Category Archives: Better Up Against It

At times you just have to take the high road when you are up against it

Un-Australian

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  1. The Prime Minister said that people hoarding and ‘panic’ buying were un-Australian…..
  2. He later said that people had ‘optimism bias’ and as such were not obeying the new rules…
  3. He later said he had to put in ‘social distancing measures’ to stop people doing things like going to Bondi Beach…..
  4. He calls on us to emulate the ‘ANZAC Spirit’ and all work together as ‘Aussies’ which we always do when the chips are down….

The hypocrisy….

Australians follow their leaders. The Prime Minister and all politicians are the people who set the tone of our society. They are driven, manipulated and seek the lime light with the Merchants of Misery (The Media). They say ‘panic’ buying and hoarding is Un-Australian, no, it is the Australians that our politicians are. Politicians look after number one; they stomp on whoever they can to get what they want; and during the process they hoard enough superannuation to feed a small town. No, Mr Prime Minister, you are seeing the legacy of the ‘Australian’ you are and the Australians you created. PS: The Prime Minister gets of telly about rolls of toilet paper but is relatively silent about 500 billion (about 38%) being lost on the stock marked due to ‘panic selling’….. sorry, stock brokers and investors are clever people while the toilet paper hoarders are….. the… same???

Optimism bias! Ha! How dare you accuse a few people going to the beach and or a cafe when you had weeks notice that this virus was coming to our shores like a tsunami. Mr Prime Minister did you forget you ‘optimism’ not that long ago telling everybody to go about ‘business’ as usual? While at the same time Italy, Iran, China etc, etc, had already told you it will never be business as usual again! He was going to the footy days before he started shutting down the country – now that’s not a mixed message!? …. Oh, I forgot that politicians blame us for what they have done; you traitors and Un-Australians for going to the beach…… my mistake?

Social distancing similar to the Prime Minister and the Chief Medial Officer shaking hands with everyone a day prior to the ‘Bondi Beach Madness’…. I’m sorry but the hypocracy is so blatant that you don’t notice it because no one with any sense of emotional intelligence would think that people would buy it….. but, we are?
PS: … and the difference at a wedding, funeral for one day… and school everyday is?

…. and when all else fails, call on the ANZAC spirit. Just remember these ANZAC heroes were mostly led by a bunch of dills calling the shots from safety. And, please remember that ANZAC cove was a failure and a defeat. In actual fact, it was probably the first ‘Bradbury’ – we lost, but because we retreat really good, it was a victory? Mr Prime Minister, please do not soil the memory of these heroes by pretending that you have as much to sacrifice; it is us, the ‘foot soldiers’ that keep the spirit alive by defending ourselves against you and helping each other out when you continue to fail.

Well….

Sitting down to write a positive post, didn’t quite work out for me?

I haven’t written for a while as I felt I was being harshly judged about what I was writing; so, I thought the first post back in the saddle should be as judgemental as possible!

But, lets face it, writing a blog is not exactly about being a shrinking violet and not have a degree of ‘show off’ in you?

I don’t think politicians have realised that creating an economy, and doing anything to protect it, and having The Merchants of Misery as ally and foe, does not create a community in a time of crisis; this is what WE do, most days actually; and our community will get us through, irrespective of your promises. (which gets me thinking about all those millions in aid to the bushfire victims…..?).

So, I hope to be positive in future posts and talk more about saving our ‘community’. I believe our economy will never be the same again; but, our community, our communities, US, can be stronger than ever.

I don’t want to talk about the politicians anymore or ‘firm directions’ they are giving us about what we ‘should’ be doing – we are Australians, we have the ANZAC spirit and if someone tells us not to do something, well, most of us don’t do it….. but, suggest to us we ‘shouldn’t’ do something….. well, it’s almost like a dare!

Shows how Un-Australian you are Mr Prime Minister.

The Trek

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I have spent a few days considering writing a post. I still have a lot of poems to share (groan I hear!) but think by posting one today I would be losing half my audience, and then you would be sitting there reading this all alone!

I am pretty sure my “Better Man Project” is dead. I think constant improvement is often used as an excuse for not being the best you can today; it was certainly an excuse I used.

In addition my daily Mantras have not given me the guidance they were supposed to. I was always going to follow all of them… tomorrow, and just do the best I can today, instead of being my best every day; I think there is a difference.

Those of you (well both of you) who read my blog, may have suspected I was insane; and no doubt feel vindicated after my recent stay in the Rural and Remote Ward at Glenside Hospital. But, to me this was not the greatest indicator; it was my obliviousness to the fact that I was living my favourite quote from Albert Einstein.

As we all know, me more than some I would suggest, is that the insane person does not actually know they are insane. This was me.

I wrote blogs about Mantras and Being a Better Man; but, I was not improving, but just justifying the way I viewed the world and interacted with it.

I was rarely, the best I could be each day; which could have translated with a little effort and dedication into everyday.

I so often could not control what was happening to my life. I can only control how I react to it – this was more of a revelation than any Mantra or personal improvement process. I have always had excuses for the reactions to things in my life; I see now I was mostly wrong. Rest easy I now accept this.

In accepting this I worked on a little theory of how I felt about myself and my past action:

Guilt is awareness that our actions have injured someone else.

Shame is how we feel about ourselves.

I have a lot of regrets; but little shame. I am incredibly embarrassed and regretful for many things I have done and a lot of the things I have said.

My greatest, latest, all in living colour and 3D stereo sound revelation is that I historically have not been me; the true me. I have been sold, and resold, solidified and worshiped the gods of power, anger, consumerism and possessions (No, you can’t have all my stuff for free; I said realisation, not I am becoming a monk!)

A mate recently started calling me by my birth name and he said I was dead. He said:

We all loved the 70% of our mate who was loyal, generous, smart and helpful, but the other 30% would take our heads off, rip our hearts out and destroy with a word…

There was plenty of regret in my heart plus real admiration that he had the courage to tell me. I must admit when he told me the 30% he identified, it felt like 99% of what I mostly felt; I was lucky as I think I faked about three quarters of the 70% he actually liked!

So why did he tell me? We have spent a bit of time with each other lately and he said he didn’t see any of the 30% – okay, lets call it what is; he didn’t see; an angry, controlling, abusive, malicious, self centred prick!

Why?

Because I almost died.
Because the love of my life left.
and… I broke.

The first two, precipitated the last one; the first two were a realisation that all was not good in my view of life. I actually cringed at what my epitaph may have been if I had died and shake my head at how I treated love.

The breaking was the making.

Now I am here with all the pieces, but, I am lucky and grateful that I am still here. I am lucky and grateful for the love I had – and live in hope for.

I live one day at a time. I still have food in the fridge and pay my bills but mentally I am just in this day. I have hope and realise the world is not all about me.

Right, so what? Well fantastic that I am all better today, but there will be a tomorrow.

I am still on my trek. And it is a trek which I have just started. Up until recently I have been going through life as a ‘journey’. I may actually say I was on a ‘cruise’ with occassional fact finding missions into consumerism, power and surveying the battle grounds of my self justified victories!

These ‘journeys’ through life; the constant excitement of smashing down the rapids in my rubber raft driven by barely qualified guides and being with all the other tourists who pay for cheap excitement and gratification. These were my journeys in life, but now I am on a trek.

What does this trek entail that differentiates it from my life journeys to this point?

  • I have a lot of baggage that I have to carry (I do so gladdly but have packed them better)
  • There will be deep valleys (some like ‘the valley of the shadow of death” in the Bible!)
  • Highway men will constantly be trying to rob me (Read the Media, the merchants of misery; Advertisers and the Government!)
  • There will be wonderful scenery if I bother to lift my head
  • I will be with new and old travelling companions
  • I have a destination
  • I am determined to overcome all obstacles
  • I am doing it for me
  • I do it every day and don’t have days off

I now trek through life, some days the hills are steep, the wind is against me, it’s raining, and I am tired. On days like this I need only to take one step – that way I will always be going forward.

I don’t blame the weather, the steep hills or dark valleys or bad travelling companions for my progress, for it is my trek.

Each day I will choose how I see the next step; and I will take it.

Band of Brothers

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The term ‘band of brothers’ comes from Sakespeare’s play Henry V in the King’s St Crispin’s Day speech.

From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberèd—
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

It is pretty inspiring stuff; there are a few YouTube clips which are worth a watch if you interested – my favourite it this one – click here to be redirected to YouTube.

During my recent mental health challenges and my stay in Rural and Remote Ward at Glenside, it was my daughters and my Band of Brothers who got me through. They talked me to Adelaide and then rallied around me. They did tell a few porky pies to get me certified and admitted to Glenside – I do have a habit of checking myself out of hospital – obviously I know more than a Doctor who has trained for years!?

I can’t thank them enough!

So, I hope the following muse conveys my love of these guys and my daughters – and all they did, and are still doing for me.

“Band of Brothers”
 
Friends,
Thank you, for accepting me,
For your honesty,
                                    Even when it stings,
 
Your commitment, is in the truth,
                                    Which you risk our friendship,
                                    To honour,
                                    This is love.
 
I am still me,
                                    But better because,
                                    Of you,
 
I lost myself in being a better man,
                                    I faltered,
                                    You were there,
 
With everything I needed,
                                    To survive,
                                    To thrive.
To come out the other side,
 
In the dark,
                                    I feel you,
                                    I am held by you.
 
You walk beside me,
                                    Pushing from behind when needed,
                                    In front,
                                    Clearing the way when
                                    I am overwhelmed.
 
Without your counsel,
                                    I am stupid,
                                    Destructive, and
                                    Trapped with myself.
 
You have been there,
                                    Through all seasons,
                                    All reasons,
And for my lifetime.
 
You are,
                                    My Band of Brothers,
                                    I love you.

“My Daughters”
 
My daughters,
Do you come from me,
They surprise me.
 
Their virtues,
Fulfill me,
And they never know.
 
… a moment,
Touch, Hug,
… smile.
 
They make this trek,
A journey,
Off the scale of fulfillment.
 
They fill my heart,
My ambitions,
I never knew I had.
 
They make me better,
Always,
And proud they call me Dad.

Churn, Churn, Churn – Poetry in Mental Health

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I wrote this poem while in treatment… and really it just about sums up the situation. The ruminating creates the rubble in our minds.

But it does have a happy ending; which I hope all your treks do.

Stare, stare, stare,
Churn, churn, churn,
The air is still;
                                    I am in turmoil.
 
Heart, brain, soul,
Churn, churn, churn,
I sit a statue;
                                    To the storm within.
 
Body, mind, spirit,
Churn, churn, churn,
Each aches for;
                                    Lasting peace and calm.
 
Alone, separate, one,
Churn, churn, churn,
Isolated in mind and body;
                                    With me.
 
Then:
 
Surrender to all,
Gone, gone, gone,
All is unreal;
                                    In thought and emotion.
 
Churn, churn, churn,
Spins into the either,
And I am here;
                                    Now is peace.

My Mental Health – Get to Know Them

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When I was in the Rural and Remote Ward at Glenside Hospital I was not alone. There were many people suffering from a variety of mental injury and illness. We had a connection as we were all from the country.

Those that know me, understand that I am not a very humble man, but being in this ward for several weeks, I faced the greatest feelings of humility I could ever imagine. The only other time I felt this was when I worked on the APY Lands – another life changing experience.

I was humble and would say “if I lost 50% of my mental capacity, 50% of my physical capacity and 90% of my wealth I would still be 90% better of that 70% of the people on the ward with me.” I was humbled and still I am.

We all had a connection in the ward of not only coming from the country but in we were all fighting our own demons – some worse than others. At meals or when chatting or even going for a walk, there was always a moment that you had eye contact, and there was that connection that is hard to explain. Perhaps understanding is the best word.

I wrote the following poems about that connection. The second one was about a lady I met who was an Aboriginal woman who had that ‘old soul’ and was what I think our first Australians are so often not recognised for.

The final poem was written by a young patient who together we shared our poetry and she was kind enough to give me a copy of this one to publish.

I thank all the patients I met in the ward – they were instrumental in my healing and recovery through their friendship, care and community – thank you.

“Know Them”
 
Abe as right:
 
“I don’t like that man.  I need to get to know him better.”
 
Where I am now,
Both physical and mental,
Is a place,
Never for me,
                                    Except it is.
                                    I am here.
 
I need to get to know the place,
I need to get to know the people.
 
As my default was “I” or “Me”,
I didn’t want or need,
The “them” or the “others”,
Ever.
 
So, remember;
The King, the “I”,
Is dead,
And he feels the want.
 
To know,
                                    The people,
                                    The places
And, their stories.
 
The King is dead,
And, I am alone.
 
I listened,
Perhaps, truly, for the first time ever.
 
Sometimes I held a hand,
Hugged the tears shed,
                                    On my shoulder,
Watched the outbursts,
Saw true sadness,
Had conversations,
Even sung a song,
Actually went to a thing,
                                    Called “group”.
 
And went for long and,
Short walks;
In doing this,
I wanted to know them better.
 
There was “Young J”,
Who was here,
From a home far away,
Isolated, as we chatted,
Of getting back there;
So much life left,
And it always shined through;
He draws me a picture,
And he is in it,
Of youth, and fun,
With hope in the charcoal,
I liked the lad.
 
Older “N” who had,
A lot of stories to tell,
Of exploits, and boasts,
                                    A stint in goal,
Always made me laugh,
With jokes and a pun, fun;
I liked the man.
 
A true soul in “T”,
With her cocoon,
Of loving daughters;
And a hubby,
Unlike me,
Strong, level and kind;
Faith held them all strong,
We cried together,
I held her hand;
Connection of pain;
To healing trust we did make;
I liked this woman of grace.
 
And “G”,
Who was like,
The cartoon “Tasmanian Tiger”,
Said, and I quote,
“I’m a morning person and a night owl as well”
Many a wise word to share,
As with her kids she said it was,
                                    “Do as you’re told”
She laughs at herself,
To hide a broken heart,
I liked the woman,
                                    But, saw her once cruel,
                                    It hurt me more than her victim.
 
In a conversation,
I met tall dark “J”,
We only spoke the once,
But it was deep,
And heart felt,
A first Australian,
With heart and soul,
I connected through,
                                    Stories of brothers,
                                    And kin,
                                    And land.
I liked the man,
                                    My respect for his thoughts,
                                    And culture,
                                    Lingers still.
 
I met an old soul,
I like the change,
                                    In me, for it,
I hope I will live,
                                    Long,
                                    Live well,
                                    Live love,
Into my old soul.
 
… and passing hellos,
… and RUOK’s
                                    Except for young “C”
                                    Who thumbed up or down,
Like in roman times,
                                    Reporting her day.
 
… many moments,
Of actual connection.
 
To much or to short,
To say the love you think.
 
It is an instant,
It is now,
My history of finding me:
… the empathy,
… my listening,
… my understanding,
It is nothing but love.
 
I got to know the man,
I got to know the woman,
The true person,
The person, I didn’t like,
                                    On judgement,
So often wrong.
 
I brought to me,
The man I didn’t like;
Me;
I got to know him better,
Through them.
 
I like the man,
I am growing into,
I like the man today.
 
Thank you,
To the people I met,
I got to know them,
And the people I have to meet.
 

“Old Soul”
 
I walk through life,
The people pass me.
 
Young, so full of life,
Those on the middle path,
And twilight in the eyes of many.
 
Today I met and old soul,
Much life was in their face,
The body no gauge of it.
 
Their eyes looked straight into my heart,
And words at moments needed,
Inspirations, connections to soul and land.
 
Fellowship kinship,
And the osmosis of wisdom,
Through a soft touch.
 
The old souls,
Are among us,
Search for them,
Find them.
 
They may find you,
In your time of need.
 
Look for the signs.
 
And in the moment,
The old soul gives,
Of time to you; 

Be peaceful,
Be grateful,
Be Non-Judgmental,
Be forgiving,
Be accepting,
Be here, in the moment,
Have belief.
 
Carry from them,
This old soul,
In your heart,
Your, Deeds,
Your new and old mantras
 
Now in;
Peacefulness,
Gratitude,
No Judgment,
Forgiveness,
Acceptance,
In all the present moments,
Of now,
Find live in the moment.
 
In journey and treks,
In life,
Find the old souls.
 
Live well,
Live long,
Live love,
Into your, old soul.

“Sylvia”

Robins are red,
My sadness is blue,
My heart is bleeding,
But, not from you.

Can you feel the atmosphere,
Can you breath the air,
Please beg me,
So I can care.

This world makes me cry,
But why should I,
You know better,
We all did,
So why am I still in this shit?

Every Day Should be ANZAC Day

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I wonder how many of us went to the dawn service and commemorated the spirit of our ANZACs and today go about our business somehow not remembering what brought a tear yesterday at dawn. Can we still remember and live the feelings we had, the pride, the respect and the some how feeling part of a community greater than ourselves.

Well, every ANZAC Day I think about these things.

What’s more I think about them most days. When I see the petty squabbling in day to day life; when I hear our politicians speak; when I see big business take from the needy; when I hear the media (the Merchants of Misery) create and ignore news; when I see someone struggling and needing help that would cost most of us almost nothing.

I think about the spirit of the ANACS everyday and a few years ago sat down and wrote the following.

I really hope that in the morning and the going down of the sun you will always remember what it really means to celebrate and more importantly live the spirit of the ANZACs.

Why can’t every day be ANZAC Day

Bravery would be commonplace
Loyalty would be volunteered
We would fight for those
who could not fight for themselves

We would love our country

We are just glad to be alive – today

You carry everything we own
We write each other letters
Good fun, is just good fun
Our leaders lead
and we follow

Coming home is the most important thing
We volunteer
Sacrifice is given gladly
Life is short, often horrific
but we face it with our mates
and we all stand fast

Heroes; really are heroes
We don’t do things to be remembered
Medals are earned
often with our lives

And probably most of all
every sunrise, and
every sunset
We would remember those that have fallen
and
every day
We would live our lives to honour the values
That we have fought and died for

 I wish everyday was ANZAC Day

The Gift of a Day

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I was looking in the book shelf the other day to find something to read….  okay I know you are thinking I am looking for a book to read on the toilet….  WRONG!   Let me assure you I do not read books on the toilet – everyone knows that toilet time is YouTube time!

Anyway I was standing there completely underwhelmed by the majority of the books which were mainly self help books (Note to self:  Write a self help book about finding self help books in your bookshelf!) when I saw a little book called “The Ultimate Gift.”  Well I actually saw two copies of it and wondered why I would have two?  So curiosity got the best of me and I had a little read…

Without destroying the very basic plot of this self help book which is written as a story so that you don’t feel as if you are being preached at because the loser in the book is fictional and not a complete representation of you and your life……  there basically is no plot.

There is however, a very interesting chapter called:

The Gift of a Day
Life at its essence boils down to one day at a time – today is the day.

Pretty profound beginning to the chapter (you have to have snappy headings when you have no plot… it really needed pictures as well!).  In essence our hero was telling a young lad about his idea of “The Gift of a Day” which he summed up as:

“When you face your own mortality you contemplate how much of your life you have lived versus how much you have left.  I know at some point I will live the last day of my life.  I have been thinking about how I would want to live that day and what I would do if I had only one day left to live.  I have come to realise that if I can get a picture in my mind of maximising one day, I have mastered the essence of living because life is nothing more than a series of days.”

Well, I have faced my own mortality just recently so this sentence rang a bit of a cord with me.  Not that I haven’t contemplated that one inevitability in life, that being death, a few times in the past.

I have thought about our time here being the only commodity (click here to read “Better with the Only Commodity”) or what would we do if we actually got a real taste of death and how that would effect how we would then live (click here to read Better at “Wishing You Were Dead”)….  but, this little story today, and that one chapter seems so obvious yet so universally ignored and forgotten about.

I know we all wander into this life with an unknown amount of life.  We get to spend our time (the only real commodity) any way we wish to.  Some may spend it quickly and buy all the big ticket items and live like a rock star (especially rock stars)…. and others may spend frugally and find that all their savings can’t be cashed in when they are needed.

I actually thought ‘that day’ had arrived a few weeks ago.  I didn’t get to spend it how I planned – actually as there was no time to plan and the day was thundering ahead towards my demise and I wasn’t thinking about my bucket list, I was only thinking about the kicking of that bucket I appeared to be about to take….

It would appear that death didn’t always come a knocking and say “Hey you better get your shit together because you need to get a couple of perfect days under your belt before I come swinging with my sythe!”

As it turned out death wasn’t something I was fearing, I have my beliefs, and they sit well with me.  If you have watched the movie Crocodile Dundee you will understand my take on the after life as being a bit like Mick Dundee when he is asked if he believes in God and he replies “I reckon we’d be mates.”

It wasn’t my fear of dying, it was my fear of not living that worried me.  I didn’t get to plan my last day and there was still some shit I had to do.  So, I now have the time to do it…. but, life gets in the way… and unfortunately it appears to be getting back to normal… important shit is happening everywhere and my days are getting full again… I just don’t have time to die there isn’t a gap in my schedule.

And as I wrote not long after ‘surviving’ when my main priority in life being filling out forms:

Afterglow of tragedy,
Fades in direct comparison to the minute by minute
Requirement to deal with the mundane

I realised that my almost death was not that important, or after a few days, probably wouldn’t even be noticed.  I realised that I had a bit more life to live because I realised that the gift of a day, is everyday.

“DING”

I lost the moment of the profound life
When mine almost ended
And it was not profound.

I saw it,
My friends and family saw it
Not only in my life,
But in their own.

It is not a sad moment
But a lonely one.
At the moment where you almost sleep
For eternity
You wake
To the booming sound of nothing.

And your muses are silent
And the profound extension of your existence lost
You are nothing

Your achievements and possessions dust
Your struggles but the small ding of the triangle
At the back of the orchestra,

                            Unheard.

 

 

Being a Good Man

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Well this is a realisation.

The ‘better man project’ is a myth.

Each day I have convinced myself that I am on the path to being a better man; yet that day of fulfilment is always in the future – I will be a little bit better today and a little bit better tomorrow etc etc etc – well etc, ad infinitum until you get to the point that you convince yourself that each little ‘better bit’ will lead to some unattainable position of better – but of course after that you can always be a little better.

… and of course because in you, in your idea of where you are going and what you are doing is the problem that each little bit of better you disguise to yourself as deserving some credit and acknowledgement for the effort – irrespective of the outcome – which overall may not be better…

Today, the only day I have and the only day I am living – actually I am only living this actual moment right now…. I need, now, to be a good man.

I can plan to be better tomorrow which always provides the excuse of not being the good man today, now, in this moment.

It is a big realisation that the construct of my personality that I have created – as in ‘this is me’ is in actual fact a construct of something I will be tomorrow – in that I will be better tomorrow so it is okay to not be so ‘better’ today.

It is easy to be a better man tomorrow – it is hard to be a good man right now, especially when things are not going well, or you are hurting or …. well there are 1000 reasons why we tell ourselves it is okay to behave in a certain way today because tomorrow….?

It is a little difficult to change an entire blog to ‘Being a Good Man (Now)’, but labels are often just there so that we can feel our place – URL’s are just there so we can find a web page – and so often that is a place we have created so that we can feel empowered.

As with all things I decided to seek ‘Dr Google’ to advise me of the characteristics of a good man… there were a lot of URL’s that got a hit – actually 600,000,000! I think, and feel, that what defines a good man must come from within – and with perhaps a little help from the universe; so I will thank Dr Google for its 600 million ideas and define my good man characteristics from my heart, my mind, my soul, my universe and hopefully when the next search for ‘define a good man’ ends up on someones desk top they too can find it themselves and define themselves as a good man from within – because, after all that is really where the good man emerges from or hides.

So, I think the better man project has taken a paradigm shift – I will always try and be better tomorrow, it is hopefully the nature of all of us – but today, this day, this moment, now, I will be a good man.

A good man is:

  1. Honest

Better ….. the best Daughters

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Don’t know if I mentioned I almost died from an aneurysm a few days before Christmas….

If I had have died imagine how that would have stuffed up Christmases for the entire family for…. well, forever….  What a terrible day that would have been “Oh, here’s the new blouse you wanted, and oh yeah, this is the day Dad died!”    Horrible!

I know I am going to die before my daughters.  Well that is what all parents wish and I can’t imagine otherwise….  I have a mate who’s 24 year old son recently died from cancer….  the world will never be the same again and most definitely never seem fair.

….. and I must digress here …. by saying that friends do not show up when it’s convenient or easy but they are just there when it is hard….  I am trying to do that for my mate above.

So I spent a few days in hospital, well actually three weeks, and although it wasn’t exactly a piece of cake for me, I know it was hard, maybe more so (as I was zonked out on oxy most of the time – the only time I ever had access to that many drugs was after midnight down Hindley Street talking to a bloke called Guido!), for my friends, family, wife and daughters.

I can’t thank my wife enough…. but that is another blog and probably a bit more between me and her.  A lot of the people I have to thank have received a little special thank you in the post – well maybe not yet as the old mail with a pen and paper really is as slow as a snail.  I often ask myself why I still write letters and send cards – but then again I did have a brain aneurysm so talking to myself has become somewhat the norm – and I agree!

My little blog today is also not about my friends  – who many fulfilled the above little saying of being there when it was hard.  … and a lot were smart enough to not be there and fill my hospital room, read my magazines and steal my chocolates….  but called later when the dust settled and I could actually remember them either being there or talking to me!

My daughters…  the ones that I thought I was here to protect, suddenly were there
protecting me, holding me up, making me proud of the young women they had become… so one night I wrote the following:

My Daughters

When I was on the edge of life,
When I wavered,
When I was scared,
When I feared for the future,

 Angels appeared,
… and they were my Daughters.

They lifted me up,
They led me back,
I am alive, and I am grateful.

 My daughters,
… such strength
… and grace
… such unconditional love.

Their gift of my life,
I am humbled and proud.
Thank You.

… and more so, I am grateful that I am here to write this and tell them in person, everyday.

Better Community – The Riverland War

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War, what is it good for … well let’s think about that for a moment…

I live in a great community.

Peaceful, beautiful scenery, no traffic, a sense of history, wonderful country people working together to make the place better and more….. um…. let’s just think about that list for a minute….

The Riverland is the place I am talking about and ‘working together’ is a wonderful thought but perhaps a myth….?

I have spoken to people who have not spoken to people for 30 years because one punched the other in the guts behind the lunch shed at recess time …. or my Dad hated your Dad so I hate you … or you live in another town so I was born to hate you … …

I think the only towns this doesn’t apply to are the ‘Switzerland’ towns like Monash or Glossop which fall into neutral territory.  Well you may be from neutral territory until you sign up for a sports team when your parents take you to practice for the first time when you are 11 then you give up your Switzerland citizenship and become a naturalised citizen of your new country – but not really because you weren’t born there… and that is everything.

These ‘countries’ are of course for life, your citizenship is for life and loyalty is everything.

We, us Riverlanders are constantly at war, north, south, east, west and of course those ones from across the river!

I propose a solution.

We have a war, a real war.  Wars settle long held grudges and everybody gets along afterwards e.g. 2 World Wars and now we love German cars and engineering plus the Japanese make all our electronics and we have their words tattooed on our bodies, that old chestnut the Vietnam ‘police action’ and now they are some of our most valued citizens are Vietnamese and it is our recent most popular tourist destination – bloody hell our current South Australian Governor Hieu Van Le was born in Vietnam!

Plus wars encourage inovation, get the factories going making guns and other stuff to kill each other, wars get rid of troublesome young people (you know the ones, those entitled brats who are always on their cell phones and didn’t drink out of the hose when they were young!)

Wars are basically great!

(Plus wars solve everything like the war on terror and the war on drugs – bang!  Both done and dusted and pouring in enough money and lives gets it done….  innovation, talking and compromise are for the weak!)

I propose we have a war to unite the Riverland and settle once and for all which town is better and more to the point who will be the King!   This is not a figurative war but a literal one (please explain the difference to anyone under 25!).

We tell the Government (who do nothing for country people anyway – love that old chestnut as well and unfortunately have experienced it…) that we are going to settle our own affairs.  It will be a ground war with conventional weapons (no chemical weapons or nuclear weapons – do we really want the USA coming in looking for weapons of mass destruction or building walls everywhere…).  Of course we will have to change this silly Riverland Murraylands thing which covers more territory than most countries and just make it a Riverland thing – of course Blanchetown and Waikerie may decide to bug out and become part of the Barossa….

Of course if you don’t want to be involved you can go to Monash or Glossop (or other designated Switzerland towns) and sit the entire thing out – if you weren’t born here you can also leave but if you were born here you must stay and fight – well after all it is your fault either for your activity or inactivity.

There will be an official declaration of War Gala – of course tickets will be $100 to attend and most will complain and boycott it as not only is it too expensive you have to wear long pants and a tie – it will be on the Riverfront and the main aim will not be to declare war but get as drunk as possible.

After the declaration and the afterparty breakfast the following day it will be on for young and old. (Well not really the old – they just cling onto power and prevent anything actually changing…. but the young, well they will just live in the situation we, the old, created… and they better be grateful!

The Katarapko Convention for the Riverland War will be convened regarding the rules of war (what a silly thing to have rules of war!) and will include:

  • All prisoners will be treated humanly and provided with one meal of a Parmy and a beer a day (no innovative food will be served especially anywhere with table service)
  • Op shops will not be ransacked (the Riverland has some of the best Op shops in the country – a national treasure actually!)
  • Riverland Forum on Facebook will be the official news service for the war and report daily on traffic, lost pets, recommendations for services (only if this information is readily available from at least 100 other sources) – in the event that Riverland Forum is compromised by positively reporting the Riverland War then multiple other pages will be created to report – e.g. Riverland Forum without rules etc etc
  • HiViz is not a uniform and anyone caught wearing it (especially when going out for dinner) will be shot as a spy
  • All local Councils will be excluded from the war (unless required as human shields) as their allegiances to any particular town is a bit fuzzy.
  • Individual towns may have a navy which must consist only of jet skis which must at all times be travelling a top speed and apparently going nowhere.
  • Medical assistance must be provided to the injured which may entail a 3 week wait or the conscripting of well meaning doctors who are trapped in the combat zone and have been conscripted to work to death.
  • Any town may surrender at anytime (or fight to the death irrespective of the damage to their town or the Riverland) and will immediately become a suburb of the victor.

I think it will be a great war and provide the Riverland with a new start.

At the end of the war one town will be the victor and declared the Capital of the Riverland.  That town will elect a King, who must actually ahve some qualifications and not just win a popularity contest vote on by their relatives, who will become the benevolent dictator (a proven political system so long as the benevolence continues…).

And we will rebuild!  (the USA will probably want to help but let’s hope the King says no otherwise we will all be back where we started).

The King will have one Council to help him, the businesses will have one Chamber of commerce to help them, the Service Clubs will work together, the farmers will work together irrespective as to what they grow (except if it is cotton or rice – anyway they should have been shot during the war!)

Of course in addition to the mundane tourist attractions we have already we will now have such national icons such as:

  • The Battle of Bookpernong Cemetery (there will be lovely underutilised gardens)
  • The march of Katarapko Creek (it will be an annual pilgrimage to walk the track – which will be poorly marked and unkept)
  • The Mookrook Massacre (war crime trials continuing for years, even decades in the Kangaroo Courts which are a long standing Riverland tradition)
  • The Loxton Siege site (which was self imposed to keep the rabbits out)
  • The New Loveday Interment Camps (currently used for conciensious objectors and people who have lived in the Riverland for 20 or more years but will never really be locals – just to teach them a lesson)
  • There will be one Riverland Show to celebrate the end of the War.

There will be heaps of good stuff to take for granted … and we will do it together.

Of course this is silly – although I did get a lot of pleasure writing it and seeing the looks on peoples faces….

But, aren’t the Riverland towns now and haven’t they been for some time, in a Cold War.  It is like Russia and the USA in the 1960’s and 1970’s – war is not declared but we are in a battle for supremacy, to the detriment of all.

What is Community.  Is it one town, is it the Riverland, is it the Riverland Murraylands – it’s all of it.  It’s realising that punch in the guts behind the lunch shed at recess time didn’t mean all that much then and means less, actually nothing now … and that bloke and/or girl is all grown up now and a part of my Community, perhaps my neighbourhood.

Those kids that have a private war daily in the Riverland by not having the opportunity to be in charge, to lead the way, to innovate, to create…  they take their arsenal of youth, enthusiasm, knowledge and potential to not fight in other peoples wars but to build their communities. (also see post on Old People – click here)

I suppose if the war continues nothing gets better, different people with no loyalty to the Riverland get involved (does the war in Afghanistan ring a bell!!!) and ‘our country’ is ruled by invaders and all the locals, their businesses, their lives become collateral damage in a greater ‘good’. (I just had another good idea for a blog called “The Invasion of the Riverland”…. maybe another day?)

Perhaps the greatest war we have to face is the one within ourselves, to forgive (the greatest act of will and surrender we can undertake) work together and make our home, our neighbourhood, our community, our Riverland a wonderful place for everyone.