3 realities. The everyday consensual. The Eleven Islands. The future.
Author: Rita de Heer
Writing is what I do. What I think about. What I meditate on. What I dream up. Listen to. Imagine. Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I eat. And I walk. Pull out environmental weeds. There are a thousand more things I do, though writing comes into a fair few of those things too.
Don’t necessarily need a new theme, but definitely a few more widgets.
I’ve been thinking for a while that with 320+ published posts, it’s getting a little difficult for readers to find what they might be interested in or read, for example, Avatar Remaindered sequentially … I see evidence of that frustration in the stats. For myself it’s the frustration in locating posts that I might’ve originally decided to amplify.
So, two things I need to do. One, is to re-jig the number of Categories. I haven’t decided yet what will be more efficient, an increase or a decrease. Second is to install the widgets that will give us a better reading and finding experience.
I can’t believe I don’t even have a Search Bar yet when I use it frequently on other people’s sites.
Clouds of Categories seem to work best on sites that specialize in a particular topic, and have relatively few categories. Although I enjoy using them, I will probably give that function a miss. Although just having seen one on the Locus Magazine’s site I may give it a go.
Walter Taylor Bridge, one of the many bridges across the Brisbane River. This one joining Chelmer on the southwest side to Indooroopilly on the northwest side.
I travelled 18 kilometres to Indooroopilly to finally have my hearing aid fixed. Eighteen kilometres that costs $55 and about forty minutes in a cab.
18 kilometres back again for an unknown amount on my senior’s Go-Card, but not more than about ten dollars, and two and a half to three hours by train, shank’s pony and bus.
I paid the cab fare on the way out there because I wanted to see how far along the roadworks had got. These the works relating to the new underground railway station and new railway tunnel under the river. It’s astounding how much of that work has to be done top-side. Made up for the cab fare by not spending anything on lunch.
On the way home, walked to the railway station—saw that nice piece of vintage infrastructure above—and waited at the station. Twenty minutes gone.
Roma Street Station still—by now it’s probably been five years of mess—at sixes and sevens due to the changes being made. But managed to find a human ticketing dispenser and was able to exchange my blue Go-Card for a brown seniors’ card. Forty five minutes at Roma Street.
Roma Street so frustrating in the end, I thought I might as well shank’s pony again (ie walk) to King George Bus Station and catch my ride home from there.
Sat down for a lunch snack and drink at 12 noon, just in time for this …
Post Office tower and how tiny it now looks! A short carrilion in keeping with the hour.
The bus 222 home to Carindale, a total of 4005 steps as well as all the other mileages. Left home at 10.00 am, got back at 1.30ish pm. Worth it?
Oh yeah! I can hear again. Missed listening to music, hearing phonecalls properly, not being surprised by squealing laughter, and birds … I can hear birds again!
Some people keep their piles at their bedside. I don’t sleep when I read in bed. This pile —
is beside me, on my couch. Plenty of paperwork under them as well, as you can probably see. My tax return for 2022-2023, for instance. Late already, it’s very forgettable.
Three of the books relate to Interpreting Dreams, the online course I’ve been studying. I’m halfway through but seem to be marking time, like I’m stuck on learning about shadows, and getting side-tracked on a bunch of other interesting stuff.
Ursula K LeGuin’s Tao Te Ching is a wonderful interpretation that I wouldn’t like to do without now. I have three bookmarks in it but most often I “make my daily march with the heavy baggage wagon”. From 26, Power of the Heavy.
Second from the bottom is my health journal wherein I keep track of what my Low Dose Naltrexone regime is doing to me. Good things, so far. Much less inflammation.
Then Sapiens: A brief history of mankind by Yuval Noah Harrari. Have to admit I’m past what’s most interesting to me which is humankind’s early history. I’m struggling through Roman times and the age of the empires.
Next up, is The Three Body Problem by Cixin Lui, famous Chinese SF author. Translated by Ken Liu. Unfortunately I started watching the TV series of the same name before the book arrived via snail mail. While the TV series is an easy and engrossing watch, the book is every bit as cryptic as has been said. Reading it, I keep trying to match events in the TV series.
Last in the pile, there’s Revenger by Alistair Reynolds. It’s just as rich and baroque as the first and second times I read it. It’s meaty with a thick silky gravy, excellent food for my SF hunger. And in addition I’m on the watch-out for the pirate captain’s magnificent orrery that influenced me to purchase the much paler Lego version. My next purchase will probably be the third installment of this trilogy.
Though plainly written, Simmonds’s Rising from the Flood. is to me an engrossing account of shifting a town to higher ground. That flood in 2011. The book published in 2020.
I lived in Mullumbimby, Northern Rivers NSW, for thirty odd years and shopped, went to university, medical appointments and social occasions in our nearest biggish town, Lismore.
Lismore lies where the Wilsons Creek joins Leicester River becoming Wilsons River. I’m kind of amazed typing this because I’ve been under the impression for 35 years that Wilson’s Creek/River joined the mighty Richmond at Lismore.
That that’s why it is so flood-prone. (There possibly will be some editing later, after I’ve talked to a few locals, as I really dont trust Google on this) But anyway, we press on. In the time I lived the region, Lismore was flooded numerous times.
After every flood there was talk of moving the town to higher ground. After every flood people rebuilt in the same place. Then came the 2022 flood! A flood mightier than even the 1974 flood that inspired a town-wide memorial event in 2004.
I’d already moved to Brisbane by 2022, and only had the news and what people told me to go on. Though there was talk early on about moving the town to higher ground, nothing eventuated.
Now, two years later, Lismore doesn’t seem to have recovered that well. There are dozens of towns like it along the east coast along rivers on flood-prone land. And floods are set to increase in both number and severity.
So what does it take to move a town? Because I had heard that Grantham, in Queensland, had been moved. If it’s been done before it can be done again, right?
Chapter 21, Keys to Success, opened my eyes.
First thing needed is leadership. A strong charismatic leader has to be on the ground, already known as the town’s leader, at the event, ready to take on the work right then, with a strong team.
Grantham had their mayor, Steve Jones, and his team.
Speed is the next important key. Steve and his team promised Grantham’s people they’d move the town in eleven months! It was what kept the community behind them.
Third, the project was locally driven. Yes, of course they had help and funds from higher levels of government. But it was important that decisions and their implementation remained local, and I see that. A way of keeping hurting businesses working.
Last, according to Simmonds, a small and agile team. All of them leaders in their own scenarios, able to push through inertia, doubt and reluctance. Everybody gets tired, after all.
What about the existence of somewhere to move to, I would add. A farm on higher ground was being sold at the time. I don’t know how you would replicate that chance. Because that’s what that was, chance.
But after I read the whole story, I’m inclined to think that if you don’t have that leader, you can kiss that whole relocation goodbye. The fact that Grantham had a charismatic no-holds-barred leader in Steve Jones explains it all.
Which led to a fatigue, coughing, and everything else that goes with it event
Which led to a three week furlough
Today I thought I had recovered. Wishful thinking, obviously. Went to a meeting with about a hundred attendees. I was OK sitting down.
Then got a call. I’d forgotten to silence the little mobile beggar. Ran out to wring its neck, but ended up sitting outside in the solitary quiet taking the call.
And afterwards thought I should have a go at the greet and meet after the meeting. Found a chair, unfortunately just got in at the tail end of the last question about gardening.
Still, the development map on the drop-down screen showed a wide yellow road covering the place where I though to plant some veges. Guess I’ll rethink that one.
Suddenly everyone was up, either pushing to the front for the afternoon snacks and apparatif or toward the back to make their getaway. I drifted to the puzzles table and completed the roof of a shed in the time that it took for the scrum to subside.
When I looked up there were only people with a glass in one hand and juggling a plate piled with scones cake and cream puffs. But lots of them. I saw two people I’ve met but didn’t get to talk with them.
I found a the gluten free dairy free section and had a couple of meat balls and six grapes. The place to get a hotwater drink was inaccessible and anyway I had the weirdest feeling.
Like I was a square ball bearing, had a lot of people coasting wordlessly by me, my hearing aids did not cope either. You start questioning your sanity for even being there.
Found out a few facts. I am one of 133 new people these last 6 months. There are now 241 residents. I can totally understand that the people who were here last year are feeling swamped. I feel swamped with them.
But, not to forget, I’ve never been one for crowds. I’ve always run in the outer edges of the herd, where you can easily take time out.
On my way home met a couple walking their dog, which was a relief, and picked up my mail. Finally, A Little Course in Dreams by Robert Bosnak. Started reading it right away.
One of eight books with bookmarks in them. Plenty to write about. Though not today. Just finding a pic now to accompany this mournful screed.
Rita de Heer 