Remembrance Day

It's Remembrance Day

11/11/11

I was at an assembly this morning,

watching as the clock ticked

over to

11:11...

I was in a room

with over 500 people

and there was a calm silence

hanging in the air...

Maybe this is why:

Why wear a Poppy written by Don Crawford

"Please wear a poppy", the lady said, And held one forth, but I shook my head Then I stopped and watched as she offered them there, And her face was old and lined with care; "But beneath the scars the years had made There remained a smile that refused to fade. A boy came whistling down the street, Bouncing along on carefree feet. "His smile was full of joy and fun, "Lady" said he "may I have one?" When she pinned it on, he turned to say: "Why do we wear a poppy to-day?" "The lady smiled in her wistful way And answered: "This is Remembrance Day, "And the poppy there is a symbol for The gallant men who died in the war. " "And because they did, you and I are free That's why we wear a poppy you see. I had a boy about your size, With golden hair and big blue eyes. "He loved to play and jump and shout Free as a bird, he would race about. As the years went by, he learned and grew And became a man - as you will too. " "He was fine and strong, with a boyish smile, But he'd seemed with us such a little while When war broke out and he went away. I still remember his face that day. "When he smiled at me and said good-bye. 'I'll be back soon, Mum, so please don't cry.' But the war went on and he had to stay And all l could do was wait and pray. "His letters told us of the awful fight (I can see at in my dreams at night), With the tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire, And the mines and the bullets, the bombs and the fire." "That sure did sound like an awful fight, But your son - did he come back alright?" A tear rolled down each faded cheek; She shook her head but didn't speak. "I slunk away in a sort of shame, And if you were with me, you'd have done the same; For our thanks, in giving is aft delayed, Though our freedom was bought - and thousands paid! "And so, when we see a poppy worn, Let us reflect on the burden borne By those who gave very all When asked to answer their country's call That we at home in peace might live. Then wear a poppy! - and give!

'Twas Mulga Bill...

I’m uncool in so many ways.

I secretly revel in the joys of

being a “dag”.

One thing I enjoy is

the poetry of old Australia...

the bush poetry.

Secretly, hidden beneath blankets

and reading by torch light,

wrapped in my dagginess

I have read Banjo’s poems on his birthday.

This year, I’m ditching the blankets.

It’s Banjo Patterson’s birthday.

Andrew Barton Patterson, or Banjo (1864 – 1941)

Aged 31, he composed “Waltzing Matilda”

and wrote “The Man From Snowy River”.

During his life, he wrote many books and

now looks out at us from our ten dollar notes.

This is one of his poems – Mulga Bill’s Bicycle:

Mulga Bill's Bicycle

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze; He turned away the good old horse that served him many days; He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen; He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine; And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride, The grinning shop assistant said, `Excuse me, can you ride?'

`See, here, young man,' said Mulga Bill, `from Walgett to the sea, From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me. I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows, Although I'm not the one to talk -- I HATE a man that blows. But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight; Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wild cat can it fight. There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel, There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel, But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight: I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight.'

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode, That perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road. He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray, But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away. It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak, It whistled down the awful slope, towards the Dead Man's Creek.

It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box: The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks, The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground, As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound. It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree, It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be; And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek.

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore: He said, `I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before; I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five pound bet, But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet. I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve. It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still; A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill.'

http://www.wallisandmatilda.com.au/mulga-bills-bicycle.shtml

http://www.wallisandmatilda.com.au/index.shtml

Welcoming 2011

2011 - Happy New Year

I feel almost like I am writing my first blog - ever!

I'm a little scared... a little tentative.

What should I write? I thought about writing about New Year celebrations around the year, but was staggered at the number of places celebrating their New Year in January. By the time I'd covered the twelve months it would be 2012! So, New Year's Resolutions... I've never been a resolution person. Eat less (will have to avoid Aldi's melting moments!) Exercise more (so boring and predictable!) Something radical then... my mind leaps to countless adventures I could take - but then I'm reined back in by the responsibilities of mortgages, bills and general life faced by people in their 30's.

How about... spend more time with the people who are important to me... compliment people, whenever I see the opportunity... and... smile - often, readily, with my eyes...

Here's my adaptation of someone else's resolutions (Maybe, I should resolve to write my own poetry!)

My New Year's Resolutions I will not throw the cat out the window Or put a frog in my sister's bed I will not tie my brother-in-laws's shoelaces together Nor fall from the roof of my shed I shall remember my mum’s next birthday And tidy my house once a week I'll not moan at the mailman (Ugh! It’s bills again!) Nor give my neighbour more of my cheek. I will not pick my nose if I can help it I shall fold up my clothes, brush my hair, I will say please and thank you (even when I don't mean it) And never spit or shout or even swear. I shall write each day in my diary Try my hardest to be helpful at work I shall help old ladies cross roads (even if they don't want to) And when others are rude I'll stay cool. I'll go to bed with the owls and be up with the larks And close every door behind me I shall squeeze from the bottom of every toothpaste tube And stay where trouble can't find me. I shall start again, turn over a new leaf, leave my bad old ways forever shall I start them this year, or next year shall I sometime, or .....?

Adapted from a poem written by Robert Fisher

http://www.newyearfestival.com/new-year-poems

A Stranger Passed By

A Stranger Passed By

I ran into a stranger as he passed by. "Oh, excuse me please" was my reply. He said, "Please, excuse me too, Wasn't even watching for you." We were very polite, this stranger and I. We went on our way and we said good-bye. But at home a different story is told, How we treat our loved ones, young and old. Later that day, cooking the evening meal, My daughter stood beside me very still. When I turned, I nearly knocked her down. "Move out of the way," I said with a frown. She walked away, her little heart broken at how harshly I had spoken. While I lay awake in bed, God's still small voice came to me and said, "While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use, But the children you love, you seem to abuse. Look on the kitchen floor, You'll find some flowers there by the door. Those are the flowers she brought for you. She picked them herself, pink, yellow and blue.

She stood quietly not to spoil the surprise, And you never saw the tears in her eyes. "By this time, I felt very small, and now my tears began to fall. I quietly went and knelt by her bed; "Wake up, little girl, wake up," I said. "Are these the flowers you picked for me?" She smiled, "I found 'em, out by the tree. I picked 'em, because they're pretty like you. I knew you'd like'em, especially the blue. I said, "Daughter, I'm sorry for the way I acted today; I shouldn't have yelled at you that way." She said, "Oh, Mom, that's okay. I love you anyway." I said, "Daughter, I love you too, And I do like the flowers, especially the blue."

I was looking for something to use at Toastmasters tomorrow night. I have to read or say something inspirational. I can relate to this one. I know, working with children every day, that there are times when I probably do this. To my credit, I do know when I am wrong and always acknowledge my mistakes to the little person involved. Tomorrow, I'll try especially hard to notice the blue flowers.

http://www.rogerknapp.com/inspire/strangerpassed.htm