This SE corner of Australia, while you in the North freeze, seems to be
preparing another bad day tomorrow with the return of that wind.
The Sunday paper I just brought in from not my front drive but my neighbour's
where it rolled, proclaims Secret Tragedy of uncounted deaths across the state
merely from the heat wave. I fear I shall shortly be reading about dead babies
and neglected old folk without access to airconditioning.
Last night my wife and I attended a 3 year old's birthday party at a restaurant
located just short of where the Kinglake St Andrews fire was stopped, or turned.
The parents looked older than when we last saw them. Their neighbours in once
glorious Hildebrand Road, St Andrews are burned out, some missing, one property
still taped off while the forensics sift through. Gus spent from Saturday some
lonely days and nights patrolling his place and putting out spot fires. An old
gum tree continued to burn deep down into the earth, as its roots burned on.
He stepped too close and down went his boot into it. That was a moment when a
chap was with him, who pulled Gus back and poured water over his boot and leg.
That night (reunited with Lauren) he showered and collapsed on their bed. Soon
he started up from sleep screaming My foot! the two of them panicked (they told
us), in the dark trying to make out what it was. His foot was entirely black!
Screams from Lauren. Ambulance? what were their chances? Then they shone a light
on it. Gus had worn to bed a black sock on his bad foot, that was it, and it was
painful tendons making him cry out. This is their cheer up story to tell and
retell to balance out some of the horrors they have been close to. Such as the
toing and froing between one's house about to burn or burning and the getaway
vehicle about to burn or burning, and the unknown perils on the escape route.
All the possible varieties of story with these components are being told, or
kept silent about. This family survives. It was touching to see little Ava open
our present, a fit-out for the nursery in her new doll's house, fingering the
wee cot and baby doll in its nightie...safe.
My mind slips sideways to the death of Blossom Dearie, news of which led me to
Youtube.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNpHSCiDVAo&feature=related
'Blossom Dearie's voice, critic Whitney Balliett once wrote, would scarcely
reach the second story of a doll house.'
Max
Quoting Douglas Barbour <[log in to unmask]>:
> His knowledge was vast,m indeed, Max, & as a storyteller he was hard
> to beat. I was lucky enough to meet him the first time I visited NZ, &
> every time thereafter....
>
> Good to hear the bushfires are down a bit; sad that about the winery
> (the owners were interviewed on CBC radio shortly after they lost
> everything; they sounded down but not out, which was amazing).
>
> Doug
> On 20-Feb-09, at 4:34 PM, Max Richards wrote:
>
> > Young Auckland writers used to talk about beach walking with the
> > elder poet
> > Kendrick Smithyman.
> > His knowledge included every shellfish, which to eat, and how to
> > prepare them.
>
> Douglas Barbour
> [log in to unmask]
>
> http://www.ualberta.ca/~dbarbour/
>
> Latest books:
> Continuations (with Sheila E Murphy)
> http://www.uap.ualberta.ca/UAP.asp?LID=41&bookID=664
> Wednesdays'
> http://abovegroundpress.blogspot.com/2008/03/new-from-aboveground-
press_10.html
>
> It's always night or we wouldn't need light.
>
> Thelonious Monk
>
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