My name is Kazza and today, I am posting on Jack Ramsay’s blog. Jack and his family are at the epicenter of the devastating floods in Queensland. What follows is a posting I made to my own blog a couple of days ago. Jack and Ali--and those many others who have been or are in harm’s way--are in my heart and on my mind. ***************************
I have many dear friends in Australia.
Pete and Naomi, Ali g and KK, and Dozy in New South Wales.
Crookedpaw in Victoria.
Jack and Ali and Larry in Queensland.
Of these, Larry is the only Aussie friend I have actually laid eyes on—the only one I have hugged and kissed, poked and prodded, eaten and drank with. Napped nearby, cut grass with (well, I cut--and he directed the operation) gotten lost on a dirt road with. Larry bought me lunch, I bought him supper. Larry cooked for me, I washed dishes for him. I built a big bonfire and went swimming in the moonlight, while he crabbed at me for doing something so foolish. Larry brought me jewelry from Laos and gave me his Drizabone coat. I handled his car rental, gave him a place to stay for a month, and put two bullets through his cell phone for him.
But even though I have never held the hands of my other Aussie friends, or leaned against them while laughing, or shared a timid bite of Vegemite, that does not mean that I love them any less. I have been incredibly blessed. These far-away friends have enriched my life more than I ever thought possible.
That’s why I am worried, tonight.
Australia, and especially Queensland, is experiencing a terrible tragedy. Flooding there is the worst on record. This land which was recently experiencing a terrible drought is now inundated with water. The rain won’t stop. The ground is saturated. The rivers are over-flowing and the dams are taxed. I am watching and listening. This girl who shuns the television can’t seem to keep away from it.
I am very, very worried. And I’m ten thousand miles away.
I can’t hug, or hold, or poke or prod. I can’t give them a place to stay, if they need one, or rent them a car to get to high ground. I can’t share Vegemite with them or build them a fire to help them dry out and get warm. I’m helpless. And I don’t like the feeling, at all.
My heart goes out to all those thousands of Aussies who are affected by this terrible event. And my thoughts are prayers are with my wonderful friends who at the epicenter of the Australian flood.
Successfully sweeping another scumbag drug dealer off Brisbane’s streets should be a time for Queensland cop, Sam Brogan, to celebrate. But that dealer’s father happens to be Luca D’Marco, a sadistic defence barrister who wastes no time in sending a message to anyone stupid enough to think of taking what’s his. If Sam Brogan is to survive D’Marco’s bloody vendetta, he’ll have to decide exactly which lines he’s prepared to cross in the name of justice.
A feuding Scottish family has to span the deep crevasses of its differences when one of their own falls terminally ill.
Greta knows she has dementia. It started as nothing more than a fleeting vacuum but now billows like a storm cloud. Back in the seventies she saw what this cruel disease can do to a woman, and pictures herself the same sad drooling wreck her mother became. But there are fences to mend, and she's running short of time.
Greta's son and daughter are at war. Their bullheadedness over nothing more than a misunderstanding is tearing the family apart, and even when she takes to wandering in the night Greta's children can't agree she needs help. When they eventually lock her up in a mental hospital she's left with nothing but memories and her authority as matriarch. It's still her duty to shepherd her flock, and until the day she dies she must try to bring them together. But this final test of Greta's worth as a mother promises to defeat her as she gradually loses her mind.