Over another Hump

Monday, April 28, 2008

Today Started Well

Today we were going to take the big 'frige into Hughenden. It had been waiting for over 2 years to have the gas renewed. The guys got it up on the trailer after a long discussion about should it be on its back or kept upright. It was ready to be secured when theydiscovered that the tie ropes had disintergrated. Well, the orange ones anyway. The black ones were still okay.

That doesn't surprise me, light clothes don't last half as long in this sun as the darker clothes. That's why my undies are black - not 'cos I think they're sexy ;-) Anyway it was impossible even to think of taking it in until we had proper ties. The Jardine Valley stretch of road would probably demolish car and trailer.

The Road to Good Intent.
Between Hughenden and Prairie.

This road is now a legend
and all the travellers tell
how the track to Hughenden
is like the road to Hell.

Just like that other road,
it’s paved with good intention,
but when Funds get handed out
this doesn’t get a mention.

A yearly grade along the sides
clears the road-toll smell
–cosmetic council cleaning -
they’ve spent their money well.

A narrow strip of tarmac
where we bounce and sway,
avoiding other transport
that’s coming either way.

There’s barely room for passing,
the sides are cut away,
but “it’s to be upgraded,”
so our politicians say.

‘till then put up a warning,
“Take a Pit Stop here -
cast iron gut required,
especially after beer”.

While the men sorted their mens' stuff I changed into more respectable gear for town. Then I changed out of it again. Now I'm doing woman's work (which is never done). Probably because I'm playing around here?

I'm not too upset about not getting into town as it is my day for watering and I want to get into the garden now that the weather is cooler. I might have a neat spring garden - maybe.
Besides Fari comes tomorrow.

Friday, April 25, 2008

Back Again

Sorry to my friends who must be wondering what has happened. This last year is one I'd rather forget as a whole. I started thinking about writing here a month ago but was interrupted by an urgent call that stopped me in my tracks. I was told my cancer had returned and I had to return to the cost for immediate treatment.

For the three days before the appointment I worked out my priorities (I thought) and actually felt relieved that at least I knew what was making me so tired. I wondered if I was going into a depression, or something.

At the doctor's I was informed that the diagnosis had been incorrect. It was rather funny as the young doctor and I were talking at cross purposes. He was literally scratching his head (he couldn't understand where I was coming from and I was getting pretty irate with the breakdown of the system because he didn't seem to have the new biopsy results). Finally the doctor, who did the biopsy and had called me, came in to clarify the situation. They'd taken the reading of my first biopsy. I was still clear. I have never been so pleased to hear, "I'm so sorry."

The weather has cooled considerably. I'm not as tired and I've forgotten what my priorities were. Guess you could say I'm back to normal.

I've even finished a new collection of my poems in time for the tourists who flock through this area (if the petrol prices allow them). I've called this anthology "Here There Be Dragons" because:

The average urbanite has
little idea how rural people survive.
"What’s to do out there?" they ask.
Many have no conception of life without
shops, taxis and take-aways.
To them the country is as uncharted
as those ancient maps when men believed
the world was flat and, if they sailed too far they would fall over the edge.

I've also been trying my hand at different styles of writing, Ekphrastic Poetry, Flash stories and even some Bush poetry. Mind you, I do get side tracked pretty easily into solving my Sudoku.
Here is one of my Ekphrastic pieces. They are great to do when inspiration fails. I've given the link that has the painting.

Woman/child, hair impeccable under halo hat,
with guileless eyes set in a flawless face
as uncharted as new land.

Those eyes transfix me,
entomologist pins to a moth.
Wide, unblinking,
above firm, straight nose
and a mouth full of secrets.
Her dress is buttoned tight,
but not her mouth, nor eyes.

An arcanum background,
the unopened journal
to record her progression.
With or without uniform conformity
Amanda’s an enigma.