Tag: creativity

It’s been an interesting day

Today we have been delving into the past in a way that makes history interesting.

Also, it’s another way to get young children to take an interest in the past, seeing that is often very difficult to part them from their ipads, smartphones and computer games.

It is part of a weekend devoted to history.

First up is a ride on an old steam train, the engine dating back to the 1950s, as are some of the carriages. Now, for someone like me who is only two years younger, it doesn’t seem that old, but to them, it’s a relic.

And for the youngest of our granddaughters who tells me that this will be her first ride on a train, any train, it’s going to be vastly different from her next ride on a train.

I don’t think it went faster than about 30, whether that’s miles an hour or kilometres, so we had time to take in the bushland, the river crossings and the smell of the coal-generated smoke.

And the biggest treat was for them to climb up into the engine cabin to see who drives it, and how it all works.

I try to tell them this is a far cry from the 300kph bullet trains in China that we recently travelled on. This ride was rattly, noisy, and we were barely able to sit still, whereas on the bullet trains you hardly knew you were moving and was so smooth and silent you didn’t know you were moving until you looked out the window.

Tomorrow we’re going to a historical township, built out of digging for gold in the area. It will be of significance to the elder granddaughter as she is working on a project on Eureka, where there was a watershed between the miners and the authorities.

History, in my opinion, cannot be taught entirely by books, there must be visual and active participation in simulated events for them to get a better understanding. That, and then writing about it in the way historical fiction often brings moments in history alive.

We are all looking forward to tomorrow!

I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 9

What’s the worst that could happen?

…

Captains invariably hated the word ‘problem’. I did too, because it conjured up so many different scenarios, each more scarier than the last, and maginified exponentially because we were in space.

We took a closer look, and it was the sort of damage if it was back on Earth, one would associate with weapons fire, lasers to be exact.

Yes, in the 24th century we had ray guns, handheld, and ship bound.

The only problem was, only the cruise class vessels, like the one I was now on, were allowed to have them, and using them, well, the paperwork alone could keep a complement of 20 working day and night for a month.

Test them, yes, less paperwork, use them, no. There had never been a reason to.

But someone had, and on a freighter, which only meant one possibility, that whatever the freighter had been carrying, had been worth violating a thousand regulations and rules.

And bring their ship and selves out into the light.

It was, of course, Space Command’s worst nightmare realised, that the ideal of space exploration as a united effort by everyone, had a member who had decided against unity.

Unless, of course, the improbably had happened, there was life outside our solar system, and we were dealing with a new planet, or people.

Except I would not expect them to use something as conventional as a laser.

Myrtle had put us very close to the damaged area and taken a number of photographs, and the engineer had analysed the damaged area.

Then, cleared to enter the freighter, she took us up to the cargo doors and waited as we watched them open.

It was the same time the engineer’s hand held computer started beeping.

And a warning light on the console in front of Myrtle started flashing, accompanied by a warning klaxon.

Another vessel had just entered our proximity zone.

…

© Charles Heath 2021

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 10

It was a relic from the past, put back together by a dedicated group of volunteers who had not wanted the last vestiges of the past to disappear.

Train enthusiasts, the called themselves.

They’d put together a steam locomotive, five carriages, a restaurant car, and the conductor’s car. The original train might have been twice to three times as long, but these days, the tourist market rarely filled the train.

I was one of a group who made it their mission to visit and rate every vintage train, not only in this country, but all over the world. It was a sad state of affairs when I first began, with locomotives and carriages dropping out of the system due to lack of funds, but more disheartening, the lack of government assistance in keeping it’s heritage alive.

It seemed money was short, and there were better things to spend it on, like two brand new 737-800 jets just to ferry the prime minister and government officials around. Just think of what that quarter of a billion dollars could have bought in heritage.

But it is what it is.

What I had before me was one of the most recent restorations to check out, and on first glance, it was remarkable just how lifelike and true to age it was.

Of course, I was of an age that could remember the old railway carriages, what were called red rattlers because of the ill fitting windows that went up and down, allow fresh air, or in days gone by, smoke from the locomotive hauling the train. I had not travelled during the last glorious years of steam, but the carriages had lived on briefly before the advent of the sterile aluminum tin cans with uncomfortably hard seats.

These carriages were built for comfort, and my first experience had been a five hour trip from Melbourne to Wangaratta, in Victoria, on my way to Mt Buffalo Chalet, a guesthouse owned by the Railways.

That too had been a remarkable old chalet style guest house with a room and all the dining included. I always left after the week having put on weight. Breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner, every day, and high tea on Sunday.

But this carriage, the polished wood that had shellac rather than varnish, highlighting the timber’s grain, the leather seats with generous padding, the curved ceilings with hanging lights, windows the could be opened and closed, allowing fresh air to circulate.

There was also a carriage with the passageway, and five or six separate compartments, each sitting six passengers. I remembered these well, having quite often ridden in one to work for some years when the country trains still ran.

It was always remarkable how a sight or a scent could trigger such memories.

For this carriage on this train, it used to ply the Gympie to Brooloo branch line from about 1915 onwards.

That was the history. It only went as far as Amamoor these days, it was still long enough to capture the sensation of riding the rails back in what is always referred to as the good old days, even if they were not.

Now for the ride….

…

© Charles Heath 2021

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 9

…

I remeber once being told that if you shoot for the moon, you’ll land in the clouds, if you shoot for the tree tops, you’ll finish up back where you started from.

It was a silly analogy, but I always remembered it when I looked up at the sky and saw clouds.

That was back in those hazy carefree days just after you were finished with school and you had your whole life in front of you. Your parents were there as the safety net, and were still proud of your scholastic achievements, and were not in too much of a hurry to hustle you out of the house.

But what happened when there’s a recession that came upon everyone without any warning.

Stocks plummeted, people lost their life’s savings, those with mortgages and loans suddenly finding that along with unemployment came no income, no ability to pay the bills, and therefore lost everything.

Although I never said it, I was thinking what good was an education when the whole world had gone to hell in a handbasket.

Two things I remember from back then, which in the context of disaster, wasn’t all that long ago. Firstly, my father making us children go camping from before we could walk, and with it, to survive with nothing but the clothes on our backs, and our wits.

It had happened to him, as a member of am expedition in Africa in his younger days, thinking that he might become the next great explorer, or archeologist, and finishing up getting lost, even though he asserted the other members had deliberately left him behind.

And secondly, that it was essential that we forge working relationships with any and all those who were like minded, such as those who wanted to be saved, not those who expected everyone else to so the work. It was obvious he had met a lot of those type of people too.

It served us well.

When nations began turning on each other, when essential resources like electricity and fuel stopped being distributed and rationed, when food suddenly became scarce, that’s when the real trouble started. My father said, at the outset, what would happen, and was glad our mother was not there to see it.

Then, when neighbours attacked neighbours once food became scarce, it was time to leave. The pity of it was, he died defending us, even after offering up some of the food we had stored away, but that had not appeased a hungry or angry mob.

His last words, “Go to where we said we would go, and remember everything I’ve taught you” were etched in my brain, and my brother and I did as he asked.

But, even knowing where we had to go, and how to get there, a plan of action made many years before, and trialled in recent years with success, nothing in the past could have prepared us for the journey.

It was, literally, time to shoot for the moon.

—

© Charles Heath 2021

Watching Christmas movies

Down here, on the other side of the world, the one where Christmas day never sees snow and the temperature sometimes hovers around 38 degrees centigrade, we have neither the Hallmark nor the Lifetime channels.

OK, I can see that’s going to stop a lot of our American friends from moving here when things get a little too dangerous back home, ergo politics and guns, but there are other ways.

And having discovered how to get these movies, we’ve been watching a lot of Hallmark Movies and Mysteries, with an occasional side dish of Lifetime.

Romantic movies are good. Some might say they are soppy, but you know what? No violence, no guns, murders but only in mysteries, and endless happy endings.

I like a happy ending.

Of course, these romances fit a certain storyline as do the Christmas stories, the latter blending a romance and another element that reinforces the notion that Christmas is good.

But whatever the circumstances, I’m trying to convince myself that’s the case because a lot of the time we’re dealing with broken families, dead partners leaving still mourning children, people who work so hard they have no life, or worse, don’t have time to go home and share the joys of Christmas with family.

Oh, and then there are those who don’t want to go home for any number of reasons. I know if I had a choice I would not have gone home to see my parents, but that’s a whole other story.

And despite all of the trials and tribulations, and the obligatory misinterpretation, by the end, through a complicated series of manoeuvres and plot holes, either the broken family or the broken heart is mended.

How much more good feeling can you want in what is called the festive season?

Well, for me, it is the endless wide shots of rural America under a blanket of snow, the very epitome of a Christmas card scene. It’s the snow laying all about as you walk along people-filled streets, the Christmas decorations, both in the streets and in the houses, and they go all out to fill the house and every room with an abundance of decorations.

They have real trees, bought from a Christmas tree lot or farm, and not just any tree, one that fits the 50-foot ceilings that almost require a scissor lift to get the decorations on. And a tree in every room. We have a five feet tall artificial ‘lifelike’ tree that would not pass the movie test.

The only let down if it could be called that, is the fact that these movies are sometimes made in summer, and the town locations are dressed. And in all, I seriously doubt the falling snow is real, after all, no one can make it snow on cue.

So, now it’s time to take all if those movie experiences and write my own Christmas story. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Christmas shopping

I hate Christmas

I hate shopping

Could there be a worse time to do the one thing that drives you bonkers?

Perhaps there is, but never a time when so many people are wandering aimlessly around looking for stuff that no one really needs.

And in the process, trash the shelves, and leave the store in such a mess that anyone who thinks shopping in the afternoon is a good idea, is left with little more than a dumpster dive.

Christmas shoppers are a very distinctive breed. First identified but the stultified manner in which they shuffle along the mall walkways, stopping to look vacantly at the wares in the windows, unable to figure out whether the sizes would fit their victims, sorry, giftees.

Or whether the sheer unadulterated inappropriateness would work, because we all know many of the gifts we receive are unwanted and even if they had a degree of acceptability, it was the wrong size, the wrong colour, for a different age group, or needs batteries.

It’s called grandparents revenge.

As for parents gifting their children as a surprise, well it’s a well-known fact they don’t have a clue about the younger generation and what they want.

We made a conscious decision years ago to only buy what the children wanted, no surprises, unfortunately, but never getting it wrong makes it worthwhile.

Of course, what the children want is something else and it took us a while to realise they were using us to buy stuff their parents had strictly banned. Yes, interesting lesson learned.

It only proved how desperately out of touch each generation is with the one below, and worse for those two generations adrift.

Two items of special note, are the number of parents who go shopping with their children, and the level of blackmail used to get their best behaviour, that overused phrase, ‘misbehave and you’re getting nothing for Christmas’ flogged mercilessly to death.

The other is the number of unwilling spouses who would prefer to mind six rotten little kids than brave the dumpster shelves, or worse, the endless racks of clothes that would be more suited to cleaning the house rather than being worn.

I say this out of experience, because in my day girls’ clothing did not have large chinks of material missing or whole swaths of exposed skin

I’ll be leaving the Christmas shopping to someone else from now on.

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 7

There is always something strange about certain photographs that is not evident when you take them.

For instance, the photograph above.

While this might look like some vegetation by the side of a river or stream, its that are of blackness behind what looks like steps up from the water level that adds a level of intrigue or mystery.

For instance:

…

We had spent two weeks slowly going upriver looking for a needle in a haystack. It was an apt description, because there had been quite a large number of likely spots, all of which after investigation, came to nothing.

I mean, the description Professor Bates had given is was as hazy as day is long in these parts.

His recollection: that it was what looked like a cave behind lush undergrowth, with steps fashioned out of stone.

It was all the more confuse. Because when we found him, he was drifting on a rough hewn and constructed raft, half dead from dehydration. We were told he’d been on the raft for nearly a week.

That meant the cave could be anywhere between where we found him at the 10 mile mark, and 200 miles further on based on river flow.

We were currently at the 150 mile mark and the river was losing depth and width, and soon there would not be enough water to continue in the boat.

It was dusk and too dark to continue. We’d been enthusiastic those first days, continuing on in the dark, on shifts, using the arc lamps.

Then after a week, having lights on made us target practise, and after sever brushes with death, and the loss of all the bulbs being shot out, we got the message.

There was the odd marauder during the day, but we had the width of the river for safety.  Now that had gone too, and we had lookouts posted, but seeing into the dense jungle was difficult.

But we got through another night with no activity, and come morning, what looked like the entrance to a cave was not fifteen feet from us.

All we had to was row over and check.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

In a word: Home – in sayings

I’m always on the lookout for inspiration for stories, especially the short stories I attach to photographs in my Being Inspired series, and one of the topis that has been suggested is along the lines of the following.

There is certainly a lot of scope with these.

Home is where the heart is

One’s home is the preferred place to all others, the one you are most emotionally attached, i.e. you have the deepest affection for. It may not necessarily be a physical place though.

I must say I tend to agree with this because every time I go away, I’m always looking forward to coming home.

Even when I’ve had to stay away for a few months, it’s not possible to call that home, it’s just another place to stay.

On the other hand…

It’s the name of a song by Elvis Presley.

And it has been the title of several films.

The Hallmark channel presses this point home time and time again.

Pliny the Elder is credited with coming up with the saying.

Home is what you make it

This is a similar saying, but, to me, it means something completely different

Though many will say this means that it’s where family and friends can come to, a place where memories can be made, I don’t believe it’s the same as the first saying.

What you make of it depends on your circumstances, you can hate it because it might be because you’re stuck with one parent with perhaps a step-parent. Or you might love it because you’ve escaped a bad situation.

But it’s not necessarily where your heart is.

Wherever I hang my hat I call home

Barbra Streisand made this song famous, and probably means that no matter where you are, it is home to you. It would be more fitting for someone who doesn’t necessarily see their true home very often, ie you work in the diplomatic service or in the military and you move around a lot.

Home away from home

This is a place that is as good as your real home.

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 5

I found this:

The innocuous explanation for this photo is that I took it at my grand daughter’s little athletics competition, now most sensibly being held on Friday evenings.

For those who don’t know how the weather can be in Brisbane, Queensland, it is generally hot, particularly from November when temperatures are between 35 and 40 degrees centigrade.

But not only is it hot but humidity, the real problem, is around 100 percent.

So at the moment we have reasonably cool evenings, ideal conditions for the young athletes.

But, where a photo could be innocuous there can a more interesting, if not sinister description.

Lurking in the back of my mind, and perhaps a lot of others, that there might be an unidentified flying object somewhere in the sky.

Of course, there might not be any, but it doesn’t mean that we stop looking, or assume, sometimes that a moving light in the sky isn’t a UFO.

And its been said that humans are quite arrogant in thinking that we are the only people in the universe.

Personally, I don’t think we are, and I keep an eye on the sky every time I’m out at night, perhaps the most likely time we might see one.

The only issue I might have is that if I am that lucky to see one, or that it lands nearby, what I would do when confronted by an alien.

And, yes, there’s definitely a story in that.

This is Baldrick on the line, I have a cunning plan

And for those who know nothing of Rowan Atkinson and his endless episodes of Blackadder, the name Baldrick would be equally as puzzling.

But for those who do, you will recognize the significance of the statement.

Baldrick always had a cunning plan, almost inevitably doomed to failure.

I lump my plan, scheme, borrowed or stolen idea into this category, because it needs outside help, support, encouragement, discouragement, or whatever input you feel is necessary.

As well, if you so desire, participation.

A long time ago I realized I was never going to be able to pay for marketing assistance from the ‘experts’.

In reading the material on their webpages, and blogs, it quickly came about that all of these used the same premise, dressed up in different words, all of which was to get you to hand over what little money you didn’t have, with the disclaimer that it worked for them, but it might not work for you.

$50 gone, no result and no comeback.  You read the disclaimer.

And, sadly when I tried several ‘products’ I discovered not only were they basically the same (who sold them the get-rich-quick template?) and offered no advice I hadn’t trawled the internet first for.

I thought, also, for a short time, I might do the same as them, but in the end, I know what it’s like to have a book, the desire to make it available to others, good or bad reviews withstanding, and not have to spend a fortune doing it (with no hope of guaranteed success).

Of course, there was the rub, since I couldn’t afford to market it, there were no good or bad reviews.

Perhaps a pact could be made where we each buy each other’s book and write a review.

We could call it a ‘The Gathering of Eagles’ since we all want to soar!

Let me know if you’re interested to cwheath555@gmail.com.