A Tragedy Down Under

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.
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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.

God Bless you. And please… be safe. Please.

One Thing Australian...

All things Scottish, all things Australian, and all things literary… that’s what DUD is all about. That’s what Jack is (mostly) all about. And this is Jack’s blog, so that is as it should be.

However, once in awhile, Mr. Ramsay lets me pop Down Under to play on DUD. But I hesitate, sometimes. After all, I’m neither Australian nor Scottish. And, while I AM a writer, I’m not sure just how ‘literary’ I am. For sure, I know I’m not in Jack’s league when it comes to literarability.

However, I do have an Aussie connection. I have several good Australian friends, and I am going to have the pleasure of meeting one of them very soon. Larry arrives in Maine on Sunday night, and I will be picking him up at the airport. How exciting!

I am SCARED TO DEATH!

What if he doesn’t like me? What if I am far, far less impressive in person than I am online? After all, how much trouble can I get into when all I have are my words to make an impression? But once Larry meets me in person, he gets to see and experience the full deal. The real McCoy. Me, live and in color. Holy smokes.

This could be bad.

I once sneezed a pea out through my nose while dining in a restaurant.

I walked though the supermarket with a mashed and melted chocolate Rollo stuck to my butt.

I drove through town with a live chicken stuck in the grill of my car.

I drove through the same village with my groceries on the roof of my truck.

A customer introduced himself to me as Mr. Derbogosian, and I responded, “God Bless You!” (No peas were forthcoming, thank heavens…)

I bragged about getting a good deal on a piece of property by saying “I jewed them down to $25,000.00.” The man I was speaking to was named Steinberg. (Someone should shoot me and put me out of my misery.)

I got nervous when meeting a politician, so I licked my hand and slicked down his rooster-tail. (I feel a migraine coming on…)

I even broke wind in church (but made a remarkable save by scowling at the old man sitting one row behind me. It was a spectacular ploy, and the poor gent even apologized for it, afterwards. [I'm going to Hell, aren't I?])

And all that… well. That was just last week.

With luck, my Aussie friend Larry will be a big buffoon. He’ll lack grace, finesse and style, and he’ll be homlier than a stump fence, too. If that is the case—if he’s kinda like me—then we will have the time of our lives.

But if he’s cool, and suave, and polished… I think I’m doomed.

When he comes home-- when he flies the 10,000 miles back to Brisbane and Russell Island-- I hope you’ll not give his stories too much credence. If he’s as awesome as I think he is, my plan is to keep him drunk for the four weeks that he’s here.

And really… you can’t believe a single thing a drunk Aussie says, now, can you?

Snakes Alive! (by Jack Ramsay)

One tub of lard and I'm anyone's.

I'm no stranger to snakes. I come from Scotland, after all, where the adder still rules the moors. Nah, that's crap - I walked the hills of Perthshire and beyond for years and years and years, and never once saw an adder. I think they're related to the pond-dredging haggii - they're certainly just as rare. Still, a few of my friends claim to have seen one, and that's good enough for me.

Yes, I'm from Scotland, where snakes rule.

Then I came to Australia. But I didn't just rack up here and expect to fit in. I did my homework. I found out what could sting, bite, nip, paralyse, hypnotise or even kill me. I'd list them here for you - from ants to ticks, to wasps, spiders, caterpillars (that's just taking it too far!!!), dingoes, kangaroos (they fight dirty...gouging little so-and-so's), crocs and of course snakes - but it'd take too long and I've got tea brewing. Oh, there are more. And all are in the 'most dangerous in the world' category, or 'the most poisonous...' or 'just one bite can kill a million elephants...'. You get the picture.

So, when I arrived in Australia in April 2000 with my dear lady Alison, I was alert. I was prepared. Nothing would sneak up on me and bite my bahoochie (bum). No red-backed critter would nip my cheek while I contemplated the state of the Chinese economy in the dunny at the end of the garden. Nuh-huh.

We rented a place in Perth in Western Australia, moved in, and after the removalists had gone we sat outside with a 'coldie' or three and breathed a big sigh of relief - we'd arrived in Australia at long last. The sun went down, the cloudless sky turned purple and eventually we clambered over boxes and cartons to get to the bed, exhausted from the stress of moving home from one side of the planet to the other.

I didn't get much sleep. All those documentaries I'd watched; all those natural history museums I'd visited (and all their gift-shop books I'd bought) came back to haunt me. I'd visions of huntsmen - like the one I found in my new garden shed a few minutes after picking up the keys - marauding over us as we slumbered with our mouths agape (I've seen Alison sleep like that all night - all night!) I tried to relax, thought of haggis hunting on the Perthshire moors, and was soon drifting off...

And that's when the hissing started.

It wasn't even one of those 'is it, isn't it?' moments - it was loud, unmistakable hissing. A bloody snake was in the house! Already!! I knew it sometimes happened in Australia, if screen doors had been left open. We'd had the removalists at work all day, and every door had been wide open. And I knew that snakes here are viscious, deadly, pure evil and nasty for the sake of it...

I sat up, straining for some indication that I was imagining the noise (hoping I was imagining it.) But no. It was clear as clear can be; so I poked Alison in the ribs and she confirmed I wasn't hearing things.

"Go get rid of it," she said.

I can't tell you what I said in reply - I have a reputation to uphold - but after about twenty minutes of lying there (no, I wasn't quaking, even if Alison says I was...pfft!) the noise stopped. No hissing.

Only dripping.

Well, I had to get up and have a look, didn't I? Snakes don't 'drip', do they?

Ah, it's wonderful moving to a new country. See, in Scotland we never once had to water our garden. Installing a bore water irrigation system was a home improvement project that had never crossed my mind.

The thought of killing my land lord did cross my mind, however. I mean, who the **** (thanks to Anonymous for the correct spelling of **** there) sets an irrigation system timer to come on at 4am? Eh? Who?!

Yes, I come from Scotland where snakes rule the moors, and men never have to dodge those invisible, pop-up-when-you-least-expect-it watering heads when walking on someone's lawn. Pfft. 4am.

It's been almost ten years since we arrived in Australia, and it's true what some people say - you do become used to the heat, and the mozzies...and the snakes. In fact, it's snake season now and the slithering from the rafters tells me that Malfoy the python (it's so handy having a name for each snake, I find) will be out sunning himself in a few minutes. I might just go get that tub of lard, grease myself up and see if he fancies a wee wrestle.

Here he comes now...

Published in The Irregular newspaper, Kingfield, Maine, USA - November 2009

Thunder from the bleachers...

Hey, Jack! Thanks for the show of support. :o)

We Americans don't have 'bike sheds' but I think I know what you mean. We'd probably say 'meet me behind the bleachers'. Little of anything with scholastic value happens behind the bleachers. But you CAN get 'an education'.

Which reminds me, you being a Scotralian, and an opinionated one, at that (after all, you're the 'dunder' while I'm more of a 'drizzler'...)

I read an article last December which reported that bullying in Australian primary schools is in the worst category in the world! Only Kuwait, Qatar, Taiwan and New Zealand schools fared worse than Australia in this particular survey, 'Trends in International Mathmatics and Science Study'.

According to this article, Aussie school students suffer bullying at a rate almost 50% above the international average, with more than 1/4 of 'year 4' students reporting having been bullied in at least three different ways in the month before this research was conducted.

Makes me wonder what's UP, Down Under?