It’s the day Brisbane flooded. The day Ulmarra was evacuated and flooded. I took a drive into Urunga and the river was not in flood but was wide and dirty brown.
It also featured these two benches round near Anchor’s Wharf Café.
Actually there are three benches here, now that I look closely. To the far left is the fish cleaning bench, a little like the workbench in the Ulmarra Shed. In the middle is the sitting on bench for watching the river and on the right is the bench for eating at table on picnics.
I tend to vacillate between Highs and Lows. Sometimes this doesn’t matter but sometimes it does matter to me. I feel the extremism and the emotionalism build up and then the descent into the 5 mile deep abysses.
I have a yearning to be clear and sane. To make rational sane choices and know how to act in situations which currently baffle me. Or moreso, which variably baffle me. I would like to change the loudness of my Ups and the blank darkness of my Downs.
I would like the accompanying aggression to fade away. I should like to be the Soft Nana that people can trust. A warm and nurturing place for younger ones to come to and shelter. I dreamed once of two big old trees growing so close that they intertwined, were deeply rooted in the earth and formed a huge canopy of leaves and branches. Creatures sheltered in them and under them and they bent and swayed with the winds but did not break. They gave protection from the sun and the rain and they provided food from their fruit.
If the erratic nature of my moods could be tamed somewhat and mellowed, I could be a part of that. It might not be my path in life. I might always have the rising hysteria and sinking intensity – but I would like to change it. I think of St Paul, sometimes, a man I have always disliked and I figure his purpose in life required the temperament he was given. Maybe the same is true for me but I would indeed like to be otherwise.
I begin to struggle even more with the Topics which already were troubling me. They still seem to me to be cliches from a self help course.Maybe I am simply too old or from a culture subtly different from the one suggesting these topics. I shall try one more day or so and then go back to my usual blogging techniques. Which are close to daily anyways.
Its still flooding out here. We are doing OK. The river is up and brown and wild but we are in no kind of trouble. The trouble is up in Queensland where 10 are dead and 90 are missing and even the capital city Brisbane is being “ inundated”.
Something I have never told, eh ? Its unlikely to be a significant secret if I am to tell it for the first time here on a public blog despite my tendency to over disclose.
I guess I have never told anyone that the chook is back out of its coop. Izzy told me but I don’t recall mentioning it to anyone at all. There you go. First time ever – the chook is again on the loose. Probably because of the water in the coop. And the mud. The fox took the other five chooks. One of them from right under my nose at dawn one morning. This remaining chook has a substantial range of survival strategies. It also pooped all over my verandahs and invaded the house if so much as a chink of door was left open.
Hear this, World. The Chook is on the loose again ! I have told noone at all about this until now.