Way Back When

 

 

I have no idea why I started writing this blog other than wanting to see something I wrote on the internet.  I do remember that as part of beginning this adventure, I did a short investigation into blogging.  Having decided, for whatever reason, that happiness would lie here rather than at Word Press, I delved into the history of Blogspot.

Tonight , at a loose end due to having made her angry once again, I searched my C Drive directories for excess baggage to vent my delete urge upon.  There it was, my .doc from 2009 containing things of interest I’d found “way back then”.  Apparently “way back then” I had used the “WayBack Machine” in my late night searches. 

The Internet Archive is a fascinating place, you should visit.  There is no guarantee your writing will actually be archived there, Way Back  robots scour the net as finance allows, they are a Non Profit after all.  The objective is to give future generations a open, accessible look at what has gone before.  Being able to see a page that was current ten or fifteen years ago on any particular site is fascinating.

Blogspot apparently started as a programme by Pyra Labs called “Blogger” and developed from there.  Below are snaps of some of my searches in the Way Back Machine archives, not all pages from a site are there of course, only the ones captured during their web grabs I would think.  Interesting to look back isn’t it?

Early blogspot:



 

The Blogger development company I believe:

The earliest Blogspot pages captured, I haven’t tried to determine why the record stopped when it did.

An early blog, links still worked for some sites linked to.  I tested the Google News links, they worked even after all that time.

 

 

 

Even though my finger still wants to hit delete, I just can't let this bit of internet history go.  If the wife won't let me into bed later, perhaps I'll visit the Way Back Machine again tonight.  Who knows, this blog may even be archived there.

 

JAWhite

March 2013

Forgotton Something?

So, the British Prime Minister absentmindedly left his 8 year old daughter in a pub last week...not quite like forgetting you keys or phone but nearly as bad.

My wife, who recently suffered a respiratory arrest surviving  on life support for a time before recovering sufficiently to blame me for the entire episode, once went one step further.  I mention the life support since it might explain the recent memory problems she exhibits, you know... lack of oxygen for more than 3 minutes can cause damage.  For example, forgetting that she spent the money I had hidden in the back of my wallet, and numerous other simular memory lapses, well today she laughed out loud while reading a newspaper columnists take on the Prime Ministers pub incident.

 I stopped folding the washing and looked at her in amused amazement, assuming there is such a look.  “You’ve done worse” I said, “what?”, “You’ve completely forgotten haven’t you?” blank stare,  I mentally gave myself another tick in the “one up on you” column.

It was 1985, moving from our first house to our...next house.  The truck had left, the car was packed with the breakables, and the obligatory “I’ll just clean up the place a bit for the new owners” had burned up two hours on hands and knees.  Why do women leave a place cleaner than when they lived there?  It’s like cleaning up before the cleaner comes.  Anyway,  sitting in the car keeping number one son amused in his safety seat, I watched her close the door after one last regretful look at the place she and I had spent years remodelling till it was Just right.  She locked up and came to the car smiling, “let’s get to the new place and make a start on our new life” , I had thought she would be a little more subdued but I was just as happy to get the whole move over with as well.

She looked ahead out the windscreen and adjusted her seatbelt, I didn’t move.  When she turned her head toward me I was just staring at her, I swear I wasn’t smiling, or perhaps I just remember it that way, What? She asked, “Forgotten something? I replied.  The way I remember, it took at least 2 minutes for her to grasp the gravity of the situation.  I’m sure her face turned several colours before it settled on bright red, “The baby!” 

As she left the house She would have had to walk right past the bassinette holding number two son left on the lounge room floor.  I had made sure the cat was in the car, does that mean anything?  

The column she was reading in the Sydney Sunday Telegraph, by Mia Freedman mentioned the Prime Minister incident perhaps with the sole purpose of using the punch line.....”Don’t you just hate it when that happens?”

Perhaps not, looking back now, with both number one and number two sons still living at home, I’m thinking, sometimes we get an opportunity in life we just shouldn’t pass up.

JAWhite

Sydney 1012

Size 8....

While vacuuming the lounge room, regretting the comment I’d made about her having been a size 8 when we married, I starting looking at the photos we have around the place. I use an upright Hoover vacuum, beats as it cleans the carpet but more importantly, it has a rubber bumper, you can push the thing around without really looking at what you’re doing.

The photos on the walls are mostly of the kids, at the ages when they were still human, five, six years old. Young enough to be cute but old enough to know when to sit on the pot and poo. It’s funny, I’ve always said to people, jokingly I thought at the time, “I believe in the barrel method of raising children, put em in a barrel when they turn six, feed em through the bung hole, and hammer in the bung when they turn sixteen". Now I know the truth, damn good method, it’s a shame I didn’t really believe it myself back then.

Those photos certainly bring back memories, number one son when he started in scouts, number two, catching his first fish. I never thought to keep taking photos of things like the second fish, or the big one he caught one day, or the first scout camp parents day. The memories of those times are still there, only sometimes it takes a photo to breath them back to life. This wasn’t the first time I’ve looked at a photo of the kids at that age and said, “where did I go wrong”, meaning “I wish I could go back”. As they say, you can’t go back, but with a selective memory and a good imagination you can relive the good times, just as you might have wanted them to happen.

That’s where the little photos tucked away on the back of the sideboard come into their own. There I am, 19 years old, strong as an ox and bronzed from hours of surfing, the future wife in her size 8 bikini, she couldn’t have looked better, even if she had a beer in her hand, offering it to me of course. The old Hillman Hunter GT in the background, God that was a great car, took us everywhere and cost me a fortune in maintenance, loved it anyway.

The early 70s’, wow, if the radio wasn’t blaring we were asleep, and we didn’t sleep much. At about 16, you feel as if your life has finally started, you’ve discovered the opposite sex and know pretty much all you’re going to need to know. Until you reach the end of your teens though, you really don’t stand on your own two feet. I moved out of my parents home at 19, into a flat with three other people, that would have taken a lot of stupid, or courage, didn’t take me any of that, I was in love.

I won’t digress onto that memory here, the end of this piece of paper is too close, I’ll come back to that story another time. The photo of my future wife and I, mentioned above, stands alongside another photo from the same time in our lives. I don’t just think, I know our lives would not have been such a pleasure to live in those days, without the other two couples beside us in the second photo. At that age, all having started our first real jobs around the same time, all having met each other and become friends within a brief six month period, well, it's an absolute wonder, at least to me.

The six of us, three bronzed supermen and three sexy size 8s', for a few years there, we were inseparable. We all had other friends of course, but every weekend we found ourselves as a group, going somewhere doing something fun. That brings me back to the start of my story, when we married, my wife was a size 8, when they each married, my two bronzed friends also married size 8 beauties, the same ones from our little group. After we all married, we grew even closer.  Fridays were dinner nights at one or the other couples flat. Of course I had to do the cooking when it was our turn, knew that before the marriage, can’t blame anyone else.  We played cards, danced, talked and danced again, we often watched the sun rise together. We also learned to deal with noise complaints.  All that dancing, perhaps that's where the size 8s' began.

This whole size 8 thing came up today, figurativly, simply because I noticed that the size 10 jeans she wears are looking a little loose, in a rather sexy way...... Those were the days, who says you can’t take them with you?

JAWhite
April 2011                                                          Return to Main Page

Haven't You Heard?

I wrote this short piece long ago and can’t remember what gave me the idea, I must be getting old.

The funeral I attended yesterday was for an elderly gentleman who was well known in the local community. He had spent the later years of his life, his retirement years, involved with activities in and around the district. He did some charity work and volunteering, things like making tea at the local seniors group, I think he just liked being with the ladies. Always a curious person, wanting to know what was happening in the lives of those around him, he asked questions, lots of questions. He wasn’t a nuisance, people really liked speaking with him, I guess they received as much information as they gave.

He would often start a conversation with something like, “Did you hear about Bess? Her car broke down on the expressway, she got a truck driver to stop by showing a bit of her good leg! Proves you can still have it at 69!” This of course always led into other stories, or as some call it, just plain gossip.

Age hadn’t slowed him at all, it was as though his imagination and storytelling kept him young, at least in spirit. No one seemed to be bothered that he gossiped, if you could call it that, he referred to himself an ISP, not an Internet Service Provider, but Information service provider. He would walk for blocks to hear a firsthand account of anything interesting, and of course ask his questions just like a reporter. Forever on top of the latest news, there was only the one time when he wasn’t the first to know what was going on.

He had moved into his little one bedroom house about three years ago, about the same time he got his hearing aid in fact. It had not taken much persuasion for the doctor to talk him into getting the aid, he didn’t want to miss anything, so instead of just getting one for the ear he had trouble hearing in, he also got one for the totally deaf ear. His theory was that if one is good two must be better. The one thing the aids didn’t change was his way of speaking in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, he said some of these oldies were hard of hearing and he didn’t want anyone to miss the news.

I guess his loud voice and the fact that he did most of the talking didn’t alert him to the need for new batteries that particular day. He went to bed that night sleeping with one aid in as usual, and woke next mid-morning to no sound at all. Not wanting to speak of the incident he wouldn’t say so, but we can assume he didn’t discovered the battery problem before noon. Having replacement batteries in a drawer he put them in and went about his usual activities annoyed at having overslept. Leaving the house after lunch, he noticed a piece of paper on the front lawn, it was a letter, addressed to him, burnt around the edge and soaking wet. Looking up he noticed the mailbox, or rather where the box had been, it was gone, only a broken wooden post was left. A neighbour walked by, stopped and said to him, “Good day Joe, what a day! Didn’t see you out here earlier, been gone all morning?”

Some initial discussion led to the explanation, he shook his head not believing he had missed the biggest news ever in this street, and maybe the whole town. Ben the postman had nearly died. That morning during the thunderstorm that had passed through, the postman had been placing mail in the box outside Joes house when a bolt of lightning had struck. It hit near the box, knocking the postman off his feet and blasting the box into pieces. The ambulance, police, and fire brigade had all arrived and spent some time there, the postman was taken to the hospital, shaken up but in good spirits. Joes place had been a busy center of activity for a couple of hours, and he had not known a thing.


It took a week or so for the talk around town to drift to subjects other than “The lightning strike at Joes”, a subject he wouldn’t talk about much in spite of it happening in his front yard. What hurt Joe though, was not missing the action, it was when people started referring to him, with a smile, as “Last to know Joe”. He did take some pride in the incident though, at least he got a mention, that’s almost as good as a “By” line....

JAWhite
April 2011                                                         Return to main page  
               

The name Joe in this instance and circumstance are fictitious, but I did know one man....

ESPN, You’ve done it again!

Busy doing my usual never-ending housework, I almost missed a great event on the Foxtel ESPN channel today. Not that I ever have time to sit and watch television, the show just happened to be on while I was cleaning the microwave shelf in the sink, which overlooks the lounge room, which happens to have a television in it,....on.

Being a man, I don’t wear gloves while washing the dishes, I jump in au natural just as the good Lord intended. I was picking up the bits of broken glass when the.. wait for it... UCA National All-Star Cheerleading Championship Worlds came on. It came on after that great old movie “Earth Girls Are Easy” with Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis, only caught the end of that while the sink was filling up, that’s how I broke the glass, flicking through channels with the left hand while the right was stacking stuff. Househusbands are ambidextrous, or so I thought.

Cheerleading has always been one of the world’s greatest motivating and inspirational sporting movements, surpassing even golf in its ability to reach every human emotion at all levels. Drama, romance, action, conflict and even sex have been part of this ever unfolding tapestry of human endeavour. Young girls, and guys, striving to reach the ultimate goal, the dizzying heights of schooldays youth,... popularity and fame. There, I’ve offended all those young athletes who spend hundreds of hours perfecting every move, miles of jogging and tons of weight training to maintain a level of fitness surpassed only by those who specialise in say, jogging or, weight lifting.

These dedicated high school and college students must realise that their predecessors didn’t always have their motives in mind. Helping your team to win by shouting encouragement bears little resemblance to the mass entertainment and visual delights we see today.

Way back then, I mean the late 1800s’ when colleges in the American north had few female students, cheers, or yells as they were known, were led by male students, I think Princeton was the first. Horrible thought isn’t it? Today of course, the male members of the cheer squads know to hide behind the young ladies we all love to watch. During the competition shown on the programme I was almost watching, they did have some trouble hiding, those girls uniforms are great, small but great.

While watching the show I begin to think, if you could call it that, about cheerleading even earlier than the 1800s’. Jousting came to mind, having recently watched some of “A Knight’s Tale” with the late Heath Ledger, didn’t have time to watch all of it course. Although this movie used a little “creative license” in its portrayal of those days, surely there were cheerleaders, and crowds giving their team, or man, encouragement. Even back in the Roman days there were gladiatorial “groupies” as it were. I’ve seen documentaries where the evidence is clear, graffiti on walls obviously proclaiming “Go Attilus” or along the lines of “ Flash rules” no.. that’s a modern gladiator name.

The point I’m trying to make is, back in those days, the cheerleaders were not trying to get themselves noticed, gain an audition for a commercial, or just get to flash those huge white teeth at the camera in hope of... getting a part in a cheerleader movie. They were there to help, help their team succeeded, help their town to win, they were there for the group effort.

Having said that, the cheerleaders on TV this day did help me, those dishes almost washed themselves. Now, hide the broken glass.


JAWhite                                              Return to main page
April 2011

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.

                                        ----------------------------------------

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