I went down this afternoon to the Nepean River to see some of the effects of this spill. The river was much wider than usual and moving along at a steady pace. As if reminding one of the cause of all this, the rain maintained a light drizzle while I was there. Although the water level had dropped a little during the day, sections of the river bank where I walked will most likely be well under water tomorrow.

As I watched from the river bank I was reminded of the first time I visited Warragamba Dam, exactly fifty years ago. During a school holiday in 1962, a friend and I caught an early train from Sydney to Penrith. From there we began walking to the newly built Warragamba Dam, a distance of some twenty kilometres. The largest concrete dam in Australia, it was officially opened in October 1960. Built at a narrow gorge on the Warragamba River, it took twelve years to construct.

A memorable part of my 1962 visit to the dam was walking across the narrow suspension bridge, high above the gorge. The dam’s enormity and significance were fully appreciated from that vantage point.

Jim Low

3 March 2012

So when it began playing up last week, I became somewhat anxious for I use it every day. However, a telephone call to Vision Australia soon put me in touch with one of the few technicians in Australia specialising in the repair of low vision equipment. His workshop, would you believe, was located in a neighbouring suburb. He checked my system over and I had it back the next day. Touch wood, it’s going great guns!

The workshop where my machine was sorted out reminded me of my father’s little office /workshop which he had for his specialist, mechanical engineering business. His workshop was situated right in the heart of Sydney and ceased operating around 1970.

The result of all this is a very satisfied customer . . . prompt, friendly (not forgetting convenient) service and the revival of some fond memories.

1 December 2011

While looking at a bottle of army figurines which I had just picked up from the toy counter, something rather disturbing happened.

A little girl, no more than three or four years old, appeared in the aisle brandishing a large roll of Christmas paper. Menacingly waving the roll backwards and forwards in front of her, she ran passed the Christmas decorations chanting, “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

So, ah … peace on earth and goodwill to all, I reckon.

25 November 2011

I lived near Milson Park on Careening Cove in North Sydney. In those days there used to be some play equipment in the park. I particularly remember two metal ladders. Although fixed to the ground, these ladders had enough flexibility to swing slightly as you attempted the climb. To a little boy they seemed to disappear into the clouds. Next to each ladder was a metal pole. The challenge was to climb to the top of the ladder, manoeuvre yourself across to the pole and then slide down with a beaming smile. For some time, this became my “little Everest”, challenging me every time I played in the park.

By way of a bit of trivia, these particular playground ladders appeared in the 1960s ABC television adaptation of George Johnston’s novel My Brother Jack. From our backroom window, we could see the filming of the park scene. It was at night and they had rigged up a system of overhead pipes to simulate a rainy evening. For the best part of our fine evening, we watched Jack, played by the late Ed Devereaux, get wet as he repeatedly courted his drenched girlfriend on a damp park seat adjacent to the ladders.

My granddaughters Eloise and Caitlin live in Victoria so their visits are very special. When Eloise was around three years old I took her for a bush walk down behind our property in the Blue Mountains. There I showed her a large cave. I climbed my way to the back of it, before returning to sit with her at the front of the cave. We gazed into the valley and listened to the birds and the creek. Very soon we were on our way back home at Eloise’s rather anxious request.

Easter 2010 again saw us both sitting at the cave front. Eloise had asked me to take her back but there was no desire on her part to venture into the cave. She was very comfortable sitting and chatting at the front of it. She was more than happy with herself when we returned to the house and told everyone about her adventure. During a short stay last month Eloise asked me to take her again to the cave. This time she scampered up to the back of the cave a number of times, told stories there and asked me to video her climb to the back.

That night we all sat and watched a very proud Eloise do her stuff. She had just conquered one of her “little Everests”.

Many plants, taken for granted over the years, were now valued either because of their complete obliteration or their irreparable damage. One such plant was our hoya. Given to us by my mother-in-law, this potted, tropical, evergreen plant mostly took care of itself. It hung from a branch with its vines dangling from the pot. These vines were covered with green and yellow leaves. They easily caught any breeze, swaying the hoya back and forth as if it danced to a choice melody that only it could hear.

Now our hoya was gone… scorched by the intensity of the bushfire’s heat. Like most of the neighbouring pots that displayed our orchids each year, the pot where our hoya had nested now seemed empty except for its dirt. Some of the pots had even partly melted.

During the cleanup the hoya pot was put aside and occasionally watered, without any real expectation of regrowth. But that is exactly what occurred and the hoya began growing back to its original self. Its resurrection was an encouraging sign of things to come.

When the hoya’s leafy vines started to wander from the pot, the plant was repotted and hung from another tree. Over the intervening years since the bushfires this tree never fully recovered. Earlier this year it toppled to the ground, crushing the hoya. I repotted the plant and this time brought it closer to the house, hanging it on a maple branch. Again the hoya quickly bounced back to a healthy state. As if to advertise the fact, it blossomed for the first time in its life. The beautiful, semi-spherical flower it produced comprised a cluster of small, delicate, star-shaped flowers, splashed in pink with a dab of darker pink at their centres.

Working on the regeneration of our bushland garden, despite the time and effort expended, has been very satisfying and rewarding. The resilience shown by plants like our hoya, our orchids and the many native plants that cover our property definitely raises one’s spirit.

My father was an inventor and whenever it was possible, he resourcefully recycled materials. A lot of the wood he used for his projects came from timber packing cases put out for the garbage collection in the narrow laneway called De Mestre Place. This laneway was opposite Wynyard in Sydney. It was there in Hardy’s Chambers that my father had his office and workrooms.

In the school holidays my brother and I used to love going into town and visiting him. His workplace was like a bowerbird’s nest, crammed with all sorts of interesting bits and pieces. My father did not like throwing things away. He seemed to hold secretly to the belief that he was bound sooner or later to find a use for these odds and ends. Thus, toothpaste lids were transformed into excellent draw handles with the turn of a screw. His workbench  stool was an upended Oldsmobile axle, to which he had attached a foam rubber seat.

I kept this axle, continuing its use as a stool until it became too uncomfortable. But I could not throw it away. And thankfully I didn’t for it has recently been given a new lease of life in my garden. Standing erect on a cement paver, while balancing a pot base, it serves as a purposeful bird bath. I reckon my Dad would be very pleased with this outcome too.

Look what arrived today from Canada to join Kelly’s menagerie.

Here they are introducing themselves to her “gargoyle” which is ageing gracefully under the maple in the garden.

The moose is one of a pair and the Ogopogo is a miniature interpretation of the creature from  Lake Okanagan in British Columbia.

The Gargoyle has been awaiting Kelly’s return for just on 2 years and he looks pleased to have company.

Show bags in those days were known as ‘sample bags’ and they were much more affordable than the ones bought today. They were called sample bags because they contained samples of products, plus a few extras such as a comic, small toy or game.

One year I discovered a packet containing a miniature, submarine in my Sanitarium sample bag. This five centimetre, grey plastic sub was hidden under samples of ‘weet bix’, ‘weet puffs’ and ‘marmite’. Powered by baking powder (Sanitarium of course), it repeatedly dived and surfaced when placed in water, to the constant delight of a young yours truly. Incidentally, we were soon to have a submarine base backing onto our street where previously torpedoes had been maintained during the war years.

Down at the shops earlier this week, to my surprise, there on the sale table was an updated version of my little submarine, this time two subs included in each package. Same length, different design and cool colours, I bought them without hesitation.

And after all this time, they were still powered by baking powder.

The little boy was still there in me!

What Do You Know?

Oh, dear, what do you know?
Young Caitlin’s about to get up and go
On her two, little legs, she’s ready to walk
Why, very soon she could even talk!
She’ll be into everything, I kid you not
And telling us all just what is what!

The remaining jacaranda flowers hang high in the trees as if ready to chime in the coming new season. Cockatoos constantly fly past the back window with their chalk-on-school-board screeches. During the day a whip bird can often be heard in the valley, as if saying, “Wh-where’s … K-e-l-l-y?”

To Kellyanne,
Wishing you a wonderful birthday way over in snowy Canada.
Hugs and kisses,
love Dad.

1 December 2008