Senior Moments! Forgetable memorable moments.

I have neglected my blogsite for far too long. The chaotic, Russian loving  Donald Trump has caused me to spend far too much of my time writing comments on Facebook about the dangerous political scene that Trump and a biased media have given us. I have decided to change the subject abruptly and write what may be called more whimsical pieces.

 I am pleased to note, however, that while my Blogsite was untouched by human word processor for four months, several thousand people still visited my blogsite. Thank you all so very much.              

I will not make any promises but I will try to be a more regular correspondent in the future and will try to avoid Donald Trump if I can. I am ashamed to say I have written more stories about Vladimir Putin's best friend and current USA  President  than I have about Sir Donald Bradman. Incredible, but true.

To start this blog writing renaissance I have chosen a topic dear to my heart. Me! I turned 87 at my last birthday, Christmas Eve, 2024. In thanking my family members and friends I pointed out that in cricket, 87 is considered to be an unlucky number for an Australian batsman. Most people say this is because it is the Devil's Number...thirteen runs short of a century. 

I told my family and friends that there was no statistical evidence to show that Australian batsmen are dismissed on 87 more frequently than any other number from 0 to 99. I did this to indicate that I did not think 87 would be my last birthday, so they could all postpone any thoughts of small savings on my 88th birthday present.                  "Yes," folks I assured them. "I am 87 but I am still in the game. I am still batting." They laughed. I guess they knew that, though I am still batting, my form and my style are a long way from the halcyon days of my youth.      I am well and truly into what people refer to as The Senior Years. That is why this blog is about ME! My game is a bit wobbly these days. I thought I had better write about some of my Senior Moments... while I can still remember them.

I live, with the beautiful Lesley, in an over 55 years old apartment complex.  On Saturday, March 5th I was to have my annual ultra sound, which keeps track of my circulation and other useful anatomical  information. Before this ultra sound test I am required to fast for five hours. My ultrasound was due at 12-30 PM so I arose at 6-00AM and had a small breakfast and cup of coffee to keep me going throughout the morning, I did not attend the usual community morning tea in the clubrooms and went for a walk instead. At noon I told Lesley I was heading off for my ultra sound . I grabbed my car keys and the medical appointment notice from my Specialist and headed out of the door. Sitting the car and about to set off, I checked the medical appointment notice. It was for 12-30pm on March 15. Two weeks away, At the bottom of the notice was a hand written message.

NB. This rescheduled appointment cancels the previous appointment for March 5.

I went back inside and told a surprised Lesley that I had forgotten about the changed date of the appointment.   "You've done things like that before, " was her only comment.                                                                                    Indeed I have!

As mentioned above, every Saturday morning about fifteen or so residents have morning tea in our function room which is called The Clubrooms. I used to enjoy my morning coffee in a special coffee cup. This family heirloom displayed a photograph taken in 2012 of Lesley and me and our seven grandchildren. Sometime in mid-2024 this coffee cup went missing. A thorough search of the clubrooms and requests in the Community Newsletter for information about its whereabouts failed to find the precious cup. It is now generally agreed that it was broken during some social gathering in the clubrooms and then dispatched into the rubbish bin by a person or persons unknown who had no idea of the cup’s huge sentimental value.                                                                

 As it happens, I had another coffee mug with another photo of Lesley and me our seven grandchildren inscribed on it. I placed this cup in the cupboard. However, early in 2025, I turned away from the kitchen cupboard  complaining that this replacement coffee mug was also missing.                                                                                                          “Have another look,” was the generally helpful advice I received. I went back and checked again, only to gloomily report once more that my prized mug was missing.                                                                       

 Kindhearted souls helped me look to see if any of the residents were enjoying their morning tea and using my mug or if it was in the dishwasher or in other cupboards in the kitchen. The search was fruitless, or more precisely, mugless!  I grumpily made my coffee in another mug and sat at the table, sulkily brooding over another lost heirloom.                                                                                                                                                                            Two minutes later a resident named Allen came up to me, brandishing the allegedly missing coffee mug.                   Astonished, I exclaimed,  “Where was it?” as Allen placed the mug on the table in front of me                               “In the cupboard,” replied Allen with that gentle tone so necessary when dealing with the weak and feeble.            I then heard Lesley remark to those nearby, “I told you he is not a good looker." 

Two weeks later, I travelled with Lesley to the WA Museum to visit the excellent Kimberley Exhibition. Our third grandson, Cisco, worked at the Museum over the summer holidays as a part time Volunteer Guide.                        After Grandson #3 finished his volunteer guide duties at 1-00pm, the three of us bravely ventured into  Northbridge for lunch. After that, we made our way back to Perth Railway Station. As I approached the Tag On machine, I was startled by a Transperth attendant monitoring the scene, who said, “Hey, you can’t do that!”                                                   

“I’m just going to tag on” I explained.                                                                                  “Yes, but not with that Visa Card,” said the attendant.                                                                 It’s true! I had reached into my pocket and was going to tag on with my blue Visa                    As I said, I am still in the game and I am still batting,                                                              What's the name of that game, again?

 

Trump's Day of infamy.

My first blog story in 2025 is about Donald Trump. Not a pleasant subject I know but Trump has now admitted on the floor of the Congress that he has been colluding with Russian dictator, Vladimir Putin,  over the fate of the  battered and besieged Ukraine. 

What happened when President Trump, the  person we all thought was the leader of the free and democratic world, announced that he was in collusion with Russia. All of the Republican representatives in the Congress rose to their feet and gave him an ecstatic, standing ovation. 

Around the world people gasped in horror at what was unfolding on their television screens. A United States President and a Russian dictator colluding to plunder the resource rich, second largest country in Europe.

In February 2024, eight months before the 2024 presidential election, I wrote a blog identifying Donald Trump as Putin's puppet in the Whitehouse. Meet Donald Trump...Putin's candidate for the presidency Now, 43 days after his inauguration, Donald Trump has admitted it. He has cut off all aid to Ukraine, including vital intelligence information which could warn Ukraine of Russian troop movements near its borders. Given this American act of bastardry against Ukraine, what other country in the free world can ever have any faith in any pledge for protection From US President Trump.

In the dark days following the surprise attack by Japanese aircraft on Pearl Harbour on  December 7th, 1941  another US President stood and spoke in the Congress. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, a great leader of his people, urged Americans to rise up and fight the evil aggressor. He said that December 7, 1941 would forever be a "A day of Infamy."  In years to come  History will judge Trump's admission that he  colluded with Russia to carve up The Ukraine will also be called a day of American infamy.

Western leaders have roundly criticised Trump for his betrayal of Ukraine. No one said it better than the  hero of Polish Solidarity against Communist brutality,  the Former President of Poland, Lech Walesa  who wrote the following letter to Trump

.

Your Excellency, Mr. President,

We watched the report of your conversation with the President of Ukraine, Volodymyr Zelensky, with fear and distaste. We find it insulting that you expect Ukraine to show respect and gratitude for the material assistance provided by the United States in its fight against Russia. Gratitude is owed to the heroic Ukrainian soldiers who shed their blood in defense of the values of the free world. They have been dying on the front lines for more than 11 years in the name of these values and the independence of their homeland, which was attacked by Putin’s Russia.

We do not understand how the leader of a country that symbolizes the free world cannot recognize this.

Our alarm was also heightened by the atmosphere in the Oval Office during this conversation, which reminded us of the interrogations we endured at the hands of the Security Services and the debates in Communist courts. Prosecutors and judges, acting on behalf of the all-powerful communist political police, would explain to us that they held all the power while we held none. They demanded that we cease our activities, arguing that thousands of innocent people suffered because of us. They stripped us of our freedoms and civil rights because we refused to cooperate with the government or express gratitude for our oppression. We are shocked that President Volodymyr Zelensky was treated in the same manner.

The history of the 20th century shows that whenever the United States sought to distance itself from democratic values and its European allies, it ultimately became a threat to itself. President Woodrow Wilson understood this when he decided in 1917 that the United States must join World War I. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt understood this when, after the attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, he resolved that the war to defend America must be fought not only in the Pacific but also in Europe, in alliance with the nations under attack by the Third Reich.

We remember that without President Ronald Reagan and America’s financial commitment, the collapse of the Soviet empire would not have been possible. President Reagan recognized that millions of enslaved people suffered in Soviet russia and the countries it had subjugated, including thousands of political prisoners who paid for their defense of democratic values with their freedom. His greatness lay, among other things, in his unwavering decision to call the USSR an “Empire of Evil” and to fight it decisively. We won, and today, the statue of President Ronald Reagan stands in Warsaw, facing the U.S. Embassy.

Mr. President, material aid—military and financial—can never be equated with the blood shed in the name of Ukraine’s independence and the freedom of Europe and the entire free world. Human life is priceless; its value cannot be measured in money. Gratitude is due to those who sacrifice their blood and their freedom. This is self-evident to us, the people of Solidarity, former political prisoners of the communist regime under Soviet Russia.

We call on the United States to uphold the guarantees made alongside Great Britain in the 1994 Budapest Memorandum, which established a direct obligation to defend Ukraine’s territorial integrity in exchange for its relinquishment of nuclear weapons. These guarantees are unconditional—there is no mention of treating such assistance as an economic transaction.

Signed,

Lech Wałęsa, former political prisoner, President of Poland.

 

 Why is Donald Trump acting like Putin's puppet in the Whitehouse?                                                Well there are many theories.The most salacious one is concerns Donald Trump and the Miss World Pageant in Moscow. Trump was in hotel with a bevy of beautiful women...well, young girls.  Many believe, but cannot prove, that ex-KBG heavyweight,  Vladimir Putin, bugged  Trump's hotel and harvested a portfolio of eye watering salacious video and audio tapes.

The other theory is that Putin bailed Trump out of bankruptcy in the 1990s. At the time Trump had experienced several bankruptcies and no banks would lend him money. However several Russian oligarchs, rich from the spoils of the collapsed Soviet regime, purchased real estate off trump at quite inflated prices.rubles, offered Trump  a great deal of money at very favourable terms. Deutsche Bank continued to give Trump favourable deals and guarantees.                                                                             Now, although these financial deals are well known, there is absolutely no evidence to tie Vladimir Putin to any of them. Except that Putin is the supreme ruler of Russia and nothing happens in Russia unless Putin is in favour of it. As a KGB man he is skilled in not leaving any trace of himself anywhere near the scene of the crime.

Whatever the truth is, Trump has been publicly friendly with Putin on every occasion that they have appeared at international heads of state meetings. If Putin accepts Trump's invitation to the Whitehouse you can bet your life that he will not be set upon, badgered and harrassed on an intenational TV set-up like Zelensky.

With Trump now batting for Russia,  western democracies need to rethink their international strategies. Obviously, anything they say in private to Trump could be forwarded to Putin. 

Countries that share intelligence with the USA will have to carefully rethink their agreements.Could that intelligence be headed to the Kremlin?

Trump's Day of Infamy has made him an untrustworthy pariah to all of America's former close allies...including Australia!

A Shearer's Tale.

 

ARNIE Y

IE YA A Shearer’s Tale

Arnie scooped up the last of the leaves from the pool. He walked across the yard  and placed the scoop against the small  shed. He was followed by Lambchop, the pet sheep. Arnie had acquired Lambchop about ten years ago, the same time that he and Ella had started acquiring grandchildren.           

The backyard pool was also acquired to entertain his two daughters and their families, which now extended to six grandchildren. Lambchop was a firm favourite with the grandies. Lambchop was also very good at keeping the grass in check around the pool which was in a fenced off area in the end bottom third of the  half acre block.

Arnie was 84 years old. He used to be a shearer. A very good shearer. His father was a shearer as were his three brothers. When Arnie left school, he naturally became a shearer, too. Arnie worked in shearing sheds throughout Western Australia.He even gave demonstration shearing exhibitions at the Perth Royal show. He and his three brothers were almost of legend status in the Western Australian shearing industry.

When he was fifty-nine, Arnie’s back and right wrist told him it was time to give the shearing game away. Within a few weeks he was working for the shire as the groundsman for the local bowling and tennis club. He really  enjoyed that work and was given a big send-off by the bowlers and tennis players, and the local councillors, when he decided fifteen years later that working five full days a week at age 76 was a bit too much.

A few weeks later Arnie and Ella picked up what he called a ‘dream “ job. They worked for the local abattoir, washing the workers blood-stained  clothes in industrial washing and drying machines and then using a pressure hose to clean the entire work area. They used to start at four o’clock in the afternoon and be finished by 6-00PM. Before they headed home, they folded the clean dry clothes laid out clean work clothes to be used the next day.

When he walked into the kitchen, Ella said, “Hello, Love. I’ve just put the kettle on.” Arnie picked up his copy of the morning paper and sat in his lounge chair waiting for the tea to arrive. He was halfway through reading the paper when the telephone rang in the kitchen . Ella called out, “Arnie, it’s Joy, from next door. She wants to talk to you.”

Joy told Arnie that a young fellow was shearing sheep in the next street. In South Guildford quite a few residents had sheep to keep the grass under control in their large blocks.

“Yes, Arne,’ said Joy, “he’s got his utility with shearing gear rigged up. When I saw him about twenty minutes ago, he had three customers lined up. I think he shears the sheep for nothing if he can keep the fleece. I thought you might want to take Lambchop along.”

When Arnie first got Lambchop he used to shear him once a year with hand shears. However, his aching right wrist made that an increasingly painful job. So, Arnie placed a rope around Lambnchops neck and off they set to walk the hundred and fifty meters or so to meet the enterprising young shearer.

As Arnie rounded the corner, he saw the shearer and his ute. He was shearing a sheep while two ladies stood nearby with their woolly pets. Arnie joined the queue. He watched the young fellow as he went about his job and his mind wandered back to his days on the boards and of the thousands and thousands of sheep he had shorn. He even remembered being at the Royal Show doing exhibitions shearing back in the fifties.

When it was Lambchops turn to be shorn Arnie said, “Hey, young fellah. I’ve been watching you shearing these sheep. Could I have a go at shearing my own sheep”

The young bloke looked at Arnie and looked at Lambchop. “ Ah. Erm. I dunno! Do you reckon you can handle it? It’s not as easy as it looks.”

“Well,” said Arnie, “what if I start off. If  I’m no good you can always stop me and take over.”

“Yair, I suppose that’ll be OK,” was his dubious reply.

Arnie took hold of the shears. He quickly pulled Lambchop between his legs and began sweeping long blows that had the fleece peeling off like the skin off a banana. In just under two minutes Lambchop was well and truly fleeced and Arnie was handing the shearing piece back to the young shearer.

“Hey, Mate!”, he exclaimed, “You’re really good. D’yuh wanna a job?”

Arnie placed  the rope over lambchop's neck. As he walked away, he smiled and said, “No, thanks, Mate.  I’ve already got a job.”