The Great Aussie Barbeque, First: Catch Your Roo

Dawn was arriving, light had filtered its way past the closed curtains through the narrow slit my mismeasured drapery purchase had left between window and wall. The sun always starts peeking directly into that slit around this time of year, early spring. Trees are starting to sprout buds where new leaves would be in a few weeks if not days. I had told the wife all this only last week, she had replied, “spring won’t be here until the Rugby League grand finals”, I of course know better, spring comes when I say so.

The mornings are still cold, I continue sleeping in my “lightweight” thermal vest until that sneaking stream of sunlight finally moves around to meet the edge of the bedside table each August, exact date depending on when I decide I’m brave enough. The bathroom heater is still in use while I attempt my morning toe touch and deep knee bend, the former during the latter. In spite of the cool mornings I’m certain spring is already here, old people with arthritis can tell these things. Confirmation came with a loud heartbreaking argument among the other residents of my castle.

“You only turn the steak once, not more than once and only when the first side is well done” said one voice, the other not waiting until the first finished before ending it with a simple, “I like sausages anyway.” I knew it was coming as the wife walked down the hall toward me, It’s happened before and I dread it each year. Quickly searching for a rational justification for delay I looked up from my dusting as she said, “We want a barbeque tonight.” That’s it, just dropped the bomb and walked away, truth popped into my brain a second after words left my mouth, “We can’t, you didn’t clean the barbeque at the end of last summer.” Yea, that had done it, fixed them all good and proper.

I lifted the dusty metal cover from the barbeque and looked inside, it had been sometime in March since the last ritual burning. The tiny peaked mountains of solidified oil and grease were covered with caps of dust looking for all the world like European alps, the twisted bits of petrified onion, tiny Chalets awaiting skiers, but of course, it’s spring not winter, I’d said so myself. Carefully searching for any reason to abandon this horrible enterprise I examined every nook and cranny of the wheeled man killer, no luck, or none that would fly with the jury. With a silent prayer I looked toward heaven, there it was, my prayer answered, “Looks like rain”, I said with great sadness, “We’ll have to wait for another day”. I hadn’t anticipated her counter move, she must have watched George C. Scott in Patton on TV last night, like the General she was ready. “You can clean it on the grass and I’ll paint it for you, we’ll have steak and sausages for dinner tomorrow night.”

Everyone who knows me knows I hate shopping, with the wife that is. We arrived at the hardware store my list in hand, new volcanic rock for under the grill, a strong cleaner, chemicals are a barbeque must, if you forget to clean it last year, and paint. Don’t you love hardware stores, I actually saved money, didn’t use ink adding to my list, just put stuff straight into the trolley. I picked up a plastic cover for the barbeque since we had decided to move it into a spot not under cover, two great folding chairs, which were on special and some clamps for the light stand I was building for my “photography studio”. I didn’t say anything to the wife but made mental note of quite a few things I can’t do without now that I know they exist, what great places hardware stores are. It turns out I had a good day cleaning the damn thing, and watching the painting get done, It did rain but somewhere west of us.

I hate barbeques because: sounds like a school assignment. Standing over a smoking hot plate, getting splattered with popping oil is not a good time, very un-Australian I know, but that’s how it is, messy, Smokey, usually hot and the clean up! And I have to do the preparation to boot, here we go again, another Australian summer, guess what, I don’t drink, it’s going to be a long hot one.

This morning I looked with pride at the “new” barbeque, the cover made it look great in its new spot on the edge of the patio. I quickly pushed the ideas for improvements in our outdoor living area which flashed into brain, to the back of my mind, I can’t have everything at once since she says she too busy to do them all.

The supermarket trip today was a voyage of discovery, not only did the wife stay home, I set out to turn the family into gourmet barbeque lovers, intending to bypass the usual plain steak and sausages with burnt baby potatoes and onions, going for the unusual. I looked at the Italian and German sausages, various spices and herb mixtures along with meat cuts other than the “mixed grill” special of chops, steaks and cutlets. They had protested that they wanted a real “Aussie Barbie” none of this fancy “Shrimp on the Barbie Paul Hogan stuff” I discovered “Real Aussie” for them, it was right there in the meat cabinet.

Kangaroo has been on the Aussie barbeque menu for centuries, Europeans just didn’t know where to find it until recently. In my supermarket it’s next to the chicken, just before the lamb. Now, being health conscious I read the labels. “Approved by the Heart Foundation, 98% Fat Free, High in Iron,” and other stuff in small print, always forget to take the reading glasses. Kangaroo sounded great, and wasn’t badly priced, steak was $15.99, sausages $7.85 and mince $7.79 a kilo, good value, in fact a lot cheaper than other carnivorous fair, didn’t check it against pet food, us old guys have that to look forward to on our pensions.

I already know I love Australia’s spring and summer, I might just grow to like the great Aussie barbeque as well, Can’t wait to see their faces at tonight’s feast.

JAWhite
August 2010                               Return to main page
Spring and Painting Photo:  JAWhite
Good Food Photo:  Gourmet Game 

Life Seems Confusing

But then it might just be me. It’s been a long time, or at least it seems so, since I’ve managed to get away from the housework and retirement to write much, or even play around with the blogs HTML script. I always had fun changing things around by using the editor provided, but actually typing in the code and watching pictures change size or position, and other things move and morph, that was really good fun. I even invested in a thick book named “Complete HTML”, as if anything is ever complete.

Like all those people who constructed and wrote the blogs which we see floating around the web from time to time untended, I too found myself unable to forge ahead uninterrupted. Those apparently lost and lonely pages aimed at fame or fortune or even more importantly, adventure, which for one reason or another became abandoned with last post dates long gone, almost had a new companion.

For me though, it seems I have to keep putting things down on paper, just like on my lists. Ideas float around almost every moment, and not just those waking ones, but unless I write them down they disappear as new thoughts enter my limited storage space. I wish I had one of those memories that accumulate thoughts with no apparent boundaries or limits, mine is like RAM while running Photoshop, frequently insufficient. Plenty of people not ardent readers, have said to me “Get a life” I always reply “Don’t confuse me, I think I have one here somewhere.”

Since retirement chased me from my first love, “Work”, as some call it, or as I referred to it, “Challenge”, I’ve had to broaden my view of "important". That view always included family and friends within the important umbrella, but not much else, and sometimes not enough of them. When first retired, time was all over the place, I just had to pick it up and put it somewhere. Ventures into directions I hadn’t considered of use to me in the past, suddenly became all consuming of time and thought, not to mention money. The blog was one of those ventures, it led to an interest in the code involved, which led to study of that, and other things I came across as a result of people I met on the web investigating this and that, etc, etc, etc. A real snowball effect. I’ve met many retired people now, they all have the same problem, not enough time.

So I decided to attempt to do a little more with less, concentrate on fewer activities but spend the extra time on each of them. To some people that might have been obvious from the start, for me ,having such a limited number of interests to begin with it wasn’t, I needed to try everything I could. At the end of the day we do what we find the most pleasure doing. I’ve concluded I’ll never make money at my “hobbies” so I’ll make good instead.

I guess I’m lucky, I discovered that one of the things I seem to love doing can encompass a number of the things I also like being involved in. I may not be great at it, but I hope to attain ‘goodness’ in photography, unfortunately it’s one of those pastimes that run on money but I’ll do the best I can. I like history to my surprise, always hated it in school, I now get to take photos of historic buildings and places, learning about them, and particularly people associated with them. I’ve had an interest in the outdoors and the “stuff” in it for a long time but haven’t pursued that interest, now I do, with my camera, I’m not going to go as far as studying Latin but I will look up names of plants now and then. As time goes by I’ll find other things I feel that I can add to my camera bag, perhaps I may even find an interest in people one day, that would be good, my family won’t let me take their photos, they say my camera makes them ugly. Candid is the most beautiful photo that can be taken of anyone.

It seems to only take one thing to trigger a purpose for being, for me it was finding a love of photography. That one trigger, regardless of what it is, can tie together so many other things that go to make up a full “Life”. I’m still confused, but one day I’ll learn how to think, until then I’ll take photos and write things down, so I can understand them.

JAWhite                                                         Return To Main Page
July 2010

Image : Courtesy U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

The Old Girl Chronicles

Maybe there’s a few miles left in her yet. I retired a few years ago, bad health and too much effort ploughed into my time on the line just wore me down. The wife, like the battery, just keeps on keeping on... Thank God.

Her part-time job keeps bread on the table as well as those few luxuries we’ve become fondly attached to, stuff like soup to dip the bread in really rounds out a day. Learning to manage on a tight budget wasn’t easy but we got on with what we had to do. Turning off a light when you leave a room is basic stuff, saving those little stubs of soap until you have six or seven to squeeze together making one big lump is an acquired habit. Being the househusband I learned to search high and low for money saving ideals early in the retirement, I even searched the women’s magazines, when I could do so in the supermarket without having to pay for them, now the wife doesn’t know I do that so don’t tell her, you see, I make fun of her when she does it. All those househusband duties are second nature to me now, I just do my work with minimal complaining.

Tonight I was thinking about things from her point of view, you know, an open mind, without the man’s attitude toward “women’s work”, that kind of thing. You might be wondering what brought on this contemplative interruption to my life, I’ll tell you. Last week she asked me to put an advertisement in the paper.

We had been quietly discussing the polarizing filter for my camera which I’d managed to purchase with the few cents a week I somehow saved from the housekeeping money. That was when she said with strong determination and grim lips, “Write this down! Work wanted...“House Cleaning”.

You could have knocked me down with a feather, she was going to sell me, farm me out as a servant, make money from my labour...hang on, it suddenly occurred to me that something like this was already going on. Here I was at home taking care of things there, while she was out earning a wage, part time it might be but working for other people and being paid for it is still work of sorts. I thought a moment, then I thought for another moment, and so on, then I looked at her and said:

“Alright, you’ve been saying that I’m always bothering you when you’re reading, that I’m in the way, Okay, I wouldn’t mind going out and doing some light housework for people, I just don't have the time."

My forced smile was wide but suddenly became real when she replied “Not for you stupid, for me.” Those words hurt me, literally, I had been polishing her bowling ball at the time and dropped it in shock, my right foot, mostly the big toe.

I picked up the ball as she tried to control her laughter, luckily I was sitting at the time and didn’t have to bend far to reach it, my back was still in pain from the days vacuuming. She explained... the way she put it, was that time wore heavily on her shoulders, not one to sit and read her historical novels all day and having me to do the dishes and cooking, she sought something else to occupy her restless soul. It was impossible for me to argue against such profound logic, I had to agree that her idea was for the best. The advertisement was placed, $30 for the three lines including her mobile phone number, that would have been enough to buy the lens hood I needed for the camera.  With fingers crossed I hoped the ad would work.

You know, I’ve never thought of my wife as a salesperson, sure she’d sold men’s shoes many years ago in a department store, quite successfully as well, I’ve always put that success down to the fact that mini-skirts were in fashion then. I didn’t worry about the customers looking at her legs, but those two guys she worked with though. Anyway, her first call arrived very soon, she sold the benefit not the product, just like a professional marketer, I was proud of her.

Off she went the next morning to meet her first customer.  The lady showed her each room explaining the little details which, in her opinion needed special attention. Things like the corner where the dog curls up to sleep every afternoon, it needs extra vacuuming as does the cats favourite cushion on the couch where the sun shines the longest on cold days. Both cat and dog were long hairs of course. As the wife put it “The fun started when she showed me the first bedroom.”

My wife entered first and looked around, noting the ornaments which seemed to be everywhere in the house, the wife calls that decor “Nouveau Dust” I think it’s called clutter. She smiled at the ceramic chicken on the bed, thinking a strange place for a strange ornament much less a ceramic one, and with a dog in the house. The lady walked in saying how the en-suite bathroom was hardly used since here older son had moved out and taken his worm farm with him.

As they were leaving the room, the wife was surprised to hear the lady call out “Chook Chook, out you go”, she was even more surprised when the ornament jumped down from the bed and the lady nonchalantly exclaimed “Ah good, two eggs today.”

Isn’t it funny how you don’t really hear what a person’s saying when they’re rolling around on the floor laughing so hard they can’t breathe. The wife finally got out the part about the eggs, just before she had to run to the toilet, I’m not sure she made it in time.

JAWhite                                        Return to Main Page
May 2010 

Image of Beautiful young lady (sigh): Scott Snyder

Image of Chicken: Mikdesign

Image of the wife's Bowling ball: JAWhite

Blue Sap and Rabbit Crap

I apologise for the length of this story, it was a long day out and I did take a lot of photos.  Hope you can get to the end.

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I wasn’t too late to still be in bed, after all its Sunday I thought, as I lay contemplating the things I could do that day. It didn’t occurred to me to think about those things I knew I should do. My habit of waking early and just thinking sometimes pays dividends, I might suddenly remember where I put the missing chocolate bar I hid from the wife, important things like that. This particular Sunday I had a great idea, there was a free entry coupon to a botanic garden in my wallet. I moved as far away from the wife as I could before elbowing her in the ribs, the swelling around my eye still hasn’t gone down from last time. “Come on” I said, “the days wasting, we have places to go.” “Shut up!”... I left the bed heading for the shower with no further comment.

On checking the web site I saw the cafe in the garden was closed for renovations, we needed food, drinks, snacks, map, I should have made a list. As I packed up the camera gear I was amazed to see the wife walking out the door, “Where are you...?” I couldn’t believe it, she had to go for her newspaper, “It’s 9, the place opens at 10... hurry up!” I knew I was wasting my breath, the gardens are 15 minutes away, we finally arrived at 11:00.

The garden first opened about 22 years ago, I remember because the kids were around knee high. We had gone to see what the fuss was about. The place is over 400 hectares, 3.5 k north to south and 1.5 or so across, a lot of lawn to mow. “It’s a botanic garden not a zoo” the wife said with obvious glee when I commented on my hope of shooting some animals. I don’t have many pleasures in life, a witty come back is one, but for the second time that day I remembered the eye. She’s getting good as it turned out, I didn’t see any animals, only evidence of their existence. My free entry pass covered one person, it was for entry to participate in a photography competition focused, so to speak, on the botanic garden. I suppose they don’t know about wives for carrying tripods, bags and lunch packs, anyway it cost me $5.00 to get her in. After I agreed to stopping at the gift shop for a quick browse, the wife grudgingly volunteered to bear the burden of my camera bag as we attempted the hill opposite the parking lot.

The area is named “The Connections Garden”, according to the brochure it’s “A roofless museum of corridors, vistas, and spaces where visitors discover the interconnectedness of humans and the natural world.” It seemed to have a lot of trees and plants with winding paths, some of which were blocked for construction or new plantings. It was very peaceful and, green. I noticed that “connectivity” with nature was well catered for with spots for wedding photographs, lots of wonderful backdrops of tropical and forest plants, and some water features, as well as beautiful dry stone walls. I was setting up for a shot of a tall, dark green, pine type tree when the wife decided she needed the car keys. A little apprehensive, I asked the obvious question. It seems she had left her “historical novel” in the car, not really an outdoor girl.  It was a fair walk back to car park so I was happy she went alone.

My new tripod has two spirit levels built into it, this is great for getting the land and sky in the right places but it takes a little while to adjust all three legs and that lever twist thing on the side. As I was replacing the lens cap, I heard a distant shout of my now familiar name, you might think I would know “John” after all these years, but the wife doesn’t think so, she shouts it quite often to remind me. I walked back down the trail until I could see her in the distance at the car, after some hand signing it became clear she couldn’t unlock the door. With a sigh I gathered up the gear and started back down, it was a pretty steep hill, and the detours for construction meant quite a climb. She managed to get the door open just as I could see the whites of her eyes, left my gun at home.

Heading back up we passed the pine tree I’d shot, and walked about another twenty steps along the winding trail before the wife noticed how high above us the top of the hill I was intent on reaching was. Finding a nice soft sandstone outcrop, no doubt strategically placed by the landscape designer, she advised that she would wait and read some until I returned. Camera strapped around my neck, tripod slung across my shoulder, I accepted the camera bag from her and advanced like, well, an out of breath old guy, I wanted to say something heroic here, but I’ll be honest in this account of my day. Now this hill wasn’t the highest in the gardens just the first, the day was young. The path was full of switchbacks zigzagging up the slope, I reached the top after about 10 minutes walk, It occurred to me that it would be an incredible coincidence if I were to have a heart attack today, I had an appointment on Friday with a specialist but had cancelled, anyway I’m still here. I had suspected the view would be good but was pleased to see the Blue Mountains in the distance, about 80 kilometres or so away. I guess the air was a little polluted back in the late 1700’s when they were named, they were blue looking today as well. I knew this area of Sydney was the fastest growing in Australia but didn’t expect to see so many houses crowding the gardens, and more development underway.

I discovered that it’s easier to go down hills than go up, must be something to do with nature, in spite of the easy walk down I spent the next few minutes checking the map, I wasn’t going to walk anymore if I could drive, after all this is the day of rest. We could still hear the sound of falling water somewhere in the wooded hillside, so off we went. I was trying to pick photo opportunities which didn’t include signs which said things like “rare”, “endangered”, “remote”, or “don’t litter”, while the wife was stopping to read them as if they were written by Barbara... something or other. While I paused to take photos the wife was getting bored, she said “I’ll just take this trail and meet you down there at the waterfall.” You couldn’t see the water but unless they had speakers and sound effects it would be in that general direction. I wasn’t serious about the photo contest which had brought me there, but was making an effort to shoot just about everything that was green. Looking for unusual angles and views can be dangerous, I had thought it was just the wife panicking, but both boys have started yelling at me as well when I drive, photography can do that to you, they could be right though, eyes are in the front of the head for some reason. I didn’t break the camera but I hurt my knees a few times as I tripped over steps and things.

I found myself on a trail above the pool of water and was taking some shots when I heard my name again. “Where are you?” she shouted ,from quite a distance and up the hill by the sound of it. I shouted “Down here near the pond”, “Where? I can’t see you or the water, I’m lost.” She was getting more distant. All I could do was keep taking photos and shout “Down here!” occasionally. A momentary image of men with flashlights searching into the night crossed my mind, as I spotted a fern growing on a tree. I heard her every now and then, sometimes louder sometimes fainter, down deep I knew she would be okay, there were fences all around the place and she was carrying the food and drink, that made me think, it was nearly lunch time. I had finished with the woods and wanted to get down to the pond and waterfall, the trails are covered with fine bark, almost sawdust which was nice to walk on but didn’t really give me a clear idea where they led. I could see the water, but not how to get down, that’s when I saw the wife. She had been quite for some time now, busily snapping photos I had almost forgotten about her being lost. You wouldn’t believe it, she was sitting on some rocks next to the water. I walked back and forth looking for a way down and finally had to do the deed, “How did you get down there? I asked after making sure no one was around. That’s all I have to say about that.

“That took you long enough” she said as I arrived, I’m sure it had only been fifteen minutes since I spotted her, the trails wandering all over the place was a good excuse, I didn’t dare mention her being lost, quick as a flash I said “Can I have a bottle of water?” This was one of the wedding photos sites, a little bridge over the stream and a dock made of weathered planks added to the “ambiance” of the scene. I couldn’t be a wedding photographer, I’d stuff it up and have a tearful bride haunting my dreams for eternity. I took a couple of shots feeling it must be mandatory since they had gone to the trouble of building the scene, I already have ponds and streams filed under “Photos”; “Water, Ponds, Streams”.

It was definitely lunch time, we reached the car and decided to eat my carefully prepared repast. As the cafe was closed, an opportunistic vendor had parked his “Gourmet Coffee” van near the Kiosk, we decided the $4.00 slice of cake he offered wasn’t as appetising as my...oh shit, I had brought the blue snack bag but forgot the red one, it had the sandwiches. We settled for my bags of chips and Nestle Crunch bars for lunch, quite filling. I ate and the wife glowered at me, I looked over the map again, planning my next expedition route, she made funny stomach rumbles, or was that a growl.

There are narrow one way vehicle roads around the garden, with walking trails, which are wheelchair friendly, heading off into the distance leading to mysterious sounding places. “Sundial of Human Involvement”, Wollemi Walk of Discovery”, “Callitris Grove”, I thought Callitris meant... no. We headed for the Sundial, the day was more than half over and we had only visited ONE spot. It wasn’t my fault, I hadn’t had to read the morning paper, I didn’t get lost, much, I didn’t forget how to unlock the car door, but let’s face it, at the end of the day, it’s all my fault anyway.

I was anticipating our reaching a spot marked on the map as “Mount Annan Summit” even I, though relatively unschooled in things botanic, knew that “summit” meant the top of something. Being a high achiever, summits, or tops of things attract me, we made a couple of stops at places called wetlands and plains which had trees and bushes apparently native to those places around Australia. As my free pass covered three visits, I decided to come back and take photos there next time, unless those housing developments moved fast these native areas would still be there for a while, wouldn’t they?

With a label like “Summit” I expected the Mt Annan Summit to be rather higher than the hill we, or rather I, had climbed earlier, and as we drew nearer the Sundial of Human Involvement, it was obvious that sundials lived at altitude as well. Driving as near as possible I parked and said, “Here we are, the best view in town you must come up with me.” Her window was on the side facing the hill, as she looked out the window slowly lowering her head allowing her eyes to look up toward the top, she said in a crisp decisive manner, “Fine.” My heart leapt, I wouldn’t have to carry all the gear up there myself, I’d try and analysis her motives later. The paved walking path snaked its way to the top but I decided that the slope was gentle enough to climb straight up saving time, we were losing sunlight fast. Gathering our gear we started up at a swift clip, which lasted three or four paces before levelling off into a crawl we could maintain for at least another couple of minutes. I didn’t keep track of time but the sun was decidedly lower when we reached what I thought was the peak.

It wasn’t, just over the peak the trail we had cut across dropped downward for 5 meters then veered right and upwards, toward another peak. We hadn’t seen this higher peak since a stand of trees blocked the view. I’ve never claimed to be good at map reading, I often say “I wish I had a compass,” such was the situation I found there. You see, the damn road we parked on below us continued for some way then turned left and up the other side of the peak, it joined the walking trail we had cut across right there where we were standing.

From the level we were on I could see Eastward toward the ocean, our suburb was about five or six kilometres from where we were. I shot some photos then looked at the wife who had collapsed onto a bench placed there for just that purpose as well as being a dedication to someone who had helped develop the garden. I didn’t explain our wasted effort, I simply said “At least when we get back to the car we can drive closer to the Sundial of Human Involvement.” Thank God she hadn’t caught her breath. She decided to follow the trail back down the hill while I, remembering that down is easier than up cut across again. The drive to the nearest parking for a short walk to the Sundial, took long enough for us to catch our breath and have a drink, it certainly allowed the wife to catch her breath, she had plenty for a scream.

After we drove across the walking track leading to the sundial I started pulling over to the shoulder to park, grabbing my arm in a vice like grip she screamed like I’ve never heard her before. “Stop! we’re going over the edge! we’re going to fall! stop!! This was loud stuff, honestly I have never been so shocked and surprised, I guess that was because we were in absolutely no danger whatsoever, that I could see. When I finally understood what she meant, which only took a split second, but seemed like ages, I attempted a laugh. She refused to walk on the grass verge, as you can see in the photo we were in great danger. This was turning into a interesting day.

By now I had decided that one or two more stops would be all I could manage today, the sundial, then around the perimeter of the garden to see what else to check out next visit. We walked along the trail and up to the best stop we had found this particular day.

It was still a pretty steep climb to the sundial and we had decided that Mt Annan Summit would have to do without our visit, this was high enough. The anticipation of getting there was worth it as was the climb, the view was great, all the way to Sydney. The sky was still pretty clear and sharp so I got a few good skyline pictures, none that would win a contest but at least I can say “I took that.” While I was busy with the camera gear, the wife decided that the story in the book was better than the view, she had her head in it the whole time. Everywhere we had been that day we saw evidence of rabbits, those little pellets they leave behind as well as the holes they dig looking for grass roots to eat, kangaroo droppings were all over the place as well.

I had been keeping an eye out for Birds, Roos and Reptiles, but hadn’t spotted any, other than the large crow I frightened the wife with by saying they love pecking long hair, it was on a branch just above her head, she squealed like a girl. She didn’t like rabbit poo for some reason, I was raised around wildlife and farmyard animals, and was familiar with the sight and smell. When I asked her to pick up my camera case which was sitting on the grass, she refused, “Rabbit poo’s all over it, I’m not touching that stuff” she was adamant. It had been a long day, I had climbed mountains, survived being lost in the wilderness, been screamed at, poo was the least of my concerns. We were going to wrap this up and head home after the “round the fence’ drive on the way out. I lowered the tripod to get better angles, sat down and finished my shots.

We started down the mountain skipping stops I hope to visit during the next trip, that is until a great discovery... I was amazed when rounding a curve to see in a field beside the road, “The Blue Tree,” This had to be a new species, leafless, alone and, no other word for it “BLUE”. “There you go” I said to the wife, “they were hiding the best for last back here in the corner of the gardens”. I had to get a close up photo so grabbed the tripod and walked across the field, yep, it was really blue. I haven’t got the full story on this yet, but will investigate further, it must have something to do with global cooling, things do go blue with cold you know.

Approaching the exit we found an interesting point of interaction between nature and humans, an effort had been made to accommodate the needs of one of the local inhabitants, the Cumberland Land Snail, meridolum corneovirens. From the scientific name I gather this is one of the vicious breeds of snail, eats meat. We saw three of the brutes leaving the area.

I had a good sleep that night, went to bed at 10:00 and woke at 5:30 am to the smell of farmyard. I had forgot the rabbit crap, took off my jeans and left them laying on the floor all night. I picked them up and had a look, sure enough the bum was spotted with little brown dots from when I sat on the grass to shoot photos. I’m glad they don’t keep cows in the botanic garden, I did sit in the car on the way home, we had stopped at that supermarket, yea... my favourite place on the couch, that’s always the way isn’t it, a househusbands work is never done. List for next trip, compass, sandwiches, hat, plastic bag for sitting on, wouldn’t go anywhere without, the wife.

JAWhite                                           Back to Main Page
June 2010

Photos: JAWhite

A Woman’s Best Friend

A day seldom goes by without the necessity of a visit to the grocery store. My wife says I couldn’t miss a day at the shops, that I’m addicted, I’d have withdrawal symptoms. Well, I can’t really disagree as I haven’t missed a day yet, perhaps there would be some kind of withdrawal, doesn’t matter, I’ll face those demons when I have to. In spite of my long standing instructions that any needs are to be added to “The List” there are always items those who don’t live by the list, forget. I have no need to remember how many slices of bread are left, or whether or not the tomato paste was used a few days ago, I write it down. Househusbands with a system are like elephants, we never forget... our lists, except today.

There’s an art to organised shopping, obviously the list, and the environment friendly bags, but also planning the trip itself is important. Parking in a shaded spot near the entrance is one of the keys to an enjoyable experience. I’ve found that if I arrive at about 10:30 and stop the car near the entrance, a spot will appear because shoppers who arrive for the 8:30 store opening will be leaving. Logical and efficient, works almost every time when I get to do the shopping by myself. Didn’t work today.

She’s having a few days off work so the wife decided to come with me, she does this on purpose I think, and too often, coming with me that is. The problems usually start with the morning schedule. Up and showered by 7:30, after letting the cat out the back door, I put the washing on and do those dishes the boys used the night before, then I’m almost ready. Can’t see the TV from the laundry but I can catch some of the morning show while drying the plates. I let the cat back in for his breakfast and clean the litter, what a fantastic time I have. After making the beds I’m ready to go, but not today.

At 10:00 I’m usually in the car with the radio on a rock station at a suitable volume for a middle aged househusband, on my way to do the mornings shopping, but the wife’s coming today.

Having waken at 8:40 she decided toast and jam with a glass of juice would be nice to have in bed this morning. I enjoy doing little things like that for my wife, throughout our marriage I’ve tried to give her the simple pleasures that make her smile. As I offered her the plate, I made a mental note to get it and the glass back before washing the dishes. Turning to leave I paused as she said, “Have you gotten the paper yet?” Not having time to read papers I almost never buy one, only on Sunday mornings, for the comics and movie gossip. The corner store was 10 minutes away.

The Morning Show was on the bedroom TV when I returned, the lady who always wore a suit said it was 9:35. Picking up the plate and glass I said “I’ll just wash the dishes and then we’ll have to go, it’s getting late.” “I’ll get up in a minute and have a shower”, she replied opening the paper. Perhaps I could make the bed while she was in the shower, the cat was meowing to get outside again. Running one eye over the shopping list once more as I did the dishes, keeping the other on the TV, I didn’t notice the cat behind me until I stepped on his tail, I’d left the door open so he could please himself. The thing with the tail didn’t bother him too much, he had his mind set on the food game. He stands at one end of the kitchen floor me at the other, my job is to skid dry cat food one piece at a time across the tiled floor, his is to stop the food before it gets past him. He gets fed and I get amused. I heard the shower running, it was 10:15.

Quickly making the bed, not to my usual standard, I returned to finish drying and putting away the dishes. Once again I noticed that the ornamental plates, the ones we never use but put on shelves for people to see, needed washing. Perhaps when the wife went back to work, never seem to have time for those odd jobs. The hair dryer was on but I couldn’t remember if the make-up happened before or after the hair. The schedule was shot to hell anyway, “It’s 11:00”, I said as she picked up the list and mumbled, “I’ll just do my face” , “Only be a minute.” Yea, I was going to miss the midday movie. It doesn’t matter what movies on, I use the time to make a list of things that need doing around the place, and jot down new ideas for stories, photos and such.

I don’t particularly like shopping, I only do it for the family, dinner? I could live on sandwiches, but they’ve grown used to my making a cooked meal every night, more dishes to wash. Of course, no parking spot in front of the supermarket, we walk a mile. I grabbed a trolley as the wife walked over to the cake section, I was becoming concerned while searching my pockets for the third time, the list had to be here somewhere. Not one to panic, the other shoppers would only have noticed a slight squeak in my voice as I shouted Sally! I felt a rise in blood pressure when she replied “No, I don’t have the list.” I explained that I had seen her reading it as she did her makeup, she explained that I was imagining it. I’m only a guy, what was I to say to that?

There was nothing else to do, standing at the first aisle while looking across the supermarket, I visualised each step I needed to take in order to accomplish my objective. I know every nook and cranny of this place, I thought to myself with a self-assuring nod, get on with it. I perused the shelves carefully, not wanting to have to backtrack looking for some missed essential, only amateur shoppers do that. As I placed the third item in the trolley she said; looking over my shoulder, “We don’t need that.” Torn between a witty reply and possible fact, I looked at my empty left hand, no list, thus no proof of need. Having learned long ago not to argue, I slowly placed the Dragon Fruit back on the shelf, I really wanted to take a photo of that thing, didn’t have a clue how to cook it or how it tasted but it looked great. Progress was slow, questioning each selection I made as to intended use and necessity, she had taken charge of the shopping expedition. I couldn’t argue, I had no list to enforce my dominance of the situation.

It was at the start of the third aisle the miracle happened. Supermarket designers don’t get the credit they deserve, the all important store layout, the placement of key items in crucial positions is of paramount importance to the whole shopping experience. Today a new innovation had occurred, the rack containing “Women’s Magazines” had been moved to the top of my favourite aisle. I made the turn into “Stationary, Household Electrics, and Things you strongly desire but don’t really need,” before realising she wasn’t leading from behind anymore. I could feel the weight of her critical stare lift from my shoulders as I turned and saw her, a petite middle aged lady beginning her absorbed journey through the pages of “New Idea”, to be followed by, “Women’s Weekly” and God knows what else. I smiled and turned back to “MY” shopping.

I have a cupboard at home, exclusively for my supplies, things I might one day use. Being organised requires proper equipment, notepad, pens, paper in several sizes. Binders of various thicknesses, and cardboard dividers to keep each section separate. Hole punch, staples, rulers, those little self adhesive ring re-enforcer things and much, much more, stationary’s good stuff, I keep my art and photographic supplies in the next cupboard. Looking back at the end of the isle I saw her happily reading “Mode”.

Almost an hour later I stood outside the supermarket watching my wife with deep affection as she turned another page in the “Marie Claire” she was engrossed in. I had completed my shopping, taking the long route with the trolley to avoid passing within sight of her as I returned to the vegetable section for my Dragon fruit. There was no need to hide my treasures under the green environment friendly bags as I went through the check out. I took the trolley to the car and loaded the bags into the trunk and backseat before returning for her.

The two check out girls, whom I knew from many previous visits, smiled with me knowing the reason for the ear to ear grin I wore. “Sally,” I called quietly, just loud enough for her and the few people around to hear, “Time to go.” She looked around laughing and smiling apologetically to the girls behind the check outs, “Where have you been?” she said in mock anger, I said nothing but raised my eyebrows toward the giggling girls and smiling shoppers, this sort of thing happens all the time I guess, I’m sure it always draws smiles.

Later that night, after the others had gone to bed, I adjusted my camera on the tripod and turned the lights carefully onto my Dragon fruit. Even without a list, a shopping trip like today was well worth the effort, I didn’t even have to pay for the women’s best friend. God bless them, women and their magazines.

JAWhite                                               Return To Main Page
April 2010

Supermarket Image by: Jim Simandi, flickr Photo
Dragon Fruit Image by: JAWhite, flickr Photo

Saf-Éty Harbour

The drive will be just what I need she thought as the door closed behind her, the break couldn’t have come at a more opportune time. Her heels clicking on the marble floor, she quickly walked to her new office on the 10th, the level below the board room she had just left. Katherine, to those who didn’t know her, and Kath to those who thought they did, was due to turn 30 over the weekend, a milestone she was perversely looking forward to. In spite of the businesslike suits she always wore during working hours, her heart was in a baggy tee and her butt in faded jeans. Turning 30 might extract more respect from the other executives she had recently joined on the board, projecting a professional image of herself was important.

Since joining the company she had worked hard at being a sophisticated businesswoman, she had worked hard at being everything expected of her since winning her scholarship to university. Pressure is something she had learned to live with but had never gotten use to, “I don’t so much handle problems as cope with them”, she often thought. She now had a new problem to cope with.

Robert had been a friend since she had moved into the city. They had met at one of the companies client nights two years before, he worked in the accounts department handling three of the firms most important customers. Her work in creative didn’t bring them together often, but they had come across each other enough to begin having a few drinks after work, one thing leading to another, eventually they had become an “Item” for the water cooler crowd. “This is where things get complicated” she had said during the first night they spent together, now he had added a new ingredient to the pot, marriage.

How well does he really know me she thought, or me him? He had talked more about his life than she would ever do of hers, not that she was ashamed of who she was, it was just that she had spent so much time and effort disguising herself. The businesswoman she had become was a far cry from the rough tomboy she still was. “This weekend away will give me time to think, really think”, she told herself as she started the car.

Saf-Éty  Harbour had been a great place to grow up, the ocean and beach were a kids paradise. ‘How any of you got an education while pretending to go to school here is beyond me” her mother often said. Her dads service station had been the source of the grease and grime she had worn through most of those school years. The Harbour was somewhere Katherine felt completely at home, it’s familiar streets and buildings were like a comfortable pair of shoes, not that she had worn shoes very often. Saf-Éty was truly like the nickname kids called the place, no worries, no problems.

JAWhite                                   Return To Main Page
April 2010

Postscript; This story has been a little like what Isaac Asimov calls a "Shaggy Dog", referring to his Science Fiction story "Shah Guido G."  Think about it.

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Todays post is my little contribution to Muse Wars, an ongoing challenge among a few bloggers who have fun doing so. 

A photo, chosen by one participant must inspire a 500 word story.  I'm going to copy Lori's listing of the challenge history to-date, thanks Lori, I too hate typing all those links.  Somone with time on their hands needs to take charge of listing these!

Originally the brilliant idea of Melissa at The Things I'd Tell You, christened the Muse Wars by the MadMother when she set Challenge Two. Challenge Three by was set by the Menopausal Mumma, Challenge Four by yours truly, Lori at Random Ramblings of a Sahm. Challenge Five was set by the muchly awesome Gemma at Sometimes You Just Need To Vent. Challenge Six was again set by Kakka at Menopausal Mumma.

Now challenge Seven is again set by Lori.  I pray no one has been left out.

Hope you enjoy reading.

Chicks in Vancouver

Winter comes every year, the Winter Olympics every four. This type of sport is generally for young people although relatively older ones were there either defending their medals or attempting to finally achieve a lifelong ambition to win one. Some of the competitors were making their second or even third appearance in Olympic competition at this year’s Vancouver games. Saying some of the competitors are “ relatively older” I simply mean they have been involved in their sport for perhaps ten years or longer and started young. Not having paid attention to the sports involved before, I noticed that in the snowboard and figure skating sports in particular, female competitors covered a wide age range. The women competing in these sports, from ages 16 to 30+ must have developed a single minded determination early to maintain enthusiasm for such a long time between Olympics. You’ve got to admire them and applaud their tenacity. No... I’m not going to say they must have developed a hard shell while still young. Or maybe....

JAWhite                                           Return To Main Page

March 2010

Olympic Mountains Seattle Washington, Image by Jim Simandi, see his work click here.

Blame concept and “Chicks” on JAWhite

The Right Thing

One tries to do the best one can, the right thing and such. The only reward we seek is a smile and a thank you, but sometimes we wonder, is it worth it? Are we truly doing what’s right? We don’t often ask ourselves if our actions will be appreciated, we do it because it makes us feel good, we make a contribution to society, family or friends, and swell with pride at being a “good” person. Admittedly, there would be times when we do it because we might get into trouble if we don’t.

Looking at the black marking pen in my hand I wondered what outcome would emerge from the current situation. A smile and a “Thank you” with feeling, or a sarcastic “much appreciated” with glare, either would have made me feel better than I did at that moment. Being the eternal pessimist I imagined the best I could expect would be castration with dull knife, at least that wouldn’t be as bad as weeks of castigation with sharp tongue.

As a househusband I get up early in the morning to start the days chores knowing they wouldn’t be done by nightfall, but one lives in hope, rather futilely it seems. Habit led me to put the first load of washing on right away, doing other stuff while that was happening makes since. I’d found that I could usually do those dishes the boys had dirtied the night before, in the time that first load takes, dishes dirtied after my having  done the dinner stuff and gone to bed by the way. Efficiency and time management, I can’t emphasise that enough, very important for househusbands.

There is an art to hanging washing, I utilise a white powder coated wire stand which lives under the roofed pergola, warm enough to dry there but shaded so sun fading is at a minimum, also protection from the occasional drizzle or downpour. Sheets and towels can go on the clothes line in the full sun, who cares about them. Shirts get placed on hangers and hung beneath the pergolas roof, on a specially constructed devise of my own design, efficient and labour saving, one and one half steps from the basket to the shower rod.

I had finished hanging the shirts and turned to the basket for the next priority item, socks, when I realised something was wrong. It was that fourth shirt from the end, the polo, I knew which number since I hang in precise patterns, Light, dark, light ,dark, it was the second dark. I hadn’t noticed when actually hanging it, but when I turned back to the basket it must have caught my eye. A stain on the right back shoulder.

It was reddish and clearly visible on the black shirt, a ring with a kind of dash under it. Looked like rust, I couldn’t think what would have caused it, but knew it would be my fault, everything is. Knowing bleach removed stains I went in that direction, but I was quick enough to stop myself before liquid met cloth. I tried Spray and Wipe, bathroom mould remover, carpet cleaner left from the last time, I think three years ago. Nothing worked, I had to do something as the boys had paid good money, mine, for 'brand' shirts and they were fanatical about their clothes. I'd been trying so long to save the shirt it was dry by now, despite never leaving my hands. The wife would be home soon and the second load was still in the washer.

I went inside to check the TV schedule and the women's magazines, perhaps one of those household hint shows/articles,  No luck there, but on sitting down I had to move aside some cardboard and marking pens I’d used the night before while making cut out rabbits, long story for another time.

I looked at the marking pens and of course, the answer was right there. Simple, the stain was lighter than the shirt, I would color the stain to match. The pen said it was permanent and quick drying, perfect. Taking the shirt I spread it on the kitchen counter and carefully traced the stain, darkening as planned, It was working great, I’d wasted my time on all those commercial products. Picking the shirt up to check it, I saw the black ring on the counter top, I had a sinking feeling, like you get when your horse comes fourth.

Putting the shirt on the couch I went for the Spray and Wipe and a new Kitchen Wizard thing I found under the sink. Even scourers didn’t help. Thinking of disposing of the evidence, I picked up the shirt and wet my pants, there was a black ring on the couch, I couldn't believe it. The marker said “quick drying” I hadn’t seen a disclaimer on the damn thing, how long is quick? It also said permanent. That’s how I was standing when the wife walked in, shirt in one hand, spray bottle in the other, standing right between the counter and couch, doomed. The wife saw it all in a glance, they can do that you know. I wasn’t fast enough to explain anything before she looked me straight in the eye and said, “What have you done to your shirt? That's a black lipstick print with a line under it!” With mouth open but no sound emerging, I stared down at the shirt in my hand, the ring on the right back shoulder was now black, about twice as dark as the rest of the cloth.

I’d done the right thing, but the effort I’d put into it wasn't appreciated.  I didn't even get a "Thank you"

JAWhite                                                  Return To Main Page

March 2010

Washing  Courtesy: JAWhite and Family

Other Stories About Househusband :
 
Generosity, Vanity and Dishes
House Husbandry
Tick Tock
Between a Rock and a Hard Place   

Apostrophes, Commas, and Women, Punctuation abuse.

Apostrophes seem to find the most unusual places to hide within words. Like their friends the comma and women, apostrophes like to preserve their mystique. For this trait alone I think of them as feminine despite their appearance, meaning the punctuation marks. From one paragraph to the next I’m not sure where they’ll stand on any given subject, noun, pronoun or even abbreviation.

Teachers say there are hard and fast rules for controlling the behaviour of these wily creatures. Since I’ve never been one to take study seriously, I haven’t learned the rules, so can’t apply them. This is probably why none of them show me respect. Without the knowledge to rule them they’re each free to humiliate me at their whim.

Writing things down is one of my all time favourite habits, bad memory you might say, and you’d be right. Jotting down the shopping, a list of things to do, or even random thoughts for further consideration is common for most of us. Do you include the punctuation marks in your little notes to self? I do, that’s why I use a pencil now. When using ink I found my lists were too messy, the commas and apostrophes had to be scratched out and chased back to positions more generally acceptable.

Although money would be appreciated, I never expect to be paid for anything I might write, no one pays for badly punctuated and phrased ramblings, and let’s not go near the subject of spelling. Reconsidering that last comment, let me say, I’m proud to have achieved the highest spelling mark among those who failed to pass it in the High School Certificate my final year. Mediocrity rules!

Writing for fun as I do, should be much easier while using the computer, correcting was such a pain when using pen/pencil and paper. Copy or cut and paste, searching for suitable words for concepts from my small brain, formatting the page, all should be easy, anyway, I'll keep trying. I have two books on my desk, much to the amusement of son number two. Amusement you say? Yes I do, he pokes fun at me endlessly, “Don’t you know how to search google?” “Are you that stupid, you have a computer right there use it!” “I bet you even go to the library!” I answer yes to all those accusations, at least two of those with some pride in my voice. The wife doesn’t understand that the mess my area of the living room is in, is simply because of the need to spread out my papers and books to chase down the correct words.  I use a real desktop as well as a Windows pseudo. 

My books are two English dictionaries, one by Collins the other by Webster, and College Spelling Studies by Charles G. Reigner. The latter is ten years older than I am so it must have accumulated a great deal of knowledge, and the dictionary is there in black and white.

Of course the computer is a great help I admit, but sometimes I like to spot check its suggestions, you know what they say, “A adjective in the hand... then something about Cyberspace. Google, grammar check, and spell check, all you need to write a novel, except for the story and other bits.

Squiggly lines, red, green, blue, whatever, they fill the page if you let them. I jump on them as soon as they rear their ugly heads. There’s one now, up about 12:00 third paragraph above. That word’s there for a purpose, I saw the error of my ways as soon as the squiggle appeared, I left it there to piss off the owner. I have something against a verb being capitalised unless it starts a sentence. I don’t believe that particular word is proprietary any longer, it’s the same as saying “K kleenex” meaning “tissue” common usage makes it so.

My spelling studies book contains pages of useful information on the structure and use of English in writing, it was in fact designed for people who were employed to transcribe spoken English into written words. The subtle distinctions in meaning between words indicated by punctuation is more important now than ever. Internet communication is usually in brief sentences which can leave meaning open, since context is often missing. That’s where the smiley comes in :).

The apostrophes and commas keep moving around on me, one minute I think I have them corralled ready to brand, then a new usage circumstance comes along. I have nightmares about pages with red, green and blue squiggly lines everywhere. Nouns, singular, singular possessive, plural... If I wanted this I’d still be in school.  Stuff it, let the apostrophe's fall where they may.

I can’t tell you about women and the art of apostrophe and comma usage here, I’m afraid my wife would punctuate me to within an inch of my life.

JAWhite                                                      Return To Main Page
February 2010
ABC Image Courtesy: Steve Woods, RGBstock.com

All spelling, punctuation, and grammatical mistakes on this page are clear evidence of carelessness.
For those who dare, a brief but deadly venture into "Women and Punctuation"

Dragon at The Window

The lizard crawling across my lounge room floor today reminded me of something that happened some years ago. Before I tell the story, let me explain the lizard on the lounge room floor. My wife and I like having a furry friend living with us, we’ve had woofers as well as those who meow. Overall we prefer the cat, although there are times...

Seeing a lizard crawling across the floor is not unlike seeing a toy left in a walkway, we simply shout Hunter! Instead of Matthew! Kids and cats activities are amusing to watch, if only they could be taught to clean up the mess they leave behind when interest shifts to new projects. It’s always my job to do the catch and release thing, it’s a job I don’t like anymore.

Before Hunter, there was Whiskers, before Whiskers there was Simba, they all seemed to be addicted but it was Whiskers that had a major lizard issue.

It was a dark and stormy night, the monotonous thump of the wipers was punctuated by the clap of thunder as I drove toward the house. We had only moved in a few weeks before and the still unfamiliar and wet street kept my attention on where I was going instead of where I'd been that day. I suppose being a salesman one gets used to driving by instinct, sort of autopilot, but the street being unfamiliar and the rain made me pay attention. That would be the only reason I noticed the dragon that night. It was on the nature strip in front of my house moving slowly toward the driveway when the headlights caught it. Shit! was the loud exclamation I used, this thing was at least two foot long. When it noticed the lights it started running slowly in an awkward twisting gait. It went straight to the retaining wall built from old railway sleepers, it disappeared into a hole I hadn’t noticed before. Stopping the car at the end of the drive I got out in the rain to look closer, that hole was four inches or so across but only two high, there seemed to be a burrow behind the wall. Still amazed I climbed back in the car and drove up the steep incline. I had no idea these things were in suburbs like mine. I knew immediately that it was a Blue Tongue lizard even though I’d only seen them from a distance. Normally they didn’t prowl around at night but it had become dark quickly because of the storm, and it was warm.

Shutting the garage door I climbed the steps up to the house, the storm growing worse. My wife was setting the dining room table as I opened the front door. Dripping wet I stood there and announced in what must have been a loud voice “We have a dragon in the garden!”, at the same instant lightening flashed in the doorway behind me. She started, then froze, more from the lightning than my announcement, the plate in her left hand poised a few inches above the table and a bunch of knives and forks in her right. Her head tilted at an angle and her face toward me as she bent over to position the plate, she said calmly, “have you been drinking?”

“No, really, there was a very large lizard down on the street, it ran into a hole in the sleepers.” “Dry off and check the meat in the oven” her only reply, so much for excitement tonight I thought. The boys had heard me arrive, and apparently my mention of dragons, running from the hall they stopped a few feet away and said in unison “Where’s a dragon?” perhaps there would be some excitement after all. Being a quick thinker my dragon immediately became three possibly four feet long with teeth. Apparently they teach too much in pre-school these days, it only took a few minutes of my laying it on with a shovel for them to decide that their Wonder Boy Sega game was more realistic. As they disappeared into the “Boys Room” until dinner was ready, I told the wife about my day, which took about as long as kicking off my shoes.

When I sat down in my usual spot to see what was on TV, Whiskers jumped up for his rub. The noise of the thunder, and the lightning didn’t frighten Whiskers, of all the cats I’d had he alone wasn’t afraid of anything. Over the thunder I shouted to Sally “Whiskers would think twice about bringing that lizard in”, she didn’t reply, I’m used to that. Since no one ever listens to me anyway, whenever I had a comment to make I’d developed the habit of saying nothing, silently agreeing with myself, and nodding sagely.

Our house stood on a sloping block of land, when standing at our front door street level was two stories below. The climb took a lot of effort, especially if one had to go to the up-stairs rooms once reaching the door. I told friends I enjoyed seeing people’s faces in the windows as they flew by coming in for a landing at Sydney airport. Could have been true, except that the hill continued upward behind our house, planes had to go around. It was this hill that gave Whiskers his supercat strength. The garden had been built by the previous owner, a landscape designer who won awards for his native plantings.

This place was cat heaven, like a jungle it was full of secret places to hide and jump out of. Whiskers spent his day chasing imaginary prey up and down the hillside at a full run. He was a large tabby to start with, the exercise had given him enormous shoulders and legs. In spite of the street being so far below, he could be easily seen from there when sitting in the window collecting sun. I think he enjoyed the hunt but had no stomach for a kill, in the time we had him he never gave us the brag walk. Cats like to show off their success at the hunt, bringing prey to the house as if to say “Look what I did”. Whiskers only went as far as bringing in live lizards he’d caught, he would play around with them for a few moments then move on to something else. I had to catch the damn things and show them the door.

There was a fish pond in the front yard, in fact it took up most of the small level area under the dining room window. I’ve seen Whiskers sit and watch the fish swim around, but he hadn’t tried to do any active fishing. We did lose some fish to Cranes whose long legs allowed them to wade in and spear one now and then. Whiskers would just sit and watch from a distance, the cranes seemed to know he had no interest in them.

After dinner we sat down together as the wife insisted, my job that night was to read a story before bed. I’m sure she could have done this after tucking them in but they wanted to hear the native story tonight. During a business trip to Papua New Guinea I'd found a small book used to teach remote villagers pidgin English. It had drawings of common daily events and descriptions in pidgin. I’d bought it for myself, even in Port Moresby pidgin is good to know. Although I made a mess of pronouncing words, the boys found it amusing.

We sat there on the couch which faced the front windows, with the TV and lights turned down low, thunder almost drowning out my voice at times, Whiskers was sitting on the brick window sill staring at us, back turned to the stormy night. Pretty much a scene of domestic bliss, until the dragon entered.

The older son saw it first, a small sound and a pointed finger was all he managed but that drew our attention to the front window. There, silhouetted by the lightning flashes, stood the dragon. Sitting on the couch, we were at eye level with him as he stood on his hind legs, his front legs and belly pressed against the glass, the blue tongue flicking in and out. As the lightning flashed and a crash of thunder shook the house we all stopped breathing for what seemed like ages. We must have been like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in shock. To be honest, I didn’t want to move, if it didn’t see me perhaps.... irrational in hindsight but that’s what it was like.

Whiskers had been quietly sitting like the Sphinx in the window, the thickness of the pane of glass away from it. Our frozen stare must have alerted him to something odd, he turned his head and, really there’s no other word for it, he flew. Literally, he was on the window ledge one second and on the couch with us the next. I remember seeing him in the air passing between us and the dragon at about four feet off the floor. I swear his feet did not touch the floor between the window and us. That was a good 12 feet of space.

I’m a little confused about exactly what happened next, everything was like a series of stop motion images, dark outside one second, backlit by lightning the next, thunder, a low moan coming from one of us. Whiskers, claws dug into the back of the couch behind my head looked enormous, fur standing at right angles to his body, back arched and teeth bared in a mad snarl. I couldn’t believe the continuous hiss he was emitting, it just went on and on. I saw the dragon slowly turn its head and look to its right, sliding its front legs and body slowly off the glass in that direction, it disappeared into the night.

The wife has never commented on that night, I’m not sure why. Both boys took it as children do, a couple of dream tossed nights then it was just something that happened. You know, I don’t think they ever questioned my stories again after that night, my dragon had turned out to be real. I had a look outside the next day, there were some spider webs around the window, this is what he was after. I checked the height of the window, for him to have been at eye level to us he had to stand on the outside window ledge, it was only two bricks above ground level. My estimate of two foot long was perhaps a little short, that is, if this were the same dragon I saw on the street. Why he choose a stormy night to do what he did we’ll never know, but it was effective.

Whiskers couldn’t tell us what he thought, but some odd things did happened with him after that. He wouldn’t go near that particular window again for about a year. It took him quite some time to return to his adventures in the garden, he would often jump sideways at the slightest rustle in the undergrowth. Where before the visit, he would explore without fear or much caution, he would now approach dark crevices warily. Thinking back now, I don’t remember him ever bringing another lizard into the house until his dying day. I have some regrets about moving from that house as we did a few years later but I still don’t like standing in a high window on stormy nights. I also think of lizards as small dragons, really.

JAWhite                                           Return To Main Page
February 2010

Lightning, Photo Courtesy: Steve Smith, flickr.com
Blue Tongue Lizard, Photo Courtesy: Tim Phillips, flickr.com
The Cat, Photo Courtesy: Zalgon, flickr.com