Invasion of the Elephants!

A mob of fifty elephants has invaded the city. They can be spotted on street corners and in hotel lobbies and all sorts of strange places. Here's some of them.

THE CITY IN MALI

HUMANGERIE

MALI, PROTECTOR OF ALL ANIMALS

MING VASE

NIGHT AND DAY

PATCH

SPOOKY POSSUM

TIGER MALI

WOOLI

KEVIN PRESLEY

SELF-PORTRAIT

They are there because Melbourne Zoo is turning 150. The model for these is Mali, a two year old elephant at the zoo. The self portrait is one she painted. The rest where done by various humans.

Episode 12: Of Mice and Men

It is just over two years now since the mutant blood army invaded.  They have been hammered by a variety of weapons of chemical warfare but small pockets of resistance remain.  I can feel them sheltering deep in the marrow of my legs, sharpening their swords on the insides on my bones in preparation for the coming day’s battle, vowing to avenge the deaths of their lost comrades.

My fingers ache. I can picture all these little white mutants gathering in there. And then the order goes out to “fix bayonets” and with military precision they all start jabbing my bones while the Captain yells in a plummy mutant accent “C’mon , you call that jabbing do you? You can do better than that”, until it feels like some gangster has stomped on my knuckles.

Other squads of crack mutant troops move around my body. They rest during the night and spend the morning creeping around, hiding from the dreaded Tasigna beast that will devour them on sight. Some find their way into my stomach with bile bombs to ensure maximum nausea. Others head to my brain and fill it with a gaseous fog that makes me want to sleep, while others detonate itchy bombs behind my eyeballs.

And all the time I know they are experimenting deep in their stronghold in my bones, seeking a new soldier, a new mutant force to rise up. But the Tasigna beast knows where they live … and they can’t hide. “Tassie” is a good soldier, grabbing each mutant, kicking them in the tyrosine until they lie on the ground crying for their mummies. But there is no pity for the mutants and slowly their troops dwindle. Soon there will be none left, all mutants banished.

The war is taking a toll but I am holding up well enough. My heart is still in it, as is my liver and various other body bits.
MEANWHILE …
MELBOURNE scientists believe they have found a new treatment for blood cancers that will spare patients the unpleasant side effects of chemotherapy. The new drug … has shown promising results in mice.
Wish I was a mouse …


To read more about the new drug ...

http://www.theage.com.au/national/drug-may-avert-chemo-side-effects-20120709-21rs4.html#ixzz20CMq9yHC

Hit the Deck!

In summer I am a firefighter – bushfires – and over the summer fire season I have weekends when I am on stand-by, confined to home ready to go to work should a fire start. It is a great time for doing jobs around the house. Last summer I planned to refurbish the back deck, which was in need of a couple of new stumps and bearers and joists and other things I know nothing about in order to stop it falling into the rose bushes. Step one was to pull up the old decking and see what was underneath. Then I put in the new stumps and replaced a few bits in the supporting structure. The last step was to nail down the new decking. I put in the order and the timber arrived – last week – in  May, late Autumn, heading into winter. My summer job is in danger of becoming a winter job.

An Eastern Spinebill - they appear in the backyard when winter starts and it is too cold in the hills for them.  I was sitting on the half-made deck when I took this photo.

The old decking is being fed slowly into the fire to keep the house warm while I am outside laying the new decking; drill then nail, drill then nail; playing with power tools and hammers and chisels and saws.

The drill is an old one my father gave me – one of about three. It’s a good quality beast. The only thing it won’t do is unscrew as my dad glued up the reverse button many years ago.  The hammer I am using was also given to me by my father. I have five or six hammers, none of which I have bought. He also bought me the saw I am using – one of three he has given me.

The chisel is mine.

My father was a carpenter by trade.  If I ever asked his advice in anything ‘house construction’ or vaguely carpentry-like he would take over as my work wouldn’t be up to scratch.

Late last month my father died. He was 81 and his health had been poor for a while. A smoker for many years, he spent his last years with a machine by his side that could suck the oxygen out of the air for him and deliver it via tubes and things. In the hospital it was a direct connection to an oxygen bottle turned up as far as it could go. Slowly his breathing grew shallower until there was none at all.

The following night a storm brewed and there was thunder. We joked that it was probably my father arriving in Heaven and complaining that the tucker wasn’t up to scratch, or it was served a bit later than he wanted, or that the chairs weren’t comfortable enough. Sadly, he went through his life with things never quite the way he wanted them to be. I heard him complain about the topping on a pavlova. “Strawberries!  No, I don’t want a slice; should be banana on a pav.”

We are all an accident of our upbringing; our attitudes and approach to things. If I learnt anything from my father it was not to be like him – not to wait for things to reach my individual definition of what they should be. I learnt the importance of accepting (and hopefully enjoying) what’s offered. It’s not about accepting mediocrity; it’s about accepting things for what they are.  It’s not always easy though.

My father was grumpy a lot of the time and my childhood memories are greyish with only occasional flashes of colour. He didn’t take me to the footy or camping; he was always too busy with work and stress and anxiety. But he tried. Where we did connect he helped. At high school I did an elective in photography and developed an interest that continues today. My father gave me his camera, and a lens with macro and telephoto functions that became a favourite, and filters and a range of other gear. I still have the lens, which is sadly growing mould inside and of no use anymore, and the camera, which has also stopped functioning, even if I could get film.

My partly constructed deck, worked by me using his drill and his hammer, is flat and the boards evenly spaced. I have hammered in lots of nails and only bent one so far. I have used all sorts of tools and haven’t injured myself or removed any fingers.

I think my father would be pleased.

A short diversion

A short piece of guitar music I wrote for one of the places I visited on a hike some time ago and which I mean to get back to at some stage soonish.

Follow this link =>  FAINTERS SOUTH

The North and South Fainters are a couple of peaks in the Victorian Alps, not far from Falls Creek.

Episode 11: Bouncing

My mobile rang; the screen showed ‘private caller’. Curious, and with a bit of trepidation, I answered. It was the oncology nurse from the hospital with my latest blood results. It’s never good when the hospital rings to give you your results. Normally I have the blood taken one week and have a second appointment a month or so later when the results are back. I had been in the previous week for my results but they weren’t through yet, not the important ones at least.

The news wasn’t fantastic. My pcr-abl count, the measure of blood mutants, was up. There are a couple of possible reasons for the counts to go up; I’m not taking my drugs (which isn’t the case), a new mutation (the lab tested for this and found none) or … something else.

The first step is another blood test, another trip to hospital, and another month long wait for the results. So within the week I was back having a couple of fresh samples drained from my arm.

This graph should be a straight line – heading down. We want a logarithmic drop in numbers, ten-fold reductions are good and an increase from 0.07 to 0.22 is bad. The ski-jump at the end is what is worrying me at the moment. That is my bounce. It isn’t a huge bounce, but it is a bounce none the less. 

This isn’t the first time my results have bounced. The first led to a change in medication, the second was a ‘suck it and see’ response. This time … well, we have to wait.

Episode 10: A parable of parrots

My daughter had taken the dog for a walk but soon returned home. Just down the road there was a parrot - a sulphur-crested cockatoo - that seemed sick or injured and was just wandering around in the middle of the road. Luckily, no cars were coming (and our dog was on his lead).

Armed with a cardboard box, a towel and no real idea of what we would do with a sick parrot, we set off towards the bird. It was a young un, still light in the beak and appeared unable to fly, happy to just wander around on the ground. I approached it slowly and it ran to the side of the road and into the lawn of the nearest house. It quite clearly wasn't keen on flying.

In the gum trees nearby, a few other cockies squawked away as they do.

I explained to my daughter it was probably best to let nature take its course. We headed back home, leaving the bird to continue strolling around.

The next morning as I was leaving for work I found the cockatoo in our front yard, wandering around the garden.

"Well I'm glad to see you made it through the night. Just don't go into the back yard coz our dog will think you are lunch", I said to the bird, hoping no-one was watching or listening.

In the tree above sat two older cockies. Hopefully, I thought, they would know about our dog and make a bit of noise, warning the younger bird if it headed that way.

As I was heading home after work I wondered if the bird would still be there. To my surprise it was sitting in a tree in the front yard, a bit lower than cockatoos usually roost, but off the ground. I figured the poor thing must be able to fly a little. I quickly grabbed my camera thinking this could be a good photo opportunity and took a few shots. The photos weren't bad, but if I could get closer ...  The ladder.

I retrieved the ladder from the shed and set up, not too close, and took some more pics. The bird didn't seem bothered by my presence, or maybe was just unable to escape. I moved the ladder a bit closer.

Something fell on my head. A flower from the tree. Then another. And another. I looked up and two cockatoos sat in the branches above me, biting off flowers and dropping them on me.

"Sorry", I said, "I just wanted a picture" and backed away.

From a short distance I sat and watched the three birds for a while. Cockatoos mate for life, which, for a cockatoo, is about the same as for us. I figured the two in the tree were the parents of the young one. There were certainly older (they had darker beaks) and seemed to be looking after their child.

Later the young bird flew to a nearby tree over the driveway and set up for the night, still lower than cockatoos like to roost. In a taller nearby tree, the other two birds also set up for the night. The young bird was still there in the morning and didn't move until my wife backed out the driveway. Flushed out by the car, it took flight and flew about thirty metres to another tree, unable to gain much height, but flying all the same. The other two birds followed to the same tree, but to the higher branches.

That was the last I saw of that little group. Later that day they were gone, hopefully flown off together to some nice high branches. At the moment I can hear cockatoos calling. I'm hoping my three are amongst the flock.

Mum and Dad

The baby of the family

I'm not sure what the lesson is from this parable. Perhaps it is that if someone seems to be threatening you, you should throw flowers at them.

Episode 9: The importance of almond croissants

Every Saturday morning, one of my tasks is to wander to the local bakery and buy an almond croissant for my wife and I to have with our morning coffee. I had to go early because they usually sell out pretty quickly. There are other bakeries that always have some in stock. Not our local bakery. The croissants are just too nice to stay on the shelves.

The daughter of one of my friend’s – let’s call him Steve – works at the bakery and she used to save one for me in case I was late getting there (meaning late getting out of bed.)

When I was first diagnosed I didn’t mention it to many people – one or two at most. I wasn’t hiding the fact; I was just a bit shell-shocked to mention it and too busy with appointments and the like to actually see anyone. Still, word went around. I had people coming to visit, some unsure if they were interrupting or getting in the way. They weren’t. It was good to have visitors.

One of my visitors was Steve. It was Saturday morning and he brought along an almond croissant. 

It was one of the best tasting croissants I have ever had.