Tag: Challenge

It’s raining, it’s pouring…

Yes, and it’s supposed to be a lot warmer, leading into summer.

I guess that’s about all we can expect from being midway through Spring.

Outside, its been overcast most of the day, but I have to go out so I’m sure we’re going to get rain.

It’s been threatening for the last few days, and the meterology department, who rarely get the weather right, have been telling us there’s big storm movements coming our way.

The other night we got a hint of it with a few short sharp heavy falls, but then nothing.

So, half past two in the afternoon and I’m off on the grand child pickup run, one from the school up the road, and one from the railway stations some distance away.

Sitting in the car, I’m watching the dark clouds gather, whilst in the other direction the sky is blue. A rather fascinating contrast. Then, suddenly, as it hit 3 pm, time to collect the child, you guessed it, it began to rain.

Not five minutes before, not=r five minutes after, but just as I stopped at the slot for her to get in.

One wet child in the back.

We then head for the railway station, about three km away, and half way there, stuck in a traffic jam, the rain stops. I get a call from the child on the train, just to make sure I have remembered to pick her up.

The clouds are black and low, but there’s no rain.

Instead we have a lightning display, and sit in the car counting the seconds after the bright lightning strike. Younger grand daughter is trying to be brave, but the cracking thunder scares the both of us.

The train is arriving, and, you guessed it, the rain suddenly becomes torrential, and poor elder grand daughter gets drenched in the short distances from the train to the car.

A few minutes later it stops.

Weather is unpredictable, and sometimes a complete pain. At least I didn’t have to get out of the car, but the damp children, that will live on for a day or so as all wet material does, and for some reason seems to be worse in cars.

Let’s see if the weather can be kinder to us tomorrow.

Oh, and something else, we need the rain, specially for my garden. It’s the first rain for at least four or five months.

Dos and Don’ts, advice that’s often unwanted

A little piece of the story…

…

Like everything my parents had thrown at me over the years, nothing was worse than to get a piece of paper handed to me as I walked out the door; to a meeting, a date, school, even when I visited my grandmother.

They were the ‘do’s and dont’s’ lists, which over time became the ‘young man’s guide to better English and speaking properly’.

The truth was, my mother never trusted me to get it right.

It was not without reason.  Very early on I got a reputation for being a bit of a maverick, saying what I thought rather than what was diplomatic, or just the right thing to say.

To a certain extent, I learned a great deal from these notes.

But the biggest surprise was my 18th birthday, and the day of the party being held at the manor house, and where I would be mingling with the gentry, and other distinguished guests.  I didn’t get a list.

I suppose I panicked.

Helen, the older sister who was wise beyond her years, an ace at diplomacy, and not one to ever ‘speak her mind’ dropped in to see how I was going.

Not very good.  No list, no prompts, no ‘how to behave at [named] occasion.

“What’s up, little brother?”  she could see I was agitated, though her word would be non-plussed.

“No do’s and don’ts.  What’s mother up to?  Does she want this party to go south by southwest?”

“Maybe she finally has faith in you.  You’re 18 now.  I have faith in you.”

“But you know me, foot in mouth disease.”

“Once, but not anymore.  Now screw your courage to the sticking point and let’s make an entrance.  If all else fails, just remember to stick to two subjects, their health, and the weather.”

No chance of backing out now.  The escape route had been effectively closed off.  I took a deep breath.

What was it I’d overheard not fifteen minutes ago?  Oh, yes.  ‘There’s a first time for everything’.

Drawing a line in the sand

I’m finding it hard to get into the groove.  I suspect I haven’t been in one for a while, but I am writing, and the stories are coming together.

My biggest accomplishment for this year was writing getting both final drafts of two books soon to be published to the editor.  Now NANOWRIMO is almost upon us, it’s interesting that it seems to be the only time I can truly focus my mind on writing.

As usually happens, the creative mind is organised and the ideas and words flow.  I know it is supposed to be raw writing, but  it works for me.  And as in recent years, by the time I get to the end, a lot of stuff at the start needs to be fixed, especially in light of plot changes and continuity, and there’s been time for some of that too.

Now, looking at a recent piece of writing on the screen, I’m trying to decide whether it will be finished or I’m going to add to it.

Perhaps that’s my biggest fault, I can’t draw that proverbial line in the sand and say, definitively, the end.

Perhaps I should give that a few more months before I work on it.  IT was one of the contenders for this years NANOWRIMO project, but there’s another more pressing that I’ve decided to do.

Then there’s the sequel to What Sets Us Apart, called Strangers We’ve Become I’m writing.  The progress of this over the last year highlights my prevarications.

Here’s the thing.

It was done and dusted, and I was doing a final read before handing to the editor.  That was a mistake.  I seem to be one of those writers that can’t let it go.  I should not have done the final re-read!

I don’t know if anyone else has the same problem, but as soon as I had finished it, I had a feeling (oh no not one of those feelings, I can hear the editor saying) and something was not quite right.

I hate it when I am in one of those moods, and looking at it, I could see where there was a problem and began the re-write.  Problem is, it affects later on, so there’s going to be cuts and additions.

But, finally, the line had been drawn.

It’s been sent on its way, and I’m now preparing for NANOWRIMO.

In a word: bark

Yes, this is exactly what a dog does, sometimes annoyingly all night, that sharp explosive cry of a dog or, believe it or not, a seal

Much better if the dog is a guard dog, because then you need it to bark when there is intruders

Then there’s another form of bark, that which grows on a tree, and makes excelled burning material, if not a little smoky, for a BBQ.

Ot that the bark of some trees can be used as material for carving, and of others, like the paperbark, to make was seems like paper to write on.

Then there are expressions that start to make you think, concerning this word, such as:

He was a boss that liked to bark orders.  I had one like that, almost looked like a dog too.  Never could ask someone kindly.

He was barking up the wrong tree.  Never seen a dog do this, but many people gave so the literal meaning is to waste your time looking in the wrong place

Then there’s bark or barque, the name of a certain type of boat or masted ship with three or more masts, dating back to sailing days

And then, just top it all off, someone goes and says your barking mad.  Probably just after you were barking up the wrong tree, looking for the barking dog on a barque.

In a word: Anonymous

Which is how I feel sometimes.

It can be a paradox in that an ordinary man may strive to be recognised, that is, to rise above his inherent anonymity simply because he feels he has something more to offer mankind than just making up the numbers.

But sadly, that desire will often be met with staunch resistance, not because there’s an active campaign against him, it’s just the way of the world.

The fact is, most of us will always be anonymous to the rest of the world, but in being so in that respect it’s that anonymity we can live with.  However, it’s far more significant if we become anonymous to those around us.  And, sadly, it can happen.

It’s when we take someone for granted.

At the other end of the scale, there is the celebrity, who has finally found fame, discovers that fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.  You find that meteoric rise from obscurity an adrenaline rush, and you’re no longer anonymous.

But all that changes when you are constantly bailed up in the street by well-meaning but annoying fans when you are being chased by the paparazzi and magazine reporters who thrive not on the fact that you are famous but watching and waiting for you to stumble.

Some often forget that there’s always a camera on them, or there’s a reporter lurking in the shadows, looking for the next scoop, capturing that awkward inexplicable moment when the celebrity is seen with someone who’s not their spouse, or worse, if it could be that, they get drunk and make a fool of themselves.

Do I really want to lose that anonymity that I have?

Not really.  It seems to me like it might be the lesser of two evils.

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 16

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

Character development

20161008_135142

This is Chester, he thinks he is an expert on people

He has meandered in checking out what I’m doing, or maybe he’s here because the room is cooler.

He gives me the ‘What are you doing’ look.

It doesn’t matter how many times I’m a writer, it’s like talking to a brick wall.

I say I’m working on developing a new character.

Name?

I’m thinking of John.

A shake of the head and the eyes roll.  Can you be a little more inventive, like, well, Chester?

Predictable.  How about Xavier?

Would you call your kid Xavier?  He’s going to have a very rough time of it at school.  Unless this character has a tortured soul.

Good point.  How about William?

Bill, that’s what you get in the mail.  Another shake of the head.  You’re not very good at this, are you?

Apparently not.  Haven’t you got some mice to catch?

He yawns, then curls up on the seat.  Wake me when you’ve got some better ideas.

Maybe not.  I’ve come up with a name, Daniel, and I don’t care what he thinks.

For now.

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 15

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

There are good days and bad days

20160922_162007

This is Chester, a cat looking for trouble

Bad days, today, trying to make the bed and the cat decides to get under the sheet and chase imaginary mice.

Peel the sheet back, toss the cat off the bed, go to remake it, and, you guessed it.

OK, we’ll come back to that.

Good days, sometimes occurring, but not often, he’s off the bed and on the prowl, though what he’s looking for is a mystery.

Perhaps there’s a gecko somewhere.

Good news, he’s out of my hair and not sitting on the keyboard trying to make a statement.

Working on the new chapter, I hear the patter of cat paws on the steps down into my office.

I turn to give him the ‘go away’ icy stare.

He returns it, in equal measure, tentatively puts his paw on the ground, ready to run if need be.

I shrug.

He goes over to the rug and flops down.

Under the fan.

Yep, they are lazy days of spring for some of us.

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 14

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

20161008_135142

This is Chester, the literary critic

It’s important to get that first sentence right, so I’m rattling off a few lines to get his reaction

‘It was a day like no other’

‘Yes, I know’, says the all knowledgeable Chester looking down his nose at me, ‘it’s been used before’.

We are sitting in the writing room and as usual, Chester is trying to ignore me.

I’m trying to start a new novel, looking for that first line that’s going to hook the reader.

I read him a few lines.

He gives me a disdainful look, ‘Heard it all before old boy, try again’.

Once Upon a time?

‘You’ve been watching too much TV’.

It was a dark and stormy night.

He yawns widely, ‘As if you haven’t used that before’.

He’s right, damn him.

Why am I talking to this cat anyway?

He jumps up onto the desk and sits on the keyboard.

Ok, writing is over for the day.

Meanwhile at the railway station…

This was going to be about my usual taxi run, picking up one or other of the grandchildren from either school, or the railway station, to take them home, a benefit their parents have with grand parents with nothing better to do.

I say that tongue in cheek, because I usually have something else to do, but it is a pleasurable experience for wither of us because it means we get to spend some time with our grandchildren while they are young, and before they discover that world out there that we ‘oldies’ would know nothing about.

I have no doubt there are times when they think we have past our use by date. It’s the bane of all old people sooner or later, unless they forge a close relationship with them in those early years.

I like to think we have, but you can never tell.

We’d like to be able to give them an independent ear, people who will listen to them and not judge, not in the way parents would. I remember myself saying that my parents would never understand the problems we had, that it was nothing like that when they were our age.

It’s the same now. The mantra is the same, but the generation has shifted, and I guess to a certain extent they are right. We didn’t have computers, mobile phones, or the endless supply of cash to go out with our friends to the mall, to the movies, to parties, sleep overs. We just didn’t have the money period, even if those activities existed in our time.

There wasn’t television, computer games, we had to find our own amusement, in the street, with other kids, using our imagination. We had to socially mix, talk to other kids, and there wasn’t the level of marriage breakups, broken homes, and distressed kids, not in our day. Divorce was a dirty word, spoken in hushed tones.

Now it seems homes with a mother and a father living together, or still talking to each other civilly, is a miracle rather than the norm. What the hell went wrong in 50 years? It seems to me that in the last 25 years we have presided over a world that has fallen to pieces, and, failing to recognise the looming disaster, we just sat by and watched it unfold.

And just how I managed to get so melancholy while waiting for a child at the railways station, I’ll never know. Perhaps it was the observance of several kids bullying another, perhaps it was because I sat in a locked car partially fearful about that trouble spilling over.

I know when I was a child my parents instilled in me a respect for others, even if I didn’t agree with them, or, god forbid, I didn’t like them. Like now, I get along with anyone and everyone because it was how we were taught.

Then.

What happened since then?

Did we forget slowly over time the virtue of tolerance and respect?

Fortunately the train, and my granddaughter has arrived, so I can cease with the rant. The children hassling each other had to run to the train and what might have been an unpleasant scene dissipated without violence.

She gets in the car, after I unlock the doors and it’s the start of a fifteen minute discussion about her day at school. It, too, is very different from my day, but, in it’s way, still the same battlefield between students and teachers.

At least some things never change.

We have this sport called Australian Rules Football

In Melbourne, it’s an institution even a religion.  Traditionally it is played on a Saturday afternoon and luckily for us, we were attending such a game.

Of course, this was last year.  This year, with the COVID 19 virus everything, including football has been called off.

Except now we have ‘flattened the curve’ football can start again, only without the spectators.  Social distancing means we can’t pack the stadium, or go to a game.  For a while, it was just be from our lounge rooms, watching it on the TV.

But, as some of the states began to get on top of the virus, football teams moved from Victoria, and played in Sydney, Adelaide, Perth, and the Northern Territory.

And as the Victorian situation got worse, the decision was made to move the grand final, which had never left the MCG in Victoria, to Brisbane. It was like America never losing the Americas Cup, until they did.

But, below, is the atmosphere that we have been missing, and has returned in a limited sense as coronavirus restrictions eased (but not completely), a game we attended last year:

The stadium is the MSG, one of the biggest and best in Australia.  Shortly after the start, I’d estimate there are about 40,000, but eventually, we were told there was 53,000, spectators here for a clash between the two Melbourne based teams.  It is not unheard of to have in closer to 90,000 spectators, and the atmosphere is at times electric.

For the die-hards like me who can remember the days when there were only Victorian-based teams,  in the modern-day form of the game, to have two such teams is something of a rarity.

However, it’s not so much about the antics on the field as it is the spectators.  They are divided into three groups, the members, the private boxes, and the general public.

But in the end, there is no distinction between any of them because they all know the rules, well, their version of them, and it doesn’t matter who you are, If there is something that goes against your team, it is brings a huge roar of disapproval.

Then there are ebbs and flows in the crowd noise and reactions to events like holding the ball attracting a unified shout ‘ball, or a large collective groan when a free kick should have been paid or by the opposite team’s followers if it should have been.

It is this crowd reaction which makes going to a live game so much better than watching it televised live.  The times when players take marks, get the ball out of congestion, and when goals are scored when your team is behind and when one is needed to get in front.

This is particularly so when one of the stars goes near the ball and pulls off a miracle 1 percent movement of the ball.  These are what we come to see, the high flying marks, the handball threaded through a needle, a kick that reaches one of our players that looked like it would never get there, an intercept mark or steal that throws momentum the opposite way.

This game is not supposed to be a game of inches but fast yards, a kick, a mark, a handball, a run, and bounce.  You need to get the ball to your goal as quickly as possible.

That’s the objective.

But in this modern game, much to the dismay of spectators and commentators alike, there is this thing called flooding where all 36 players are basically in a clump around the ball and it moves basically in inches, not yards.

It is slow and it is ugly.

It is not the game envisioned by those who created it and there is a debate right now about fixing it.

Here, it is an example of the worst sort.  This game is played in four quarters and for the first two, it is ugly scrappy play with little skill on display.  The third shows improvement and it seems the respective coaches had told their players to open it up

They have and it becomes better to look at.

But this is the point where one team usually gets away with a handy lead, a third-quarter effort that almost puts the game out of reach.  The fourth quarter is where the losing team stages a comeback, and sometimes it works sometimes it does not.

The opposition gives it a red hot try but is unsuccessful.  Three goals in a row, it gave their fans a sniff of hope but as the commentators call it, a kick against the flow and my team prevails.

It is the moment to stay for when they play the winning teams song over the stadium’s loudspeaker system, and at least half the spectators sing along.  It is one of that hair raising on the back of your neck moments which for some can be far too few in a season

We have great hopes for our team this year, and it was worth the trek from Brisbane to Melbourne to see it live rather than on the TV

Leaving the ground with thousands of others heading towards the train station for the journey home there is a mixture of feelings, some lamenting their teams, and others jubilant their team won.  There is no rancor, everyone shuffles in an orderly manner, bearing the slow entry to the station, and the long lines to get on the train.

Others who perhaps came by car, or who have decided to wait for a later train or other transport, let their children kick the football around on the leaf-covered parkland surrounding the stadium.

It is an integral part of this game that children experience the football effect.  Kicking a ball with your father, brothers, and sisters, or friends on that late autumn afternoon is a memory that will be cherished for a long long time.

It’s where you pretend you are your favorite player and are every bit as good.  I know that’s what I used to do with my father, and that is what I did with my sons.

But no matter what the state of the game, it is the weekend the football fans look forward to and who turn out in their hundreds of thousands.  It is a game that ignites passions, it brings highs and it brings incredible lows.

And, through thick and thin, we never stop supporting them.