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Diary of a Retiree: Day 274
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Diary of a Retiree: Day 273
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Fitness
While walking along the Goulburn River a couple of days ago, I realised I was getting a bit short of breath going up hills. I haven’t been doing much strenuous exercise in recent months and I think it is telling. So, I got on the bike for a 10k tester to see where I was at. I need to get the cardiovascular system pumping again! The legs felt heavy and I was puffing away on inclines that have never bothered me before. My conclusion is that walking is a wonderful form of exercise for keeping you active, the joints mobile and getting some fresh air into your lungs, but you most certainly need to get the heart rate up on a regular basis as well.
Getting back on the bike mid-winter around here is something of a challenge though. Even on this sunny afternoon, the chill factor on the downhill cruise was quite uncomfortable across my chest. I will need to pick my times and use the resistance trainer in between. Still, these are good options and I think I am in the right frame of mind for regular cycling again.
I also started a Quigong class a couple of months ago. This is an ancient form of Chinese martial art practiced in a fluid, slow motion, somewhat like Tai Chi. It is excellent for coordination, balance, mind / muscle control and range of motion. I am yet to remember the 64 sequential movements necessary to take myself to the most basic level of fluidity, but that will come in time.
Company
There have been quite a few visitors lately. The most recent, a lovely visit from Lyn, an old school friend. This weekend brother Keir and nephew Caleb are arriving for some riding and bushwalking. It has been wonderful to see so many friends and family make the effort to come here. We really value and appreciate their stays. Interestingly, I don’t always know the people that come. Recently we had a visit from Mitch (who used to work for Mary) and his wife Jacqui. In their mid 20s, I had only briefly met them at their engagement party a while ago. What a delight to have such vital, intelligent, young visitors in the mix. They were great company and I really hope to see them again.
I love it when we have people of all ages come. Mary’s Melbourne book group is a case in point. 10 of them, half in their late 20s / early 30s, half in their 60s, are a highly entertaining bunch. I am lucky to be able to sit in when they meet at our place. Their birthday book club lunch meeting celebrating Darren’s 30th and Mary’s 60th was a real hoot. There was lots of laughter, perceptive book talk and conversations all over the place. I was sorry to see them go.
It is also great to see people arrive with their baggage and begin to leave some cares behind as they settle into the groove of just being here, no pressure to do anything, time to talk and walk, to look around, become part of the landscape and change down a cog, to begin to match the pace of the place. At least, this is the way I see it and I hope this is the way they find it to be.
Sean
In Molesworth
(On the night of this photo, from this very microstage, it might not look possible, but it is true, true, true! The man above caused the mayhem below)
I come upon a fawning crowd
Of ferals
Bogan fresh and proud
Straight from the shower
And into the pub
Girls glistening with glitter
Post hot water scrub
Their stretch jeans too tight
Their muffin tops showing
Breasts fixed just right
Pancake face glowing
The boys in their utes
Polished for showing
All looking cute
With product hair woven
They come in their droves
From asbestos laced shedding
From acreage homes
Town houses with cladding
They gather in cliques
Or large social groups
The drinks go down nicely
The talk turns to hoots
And bold statements of fact
And alcohol hugs
The bravado act
As beer goes in chugs
The girls are a twitter
Who did what to whom?
They flit hither thither
Across the filling room
The singles are looking
For a match for the night
All out there hooking
Their catch to hold tight
The couples are clingy
Not risking detachment
While the bully boys prowl
Asking “What that meant?”
The lonely boys savour
Their chances tonight
And if they’re not lucky
There’s always a fight
We’re packed in the room
As the lights slowly fade
There’s noise in the gloom
It comes from the stage
A postage stamp corner
Two metres by three
Can it be enough
For a man such as he?
Hushed anticipation
A God almighty roar
An explosive oration
James Reyne’s through the door
They know every word
For every single beat
They’re a seething horde
A mob on its feet
The mob moves as one
Rolling in great waves
And it sings as one
Waking cemeteries of graves
Glasses held aloft
Drinks slosh with abandon
Dancers mash and mosh
Bodies bounce and cannon
Reyne looks astonished
With worry in his eye
They won’t be admonished
They’re living the lie
So he charms them
And he works them
The favourites are all here
He sings every hit
Everyone holds dear
Delivers with great fervour
Stokes their every passion
They sway and rock and quiver
Out of their heads and thrashing
The pace increases
Momentum builds
They’re here to get
Rock dreams fulfilled
He massages their egos
He caresses their zones
He tickles their fancies
He shakes their bones
He works them to ecstatic climax
As one collective lover
The building shakes
The room erupts
Foundations quake
…..
But it’s not enough
They cry loud, “More, more!”
But James is through the kitchen
Quickly out the door
To quit while you’re ahead
In Molesworth that’s for sure
Together, the mob bows its collective head
They pause in the afterglow
They know tonight went red
They know how to put on a show
In Molesworth
Winter forager
Image
Photographed at the edge of the Tableland in a stand of flowering manna gums, this acrobatic female white-naped honeyeater was one of dozens foraging for nectar. Nowhere near as colouful as her male counterpart, she was just as noisy with her husky throated sqwawk and musical whistle. When her beak wasn’t deeply inserted into one of the thousands of bright yellow sprays of bloom it was furtively seeking insects.
Crossing the developmental line
Aside
Humankind must understand that we have crossed a retrograde developmental line when our use of technology is based on faith that it will work rather than understanding of how and why it will work. SM
Bogart shopfront work in progress: an update
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The Bogart shopfront pop up studio in Euroa hosting Katie van Nooten’s Geelong Hospital mosaic commission has seen intense activity as the deadline approaches. See the images in the gallery below for an update on the amazing progress being made … Continue reading
for eternity
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A poem for thine eyes to see
Words that speak of love for thee
A verse from where my head doth rest
Upon thy softly rising chest
A breath
A gentle tender plea
To bind our hearts eternally
To state our love is rich and rare
An intimacy that none can share
I’ll stay with you through eternal life
My friend my lover my eternal wife
Jocose
I am jocose
In the most playful sense
Humorously jocular
Amusingly dense
My jovial disposition
Laughter vents
winter nights, spoken delights
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Last night, in good company, I went to a first evening of poetry readings at the North East Artisans Community Art Space in Benalla. It just so happens that this closely coincided with our very own first Strathbogie Spoken Word … Continue reading
The Death of Miss Richards
Did you read A S Patric’s Black Rock White City? “The Death of Miss Richards” stands alone as a poem, but read the book to meet the character properly. Highly recommended.
Why did miss richards die
Jump in front of the train
Without learning to fly
She broke her wrists and her ankles
Before the Hallam train hit
For the briefest of moments
She hurt a bit
Although and however
She may have been hurting
Previously forever
Why didn’t miss richards cry
Let out her feelings
Sob, weep and sigh
Miss Richards always looked so content
Nose in a book
Mind being sent
Not a woman in pain
Not a lass to complain
Of a heart broken or rent
And she ate vegetarian food
For the soul
It looked good
It makes you wonder how should
What actually could
Make miss richards want to die
Miss Richards looked serene
Like one in a dream
Thoughtful and peaceful
Quiet as a mouse
I note she loved music
And the capacity to choose it
Her playlists sashay lists
Of walls without bridges
As we on the ridges
Played miss richards I spy
I never said hi miss richards
Nor hello now goodbye
So she sat by herself until lunchtime went by
Miss richards headphones and book
Ne’er one to sook
Ne’er a wet eye
As she kept to herself
Alone on her shelf
Self sufficient as one cloud in a blue blue sky
Oh why oh why
Did miss richards have to die
Bogart
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Earlier this year I facilitated a group of 20 Strathbogie Tableland artists gathered to identify common goals. The preeminent subject discussed was the creative potential that could be harnessed by working together in a communal space. With the purpose of … Continue reading
Hedge End Lane
we took a walk down Hedgend Lane
squeezed it in ‘tween showers of rain
a short walk from the bogie road
walking to an end unknown
with us walking we took the whippet
keen as mustard leashed and at it
we set off into an icy grind
tempting fate against winter’s mind
the road was dirt puddles like scales
the wind was cold sharp as nails
the sky was grey and overcast
prophesising an arctic blast
we met two cockies one unwell
the other uted name of Neville
we chewed the fat for a moment or two
then nev went off to feed his ewes
he knew our house and seller’s name
said she fell victim to a scam
he asked about the other cock
down the road about a block
we said we saw its damaged wing
we couldn’t get close to do a thing
nev had been asked by his lovely wife
to mercy kill it take its life
as we waved farewell to nev and ute
we thought the man was quite astute
a life at bogie on a farm
a laconic style of rural charm
the next instalment was a procession of lambs
from biggest to smallest dashing for dams
such cute and playful snow white children
it’s quite a flock old nev’s a building
then we came to the farm homestead
work dogs wagging tethered to sheds
at the front gate there’s a dead bloated sheep
the one nev warned us about to go deep
onward we walked into more open space
where grazing occurs at a slow country pace
a hereford watched our brisk passage past
as it chewed on cud made of wet winter grass
at the end of the road there’s a pleasant surprise
a tableland drop off topped by glowering skies
the gap between hills is not very wide
but big enough to see down the hillside
it’s a break in the mountain to a view of great grace
we can see to the plains and expansive green space
to the base of the tableland looking down is a thrill
from our throne like position at the top of the hills
Robin on the fence – Mary’s haiku
Robin on the fence
Flaming, flitting, just ahead
Leads a cheeky dance
Where Have I been?
Diary of a Retiree: Day 247
181 days since my last diary specific entry.
Where have I been?
I have had this question a few times. Maybe it is time to answer it. I have been in a headspace called preoccupied. A week or two ago, I had a realisation. I realised that I may have finally arrived somewhere else. Where? Well, I think I arrived at some sort of understanding or reconciliation with the fact that I no longer need to be preoccupied with the concept of working under the instruction of others. It has taken eight months.
Admittedly, particularly in the last five years or so, I enjoyed a significant degree of autonomy in my work – a very fortunate and often rewarding circumstance. On the other hand, I found plenty of reasons to be dissatisfied, especially when I felt outcomes could have been better. Instead of settling systems into place, I have seen widespread and rapid change with poorly considered impacts on work groups become the norm. The recurring, patronising platitudes and executive level incompetence I have seen offered up in approaches to radical change management have been gob smacking. I have felt stymied by management incumbents and structures that do little other than promote power plays, churn and corporate memory loss. I have seen stabilising, value adding loyalty between employees and employers evaporate.
I have worked with some brilliant people. I miss and take my hat off to so many of my ICU and HITH nursing colleagues for their enormous depth of experience, their vast reservoir of knowledge, their diverse skill sets, their advanced professionalism, their teamwork and individual initiative, their collegiality and their highly-developed sense of empathy and compassion. How blessed to work with such people! I have been Supervisor, ANUM and Educator working with some outstanding Nurse Unit Mangers and fellow Educators. Very sadly, after 36 years of working in healthcare I can’t make the same observations about the medical profession. I have worked with some good medicos, but as a generalisation, I would have to say self-serving and arrogant are still the words that come to mind. The medical culture is toxic to efficient and cooperative healthcare institutions.
So, where have I been? Coming to terms with the haunting of my working past. Lifting the weight of working to protect colleagues and patients from harm at the hands of my employers.
The frustration is fading. I am beginning to look ahead, toward the possibilities of the future. The new question is, where am I going? It feels like an optimistic one.
Ni’ ni’ sweetie pie
Ni’ ni’ sweetie pie
I’m going to leepy la
To the land where the dream tree grows …..
Once I’m settled and curled
And my heart has unfurled
I’ll be ready to witness the show
I’ll beam all beatific at the wonders terrific
Of the whorls and the heat and the snow
I’ll meander with candour
Past sweet treats and wander
To the rooms where they play with a bow
Sweet music will render
My soul to surrender
To the passions of love’s inner glow
And I’ll put all at stake
On the heroes I’ll make
As I stand up preparing to go
Back to the darkness
To the bedroom soft harkness
Of the breathing of sleep low low low
Summer meditation
At first it is the light you become aware of
The golden hue of a summer evening sun
The surreal enhancement of every vista
An enriching highlight to the end of the day
Take a deep breath
Sigh it out through an open mouth
Cleanse
Then the sounds reach into you
A rippling cascade of water
A wind gently rustling leaves
A magpie carolling
Find your position of comfort
Melt your body into the earth
Unwind
Your skin responds to the air around you
Its featherlight touch, gossamer weight
Soothing, reassuring, fresh and clean
Smooth your brow
Part your lips
Drop your shoulders
Let your hands and feet fall where they will
Relax
Close your eyes
Meditate
The world around you fades
You pacify it, clear your mind
Letting everything that was today go
Focus your mind’s eye between your eyebrows
Know your breathing
Breathe in
Breathe out
Breathe in
Breathe out
Float
Be
What you see
It isn’t the best shot of one of the local koalas, but it is the only one we saw on this evenings walk along Bridge to Bridge. There will be better shots to come. If you take your time, the wildlife exposure up here is something really special.
We stopped at the Seven Creeks site of the Goulburn Valley Water Treatment Plant akong the way. I will be meeting GV Water reps there in a couple of weeks to show them the state of the area. Hopefully, I can recruit them to the clean up cause in cooperation with our Strathbogie Tableland Landcare Group. I have a vision for extending the Landcare managed Bridge to Bridge bushwalk into a celebrated 12 – 15km experience that encircles the town. So far, various agencies have been supportive and collaboration with GV Water at this site would be grand!
Walking the Tableland
We are on a journey here. I mean, we are on all kinds of journeys of course, but this one is quite specific. This is a physical journey, one for travelling together. We have tasked ourselves with walking the roads, tracks and trails of the Strathbogie Tableland. Sometimes 4km, sometimes 15, every time something new to experience. Even when we repeat a path there will be a seasonal difference, something that has changed in the landscape surrounding us or something that has changed about ourselves that we take to each place.
33 kinds of rain
The misting rain as light as being
The pitter patter rain of anticipation
The sun shower rain of joyfulness
The dawn lit rain of new awakenings
The driving rain of persistent harassment
The piercing rain of pain and hurt
The bleak rain of uncertainty
The saturating rain of grief
The pounding rain of anger
The cold rain of fear and loathing
The persistent rain of melancholy
The drought breaking rain of celebration
The tropical rain of surprise and relief
The tin roof rain of night time snuggles
The slanting rain of getting under your skin
The fat wet rain of things to come
The dull rain of misery
The easing rain of hope for a day
The sheeting rain of washing your sins away
The aerosol rain that never settles
The eddying rain of indefinite endings
The ominous rain of growing darkness
The thunder laden rain of shock and fear
The storm driven rain of nature’s authority
The drenching rain of no escape
The floating rain of disproportionate outcomes
The harrowing rain of oppression and spite
The lightning flash rain of vision burned
The unexpected rain of scrambling for shelter
The flooding rain of tears
The icy rain of an unknown future
The sleety rain of chilled to the bone
The sunlit rain of clarity of purpose
The dancing rain of swirling possibilities
The evening rain of contemplation
The elemental rain of fundamental outcomes
The cloaking rain of secrecy
The wispy rain of dissipation
The hard rain of death
The transparent rain of release
The soft rain of peace
Dark, black night, cold, white frost, warm, golden sunshine
The cold can bite you here. It is sharp and crisp and penetrating. In the dark of a cloudless, moonless, star bright landscape, in the nocturnal brilliance of moonlit contrasts, in the shelter of a blackened room, it stabs through the bedclothes. It targets your knees or a hip, whichever joint is most elevated and least supplied with a warming blood supply. It ices your brain.
Then the morning comes. The frozen grass cracks under your feet. The birdbaths are glazed and crazed and the world is a wonderland of white light, of reflective crystals. It’s all worth it.
Then comes the sun. Gently rising over the tree lined eastern horizon, shafts start breaking through the cold barrier in scattered beams of raw illumination. Light sprays jump from each hoary crystal bed they touch. But just as quickly, just as they commence their flashy dance, they are replaced by translucent droplets, silvery and clear, mirroring the world around them in fresh formed globules like polished convex glass.
Then the rich, thermal bath of undiluted yellow sunshine begins. It bathes our world in a warming golden glow, washing from our memory the cold that was snapping at our heels such a short time ago. We revel in it. We revere it. We relish the transition from the sharp edged winter’s night to the slow, melting, immersive onset of another glorious North East Victorian winter’s day.
The Journey Begins
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton
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