Brace for impact!

I used to live in a place called Cloncurry.

It's a very long way inland.

It is tonight in the cyclone watch area, despite the fact that it must be 8-10 hours drive west of Townsville. (I can't remember after nearly 25 years)

Julia Creek just down the road is in the cyclone warning area and it is expected that Yasi will still be a category 3 cyclone when it gets there.

It doesn't seem possible.

What's even more of a problem is that the old Building Code used to specify that you only needed to build your house to cyclone standard if you lived within 50km of the coast.

Julia Creek is a little further from the coast than that.

The chance that I'm not thinking of and praying for all those in the path of Yasi?

Some pics

Please remember when looking at these images that they are the impressive parts of the flood. I have not taken photos of all the dry land and the thousands of houses that are high and dry.

That's not to dismiss the fact that people have had water into homes and businesses, just that it's only a small part of the developed area of town that is inundated.

By the way, we are high and dry still.

And if we weren't Queensland would REALLY be in trouble...

... and so would western New South Wales...

...and South Australia, for that matter.

This is our dam on Sunday. All seven gates were open and letting water out. Although this water doesn't flow through our town, it could cause the floodwater to back up. Later that night they closed back down to two gates. The second image shows the raging floodwaters below the dam. Thankfully there are some conveniently placed people to give you an idea of scale.

This is a veiw from a hill to the west of town, looking to the north-east across farmland, the racecourse and sports fields:

This is the Wallace Street Bridge (yes, there is usually a bridge there, but it does go under pretty early):

Surf's up on the turf! You can see the racecourse fences here (only thanks to my handy zoom):

This is the last bridge to go under. No-one is going back to the residential area on the other side of the river tonight:

Our favourite cafe with the best cheesecake in Australia... and a television?

The highway bridge with people who live on the other side of the river doing exactly what we were all doing on this side of the river:

The high school agriculture block. It often goes under, but not usually like this:

My high school oval. It's another one that goes under regularly, but not like this:

Looking south up the highway:

Looking north up the highway:

Across the school oval at sunset. Don't usually get sunsets over water in town here.

We did a trip to town between 9.30-9.50 tonight. It seems that the peak has passed now and the water is going down (unless there's more coming because it was still raining on the hills today).

And how much more rain do we need right now?

Tears

I found out yesterday that friends of ours from our old stomping ground lost their baby grandaughter in a freakish accident.

My heart cries out for them, and for their son and daughter-in-law and all the family in this time of grief.

My heart cries out at the injustice that their son's home is considered a crime scene until the time when the authorities decide that it was definitely an accident.

I hope that their son can know that it wasn't his fault.

I hope that the family can come together to grieve with and support each other.

The chance that my heart isn't very heavy today?

... Approximately None.

Remembering Chair Grandma

I have been incredibly blessed in my life that I not only had a full set of 4 grandparents for most of my primary school years, but that I can remember three of my great-grandparents as well. Family is important to me, and I find the cross-generational stuff wonderful.

And given the fact that I had four Grandmas for my earliest years, it was not unexpected that I would have special names for each of them:

I had Horsey Grandma (my Dad's Mum) who used to bounce me on her leg and sing the "Horsey, Horsey clippety clop" rhyme for me. (Someone had to give the Hippomanic gene a start in life!) She used to object to being called that, until she heard that I used to call my other grandmother...

Cuckoo Grandma (my Mum's Mum) because she had a cuckoo clock. She was the one who sent me letters. She was not in anyway mentally unbalanced.

Then there was Little Grandma (my Mum's Mum's Mum) who was not precisely tall.
And there was Chair Grandma (my Dad's Mum's Mum) because she was pretty much chair bound when I knew her.

It is amazing that I remember Chair Grandma. Firstly, it's amazing that she lived long enough to marry and procreate (particularly as my Grandma was her youngest). Then it's amazing that she lived long enough to see her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Then it is amazing that I have any memory of her, given the fact that she died a few months before my second birthday.

You see, she was from a reasonably well-to-do family on the Northern side of Sydney. As a single young lady she once went for a job, and stipulated that she would not be available on Thursday nights, because she wouldn't miss prayer meeting. The lady doing the interview laughed, because girls who went to prayer meetings didn't usually do the sort of evening work that was on offer. Innocence is not always bliss.

She (and her sisters) were devout in their expression of their Christian faith. They used to visit the slums as part of their charity work, and Chair Grandma contracted TB from exposure to this environment.

The good thing from my perspective was that she was sent to family in the country to get all the clean air, fresh food and all that (which was about all you could do for TB back then). This was where she met my great-grandfather. She was a good horse woman and they used to get lost together to enjoy more time with each other as they courted.

She had three children out of about (I think) 13 pregnancies. This must have been heart-breaking. My Grandmother was the post World War One bub (yet another chance for me not to exist if my great-grandad hadn't got through the war) and the end of the family.

Chair Grandma had really bad anaemia, and all that could be done for it at that time was for her to eat mushed up raw liver. Blerrchh!

But she was a survivor.

Mum and I used to visit her at the home very frequently when I was little. I remember her shadowy figure sitting in her armchair beside a window. I couldn't describe her features, but I remember her. Apparently, when we visited the staff had a game to see if they could distract me as I single-mindedly waddled towards her room, shrugging them off with "I'se busy".

The strange thing is that although I couldn't describe her features I remember taking my Grandma (Horsey Grandma, if you needed reminding) to visit her older sister in her nursing home. When I walked into the room, my aunt was sitting in an arm chair beside a window. I got goosebumps. When we left, I had to ask Grandma whether her sister looked like Chair Grandma, or was my memory faulty? Yep. Spitting image. No wonder I was freaked out.

I also remember her lying in her bed (on the other side of the window). This image is vaguely troubling to me. Mum says the only time that Chair Grandma was in her bed was the week she died. I was so troubled that Mum decided not to take me back, but how was she going to explain that to me? Chair Grandma died before it was time for our next visit.

When Chair Grandma died, my great-aunt suggested to my Grandmother that she should keep Chair Grandma's good watch for Jennifer. So the once I was all grown up Grandma had the watch cleaned and gave it to me. It is a lovely cheery ticking watch (you know, has to be wound up each morning) that I've worn for good ever since. And occasionally, when my other watch ran out of batteries or the strap broke, I'd wear all the time.






I like that it's delicate and elegant. Dainty. Classic. Timeless. I like it because it has a bright, cheery tick, even when life wasn't going well in one part of my life or another. And I like it because it reminds me of Chair Grandma.



The sad part of the story happened yesterday. A couple of weeks ago it stopped. I could coax it to start again temporarily by some gentle tapping, but the tick was loose, not the crisp, cheery tick it should have been. I took it down to the local watchmaker to get a quote to make it tick merrily once more.



Yesterday the girl at the shop told me that the balance is broken, and it is so old that they don't make them anymore. It can't be replaced.



I asked her if it was possible to get whatever it needed machined especially. She checked with the watchmaker, and yes, it could be done, but it would cost in excess of $400 because it would be a once off. It could cost even more.



So today I went down to the shop to pick it up. I felt a little like I was going to the Vet to pick up my dead pet for decent burial. It' s only a thing, and it doesn't mean my memories are gone. I couldn't put it in my handbag, I had to hold it as I walked back to the car.



And the chance I wasn't repeating, "it's only a thing, it's only a thing" to myself?



... mmm.

Every. One.

As I write the death toll for the Victorian Bushfires stands at 181. It seems that it's still expected to rise significantly, even up to another 100. Unthinkable.

And although I think it right that the damage and destruction be measured in precious lives lost, rather than how many dollars of damage are caused it is a horrendously large number. Even though people have lost homes, livelihoods and items of sentimental meaning for them it's not the 'face value' of them that matters so much, it's the meaning beyond the dollars.

I'm certain that for most of us death in a fire must come close to the top of the list of worst possible way to go. And the number of deaths is staggering.

The tales of personal loss are staggering.

And that's where it sticks for me. Every one of those lives had meaning. Every one leaves behind family or friends who mourn their loss. I would hate for those individuals to get lost behind the statistics.

There is a community of suffering down in Victoria at the moment. It seems that the survivors are looking out for each other and others have come to help look after them, but I'm not certain that the individual loss is lessened by the fact that so many others have also lost loved ones.

I also feel for all those who have lost loved ones in the last few days across the rest of Australia. There are people missing in the floods up north. I'm certain that there would have been people who have died with cancer... heart attacks... stroke. People who have had car accidents. Every one is important. The loss that their loved ones are experiencing is just as real as those from down south - just not as widely publicised.

How many lives lost over the last week count for something?

... Every. One.

The Legacy of Bushfire

When I was reasonably small I remember that each night I had a routine before going to bed.

I had to push my face up against the fly screen on the window, first one way, then the other, and check as much of the surrounding neighbourhood as I could see to make certain that there were no fires coming. (I would have loved to be able to take the fly screen out to be able to see better, but I don't think Mum and Dad would have appreciated that.)

If I couldn't see a fire, then my family would be safe to go to sleep. I don't know why I thought a fire couldn't come from the other side of the house, but I never felt the need to check beyond my own window. I'm not certain that Mum and Dad ever knew that I had to do this to protect our family (yes, typical oldest child - I was personally responsible for everything, including the safety of our family from fires).

Thinking about it, it was probably grade 4, because the Ash Wednesday fires in 1983 would have happened in the first term of my grade 4 year. And that event (whilst I don't remember it) was widely reported across Australia.

There is no way I could have had first-hand experience of fire. I've never lost any possessions to fire. I've never lost anyone I love to fire. I've never lost a pet or my livelihood to fire. The only way I could have known about it would be from images on the news and the hushed tones in which my parents would have discussed it. And yet, it impacted on me strongly enough that every evening I had to check to make certain we were safe from fires before I could go to sleep.

My thoughts and prayers go out to all who are currently involved in the fires down south, particularly as the death toll rises with each successive news report.

And it might not be a bad idea for those of us in the rest of the country to have a word with our kids (if we have any) about the fires. Even if you don't think they can know about these fires, they may have seen an image on the TV, or heard discussion at home, school, or between grown-ups somewhere.

Having said that, I have no idea what would have put my childhood fears to rest. Eventually we moved and for some reason I don't remember needing to check for fires at the new house. All I know is that fire impacted on my life in a very real way from the safety of a couple of thousand kilometres away.

Be Still and Know that I am Dog

Yep, I'm expecting that lightning bolt any minute.

One day I am going to write a book on Canine Theology. It will be all the lessons about God that I've learnt from my Little Black Dog. As distinct from the things the LBD does where I'm fairly certain that there is no lesson about God. Like eating manure.

So often my time with the LBD is doing stuff. We go for a walk. I feed him. I bath him. He sits in the back corner of my office and sleeps as I work. We used to play in the backyard, but tug of war and balls are out due to possibility of leg injury these days.

Today I went down to give him his breakfast and he wasn't interested, he followed me back to the steps. So I sat down on the second step and gave him a cuddle and patted him and we just hung out together for 10 minutes or so. He looked at me and I ran my fingers through his full, thick coat. I enjoyed it. He enjoyed it. Neither of us was doing anything 'constructive'.

So often my Christian walk is like that. I do things with and for God. I get busy. I should spend more time just hanging out with Him. He would enjoy it. I would enjoy it. Despite the fact that neither of us would be doing anything 'constructive'.

The odd thing was that during my 'official' time out for prayer this morning my stillness seemed to be swamped by my mind remembering all the things I have to do today (and for that matter this week and month). I wonder if the LBD is aware of being used as an angel (the original Greek means messenger) from God?

What are the chances that 'constructive' things will recede in importance to make way for simply hanging out unless I actually try to make it happen?

... Approximately None.