all this affect this sort of fundraising? There is another lot of fundraising going on right now because two violent teens - out on bail - have been arrested for causing very serious harm to a very young child. She is in hospital with a fractured skull. The injury she has incurred may have life long consequences. It is something which will take time to discover and the family will be facing ongoing trauma for a very long time. All this is well documented and the community in which the family live have rallied in support. That is right and proper and I hope the support is ongoing. I do not want to see it reduced because of the extreme selfishness of the parents who have lied to obtain a financial benefit.

It would be so good to be able to help everyone genuinely in need but I will also continue to be extremely wary of GoFundMe requests to help.  I am equally wary of some charities making demands we consider others at Christmas. One charity here has a very, very expensive advertisement running on prime time television. This same charity has been looking for donations in our local shopping centre. It has been there since the beginning of the month. While people may have donated early on I observed people just walking straight past on the last few occasions I have been there.

Yesterday I took the things a friend has gathered over the year to a collection point for a shelter. She has very little to give in the way of money but she embroiders small items that can be used. It is her way of giving back. When I passed them over one of the women working there looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "I still have my little bag. It's so lovely."  Her life too has come full circle and, like my friend, she is now giving back to the charity which once helped her.

My friend was given help when she most needed it and she is giving her time and skills in return. It is not just money we need to give. It is time and skills. 

I admire both those women for giving what they can.  

Cheaper power bills

were  one of the many things the present government promised us would happen if we elected them. Like most election promises this has not happened. 

Did anyone really believe them? I suppose some people must have done. They may even believe that "subsidy" myth - that somehow we were all given money towards our power bills. I know I was not "given" anything. This is taxpayer money, money we have put into government coffers, being returned to us. Shh...you do not dare mention that our power bills are still some of the highest in the world. They will remain that way too. Our small population spread over vast distances is always going to be an issue.

We just need to face facts. Our standard of living is too high. 

Yesterday this house, about to go on the market, was "styled". It meant people coming in and moving most of our comfortable furniture out and putting in other furniture. They took down our pictures and put up blobs of brown. They "artistically" placed more cushions than this house has ever seen. I have strict instructions on how to recover my sleeping mat with a white spread, two very large pillows and two cushions. 

The girl who designed the layout told me, "You'll hate it." I loathe it. I can see where she is coming from but yes, I hate it. The only thing to be said is that it was a great deal cheaper than it might have been to have this done.

The company which did the job consists of just four people. The was G... "the stylist". Then there was her boss, his very shy wife, and his brother. They come from India and they are obviously workers. The house was transformed in two hours. There was no standing around.

It is heavy physical work moving furniture, making up beds and making sure that everything they have brought in is immaculate. No, it is not the way any house really looks but this is about "presentation". We have compromised a little. I am after all still living in the house. G... actually said, "It actually looks better this way but I don't know what the agent will say."

I don't either but he knows I am still here. I can get several things out of the way in a few days but not just yet. That does not bother me and I do not think it will bother him. What bothered me was how hard those four people worked. I know it would not have been so fast with any local people I know. I know it is the way they simply just "got on with the job" that allows them to make a living out of this. They are really working for what they get. I am also sure they go home at night and relax at least for long enough to recharge their inner "battery" for the next day. It is the only way they could continue to work at that pace.

We need more people to work like that, a lot more.   Our power bills might not be cheaper but we might be able to pay them if we all worked like that. 

Banning protests

from outside places of worship may or may not work. I do not know. What I do know is that there is a great deal less tolerance towards people who do worship at all. 

Yesterday I overheard someone being ridiculed because they attend church. I will give that young man credit for simply saying, "I have my beliefs. You have yours." He then walked away ignoring the jeers which followed him. 

I doubt I believe anything like the things he believes. From the way he was dressed I suspect he belongs to a very strict religious sect. I do not doubt he has the right to believe those things. Provided he does not attempt to make me believe them as well then we would probably get along just fine.

What disturbs me is not so much what other people believe but their demands that the rest of us believe it too. A major department store in another state apparently did not put up a Christmas display this year. They did not do it because others threatened to protest about it. What should have been fun for children to go and view was stopped by a small group of people who threatened there would be trouble if it went ahead. 

Here we no longer celebrate Christmas in at least one child care centre. One parent complained several years ago. She was backed up by a few more. The parent in question has no religious beliefs at all. The parents of children of other faiths had no problems with Christmas being celebrated but one mother managed to persuade three or four more that the celebration of a great festival should not go ahead. All the children missed out on something which should have been a memorable occasion. Was that right or wrong? Was it right or wrong when the same centre did acknowledge Diwali?

I remember Christmas celebrations at infant school. We would be told the story and write about it ourselves. We would decorate the classroom with paper chains we had made ourselves after measuring and cutting. We talked about Christmas trees and the meaning of them. There was a great deal to do and learn in all this. On the last day of school we would have a "party" with paper hats we had made and cherries to eat after we had eaten our sandwiches. 

It was all "fun" but I doubt a child of today would find it enjoyable in the same way. Most of us would have been church goers but many of the city children would never have been into a church. Even children in rural areas where church going was once an unbreakable Sunday ritual no longer go to church.

As we passed the lads jeering at the church goer the friend I was with remarked that she saw the changes as having begun with the demands of a few. These are the people who wanted the shops to be open all day on Saturdays and those who felt organised sport should be played on Sundays. That other people have to work in the shops and that teachers and students have to give up their Sundays to sport is of no consequence to those who see it as convenient for themselves. They simply shrug and say "Nobody goes to church anymore."

Perhaps people don't go to church. Beliefs have changed for many, especially the younger generations. I can't help wondering though, is it right that the beliefs of a minority should dictate how the majority enjoy something that does no harm and brings great pleasure?  

Exam results came out yesterday

and I know it is not the end of the world even if it seems that way for some students. The stress of this was made much worse because of an error in calculating the final result for a number of students, particularly the students in one school.

It might not seem like much and the error has since been rectified but imagine, if you can, what it would be like to believe you had done much less well than you actually had.  It has to be devastating. If you have really put all you can into something and have even been led to believe you have done well then a very poor result must be humiliating. 

All the students I gave a little help to have done about as well as I expected they would do. It is about as well as they expected they would do too. None of them are brilliant students but I believe I can honestly say they worked hard and did the best they could. I know the parents of one student will be disappointed but the student himself will not be. He does not wish to follow the career path his family had mapped out for him and I doubt he could do it. He wants to do something equally worthwhile and he has the marks to do that. I hope his parents will accept that too. He worked for his results.

There are other stories like this too, many of them. There is also the human error in calculating the final scores and much more. I told some of the students how our results were given to us. They were horrified. Our results appeared in the state newspaper for everyone to see. Even our teachers had to wait to see our results that way. Some students were permitted to go in to the city and pick up papers which were quite literally hot off the press. We were never allowed to do that.  

In our family we had to wait until the Senior Cat opened the paper which had landed on the front lawn with a thud. He did not keep us waiting long but we had to wait. We would watch his expression anxiously as he ran a finger quickly down to our results and then he would give a nod and we would know that everything was all right. He would read the results out to us and then breakfast preparations would take place as he read slowly through the results of all the students in our school. He would fill in pre-prepared pages and be ready to talk to disappointed students and parents. He would be ready to congratulate or commiserate, to give advice or warnings and much more. 

Such days were horrible, they really were. It did not matter how well or badly we had done those exam results days were no fun. The phone would ring constantly. The teachers would be in and out analysing the results. "Cat did well but what about J..." I can hear someone saying even now. I had received a higher grade than the girl who was supposed to be better at Geography than I was. It was not a pleasant sensation at all.  Would J... talk to me when she next saw me?

At university we all had numbers. We could guess who some people were of course but most of the time we had no idea. I remember my first year at law school. "The results are up!" someone shouted and people rushed off to read them on "the wall". I waited until the rush was over, indeed until my first year tutor came to find me in the library and say, "Go and look Cat. It's all right."  My results were far, far better than I expected but could not read my number on the "wall" at all. It was there of course but I kept thinking there was a mistake because law was so different from anything else I had studied. The following years were no easier. I can remember all this and wonder if it might be the same for students who have come from cultures where rote learning is much more common. Having to express their own ideas here is so much harder for them.

And now it will be a new group of students doing their final year of school in the coming year and we will go through it all again. It is not easy and I hope I won't ever forget what it was like.  Results day is not fun!

The "Bali Nine" members

who have now been returned here most certainly do not recognise how very, very fortunate they are. Not only did they not face a firing squad like the two considered to be ring leaders but they did not die in the appalling conditions which are an Indonesian prison.

Yes, perhaps they were young but they knew what they were doing was wrong. They knew what the consequences might be if they were caught.

They are now out of prison, out of Indonesia and back here and "free". I cannot help wondering what they will do with the rest of their lives. Who will want to employ them? What saleable skills do they have, if any? 

They were ready and willing and prepared to take the risks they took. At the time it did not matter to them that they were attempting to bring something into this country which would have caused so much misery and death to others.  I cannot help wondering if they feel any regret at what they attempted to do - or whether any regret is just that they were caught. Perhaps I am wrong but I suspect the latter rather than the former.

Our Prime Minister may see his role in the negotiations for their release as some sort of political coup but there will be a price to pay. I would like to think it would be at the ballot box but it is more likely to be a concession to Indonesia. There will be a cost of some sort and it might be a very heavy price indeed.

These men will need to be watched for the rest of their lives.  

Are the "activists" taking over?

There was a column in the paper yesterday suggesting that "activists" are "taking over" the education system. Yes we are short of teachers and too many of the good teachers do seem to be leaving. Is that trend really leaving behind only "activist" teachers, those who want to be there to influence young minds into "politically correct" ways of thinking?

It would be ridiculous to believe that of course but there might also be more than a grain of truth in the idea that some of those teachers who have remained do believe this is their role. I talked to a small group of them recently. They all saw it as their role to "inform" their students about issues like "climate change", "racism" and "gender diversity". What they were in schools to teach was something very different. One was there to teach Chinese, another to teach social sciences and the rest to teach maths and science. They all said they would like to have more actual teaching time but, even as they said this, they were telling me that "other things are just as important now". Really? I find that hard to believe.

I am now wondering what school should be about. What is so important about school? When I was a very small kitten by no means all children went to "kindy" or kindergarten. There was no "day care" or "pre-school" either. If your parents, usually your mother, felt so inclined you went to kindergarten for a few hours a week. A good many children arrived at school with no ability to read anything, not even their own name. I remember all the pictures above the hooks on which we hung our coats and hats and bags. The teacher had given each child a choice of picture. Like one or two others mine was marked out by my name because I could read. I could read not just my name but read actual books. It was considered very interesting to have any child who recognised their name at all.

Now things are different. If a child reaches school age unable to read their name and recognise letters then that child is considered to be "behind". It is also expected they will be familiar with a great many other ideas, some of them very "woke" ideas indeed. There is apparently a need to ensure they are "informed" about all sorts of issues, many of them perhaps beyond their understanding. That does not matter of course. What matters is that they know and, hopefully, believe what is "correct". This is how the earnest activists see their role as teachers.

These ideas pervade all of education now, even into universities. It is important to ensure the students are "aware". I would say "indoctrinated" but that would mark me out as a dangerous radical - probably of the far right! If I suggested that students should be taught to actually think about issues and the potentially many sides to an idea it would be met with horror. We cannot have children exposed to different points of view. If we do then they may not believe the correct position. Such things could be dangerous.

Taking a "gap year" was not something we knew anything about when I was at school. I am now wondering whether it might not be the best possible thing for students to do. If they have to get out into the "real" world, even for just a short time, then it is just possible that they might be confronted with a range of ideas. It will be hard, perhaps almost impossible, to change opinions by then but perhaps it might cause black and white thinking to turn to grey sometimes. It might help and we might return to some of the genuinely creative thinking we need in order to progress.

Challenging a will

is something this family knows too much about. I have written elsewhere about what happened to us. It is not something I would want anyone else to go through.

It was therefore interesting to read that a grandson in a very high profile property family is now attempting to challenge a will. He has put in an "urgent" challenge for his case to be heard under the "old rules". There will be new legislation coming into effect at the beginning of 2025 and that would perhaps bar him from challenging. Under the new legislation it will be much more difficult for grandchildren to challenge a will.

I am wondering how well this will work. In this case the challenger has at least one serious drug related conviction. Does this make a person less worthy of an inheritance? Perhaps the court will take that into consideration when the time comes.

It may be less common than it was but there are still instances of the bulk of an estate going to the males, sometimes just the first male, of the next generation. In this country it has nothing to do with a "title" being passed on but a belief on the part of the testator that this is how things should be done. Often it carries with it a belief that the beneficiary will see to it that a female or females are cared for. 

The problem is that it does not always work that way. Not far from here an elderly woman I knew was left homeless. Her son inherited the estate which included the house, an expensive car and a portfolio of investments which brought in a very comfortable income. There was also the bank account in his father's name. The inheritance was on a verbal understanding that this woman would be cared for until her death. Instead of making sure his mother was comfortable this man informed her she had to look for other accommodation and that there would be nothing for her. It took several years to sort out the resultant mess and, while something was negotiated, it was far from what was actually intended. 

There was also the case of the step-daughter who had cared for her step-father for many years. He, rightly, left a substantial share of his estate to her. Her step-siblings challenged the will and claimed she had "undue influence" over their father. As they had done nothing to help care for him they eventually failed to get all they wanted but still obtained more than which the will entitled them to.

Perhaps the new legislation will provide a more rapid conclusion to problems like this.

Now there is another story in the paper of a woman who has been convicted of the murder of the man she allegedly inherited from. It has taken many years to sort out the associated problems and it is only now the family can hold a funeral. If the new legislation can prevent this then perhaps it will be of value.

What the new legislation will not do is save the emotional stress that any sort of problem with a will can cause. That is perhaps the thing that matters most of all.  

Teaching maths would not be

my number one choice of occupation. I was never particularly fond of "arithmetic" at school. I usually got things right. I would manage ten out of ten for "mental" arithmetic. I knew the difference between a square and a rectangle in geometry. I certainly knew my "times tables". Mum saw to that!

When I was teaching I would sometimes fling a "five times eight" or "seven times six" at a child who was not concentrating on the task at hand. "Yes, you do need to know it all that well," I would tell them. There were sighs and groans but I kept telling them how useful it would be.

Times tables are useful. Being able to add, subtract, multiply and divide is useful too. My class made paper houses using all those things.  We struggled with "bases" and "set theory". Unless any of them went on to do mathematics at university I doubt anyone in the class remembers any of that - but they might still know how to work out how many tiles they need when they do their bathroom renovations.

I thought of all this as I read yet another complaint that we are not teaching enough maths and not enough of the right sort of maths in schools. The Senior Cat worried about this and about the failure to phonics and spelling and grammar and many other things. He would argue that "the basics" or "the building blocks" should come before the "coding" and more. Yes, we want people who can write programs for computers but we also need people who can work out many tiles are needed to tile the bathroom. The person writing about this was saying much the same thing. 

In the latest round of NAPLAN results it has been interesting to discover that the schools with the "best" results (the highest scores) are schools where there has been a return to more traditional teaching methods. I know there are arguments for and against this but I saw the old "Qualifying Certificate" papers my parents did and then looked at the "Progress Certificate" papers my brother and I did. We had never heard of coding, indeed computers were almost non-existent. My brother knows a great deal about that sort of thing now but he has also made sure his own children and then grandchildren know "the basics". I made sure the Whirlwind knew her times tables and that she could apply her arithmetic skills to every day life.

I had to call in at a house where there is a nine year old boy. He was doing his "homework", in this case a project which spread over the weekend. He was making a model and struggling to work out if he had a piece of cardboard which was big enough. His father was trying to help and getting the response, "But we don't do it like that!" I thought it was going to end in tears but his mother stepped in and guided him through the process in "the old way". Both his parents were given a much more traditional education and they think things like "times tables" are important. 

I wonder if children might be more interested and ready to learn if we could show them how some of these basic skills apply to everyday life?  It might also save them from some frustration. 

I also wonder if teaching some of these basic skills in "the old way" and expecting children to behave in ways which allow them to learn might save much more than frustration - for everyone.  

Playing with mud

is something I have not done for years. Perhaps it would be soothing right now.

I went to a funeral yesterday and was left wondering yet again at the way some people outlive so many of their family and their friends. My paternal grandfather once told me something about this. "I have lived too long. All my friends have gone."

Another friend, a migrant to this country, once told me, " I have nobody left to whom I can say 'remember when' ". She was speaking about her childhood.

It is perhaps why it was important for someone else I knew to return to Holland in her old age. She did not have Alzheimer's but there were moments of loss and confusion brought on by grief. It is so much more difficult when you have needed to change your language as well. Another Dutch friend, who spoke excellent English but always spoke Dutch with her husband, would also use Dutch with me. She did not do this with everyone but I had known her almost all my life. I had stayed with them occasionally and they treated me as they treated their own children. They spoke to us in Dutch even while we answered them in English. (That I usually understood was more to do with the situation than any real understanding of the language!)

M... had another sort of language. She was ninety-nine and ten months when she died. She did not quite reach the century.  That would have infuriated her. I think she was frustrated towards the end of her life. She had always been a very busy person, busy in her garden, busy making scones in her kitchen, busy making a quilt for someone. Years ago now she taught me how to do a rarely used cast on in knitting. "Of course I'll show you. It's very useful." Yes it has been useful. 

I would sometimes pass her home on my way to and from another destination. If the bright yellow car was there I would stop for a moment. She would always have something to show, almost always something for someone else.

And there were the pots she had once made. For her they had been a form of art therapy. She had lost her first love. Like so many he did not come back from "the war". He was an airman. It took her several years to find another love, this time a returned sailor. In between she had held down jobs and begun to learn to, as she once put it to me, "play with mud". She told me it calmed her. It was a physical pleasure to feel the clay under her fingers. I have watched potters at work on many occasions and tried to imagine the sensation of bring a lump of "dirt" to life. I love the idea of being able to start over again if something goes wrong in the early stages of creation. Not all crafts allow for that!

My uncle, also a potter, thought highly of M's work. No, she was not a professional. She did not mix with professional potters the way he did but he knew there was "something" there in her work that he could relate to or needed. I suspect it was that need to play with mud.   

Flying the flag should not

be a contentious issue...but apparently it is. 

It is claimed that this country has three national flags. There is the flag  this sports mad country competes under. Yes, that's the one with the Union Jack in the corner and the stars. There is also the "Aboriginal" flag which is red and black and yellow and the Torres Strait Islander flag.

The present government has been making a habit of standing in front of all three when making any and every announcement. That it is not the correct protocol does not seem to bother them at all.  

It is not correct because only one of those flags represents all Downunderites. The other flags should only be there if the matter being announced or under discussion is part of a conversation with that particular group. The aboriginal and islander flags do not represent all of us,

In my Guiding days we were taught how to fly the flag, how to raise it and lower it and how to fold it. It has been a very, very long time since I did it and I doubt I could remember all the correct procedure now but I do know that what we also managed to learn at the same time was respect for that flag. The other two flags did not even exist then. They did not come into official use until 1995 and even then they were considered controversial.

Yes, they are controversial. A national flag should represent all citizens of that country. The indigenous and islander flags represent a very tiny number of people and, while very important to those they represent, they do not belong to all of us. 

The mad(e)ness of Christmas cake

is something I should not even be contemplating right now but I am in the midst of trying to actually do it.

I almost never make cake of any sort. I am not an eater of cake. Yes, freshly baked cake is lovely but I cannot be bothered with the mess beforehand. Most people I know like cake well enough but I suppose we are all conscious of the "middle age spread". We are conscious of the need to eat sensibly and healthily. We might eat biscuits but not cake.

All this is true unless it is Christmas...and then there is cake. It has to be fruit cake of course. I might eat a sliver or two. I prefer shortbread for my Christmas munchie treats.

So, why do I make it? Why do I go through the laborious process of soaking fruit, beating butter and dark brown sugar, breaking in eggs one at a time and then adding flour and spices? It would be so much easier to just buy a cake from that charity which sells thousands of them. They make a good cake, or so people tell me.

No, cousin T... and his partner expect cake. It is my Christmas present to them. Middle Cat and her partner expect cake. Neither of them should be eating it but this is Christmas and they do not indulge in fruit cake at any other time. 

I use a very old recipe and I double it. If I double the number of ingredients it will make three good sized cakes or, more likely, two good sized cakes and then multiple small cakes to give to other people. I can give small cakes to elderly friends who no longer do any baking at all. 

So yes, in the midst of moving from one abode to another I am making cake...and at least, in the midst of all the madness, it smells like Christmas. 

Our Prime Minister needs to stand up or

resign and leave politics altogether. That would be the preferable thing. At very least he needs to stand aside. He is not a leader.

It was only yesterday, after two full days, that he managed to call the arson at the synagogue what it really was - a terrorist attack. That is not good enough.

Listening to him I am absolutely certain he had memorised words written for him by someone else. He was apparently still unable to put into his own words that what had happened was in the nature of a terrorist attack. I have little doubt he does not believe that any sort of terrorism occurs in this country. When you hear him speak you do get the feeling that he believes everything is fine for the most part and that this sort of thing is nothing more than a very isolated incident, the sort of thing we do not need to worry about.

I don't believe that. I have noticed changes and some of those changes have been very recent. Parliament has changed.  There have been some vile racist incidents there. There are ways to protest in parliament but they do not include the ways which cause you to be removed or to use the sort of language that hurts others. Parliament should be there to set an example not as some sort of exception. Yes, it has always been an unruly place at times but recently there have been instances which go far beyond that.

On our international news service yesterday I watched a frail old man ask a much younger man, a migrant to this country, to take on a role of leadership. As he gave his blessing to the younger man I could not help but see the anxiety in the eyes of the younger man. Will he be able to do the job and will he be able to do it effectively and with humility? I am not Catholic and the Pope doing such things means little to me in a religious sense but it means a lot in other ways. It is an example to follow.

The Prime Minister's lack of leadership in all this is simply encouraging the very worst elements in our society, the racist and misogynistic elements, to do more. 

 

Supermarket bags

require the attention of a therapist specialising in manual dexterity skills. Such a person could then make a fortune teaching the rest of us how to open them.

Our local supermarket has two different types of "plastic" bags. Our greengrocer also has two different types.  

There must be a reason for this as the greengrocer is very environmentally conscious. He buys local and in season whenever he can. The source of his produce is labelled and you can be certain that if the garlic comes from Mexico it is only because there is no garlic available here. Yes, you can buy strawberries in the middle of winter if you must but they will come from interstate. There will not be many available and they will be expensive. Such strawberries are not likely to be what he considers "best quality".  He will suggest an alternative and much tastier fruit.

And he uses "plastic bags" - or does he? There are bags there, on rollers. You can tear them off and then, if you can open it, you can use it to place your purchase in. These bags are soft and slippery but not the sort of slippery-open sort. Somehow they stay determinedly shut.

I take my own bags of course. I have been doing it for years. I have been doing it ever since they stopped providing outsize paper bags for groceries. They may not have been the most environmentally friendly thing out but our cats loved playing in them. The supermarket "recyclable" pseudo woven plastic bag was not the same. I went over to the lightweight nylon bags which can be washed. They wear out eventually but, taken care of, they do last a long time.

But the other bags you ask? Yes, I do need to use those at times. The person at the check out does not want to pick up badly behaved beans from the floor or chase loose lettuce leaves across the counter. The staff know me well enough that they will take my cucumber and put it on top of the lettuce leaves. They will add a capsicum to the tomatoes after weighing both separately. We understand each other perfectly well.

And they will even on occasion patiently open the "plastic" bag for me as I struggle with it. These bags are made from "potato" they tell me. Edible? No. 

And some things still require something sturdier it would seem. I have not yest worked out what these things are or how the decision is made but are the bags any easier to open? No. They are apparently not "plastic" any more but they continue to be a challenge to open.

I bought some mushrooms yesterday and, wonder of wonders, they came with their very own paper bag. I can recycle that today.  

Setting fire to a synagogue

is not something I could have contemplated happening in this country even twenty years ago. Yesterday I was not surprised, just sickened.

I watched members of the congregation so carefully carrying out the precious Torah scrolls and felt angry. No, I am not Jewish but I do know something about what those scrolls mean to Jews. I believe those scrolls are handwritten by a specially trained person. That alone would make them something very special. They consist of the first five books of the Bible and I understand those books are of especial importance to Jews.

If the building had been a mosque and those scrolls had been the Koran there would have been riots in our streets. I do not doubt that for a moment. There would have been young Muslim men protesting loudly and violently. There would have been condemnation and more condemnation.

Yes, the Prime Minister did speak out and condemn the attack on the synagogue. The Leader of the Opposition did too. There was some media coverage which led to them speaking out. The Premier of Victoria did visit the site. All of them knew something was almost certainly going to happen even though our federal government recently voted with others for a "two state solution" at the United Nations. The problem is that a two state solution is not what everyone wants. Hamas wants to see Israel wiped off the maps and they have supporters, powerful supporters.

The Jewish community took the attack far more quietly than many people expected. Someone here said to me, "I would have thought they would have been yelling and screaming and demanding vengeance." What would that have done? 

I came home from that conversation and took out the handwritten book I own. I looked at it again and found the words I was looking for

"Time past and time present are both perhaps present in time future and time future contained in time past". 

The words come of course from TS Eliot's "Burnt Norton".  I wondered about this again. Can we ever escape this thousands of years old hatred by some of the Jews?  Why this "we are right and you are wrong"?

It is too easy to forget - Christ was a Jew. 

 

Give us "feedback"!

We demand feedback! You have to give us feedback! Why haven't you given us feedback? We rely on your feedback!

And so it goes on. I suppose I have just lied to the last company after they demanded feedback on no less than five occasions. I told their "survey" I could not remember the transaction.

I do remember getting the product in question but the occasion itself is not seared into my memory. It was a very ordinary transaction. It was just the sort of thing I expected. I ordered. They responded. I paid. They delivered. That was the end of the story.

This "feedback" thing seems to be relatively new. Companies seem to be demanding it in order to advertise and in order to compete with similar companies. 

My view is that, if they are good, word will get around anyway. Word will get around if they are not good too. I am more likely to look for negative reports in order to avoid businesses. There is also what I call "the telephone test" to seek out competent businesses. If someone answers the phone within a short space of time and knows their own business they will get credit for it. If they do not know but call me back when they said would then it is much more likely I will want to do business with them. This is by no means foolproof but it is at least an indicator.

I get particularly irritated by people who refuse to accept my failure to respond to their demands. One individual actually told me I "had to respond". I told him I had to do no such thing. I also said I had not purchased the service in question and was not intending to do so. He was particularly persistent. He called back three times. The third time I put the receiver down firmly. 

I also know enough about writing surveys and conducting surveys to know that the format can influence the outcome. Ask me to give a rating on a scale of one to ten with no reference points and I want to strangle the writer of the questionnaire. There is no point in collecting data like this if you are looking to improve performance. It means nothing. If you are simply looking at ways to say "Eight out of ten dentists recommend our toothpaste" it might work - but that is not the same as "eight out every ten dentists recommend it".

Christmas geese and turkeys

and a few other food related things have passed through my mind recently. I have done nothing about any of them.

In previous years I have usually made large quantities of shortbread, lebkuchen and "honey crackles" - the latter made from cornflakes, sugar, honey and butter if you are not familiar with the term. It has been time consuming.

I have also made Christmas cake. My cousin T... expects cake. R... does most of the cooking in their household but fruit cake is something that he has not yet troubled to make. Why make it if Cat can do it instead?

I may get around to doing some cooking but my excuse this year has been the "moving house" one. I know I can only take that so far. I still have to post Christmas letters. I have started on that but my young friend S... needs a letter of his own, not some adult missive of dubious interest to a twelve year old boy.  It is more fun to do that than think about Christmas food.

I went into the third supermarket yesterday afternoon - on my way back from taking yet another load to the charity shop. The other two are in the main shopping centre. This one is across the road. It is that German origin store. I rarely go in there. I dislike it for a number of reasons, not least because the staff are very unfriendly. They had none of the ingredients I was looking for apart from strawberries. W... is coming to lunch so I will need to go to my favourite supermarket shortly. They will have what I need. They will have the ordinary every day things that can be turned into the extraordinary if I want to do it. I can get milk produced at a farm not too far away ....and think of the cows and the dairy farmers as I do it. I can get tomatoes and be thankful that the local suppliers to this supermarket were not hit by the recent disease troubles. These are ordinary, everyday things that should come from local places but the third supermarket has nothing like that. It is another reason I rarely shop there.

What infuriated me even more than the lack of the ingredients I was looking for however was the presence of something else. Christmas is coming up - so why on earth are there hot cross buns on the bakery shelves? Will someone please explain?

Charging us to use our own money?

Apparently this is what one of the "big four" banks in this country is now planning to do. If people want to get cash anywhere other than from an ATM they are planning on charging them $3. 

"Fair enough," I hear you saying, "Someone has to be employed to pass that cash over." 

I don't think that is a proper answer. ATMs are disappearing around here. There used to be six within a hundred metre radius of our local shopping centre. Now there are two. One is accessible from outside. The other, not serviced by a bank, is inside. It is inaccessible outside the times the centre is open. The outside ATM is "out of service" too often for it to be completely reliable. The next ATM is several kilometres away. 

It seems however that cash is going the way of pass books and being able to go into a bank and actually get served by a teller. There are shops which will no longer take cash. It seems they would rather do without your business than have the difficulty of finding a bank willing to actually take cash and being able to do that inside business hours.

The bank which is now planning to charge people to take out cash once had a very busy branch in the shopping centre. There were almost always queues of people in there. The local businesses banked there. They handled money for the local council and much more. They had a dedicated teller machine too. All that has gone. The local post office (not open on Saturdays) now has to handle some of the bank's work. They do not have extra staff to do this.

Most of us have no choice but to use a bank. It is not simply a matter of "convenience" but a necessity.  They should be there as a service not to themselves but to the "customers".  It will be interesting to see if the bank in question has to backtrack on this "fee" - or whether it will encourage other banks to do the same.  

Pardoning your own child

may seem "unpardonable" but is it really as bad as it looks to some? Perhaps President Biden should not have done it but I think it is understandable.

To put it bluntly, "Yes, Hunter Biden was treated differently." Had he been the son of a "John Smith" the matter might never have got that far. It almost certainly would not have been reported in the media, especially the world wide media. In such things it matters who and what your parents are.  

I went from being "the teacher's kid" to "the head's kid".  It was the same for my siblings. I started school at four years and five weeks old and I started as the teacher's kid. I was not in his class. I was in a lower class but it was a small country school and "everyone knew everyone". I was expected to behave absolutely perfectly. There were no concessions at all. 

From the start I think I knew that I was treated differently. There was a conscious effort not to treat me any differently and in doing so I was treated that way. I was punished for slight infractions when other children were simply told to behave. I was never chosen to be "leader" or "in charge" of a group. Perhaps they thought I was never good enough but now I think it is more likely I was not to be shown any favours.

My brother and I were never allowed to win prizes for anything. We might be "top" (and we usually were academically speaking) but we were never allowed to win the prizes given. It was explained to us that this could not happen. The only school prize I have is the history prize I got on graduating from primary school. I was allowed to have that because everyone got a prize for something!

We went on through our secondary years the same way. I am sure our parents thought they were doing the right thing. This was especially so in rural areas where "favouritism" of the head's kids would have caused more than a little discussion. It was possibly as difficult for them as it was for us. 

I often think of things like that when I read of "X's son - or daughter" in a negative news story. They may have been caught speeding a few kilometres over the limit but it will be a court appearance, their name in the media and the maximum penalty. For other teenagers it can be as little as a slap on the wrist and a warning not to do it again. Yes, they do get treated differently and their parents get less sympathy, indeed the behaviour of their children can be used against them. 

Perhaps President Biden should not have done what he has done...but I have little doubt that President Trump would do the same. He might even pardon himself.  

There are no books

for intelligent twelve year old boys who need large print...or not that I can find.

Before you say "yes, there are" I am not talking about the books for dyslexic children. I have been hunting for novels that other boys or girls that age who enjoy reading might want to read. I have been looking for something like that as a gift, not a "this has to be read for school" sort of book.

There are large print books in our local library, quite a lot of them. They are all in the "adult" section. Many of them are light romance or westerns or books from the first half of last century. For years a staid (or perhaps "prim and proper") committee at the Royal Society for the Blind decided which books would be made available in large print. There were many things which were considered "unsuitable" - because of the content. I remember a friend of mine commenting on this. She spent years reading to her severely visually impaired partner. One reason to do so was because he wanted books that were considered to be "not the sort of thing the blind should be hearing about".  

I believe that attitude has changed somewhat but the range of books is still, inevitably, limited. What concerns me more is the lack of books for younger readers. I spent some hours searching the internet for something - and came up with nothing. There was not even a whisper of one with a Downunder setting. 

Reading a book using one of the magnifying or other devices now available is not the same thing. It is not the same as being given a new, just for you, book and feeling the feel of it or smelling that "new book" smell that awakens the taste buds of imagination. 

I went to our local independent bookshop and talked to one of the staff. It was something new to her. "I'll see if Gardner's can come up with anything Cat" was the best she could do. In the midst of the Christmas rush I doubt she will even remember. I will remind her next year.

The market for such books will not be big but it is possible to do things that could not once be done...perhaps it is time we did.

For other purposes I also looked at "wordless picture books". Most of them don't come close to what I have in mind. They still rely on language and, all too often, prior knowledge of a story. It is just possible something can be done about that though. I can at least think about that as I am packing and sorting - because everyone has a right to read in their own way.