This pretty face was waiting by my car as I left the school, this evening.
Honestly, kangaroos and wallabies do not hop down our main streets. At least, I don’t think they do…
Today, April 25th is ANZAC Day for Australians and New Zealanders – the day we celebrate a great defeat. A bloodbath at Gallipoli, in 1915. We became the canon fodder offered by the British.
I like that we celebrate failure; for it is by failing that we learn from our mistakes – usually. Since 1915, we, the Australian peoples, have been involved in World War II; The Korean War, Malaysia, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq and now I.S, which is not a state, but more a state of mind; a mindset.
The war to end all wars did none of that. Some might argue that the impact of World War 1 has shaped our societies, and certainly our capitalist economies ever since. A lot of people become very rich, though the needs that war creates.
Mr FD’s grandfather served on The Somme. He was shot, luckily not badly, and went AWOL for a day or two, probably over a lovely lady, but he carried the experience silently throughout his life.
My family, second generation Germans and Poles at that time, experienced the other side. Knocks on the door, questions as to why a picture of the Kaiser, a memory brought by an immigrant, was on an old lady’s wall. Not internment as so many other innocents, but suspicion.
Nothing is solved by violence, be it global or domestic. Yes, celebrate the failures of war, the loss of life, so that, maybe, one day, a generation will finally realise that nothing is worth war and destruction. No one ever wins… and it never ends.
Tragedy was averted in the Village today. Flamingo Dancer, exiting her drive in her white, hybrid Honda Civic, was forced to give way to a team of ducks who had, “without warning” decided to cross the road.
“Thank heavens I was driving below the speed limit,” commented Flamingo Dancer, still recovering from the near miss. “Otherwise, it may have been duck for dinner tonight!”
In the main street, three chickens pecked their way though town.
Flamingo Dancer, who only minutes before had survived a near duck tragedy, was seen to slow her vehicle considerably, but thankfully the hens remained on the green space.
The bird disturbance was not yet calmed, for returning home and halting her journey to check the mailbox, Flamingo Dancer disturbed a flock of Rainbow Lorikeets in the trees fronting the Flamingo Dancer property.
“Oh my,” Flamingo Dancer was overhead muttering, “I thought life in the city was chaotic, but The Village is bordering on feathered bedlam!”
I have to admit that I have never had an up close and personal relationship with a dinosaur, but I do suspect that I may not like them. Please do not tell my granddaughter that, as she is presently quite enraptured by them and goes to the bed each night after dancing the Dino Stomp with her parents, and Grandma when I am present.
I mean they don’t appear to be really loveable. Can’t see cuddling with a dinosaur in bed as a real option. Might be why cats and dogs remain, and dinosaurs are no more…
Can they participate in an interesting conversation? Hold their own in a book club? Know which fork to use first? Choose a good wine? I suspect not.
Do they leave the toilet seat up? Do they even use a toilet seat?
Are they going to be quiet when I want to sleep in? Can they tip toe?
They just seem to tromp and stomp and roar and eat. And their colour range seems severely limited.
I don’t know; not thinking likeable, people. Can you mount an argument in their favour?
Happiness means something different to everyone. Happiness to me is time alone, time to create, time to be with family. Happiness is books and music, countryside and texture. Colour. Serenity.
Happiness is the happiness of my children, my granddaughter. The corny puns of Mr FD. Lunch with my girlfriends. Tea and gossip with my sister. My mother remembering me. Our dog jumping for joy when I walk in the door.
Happiness is home and garden. Fresh vegetables from our garden. A clean house and no to do list. Fresh flowers on our wooden dining table. Plants growing in my office. My bed.
Happiness is a student telling me that they enjoyed a book I added to the library. The happiness on their face when I hand them a book that I purchased at their request. Having the book that they just asked for.
Happiness is sharing a joke with a colleague. Having a student call out a greeting from across the school yard. The joy on a learner’s face as the light bulb in their head goes on, when they get what they were struggling with.
Happiness would be time to learn, and travel. Money to travel and pay all the bills. Not to have to think about budgets and needs.
Happiness is …
The colour blue.
Driving in my car and listening to audio books.
Wearing infinity scarves.
Eating breakfast out.
A window with a view.
Lying in bed listening to the birds in our trees.
A long warm shower
The number 7
Holding my granddaughter’s hands as she bounces on the bed
Wearing long tunic tops and leggings.
Staying in my PJs all day.
Plum jam and bacon on toast.
The School Secretary was in the habit of walking up a certain sets of stairs each morning. It was the 1970s and mini skirts were the norm. My high school friends and I fell into the habit of being under the stair well at
approximately, exactly, the same type as Ms Secretary would ascend the stairs.
The money was on what colour her undies were that particular day.
Odd the things we do, and the things we remember.