Valediction


It was daughter number one’s valedictory dinner last night and she was one of 145 kids graduating from her High School. Some of them I have known since kindergarten and it amazes me how quickly they grow up. I spent three weeks with most of them on a trip to Central Australia in 2005 and had a terrific time with a great bunch of kids.

Sitting there watching them all last night I was reminded again of my own school years and thought about the sense of excitement on that journey into adulthood that was about to begin. Today, many of them will vote in our Federal Election for the first time, most have already gotten their driver’s licences during the year and it is now legal for them to drink.

I suspect that most don’t consider that last night is probably the last time many of them will see each other. There will of course be those who will be lifelong friends, some may well become friends in the next months and years, some will marry, others will head off overseas. There will be success stories and probably some sad failures, there will even likely be some who will not be around at all in the next ten years let alone reach middle or old age.

I remember son number 2’s Grade 6 graduation and a young kid who stood grinning at the door of the reception center handing out programs and ushering people to seats. Within a month he had suffocated when a sand cave collapsed on him while playing at a beach on his family holiday. But that day of the graduation he was happy and full of life, with dreams and ambitions, and good friends who would share that time with him. No different to any of the kids I saw last night.

So for the graduating class there are no fears, nor beliefs that the salad days will ever end. Sure they’ve had the weight of a tough year lifted with the end of exams and they are all looking forward to what the future brings and there will dounbtless be days of disappointment ahead for some. I trust for most though that life will unfold in ways that suit them. And who can really ask for any more.

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I won’t be around for the next week. I’m off to Tasmania tomorrow morning and will be doing a bit of bushwalking at Cradle Mountain for the next few days, before heading down to the south of the Island where I’ll be visiting some of the places that my great-great-Grandparents, four of whom were Irish convicts, were assigned to work out their sentences. Stay well my friends and I’ll be back in a weeks time.

Valediction


It was daughter number one’s valedictory dinner last night and she was one of 145 kids graduating from her High School. Some of them I have known since kindergarten and it amazes me how quickly they grow up. I spent three weeks with most of them on a trip to Central Australia in 2005 and had a terrific time with a great bunch of kids.

Sitting there watching them all last night I was reminded again of my own school years and thought about the sense of excitement on that journey into adulthood that was about to begin. Today, many of them will vote in our Federal Election for the first time, most have already gotten their driver’s licences during the year and it is now legal for them to drink.

I suspect that most don’t consider that last night is probably the last time many of them will see each other. There will of course be those who will be lifelong friends, some may well become friends in the next months and years, some will marry, others will head off overseas. There will be success stories and probably some sad failures, there will even likely be some who will not be around at all in the next ten years let alone reach middle or old age.

I remember son number 2’s Grade 6 graduation and a young kid who stood grinning at the door of the reception center handing out programs and ushering people to seats. Within a month he had suffocated when a sand cave collapsed on him while playing at a beach on his family holiday. But that day of the graduation he was happy and full of life, with dreams and ambitions, and good friends who would share that time with him. No different to any of the kids I saw last night.

So for the graduating class there are no fears, nor beliefs that the salad days will ever end. Sure they’ve had the weight of a tough year lifted with the end of exams and they are all looking forward to what the future brings and there will dounbtless be days of disappointment ahead for some. I trust for most though that life will unfold in ways that suit them. And who can really ask for any more.

*******************************************************************
I won’t be around for the next week. I’m off to Tasmania tomorrow morning and will be doing a bit of bushwalking at Cradle Mountain for the next few days, before heading down to the south of the Island where I’ll be visiting some of the places that my great-great-Grandparents, four of whom were Irish convicts, were assigned to work out their sentences. Stay well my friends and I’ll be back in a weeks time.

Valediction


It was daughter number one’s valedictory dinner last night and she was one of 145 kids graduating from her High School. Some of them I have known since kindergarten and it amazes me how quickly they grow up. I spent three weeks with most of them on a trip to Central Australia in 2005 and had a terrific time with a great bunch of kids.

Sitting there watching them all last night I was reminded again of my own school years and thought about the sense of excitement on that journey into adulthood that was about to begin. Today, many of them will vote in our Federal Election for the first time, most have already gotten their driver’s licences during the year and it is now legal for them to drink.

I suspect that most don’t consider that last night is probably the last time many of them will see each other. There will of course be those who will be lifelong friends, some may well become friends in the next months and years, some will marry, others will head off overseas. There will be success stories and probably some sad failures, there will even likely be some who will not be around at all in the next ten years let alone reach middle or old age.

I remember son number 2’s Grade 6 graduation and a young kid who stood grinning at the door of the reception center handing out programs and ushering people to seats. Within a month he had suffocated when a sand cave collapsed on him while playing at a beach on his family holiday. But that day of the graduation he was happy and full of life, with dreams and ambitions, and good friends who would share that time with him. No different to any of the kids I saw last night.

So for the graduating class there are no fears, nor beliefs that the salad days will ever end. Sure they’ve had the weight of a tough year lifted with the end of exams and they are all looking forward to what the future brings and there will dounbtless be days of disappointment ahead for some. I trust for most though that life will unfold in ways that suit them. And who can really ask for any more.

*******************************************************************
I won’t be around for the next week. I’m off to Tasmania tomorrow morning and will be doing a bit of bushwalking at Cradle Mountain for the next few days, before heading down to the south of the Island where I’ll be visiting some of the places that my great-great-Grandparents, four of whom were Irish convicts, were assigned to work out their sentences. Stay well my friends and I’ll be back in a weeks time.

I don’t get…rat’s milk

There are reports in newspapers around the world today on odd Vegan Heather Mills call for people to cull cows and start drinking rats milk. Now at the risk of offending some people the term “odd Vegan” is probably tautological. Is this woman insane? How many rats would you need to get enough milk for a cup of tea.

According to a Press release by Viva Mills was saying that we are the only mammal to continue drinking milk after we are weaned and that drinking rat milk makes as much logical sense as drinking cows milk. And why is she saying that – because she and her cohorts reckon that cows are contributing as much as 18% to the worlds build up of green house gases.

I reckon you probably need the mass of 10,000 rats to make one cow and that the collective farts of 10,000 rats is probably equivalent to that of one cow. Therefore the suggestion is a spurious one 😉

I don’t get…rat’s milk

There are reports in newspapers around the world today on odd Vegan Heather Mills call for people to cull cows and start drinking rats milk. Now at the risk of offending some people the term “odd Vegan” is probably tautological. Is this woman insane? How many rats would you need to get enough milk for a cup of tea.

According to a Press release by Viva Mills was saying that we are the only mammal to continue drinking milk after we are weaned and that drinking rat milk makes as much logical sense as drinking cows milk. And why is she saying that – because she and her cohorts reckon that cows are contributing as much as 18% to the worlds build up of green house gases.

I reckon you probably need the mass of 10,000 rats to make one cow and that the collective farts of 10,000 rats is probably equivalent to that of one cow. Therefore the suggestion is a spurious one 😉

I don’t get…rat’s milk

There are reports in newspapers around the world today on odd Vegan Heather Mills call for people to cull cows and start drinking rats milk. Now at the risk of offending some people the term “odd Vegan” is probably tautological. Is this woman insane? How many rats would you need to get enough milk for a cup of tea.

According to a Press release by Viva Mills was saying that we are the only mammal to continue drinking milk after we are weaned and that drinking rat milk makes as much logical sense as drinking cows milk. And why is she saying that – because she and her cohorts reckon that cows are contributing as much as 18% to the worlds build up of green house gases.

I reckon you probably need the mass of 10,000 rats to make one cow and that the collective farts of 10,000 rats is probably equivalent to that of one cow. Therefore the suggestion is a spurious one 😉

That old divan

I have bought a new Canon scanner with which I am scanning in a lot of old negatives and colour slides. I know I’ve touched before on how viewing old photographs can trigger powerful memories. Some of the events I’ve looked at again were buried deep in the recesses of my mind and I hadn’t thought about either the people in them or the places and times they describe in a very long time.

We weren’t poor but our home was modest. Timber floors, when that was a sign of lack of money rather than a trendy fashion statement like it appears to be today, venetian blinds, and the only thing we had to sit on in the loungeroom was an old divan.

That piece of furniture saw all my childhod illnesses – mumps, measles, german measles and chicken pox. It even saw the days when my sisters or I faked illness in order to get out of school. And it was the place of choice for those Sunday nights in front of the TV watching Disneyland. It was there when we woke to find Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny had come. It saw the block fences around zoos and farms and the villages of lego and the fort full of my cowboys and indians, and my sisters games with their Barbie Dolls.

It was there when the log rolled out of the fireplace on a still night and burnt slowly through the floor of the house. It rested the weary bones of my four grandparents and accepted the jumps of young kids for years. At some time in the late sixties or early seventies, probably not long after that photo was taken, it was replaced by a three piece vinyl lounge suite, which as the years wore on also collected the creases of my family’s life until it too passed to someone else.

I know that some of you who read here like a writing challenge so my request of you is that you find a photo of an old piece of furniture and tell us it’s story – I’ll update this post with the links of anyone who cares to participate.

That old divan

I have bought a new Canon scanner with which I am scanning in a lot of old negatives and colour slides. I know I’ve touched before on how viewing old photographs can trigger powerful memories. Some of the events I’ve looked at again were buried deep in the recesses of my mind and I hadn’t thought about either the people in them or the places and times they describe in a very long time.

We weren’t poor but our home was modest. Timber floors, when that was a sign of lack of money rather than a trendy fashion statement like it appears to be today, venetian blinds, and the only thing we had to sit on in the loungeroom was an old divan.

That piece of furniture saw all my childhod illnesses – mumps, measles, german measles and chicken pox. It even saw the days when my sisters or I faked illness in order to get out of school. And it was the place of choice for those Sunday nights in front of the TV watching Disneyland. It was there when we woke to find Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny had come. It saw the block fences around zoos and farms and the villages of lego and the fort full of my cowboys and indians, and my sisters games with their Barbie Dolls.

It was there when the log rolled out of the fireplace on a still night and burnt slowly through the floor of the house. It rested the weary bones of my four grandparents and accepted the jumps of young kids for years. At some time in the late sixties or early seventies, probably not long after that photo was taken, it was replaced by a three piece vinyl lounge suite, which as the years wore on also collected the creases of my family’s life until it too passed to someone else.

I know that some of you who read here like a writing challenge so my request of you is that you find a photo of an old piece of furniture and tell us it’s story – I’ll update this post with the links of anyone who cares to participate.

That old divan

I have bought a new Canon scanner with which I am scanning in a lot of old negatives and colour slides. I know I’ve touched before on how viewing old photographs can trigger powerful memories. Some of the events I’ve looked at again were buried deep in the recesses of my mind and I hadn’t thought about either the people in them or the places and times they describe in a very long time.

We weren’t poor but our home was modest. Timber floors, when that was a sign of lack of money rather than a trendy fashion statement like it appears to be today, venetian blinds, and the only thing we had to sit on in the loungeroom was an old divan.

That piece of furniture saw all my childhod illnesses – mumps, measles, german measles and chicken pox. It even saw the days when my sisters or I faked illness in order to get out of school. And it was the place of choice for those Sunday nights in front of the TV watching Disneyland. It was there when we woke to find Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny had come. It saw the block fences around zoos and farms and the villages of lego and the fort full of my cowboys and indians, and my sisters games with their Barbie Dolls.

It was there when the log rolled out of the fireplace on a still night and burnt slowly through the floor of the house. It rested the weary bones of my four grandparents and accepted the jumps of young kids for years. At some time in the late sixties or early seventies, probably not long after that photo was taken, it was replaced by a three piece vinyl lounge suite, which as the years wore on also collected the creases of my family’s life until it too passed to someone else.

I know that some of you who read here like a writing challenge so my request of you is that you find a photo of an old piece of furniture and tell us it’s story – I’ll update this post with the links of anyone who cares to participate.

I don’t get…breast feeding 7 year olds


A new report has said that Australian mothers are breast feeding their children up to the age of 7 years old. It stated that some of the 107 women who took part in the study are feeding up to a dozen times a day and one of them was feeding three children at once. Now I think the latter meant that in any one day three of her kids were feeding rather than she had three tits. But you know what, I don’t get it!

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Image from Cartoonstock.com

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