RUOK?

On this RUOK day, some thoughts.



 

Would you self-diagnose and self-treat a brain cancer? Obviously not, yet many would do this in relation to depression. Most people will be afflicted at times by low mood, sadness and depression, but depression has many classes which differ as much as infections  -  an infection of the blood can be deadly while an infected finger nail is not, yet they are both infections.

Classes of depression vary from Major Clinical Depression to Melancholia to Atypical to ........well, you get the picture. Clinical depression is so-called because it relates to a malfunction of cerebral chemistry and neurology. Emotions like sadness may just be a symptom of a deep-seated physical-mental illness. Emotion is the symptom, not the cause. Sadness, the blues, may pass but it may not. If such down feelings persist then I cannot stress enough...... GET PROFESSIONALLY DIAGNOSED. If a lump appeared on your breast, would you wait for it to go away?

Over the years I have read quite a few posts from sufferers about their experiences, heart-felt and brave. But I repeat: SEE THE DAMN DOCTOR........ it won't hurt anything except your pride.

As a sufferer of 15 years from major clinical depression of the mostly unipolar variety, I can say I was lucky to be diagnosed by accident  -  luck engineered by the hand of God to my mind. There were CAT scans involved along with 10 months of therapy [Cognitive Behavior Therapy] and 10 years of medication. Again, only God's "accidents" were involved in 'suicidus interuptus'. I was so bad that I was given a separate waiting room from the general waiting room at the clinic. Suicide, like my own father's, is more prevalent than deaths by road accident and are preventable WITH TREATMENT. [Yes, there can be a genetic element to depression].

I have several people to thank. A long-time friend, Maurice , for ringing me several times per week. The nurse who happened to live next door and discovered me in a catatonic state and fed and nursed me for a week. The young woman whom I had never met, who exchanged letters with me for two years. My family for enduring me. And, of course, the wonderful team of doctors, psychologists and psychiatrists at the Nedlands Mental Health Clinic. I am so sorry for any grief I have caused anyone.

I have been free of that total debilitation for 5 years and ceased medication 3 years ago. Is one "cured" or does one remain a depressive? I don't know, but there are times ..........!

On this RUOK day, I am ever-ready to take a call from anyone who needs to talk.

Apart from stressing the need for professional diagnosis, if I were asked for advice summed up in one sentence, I would simply say this: You are in charge of your thoughts  -  don't allow your thoughts to take charge of you.

God Bless.

BLOODLET

Caught wind of a rumour they did,
    That the Prince was off to hunt.
"Of blood sports we'll be rid!"
    Protests weren't made blunt.

Regardless, he rode out
    In the company of dogs on lead;
Then someone gave a shout -
    That fox! They'd make him bleed.

The hounds raced through the wood,
    While bugle blared with glee;
But that old fox just stood
    Stock still and wouldn't flee.

A mile to their catch,
    And nought stood in the way,
Except a briar patch,
    Which claimed two dogs that day.

The lead horse took to fright;
    Crashed through branches stout.
The rider lost his sight;
    His eyes were gouged right out.

The other dogs raced down
    Near traps set up for game.
Those poachers would be found
    Who made those dogs go lame.

Low hedge some horses hurdled.
    One rider came off lightly
But hunters' blood was curdled,
    As hooves his head squashed tightly.

Two others sped through short cuts
    That they hadn't seen before.
Sudden sharp drop claimed their guts,
    Splattering blood and gore.

Remaining few were closing now.
    That fox he did not wince.
Guns were raised - but somehow
    The first shot took the Prince.                          

Single line illustration [pen not lifted from page, start & finish at the same point]

                                                   


                 

My Favorite Lezzie.

This is the ultra brief version. It’s true too. And there’s a twist in the tail of the tale.

I’d been posted to Kalgoorlie in the Eastern Goldfields District for the then Department Of Native Welfare as its Employment Officer. It was a long way from home in Perth and even emotionally longer from my wife, Betty, and my new-born son, Andrew. The house promised us would not be vacated by the single woman occupant so I lived in the basement room of one of Kal’s many pubs, along with a few mice and a lot of cockroaches and mossies; not to mention the urine from the drunks which seeped under my door.

The small business community up there in the Wild West was wonderfully magnanimous in assenting to my appeals to preferentially employ Aborigines. Still, there was much frustration when the newly employed couldn’t stick at it. I can tell you, being conjugally separated was an even greater frustration but you don’t want to hear about that or that within the first weeks I had been physically and sexually assaulted. But, one can appreciate why I volunteered readily to manage the newly completed student hostel for Aboriginal kids who lived in remote areas. I had dobbed in my wife who would automatically become the manageress but that was the trade-off to allow us to be together. Being young and green, I never foresaw the threats to the family nor the assaults that were to come.

The first months were exciting, tiring but immensely satisfying since we discovered that Aboriginal kids are a wondrous species, full of innocence, joy and rancourlessness. [I can say that now because I subsequently experienced 9 years of managing student hostels of various types]. We were quite relieved, yet a little sad, when the Department found permanent “qualified” managers, [and you can read into those scare quotes what you will]. However, those hostel kids kept petitioning the boss [Superintendant Tomato-Face, George Budge] to re-instate Betty and I.  Short version:  we agreed to return as permanent managers on his promise to hire some assistants and that I have the say in their hiring [none of this BS psychological testing of applicants in the City]. Yeah well, that never happened – not until the second year of operation.

Enter stage left: Megan, the newly-appointed social worker for the area. We had never seen the previous social worker, but Megan visited us at the hostel daily. Ostensibly employed to attend to the well-being of the kids and Aborigines generally, she became concerned about me and my family, recognizing that two people with a baby who worked night and day in caring for 35 kids without a break or assistance were going to burn out rather quickly. She was also worried about the threat that the Warburton people were going to spear me in the leg and we did have several kids from that community. [Short version: I had previously pegged 20 mining claims in Central Australia for that community but Head Office scrapped them and I got the blame].

Megan volunteered, with no extra pay attached, to attend the hostel from mid-day Mondays to mid-day Tuesday, further giving us the key to her house in which to stay to obviate our obligation to fork out for a motel room. Great girl. But then came the Big Argument before we even got to enjoy some time off.

“I’ll arrange for a bulk prescription of the Pill for all the girls”, she announced.

“Don’t bother, Megan”, I replied, “I won’t be handing them out”.

And so, a discussion ensued, which needs no relating, except for the conclusion. I told her she could refer the matter to the boss or to Perth, but as I was the manager, my decision carried or I would leave if I was not given free reign to make such decisions. Though she stormed off then, when she returned it was as if nothing had transpired that day. And she handed us the key to her house.

It was around midnight, when Betty and I were in her bed asleep, that I apparently heard a rustle that woke me. [I have to explain that I had to be a light sleeper, attuned to the slightest squeak of a door hinge, ever ready as I slept in street wear, to jump up to investigate ……… but those particular incidents at the hostel are for another day]. The man standing at the end of the bed was as surprised as I. It was Megan’s boyfriend who had his own key to accommodate himself at his leisure or to do whatever whenever. He suspected Megan of unfaithfulness and I suspected him of burglary, but it was quickly sorted out.

On our return next day to the hostel we found Megan a little shaken. The kids had locked her in the cool room for some time the previous night. As delightful as they were, they could play up when authority was not present. Later on, the same lads involved wanted to take revenge, with knives, on some adults who had jumped me with a bashing. Anyway, we got that all sorted for Megan’s future stays, and I digress.

I can’t remember how long Megan stayed in Kal, but it wasn’t long enough. Much later we were told that she had gone to live in New Zealand with her female lover. { I suppose you were wondering about the title of this blog]. I will not belabor the point about homosexuality being a choice, I’m just telling a true story. And that, dear reader, is not the sting in the tail of the tale.

Many years later, I discovered in conversation from my best friend of 50 years, a Sri Lankan who was also my best man named Maurice, that his wife was Megan’s half-sister.

May God bless all those people whom He has put in my path.

A Queer Conversation.

Kevin’s puppy, being diminutive, had squeezed its way into my yard through our common fence. That was no problem for me, but it was for the lorikeet that had just descended from above to beg a few nibbles from my pantry. Tucking Junior under my arm I made off for Kevin’s front door at which the predictable chat about recalcitrant animals took place. Then I asked ……….

“So, do you think the plebiscite will go your way”? I was referring to the imminent postal vote about to happen in Australia where the electorate would say YES or NO to changing the constitutional definition of marriage to allow marriage for homosexuals, or not.

Kevin had a tendency to swear a lot, which may have been to lend a macho bent to his effeminate vocals. “Fucking waste of time and money as far as Nigel and I are concerned. Mate, the people who look down on us with their snide remarks and their high-and -mighty judgments are not suddenly about to accept us if we get married. Like: ‘Oh Hi Nige and Kevin, I hear you’re married, why don’t you both come around for dinner’? That’ll be the fucking day! The people who accept us or reject us now are not going to change their attitude because we get married.”

I added: “So, getting married wouldn’t make any difference to you”?

“Mate,” he said, “Why the fuck would we? This house is in both names. Our wills are made out to each other and we get each others’ super when one croaks. There’s bugger all that we don’t get that regular marrieds do. Well, except that Nige’s two kids will get whatever he willed to them. I mean the gay community themselves are not gunna think better or worse of their fellow gays for getting married, and neither are the homophobes; the bigots are gunna stay bigots. Still, I dunno, we might do it just for the party and a get-together with our friends. I’ll leave the decision to Nige. I couldn’t care one way or the other to be honest”.

That was the crux of  our chat. His request that I cut down some branches that hung over the fence and dropped some seeds and leaves onto his property is not worth the telling.

KOOKIE

                                                            KOOKIE  

                                               [With apologies to C.J.Dennis, one of our best]

  There she is again, perched on that post,
  A blue-winged kookaburra, starin' with eyes wide.
  She wouldn't want me coffee, but maybe it's me toast
  What I'm eatin' as I break me fast outside.

  Blow me down! She's leavin' her seat
  And takes to wing to land right by.
  I says: "G'day, can't give you any meat,
  But I got some eggs about to fry".

  She seemed to nod and I goes to the kitchen;
  Did me eggs with an extra one.
  "If it's not to yer likin', don't go bitchen".
  She left the yolk for the albumen.

  Surprised me that; but wants her protein,
  Building up for a nesting spring.
  Now it's morning, night and in between.
  I'll feed 'er up, 'fore she takes wing.

  Dunno why she picked me from the rest.
  Maybe she knows I won't get all upitee
  When she breaks our bond to go nest.
  Probly knows I know that love sets free.
  Maybe.

The Classics of C.J.Dennis can be read Here .......https://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/dennis-c-j-clarence-james

WHO SAID YOU COULD DO THIS..........?

Here is a meme from the Orstrayin Gummint.........

........... note that it lists 4 Purposes for its Migration Policy. One of those purposes is to "Reshape Society". Excuse me, Mr. Gummint, who the bluddyhell gave you permission to reshape our society? [The answer will be suggested at the end of this rant].

With the recent release of statistics from the 2016 census it can be seen that the gummint has done a bluddy good job of it - reshaping our society and changing our culture! That was the Euro-Caucasian culture that developed and defended the nation, built the physical infrastructure as well as building the prevailing ethos, laws, inventions, characteristics, identity and idiosyncrasies which have formed the unique Australian narrative. Isn't it good enough? Is it too White? Too Christian? Too patriarchal? Are we burdened by some past sins for which our collective guilt must be assuaged and repented of?

Here is some of your handywork......"Australians were born in close to 200 different countries – meaning people from all over the world are part of our diverse nation.
With more than 300 languages spoken in our homes (including Auslan – Australian Sign Language), more than 100 religions and more than 300 different ancestries," 

Here is our make-up now .......... 
• English (36.1%)
• Australian (33.5%)
• Irish (11.0%)
• Scottish (9.3%)
• Chinese (5.6%)
• Italian (4.6%)
• German (4.5%)
• Indian (2.8%)
• Greek (1.8%)
• Dutch (1.6%)

So, Australians are now a minority in our own country. And it's noticeable when one walks around various suburbs which have a majority of either Chinese, Indians or Middle-Easterners. Because of the latter group - you know, the Quranic hate group - we are now unwelcome in their areas, especially even dangerous if you happen to be wearing a cross, a Jewish skull cap, a Trump badge or a short skirt. But apparently the gummint believe all cultures are relative and diversity is to our benefit. Only one politician had the guts to say "not all cultures are equal", but he got the Brutus knife.

Who are these faceless social engineers that decided to "Shape Society"? Let me guess: would they be the political and social science professors who have steeped themselves in the Frankfurt School philosophy for the last 50 years and got into the ears of political leaders?

The people wouldn't have to be asked if they favored immigration to complement a negative population growth, or to supply specialist trades and occupations - that's common sense. But deliberately importing anti-cultures? Sub-cultural barbarians? Non-whites simply because they are non-white? What the hell were you thinking if you were not trying to destroy our Western Christian Culture?

Where did this mandate come from? Dear Leaders, did we have a referendum? did you receive a multitude of letters? were there public meetings? activist marches? water-cooler opinions? were we demanding that we had to become different because we weren't happy with who we are? I will tell you what I, for one, know about Diversity. Diversity is good to a point but uncontrolled and unconditional it is self-defeating. Take it to the Village level. Stock the village with 3 dogs and 3 bitches, all of various and specialized breeds, herders, heelers, hunters, retrievers etc. What you will get in a few generations are mobs of mongrels that look the same and behave the same.

THE ANSWER to my question: "Who said you could do this......?"

Unfortunately, when a population gives itself over to neomodernism and materialism it tends not to propagate beyond replacement level of 2.1 children per family. Immigration is necessary and brought about by the short-sightedness of its own citizens. As for the gummints' mandate....... this is a democracy with free voting, thus we got what we voted for. Voters have every chance to pre-question candidates and opportunity to voice opinions post elections. "Who said you could do this.....?" I think that it is 'we' who tacitly did.

New York Times Bags Aussie Culture.

There's this raw prawn goes by the monika of Damien Cave[dweller] who reckons our culture is in short supply. Here's what he said......

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/06/14/world/australia/nytaustralia14-art-sydney-melbourne-victoria-market-fall-and-rise-of-australian-culture.html?rref=collection%2Fseriescollection%2Fnyt-australia-newsletter&_r=0

Anyways, I found that by reading a rag called the Daily Review which comes out weekly, obviously. So here's that piece.......

https://dailyreview.com.au/new-york-times-australian-culture/61126/


Righto, so what I'm gunna do is send that moron at the New York Times some examples of Aussie culture that he is obviously ignorant about that has evolved from our humble beginnings over 200 years.

Here y'are Mister Damien Cave Dweller...... get some fair dinkum culture into ya...........

And a fine example of our munlticulturalism.........

As well as all-gender inclusive ...........

And finally, an example of perhaps our finest opera star.........Showing orf the best of our cuisine:

So, cop that lot Mister Cave Dweller.