Wet weather plans

We were betwixt and between on Monday, were Alannah and I. Was it going to rain, or was it not going to rain. As it turned out, for about 30 minutes it teemed. So we did lots of indoor play. And it was indoor play in the morning. I was ready for this just in case, but BoM led me astray, it did.

We read lots of books: Tough Trucks, Roadworks, My Uncle's Donkey, and Waterhole. A number of times in various settings for each book. We did crayon writing, but I think I need more colours in the crayon case. So I set Alannah up on my computer table here, where I am typing this, wrote her name and she picked up the pencil and wrote away herself. Was it wishful thinking that she understood when I said that was her name? Yeah, probably. But she holds a pencil fairly well for someone who is not 18 months until Sunday.


We did our usual sorting with sticks and UNO cards. I added to this another set of cards produced by Usborne which is shape cards. Well, the cards are all large rectanngles but they have about a dozen shapes (4x) showing shape and word, eg circle, square, triangle, rectangle, oval (which she can recognise and say, for some godforsaken reason), spiral, semi-circle, star, cross ... how many is that? Oh and heart. I have only introduced six to start with. We are not doing anything literate with them, just mixing them all up and then sorting them into three 'bins'.

So, now to the final two shots. I asked Kirsten's permission to post these two. Yes, she is upset, and yes, like a good journalist, I recorded the situation rather than go to her aid. So, what were the circumstances. It will not surprise you to know that it involves a cat. And the least obvious culprint - Sellie!

Sellie is the sweetest, most loving cat that I have. Yet she is also the most scared - she is the quintessential 'scaredy-cat'. She spends the first hour of my play-days with Alannah, hiding under the stairs, and I have to eventually coax her out. Once, she realises that all is okay, all she wants to do is come and nose-touch and rub against a leg. Even. Alannah's. leg. This time, however, we were about to go outside. The rain had stopped. It was after lunch. Things had dried a smidge and we had our hatties and our sunscreen on. But.

Sellie. was. atop. Ma's. toy. box. which. is. beside. the. door.

Alannah felt trapped. Sellie had to be coaxed to come to where I was before Alannah got a grip. A couple of times later in the afternoon, Alannah actually put her hand on Sellie's back. She feels most comfortable with the ginger cat, Sylvie, who is fat and old and lies on the sofa all day. You saw them together last week. I think it is safe to say, that the cat's blow Alannah's mind.

Gene-rational change

It would not be breaking confidences to delare, in a public forum, that neither of my children has a 'green-thumb'. A plant can wither through lack of attention - things like water and air and soil - under their very nose, and they have no knowledge that the plant is carking it! I guess it can be sheeted back to the negligence of their mother: not setting a good agrarian model during their formative years. Whereas, when I was growing up, my mother had the main veggie garden, and we three children were allocated specific beds to compete against each other. Our father, wierdly, grew flowers like sweet-peas. And crops like wheat. And maize. And sorghum.

So, if the gods give me the nod, and I get to care for my grand-daughter for a day at my place during the coming year, we (she and I) will do gardening. Do you think she will like this watering can?

What constitutes a War Grave?

I was asked this by Joan a couple of weeks ago, and it has rattled around my head ever since.

Within the Department of Veterans' Affairs (DVA) in Canberra, there exists an Office of Australian War Graves (OAWG). Many of the rules that the OAWG operates under have been set by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. It is not necessary to have died in combat, or in a war zone, to qualify for assistance and commemoration. It is sufficient that a service-person die from a war related injury.

Let us go straight to the specifics of my father's case, as I am on firmer ground there. My father joined the AIF in October 1941 (he had wanted to join the Navy but needed his fathers permission, but upon turning 21 could make his own decision), and was demobbed in December 1945, having spent 12 months in New Guinea as a despatch rider. He would take official messages from one command post to another. To do this, he would ride a motor bike or, when the jungle became impassable, he would take a small boat in and out of Milne Bay. He never mentioned being shot at on land, but did tell stories of being shot at out in the water.

Whilst at Milne Bay (Dad rarely used the term New Guinea), Dad got a couple of doses of two strains of malaria, which were treated for the rest of his life. He also came a gutser off this bike, sliding down a slippery, pot-holed track, which stuffed his right knee, causing him considerable pain right up until the last week of his life. However, neither of these afflictions qualified him under the rules used by the OAWG. What did qualify him, was that during his service in New Guinea he took up smoking. He did not smoke before his service, and I can remember him smoking as a child in Hornsby, which he left in 1955. So, my guess is that he smoked (not heavily) for about 12 years.

Immediately post-demob, Dad was awarded 10% incapacity because of his knee, plus free medical in a repat hospital but not private. This meant he received a service pension. By the time he went onto the Old Age Pension (OAP), he was receiving a service pension at the 70% rate. By the time he went into the nursing home, his service pension was larger than his OAP. However, he was not receiving a 100% pension. If he had been, then he would have qualified for an OAWG immediately without me lifting a finger. Had he been a POW or a VC, likewise immediate qualification. But he was neither.

DVA works on a series of 'Statements of Principles' which are, and I quote 'legislative instruments that set out the factors which can connect particular injuries, diseases or death, with service'. Hence, the claimant states his medical condition, they are related to a SoP, and either officially accepted or rejected. It all goes on the record. At the time of his death, Dad had 5 accepted SoPs on the record. Luckily enough, 4 of these accorded with cause of death on his death certificate, things like emphysema and arteriosclerosis. I feel certain that had Dad wished to apply again to the DVA, he could have been totally accepted during his life time. However, the last time he applied (to get to the 70%) was in 1992 because he could not stand filling in the forms and answering the questions. So, I did it instead.

It was quite obvious to me that he qualified. However, to ease the passage, both my step-mother and I applied through Legacy. They have people who have been trained by DVA in what information to look for and how to fill out the forms. Once Dad's death was accepted as 'war caused', my step-mother automatically qualified as a 'war widow' (even though they only met in 1978), and received a considerable increase in pension, plus her own gold card. And, funnily enough, I did not have to apply to the OAWG in Canberra. I had already spoken with them at the time of Dad's death and had all the forms ready to go. However, THEY contacted me once the DVA had made its determination. One government department talking to another. Will wonders never cease.


A war grave means that the government pays for the internment. Not for the funeral, not the cremation. Dad did not want anything; he wanted to be scattered. But I reckoned this was because he had no idea what he qualified for. The biggest thing in my father's life was his war service. He kept up with all his war mates for the rest of his life. Indeed, he was the organiser. The only thing he wanted on his coffin was an Australian flag. I insisted upon flowers, too, but hey, that's me. So I have found a niche in a gazebo wall at Botany Cemetery, which is immediately over-flown by an Australian flag which is raised every day.

Now, if I were paying for this niche it would cost me $1,650 for the niche (in perpetuity, as is the NSW way) and for the brass plate. The OAWG pays the cemetery $891 for a particular (unalterable) style. I could do it my way - and pay - or do it their way and get it all paid for. The two styles are obvious in the photographs. The OAWG style is limited to 70 characters including spaces, and allows pretty much only name rank and serial number. I tossed up both alternatives, but have opted for the OAWG style. We have complications in Dad's extended family which meant I was never going to satisfy everyone.

I reckon it should all be done by sometime in February 2012.

The two outside images below were taken during Dad's time at Milne Bay. The middle image I found during my recent wander through the AWM in Canberra. It is an image of Amy Myers, and it interested me because of the cigarette in her hand. One of the stories near her talked about how the boredom for the troops was alleviated by cigarette rations!! The DVA is aware that many smoking habits commenced during miltary service. It, and the government, do not want to endure court cases, so just accept smoking diseases as war related.

One more thing that Joan asked about was the use of the service emblem which can be seen on the plaques in the photographs. This is mandatory on the OAWG maintained memorials, but can also be displayed on private plaques, upon application. It is hardly ever denied, but they insist it not be altered/defaced. As well as a plaque on his ashes, Dad will also have a plaque in the War Cemetery at Rookwood. All servicemen, acknowledged to have died of war-related causes, are given this additional honour.

I will try to answer questiions, if you still have them.

To each her own

Around this time in 1979 I was confronted by myself. I gave birth to a baby girl. What was confronting about this was that I am not a feminine woman: I neither flounce nor flirt; wear the minimum of makeup; am not into shopping; don't gossip, nor read romance novels. What the hell did I have to offer to a female baby?

As it turned out, that particular female baby is small, delicate and feminine, knows exactly what she likes, thinks, and wants. Somehow she learnt this by osmosis. She did not get it from her mother, the reverse in fact.


So, now she has a daughter of her own. And that is just dandy by me: her mother can do the feminine things; and her grandmother can continue what she was doing thirty years ago.

When I was eight, my family moved from suburban Sydney to a small farm in the Hunter Valley. I am the middle child of three, with a brother either side. In Sydney, we played with our Matchbox cars, our Meccano, and our Hornby train set. In the country, we did the same. We had a long driveway that ended in a round-about. In the centre of this circle, our mother tried to grow flowering bushes, but all I remember is an uprooted tree-trunk. Which suited us fine. We built our city and our farms in, around, through, and under it. Out came the Meccano and the cars. We had entire farming neighbourhoods, and my imagination blossomed.


So, what does this have to do with my grand-daughter Alannah? Just this week, I have job-lot purchased from a cousin, a whole swag of Duplo, and a shopping basket full of Thomas Tank Engine paraphenalia. I am haunting eBay bidding on old Matchbox Lesney models like police cars, fire engines, garbage trucks, tow trucks and the like. Things that show her how her city operates. Toys that she will be able to see on the roads around her suburb. I am, gradually, building up a collection of model farm animals for her to incorporate into her play, learning their names and their sounds. I mix and match. Take some things over to play with her; bring other things back. Hold back some items that are too advanced for next year, or the year after. I have a large wooden trunk, you see: 'Ma's Chest'. It is filling rapidly.

Shhh ... not a word!

On being inclusive ...

My memory is not always reliable nowadays, but a vision swims through the frontal lobes of Kirsten and I striding along Elizabeth Street from Waterloo to a theatre, I think. Seemingly out of the blue, she asked, 'You will be a hands-on grandparent, won't you?'

I think what she meant by this was to be involved, to be around sufficiently and in an 'alive' enough way, to ensure that the grand-child sees me as a real person, rather than just an extension of its parents. This is, as with many things, a two-way street. To be hands-on, one needs to be included. I am sooo thrilled at being included in the way that I am.

So ... what do we have here. Yesterday, was Grandmothers' Day and we had lunch at Centennial Park. Unfortunately, I was shooting into the sun for the first shot of mother and daughter. However, Kirsten took the other two on the first row. The first one shows Alannah Jane sitting in a high-chair equal with the rest of us. Quite a thrill. The final shot, was using the 'light-scoop' that Kirsten ordered online last week.


Maybe she is teething a bit more on the bottom gum. Poor old Sophie took a hammering, and the rusks don't stand a chance. I shot both these ... I think.

All the shots of the cardboard box were taken by moi. The box had arrived the previous day filled with fruit & veg, and when i saw it I knew it was a toy from the gods. Makes a good car, too.

Strider

Six months seems to be the lift-off stage. Alannah is sooo close to crawling. I expect she will be next time I see her. She is starting to vocalise using throat, mouth and lips. And she has had her first of ten Monday swimming lessons.

The joy of being a grandmother

Each month we arrange a Grandmothers' Day. Alannah's paternal grandmother comes up by train from Nowra (3 hours each way), and I mosey over by shanks'-pony (35 minutes each way). We often go to a beach or a park, but today was a little indeterminate weather-wise so we played at home and then went to a cafe for lunch.

I am blessed to be as included as I am. Thank you, my lovely.

The world is not a scarey place, trust us ...

Alannah taking the wheel at 'Babies by the Bay' Photo taken by Kirsten.

Between all the mayhem and distress that has occurred over the last few weeks, Kirsten has been preparing Alannah for her big step into the world without her mother's presence. Child care is not easy to come by, and quality care even less so. When Kirsten found one she liked, she grabbed a day a week even though not due to return to work until July.

She has spent this tumultuous time preparing my grand-daughter and ensuring that she understood that the world is not a scarey place, and that her mother will always come back. Alannah has been taken for half-days by Grandad and by Ma. She has been to Playgroup. She meets other children at Mothers' Group. She meets them at Rhyme Time in the library.

So yesterday was her first Friday. Mother was excited/anxious/happy/proud. All those things. As was Ma. Alannah is a contemplative child. She spends a lot of time absorbng. However, she also has a voice that she uses when splashing ducky in the bath. She was fine. But when she got home she slept for 2 1/2 hours and was still rubbing her eyes.

No matter what we have seen or experienced over the last few weeks, the world is a good place to enter into and to explore.

Alannah tuckered out Photo taken by Kirsten

A time for Family

Before Christmas, I spent three days with my two brothers in Newcastle. The obligatory game of Scrabble was enjoined, with one brother consulting a really really old Oxford, and the other receiving unwanted advice from his progeny. Good fun, all round.


On Boxing Day, I visited my uncle (my father's older brother) in Royal North Shore. He was 91 last September and is aiming for his century. He goes out to a rehab hospital tomorrow prior to returning to his own home.


And here is my darling grand-daughter, Alannah, taken today where I got to feed her and read to her, and play with her.

Developing new skills

Photographs by Kirsten

Both my daughter and my grand-daughter are learning new skills.

Kirsten is teaching herself photography with this subject of all subjects. She is learning by following her favourite baby photographers of the moment, and is addicted to her prime F1.8 lens.

Alannah is learning the fun of play both in the cot by herself and with her mummy at the playground in Rushcutters Bay park.

These three cropped images by Julie

Extended family

Once a month, we have 'Grandmothers' Day'. Alannah's paternal grandmother comes up from Nowra, and Kirsten takes us all to a park somewhere. This month we went to Neilsen Park.

Here are K & A looking at a small photograph of Alannah's father when he was about 6 together with his sister, who was about 3.

Generational change

Kirsten drove us over to Northbridge today to visit my Uncle Gordon who turns 91 on Thursday. He is my father's older brother. His wife, Murielle, was 88 in the middle of August. They live together in a house they purchased in 1964. They have recently had rails installed throughout the house.

This was the first time my father, Laurie, who is 89 had met his great-grand-daughter, Alannah. Kirsten took some great footage of him singing to her cuddled on his lap. It was an interesting morning tea with ages 91, 89, 88, 62, 31 and 0.