being a happy being – Page 2 – sillysocksonfriday

Happy Day

Its already a year on since I wrote my appreciation of Australia Day.

It seems that my opinion is not shared by all. There are some that say

celebrating the anniversary of the 1788 arrival of the First Fleet of British ships at Port Jackson, New South Wales is not OK – that ultimate New Age condemnation.

So sadly, there will be some people who will say that celebration of the arrival of a different culture is in fact a celebration of the subjugation of the Aboriginal people who were already in Australia and apparently owned all the land and resources thereon.

This is a common theme of native populations who were affected by the arrival of more technologically advanced and powerful colonists. It is a sad fact that in Australia and the Americas, by and large, the people who were there were defeated and subjugated and those who were not successfully incorporated into the new societies still suffer diminished and pathetic lifestyles and the disappearance of traditional cultural practices.

In Africa and Asia, the colonists were expelled after a century or two of domination and exploitation, leaving modern technology, knowledge and infrastructure and some vicious struggles to achieve power and the benefits that flow from the dispensation of favours. The eventual collapse of economies and reversion to tribal conflicts is frequently blamed on the historic, invasion of the colonists.

That is a digression which may make some people hot under the collar – we don’t really need that as the southern part of the continent is stricken by a heatwave, leading to the cancellation of many functions. But let me hasten to add -NOT THE CRICKET!!

(On second thoughts, given the success of the Australians against the Poms, maybe it should be cancelled as a threat to national morale.)

No doubt this viewpoint of the mainly left wing and some indigenous people will gather momentum, like the #Me Too movement, notwithstanding Germaine Greer‘s opposition. (Who would have thought of her on the right side of the spectrum…?) .

Me? I am not an Aussie mate, but I love the country. I thought the day was meant to celebrate Australia, not some ancient event invested with political significance.

Pick a day which doesn’t create too many bleats and change it. Celebrate the day like the popular song says:

Australians all let us rejoice
For we are young and free
We’ve golden soil and wealth for toil
Our home is girt by sea…

Look forward, not backwards!

A day in the life … sometime soon

As I eased myself into the seat already moulded to my preferred posture, I replied to the pleasant Good morning to ye I received, grinning to myself because I was talking to a machine. Oh well, a mother’s training endures!

I was on my way to Bunnings to collect the customised shovel I had ordered this morning – a glitch had caused a drone jam, so it couldn’t be delivered immediately.

Amazing really – all I had to do is think about what I needed and tell Siri who placed the order, giving my specifications. Bunnings would have it printed by the time I got there and offered me a complimentary coffee as they could not deliver immediately.

The self-drive car whizzed off, covering the 10 km distance in 8 minutes, while I flipped through my voting preferences on the issues before e-Parliament.

Amazing that the trip only cost me 5 zillBits – back in the day, factoring in motor vehicle purchase cost, petrol, rego, tolls and insurance, it had cost 20 times as much.

My shovel was loaded at the drive-through and my coffee was handed to me – exactly as I like it. Siri had already paid Bunnings.

I told the car to return via the Protein Bar so I could pick up some fillet steak – the new worm algae protein meat barbequed magnificently and gave me a perfect medium rare. The Bar took a box of my tamarillos, pawpaws and apple chives in exchange.

The rump would be accompanied by fresh salad from my own vertical garden and home-made sauerkraut. I was also going to toast some crickets as they were now juicy and plump. That was why I needed the new shovel – to be able to transfer compost from the waste processing output to the garden rows.

I was really proud of the fact that my home is self-sustainable and produces sufficient to supply the sixty-five families that now shared the Bahr Place precinct.

Overcrowding wasn’t such a problem if one used the wonderwall barriers which muffled noise and projected scenic view holograms but didn’t affect birds or rain – I even had a rooster which crowed the dawn every morning! No complaints either when I listened to Bohemian Rhapsody at max volume.

(I revert to my old naturally deaf ears…)

The chickens give me eggs and meat and are happy scratching through my vertical gardens on all the walls and the roof. The water tanks give me prawns, mussels and trout. Admittedly my fruit trees need to be pruned regularly as the basement area iss under 3 metres high. The arnica did exceptionally well and was great for aches and pains from a hard day’s gardening, as did the marijuana I grew under licence for pain relief of the few remaining cancer victims not cured by gene therapy.

Mind you, who am I to complain – I am only 95 and Siri told me my body indicators showed I was in perfect health and can expect to live another 30 years at least, before I get treed. I am proud of the fact that I have reversed cancer, diabetes and Alzheimer’s and still have one of my original knees, eyes and hips!

(I have refused my great grandchild’s request to clone me for her next child – I believe we are all unique and special in our own way and should stay that way).

I am my own doctor

I discerned the easy embrace, the clinging infiltration.

It was easy and almost soothing, maybe like drowning…?

Then I looked up and saw the blue sky and felt the fresh day.

And it slunk away, spurned like a jackal in the face of a lion.

It will return for a sniff once or twice; such is the beast.

But I have its measure and offer scant sustenance for its cloying ploys.

I rejoice that it was sooo easy – all I did is look up and breathe!

The cur crept in on the tail of some lazy thoughts:

what a drag it is getting old and the pursuit of happiness is just a bore.

Mick Jagger sang it in 1964, would you believe!

Anyway, mother’s little helpers have been discredited.

But it isn’t really a drag, because you don’t feel old, (unless you fall over).

You may be gray and slow and can’t run, but that’s just your body.

You are your own doctor, because you choose how you feel!

(* click on the underlined text for the vibes, ek sê)

Some easy ways for good health:

Never forget blue sky

Sleep is the single most important thing your brain needs for optimal functioning.

Exercise – all regular physical activity increases blood circulation and levels of many different neurochemicals and hormones in the brain

Sunlight: It is known that sunlight can affect serotonin levels …and may also influence dopamine.

Massage – boosts serotonin levels by as much as 30% and increases dopamine, activates endorphins, improves sleep, and decreases the stress hormone, cortisol.

Meditation – can increase concentrations of dopamine in the brain’s cortex.

Deciding – The act of intentionally making any decision has been shown to cause positive changes in attention and increase dopamine rewarding activity..

Setting and achieving goals – When you achieve a goal, dopamine is released. Dopamine is not only released when you cross the finish line. You get dopamine boosts at each step along the way, which helps to keep you motivated.

Habits – Habits, both good and bad, become the routine in your brain through repetition and dopamine release. Unfortunately, bad habits are the ones that often give you lots of dopamine. However, when you perform a habit – even a good one – you get a dopamine reward and it gets further wired into your brain, giving you more motivation to do it next time.

Petting a dog – Studies show that simply petting a pooch increases dopamine and endorphins.

Yoga – Yoga has been shown to increase dopamine levels – plus it reduces stress, increases oxygen to your brain with deep, slow breathing, and ups soothing GABA. Yoga helps ease depression and stress in many ways.

https://www.thebestbrainpossible.com/

Girraman-dha

… that means ‘Place of Flying Foxes‘ and that’s where we were yesterday. Not a dark, stark, spooky swamp, but a sunny, sandy beach and tidal estuary.

It’s now referred to as Currimundi, an Englification of the ‘foreign’ local dialect, no doubt. That’s an interesting digression: how the first ‘civilised’ or ‘literate’ visitors to a new land transcribe the local language… it has significant political effects. But that’s for another day.

I have been moved to write about the unfettered happiness and evident joy of visitors to this natural playground, having been infected there last Australia Day.

We got almost the last space under a shady tree, which was lucky as the tide was high and thus the beach diminished. Gazebos and sun shelters were filled with coolboxes, the sand littered with lilos, floating unicorns, paddleboards, spades and frisbees – all the paraphernalia of dedicated beach experienced holidayers.

Nearly everyone wore a hat or cap and most wore ‘rashies’ as sun vests are called; the slip-slap-slop of sunscreen application was audible – the summer sun is mean here!

Children splashed in the shallows and chased bream and garfish, idly watched by bikini’d grandmothers and ignored by teenaged siblings. Dads stalked the river channel with their one time a year fishing rods and mudprawn pumps; children plunged off the riverbank into the water with Tarzan yells, others rode the incoming tide at the rivermouth.

Paragliders sailed out of the sky onto the beach as the coolboxes were opened and serious relaxation started, to be followed by a gentle snooze.

Laughter, squeals and smiles were the order of the day. It remains a seriously positive experience, despite some sunburnt edges and the loss of my sunnies when tumbled in the surging riverstream as the lake ejected its water back into the sea as the tide turned.

Oh happy day!

Never mind buying a pig in a poke – be glad it’s not a goat like Paddy McGinty’s .

Nobody writes poetry quite like the Irish.

My grandfather was baptised in Killaloe and it was thought that perhaps the absence of a christening robe might have been due to this goat!

This poem is far better when sung, so I have included a video and the words, so you can then sing it to yourself.

Paddy McGinty’s Goat

Bert Lee and R.P. Weston, 1917

Happy Hooleydays?

I received a ‘happy holidays’ non-Christmas card from a switched on friend and curled my lip in mild disdain. Why must a Christian First World tradition be modified into the New Age One Size Fits All practice?

It stuck in my craw…!

But like a burr on a blanket, it scratched. So I thought I’d scribble a blogbleat to vent my discomfort. I started giving the practice some thought.

Wikipedia tells me that Christmas cards were first produced for sale in the 1840’s by a founder of the Penny Post in England. Hmm! A marketing ploy!?

first xmas card — The First Christmas Card

Most emphasized merriment and happiness with scant religious tones that pervaded most cards in my Christmases in the latter part of the 20th Century.

But thinking about it more, I recall the Incwala holiday in mid-December in Swaziland – when the King was purified and the First Fruits were celebrated.

This common African ritual has been re-formulated in the US as Kwanzaa, an African American cultural commemoration and promotion of sound African communal principles.

Yule was an indigenous midwinter festival celebrated by the Germanic peoples, later supplanted by the term Christmas tide.

Iranian people celebrate the night of the Northern Hemisphere’s winter solstice as, “Yalda night“, which is known to be the “longest and darkest night of the year”. In this night all the family gather together, usually at the house of the oldest, and celebrate it by eating, drinking and reading poems. Nuts, pomegranates and watermelons are particularly served during this festival.

Hanukkah is the Jewish Festival of Lights and it remembers the rededication of the second Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. In 2017, Hanukkah is from in the evening of Tuesday, 12th December until the evening of Wednesday, 20th December.

Ōmisoka (大晦日)—or ōtsugomori (大晦)—is a Japanese traditional celebration on the last day of the year. Traditionally, it was held on the final day of the 12th lunar month.

The origins of Hogmanay may be derived from Norse and Gaelic observances, including gift-giving and visiting homes of friends with special attention given to the first-foot, the first guest of the new year.

Saturnalia was an ancient Roman festival in honour of the god Saturn, held on 17 December of the Julian calendar and later expanded with festivities through to 23 December.

Wassailing was drinking an old English toast during the custom of carolling; Mumming was an old English practice of dressing up and partying, probably originating in the old Roman Saturnalia of mid-winter.

Holly, ivy and mistletoe were used in celebrations of the Winter Solstice Festival to ward off evil spirits and celebrate new growth.

My conclusions after this brief socio-historical analysis are that:

The Christmas period is celebrated in many non-Christian cultures for reasons other than commemorating Christ’s birth.
Christmas cards are just commercial dross with no special intrinsic significance
People all over the world celebrate and feast at this time
For whatever reason, this time of year is a time to gather and feast with loved ones and rejoice in new life, first fruits and forget the evils of the past year.

Sorry to say, but the way the inclusive, bunny hugger, non-discriminatory world is going Christmas Day will soon be re-named Universal Happyday or some such anodyne label.

Whatever! – It’s a good time for a hooley or two!

Happy Hooleydays to y’all!

May y’all find some time to wassail with your cobbers, rejoice in the good things of life and be thankful.

Caught in the rain

Up at 4h35… Hmmm – looks a bit grey and they did say rain in the forecast.

Look South East: dark clouds. Lightening up in South West whence our rain is from. That means the rain has past. I won’t even need my hat – I hate rain on my bald pate; it’s hot in summer, but not needed at dawn.

Come Lulu, let’s get your lead on and away we go.

A quarter of a mile into the park and there are a few sprinkles, no worries…

Now a drop or two – if it gets worse we’ll duck under a tree. There’s no thunder or wind so more likely to be crowned by a kookaburra as crushed by a falling branch.

Damn, it’s coming down harder and the tree doesn’t work; have to dash for the shelter over there … it’s only 50 yards.

Haven’t dashed for years and I’m nearer 70 than 60 now, so it was not a walk in the park! My crocs nearly came off when Lulu ran around me, effectively trapping me in the lead, so I had to do a quick pirouette in the now teeming rain … we made it, eventually.

We made it – it won’t last long and at least in Queensland, the rain is warm and one dries quickly. Wish I had worn the hat!

Damn! Mosquitoes love stationary people! Hah! Got the bastard!

What does one think about when stuck in the rain? Lulu is sulking because I won’t let her wander and sniff.

Murphy’s Law No 2(g): if it doesn’t look like rain it will.

Well, it is a fine opportunity to meditate. Wish I had read the book, done the course… my mind seems to go into flutterby mould when I try to focus…

I know – I’ll think of something to blog. Very little response to my last two serious bits, maybe it’s time to lighten up? How about some happy stuff, rather than the acceptability of lies and the new morality of the past? Mind you: I was right about Bitcoin! It will hit US$10k this week!

Here’s an idea: what about getting caught in the rain in the park! (just a passing memory).

I have just remembered a cardinal principle of my life: you always have a choice!

Getting caught in the rain can be a miserable experience or it can be a good one.

It’s your choice!

You can have a happy day too, if you like…

The magic of Edward Lear

One of the sweetest things happened recently: our daughter confessed that she always associated Edward Lear’s poem: The Owl and the Pussycat with us, her Mum and Dad. The connection had been made via two photos of us dancing: one at a school dance and the other at our wedding.

It is a wonderful poem with delightful images of traditional love rituals.

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are, you are, you are,
What a beautiful Pussy you are.”

Pussy said to the Owl “You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you sing.
O let us be married, too long we have tarried;
But what shall we do for a ring?”

They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?”
Said the Piggy, “I will”
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon.
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand.
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Serendipitously, I quoted from Edward Lear’s Jabberwocky in my wedding speech which I related as my father’s advice on getting married:

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

We must never discard the magic interwoven in our memories nor disregard the fairies at the bottom of the garden.

Murphy’s Law No 147(b)

If you have a puncture while cycling, it will be in the proximity of the furthest point from home.

Being a disciplined thinker, I didn’t invoke any special inference the last time I had a puncture just after I turned to go home and had to walk 2 miles to get there. However, it seemed more than coincidence when I had a puncture yesterday, just 100 metres from where I turned to go home. This time it was a 4 mile walk.

Maybe next time it will be 8 miles from home… except that I am going to carry one of those puncture fix kits from now on!

Just as well for that bit of reverse fortune, as the black dog had slunk in for a sombre lurk and the enforced march cleared the air; black dogs don’t like competition, so it slunk off!

I think it slipped in with my tax return. This is my 4th year of involuntary unemployment, so I have little to distract the taxman with. That doesn’t make completion of the form any easier! One would think that by now the Revenue dudes would have worked out an idiot proof format so that any dummy could complete a return…

But… wait… maybe they did … and my brain has atrophied to super-idiot size…! See how easily the black dog slinks in? Its the government’s fault and I don’t have a vote even though I do pay tax…. rage can get the endorphins flowing nearly as well as exercise!

My consolation is that I have time to enjoy the birds making their nests and write wonderful books about myself and sniff the subtle anisescent of the spring flowering mimosa on the wattle trees.

Of great joy right now is the bright colours of my nasturtiums, which are nearly my favourite flowers now, especially as they are entirely edible: flowers, leaves and seeds