Third World War?

Tony Abbott has determined that Australia is due to attend the war against the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL) “death of cult”, rampaged throughout Iraq and Syria. Abbott has said 600 defence subjects will attend, based in United Arab Emirates, behind 8 Australia fight planes. The frenzy is against the Islamics who have already killed hostages - UK and USA people. By his recent speech Abbott has given very little information for normal people to understand it. This is a war which has been labelled “third world war” by other people interviewed. This war is not realist, and we need to understand some of the Islamic and why the “third world war” is coming. 

Islam was born around 570 BC, with Muhammad named the Prophet. Many Muslims said that Islam had happened many years before, from the part of Adam and with many people before and after Jesus’ history. Most of its civilization occurred in Middle East, spreading to the East, into Spain, Asia, and down India and Africa. Wikipedia says “The people of the Islamic world created numerous sophisticated centers of culture and science with far-reaching mercantile networks, travelers, scientists, hunters, mathematicians, doctors and philosophers”, making it sound pretty good. But the present deepest Islam has, for many years, attempted to take over its control throughout war, in advance against Western countries. While some Western civilizations have stayed ahead, the Islam religion is moving on. It now has domination finance against many Western residents, including major handling of oil and other goods, especially with strategy overtaken in Kurdish-controlled northern Iraq, Turkey and Jordan.  

The First World War was from 28 July 1914 until 11 November 1918, predominantly throughout Europe, but later spread through Africa, Middle East, Pacific Islands, China and off the coast of South and North America. World War Two, the Second War World during 1939-1945, was larger, due in part that most

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people were ahead on technology and were able to use it against the enemy. This war spread throughout the world, after Hitler in Europe and Japanese in the Pacific against China and America, but was ultimately won by western USA and UK. 

This current conflagration in ISIL is now called the “Third War World”, seen by Giles Fraser in The Guardian on Saturday 13 September. It is not something anyone ordinary wants. It is not something anyone ordinary wants to fight. Nor does someone ordinary wants Islam or any religion to take over our own future by viciousness. 

Many Australian residents are not religious. We have, for a long time, thrown away the Jesus religion, and have recently learned about the way religious people maintained sexuality against children who were unable to stop what happened. Recently many Islam people now live in Australia, but they are still hanging onto their Islam. It’s still not at all good for Australians, and some of the habituate living stays hidden for many women who are beleaguered – including FGM, female general mutilation. 

With the war growing in ISIL, there are some Islamics from Australia who have left Australia to go fight there – and not with Australia Defence. However there are a great number of Islamics who support Australia and will still say what they have to, like Glenn Mohammed on 29 August, who said clearly “I am an Australian, I am a Muslim. I am an Australian Muslim.” Many Australian Muslims no longer accept the violence in the Middle East territory, where, at one time, many of them have been refugeed during Islam wars. It’s a very straight overview, yet Abbott’s corrosity cuts into it. Abbott will tell us all why he is talking and some of what he believes in, yet mostly no one wants the Third World War with us involved. 

Is the Third World War real? Will it grow faster, like computers and books and phones and TV in this highly technological enterprise? Are we responsible for it? Will it treat us at all like 9-11 in USA? Is there a terrorism in Australian that we will always miss – before it gets us?

These days I feel pretty old. I have a lost job caused by male managers. I had two marriage envisaged against two rather lower males. The Australian PM is male – and not very good to listen or see. Most of the Aussie government is male. Islam is primarily male. Christian religion is primarily male. Many men “work” in the Defence. Most men handle weapons.  Most men injure women. The future, to me, is no better than it was when I was little. In fact, it’s much, much lesser. What is really good for women?

Is there a Third World War starting in the Middle East? I can just hope that it never starts. And that men will change their minds, about life.

Not like an 'old' meeting

When I was admitted to PA Hospital earlier this year for my brain aneurysm (270-ish something days since CT’d it) I was just thinking of the ‘usual’ operation for this sort of thing discovered by ’normal’ people. I was only expecting around 5 days in hospital, getting out early, only 3 months my driver’s licence was medically suspended, then back to normal life. I had no idea what happened to me in my surgery. Sometimes I feel like I was cut open wrong, I bled, and I have my own future problem. I spent 6½ weeks in PA. I have now been out of PA for 3 months, have had some OT and Speech therapists, and still have at least another 3 month before I can even start driving again – if I pass my assessment.

Today I attended an invitation by my new Health Service, Redcliffe, to the North Lake Health Service meeting about stroke, run by the Community Based Rehabilitation Team (CBRT). I had to work out how the buses would get up there, and caught the 690 into Redcliffe and swapped to 680 for a drop off at North Lake. I reached the Health Service half an hour early and was given directions to local cafés where I could get my lunch. There only seemed to be two smallish cafés within walking of the hospital, but I had a long afternoon meeting after my 1¼ hour bus and I was hungry.

Taking a small long black back across the road and into the large meeting room was – for me – essential. We would have afternoon tea provided but later, after another 2½ hours.

The group attending was fairly large, most of the people who have had a stroke appeared to be there with their partners. I was on my own, but didn’t feel left out as the people who sit beside me chatted to me. Our first host speaker was from CBRT and introduced a whole raft of information for the ‘experienced’ strokers and the partners and a video info which she played for us. We received the Stroke Foundation booklet. Did you know what caused a stroke? One was “a blocked artery”, called an ischaemic stroke. The other was “a bleed in the brain”, known as a haemorrhagic stroke. The booklet said: “This causes blood to leak into the brain… stopping the delivery of oxygen and nutrients” and “…can be caused by a number of disorders which affect the blood vessels, including… cerebral aneurysms.”  This is what I suffered from during my aneurysm operation.

Sometime during my post-operation I was asked, at PA, if I would be interested in Aphasia Association. I was given a few of business cards which I could have handed out if I was having problems with my words. These have stayed in my bag and just didn’t get used. I never really had any info about them, until today. The CBRT gave a lot of info about that association to the meeting, and it sounds certainly worthwhile for ringing and getting some answers. Sometimes I think of myself as being okay with my words, but most days, when I talk to others, I realise I am a long way behind my original speech.  It’s very frustrating.

Before our afternoon tea the chap who was introduced was, three years after his stroke, speaking about his speech deficit. Whenever he forgot what he had tried to say I was reminded about myself. I could feel my tears running down, as I felt frustrated that I was in this same psych problem. This guy drives and rides his Harley now. I am hoping I will pass my assessment. Three months to go, please let me be okay!

This CBRT has reminded me of my history and my lost future. This week, the 8-14 September, is a National Stroke Week set up by Stroke Foundation. The meeting provided us all with a whole heap of writing: “Know the signs of stroke”, “High cholesterol and stroke”, “Take the challenge”, “Call to action – Fight Stroke”, “Do you know your stroke risk”, and “Information sheet- Dream, Believe, Achieve – the Stroke Self Management Program”. Aphasia also included an advertisement and a sheet that said “10 Things people with Aphasia would like you to know”. This stuff is definitely good for everyone needing to know, even if you don’t have a stroke or know someone who has had it.

Whatever I end up with, I need to thank the CBRT and Aphasia and, generally, all therapists who have worked with me. Whatever I have to succeed in the future, I guess I will just have to do whatever I can do. It’s mine. Anyone can offer.

Cold? Why?

Isn't it Spring yet? I thought it was on 1st September, a date which just happened to be just a few days before the Redcliffe Festival, scheduling the Springtime. It's not made up. It's usually a wonderfully bright, warm day. Most years. Or is that something else I have forgotten after my aneurysm?

This morning I walked my dogs down to the Woody Point Bramble Bay walk, and I already knew it would be cool (cold) outside, so I wore my jacket and a long sleeved jersey and a neck scarf. Just as well. Maybe I have been sent to a "poor day" discipline, but I was a little concerned that so many walkers didn't wear what I was wearing to stay warm. Is there some sort of resident lives shared with long-lived residents?

I seem to have a long memory of Inala, and yet I only lived there for 16 months. I seemed to walk most days, and I was over it. There was, often, dried grass throughout the streets, from what seemed to be no more rain. Winter was cold, but didn't seem to clandestinely invade my skin with low temperature. I just used 2 heaters in the house, and seemed to keeping everything at a "normal" heat. Now, at Woody Point, I seem to be colder than ever before, and I don't like it. When the heat comes out I love it, and will walk most of the time. Yet when it loses temperature, I seem to be growing something I haven't had for a while - a cold.

I worked as a volunteer in the Redcliffe KiteFest in the Clontarf park, Pelican Park, last weekend. Saturday was great, to start with, and I even started an hour before I had been registered. I had a wander around the festival before I started, and some ground-crawling kites took my eye although they never actually "raced". Many of the girl children seemed to turn up dressed in the princess clothes or fairy clothes, something which I'm afraid I actually object to because I don't see those clothes as true "real" clothes for the girls alone.

I spent the day taking coffee orders, food orders, ice creams (no chocolate...). It was very busy, up until 3pm. Then there was a change, with a very strong off-bay wind which was coming straight into our cafe. Most people now just wanted something hot, and most of those customers didn't buy ice creams. I left the cafe as I had become very tired. Night was okay, not quite so cold.  On Sunday I got up and headed back to the KiteFest, but I only made 2 hours before I realised I was over-tired from.... the breeze? 

Perhaps I have just over-seen Woody Point, and now I need to s-l-o-w d-o-w-n to admire it. 

I said goodbye to my visiting sister last Friday and this week I have 3 appointments - one with North Lake CBRS to look over at help they could offer me, one to vollie as temp at the PAA, and my usual speech therapy at Redcliffe. I haven't work out yet if 3 coming appointments are too many. Perhaps I'm just too "good" for the medical team... I will have to work that out!

Redcliffe with Market Hearts

Earlier this year, before my brain aneurysm surgery, I had become involved with Climate Channel, Get Up, Fight for the Reef, March Against Australia, and most of anything that I felt up with and could help with. Just today there was planned on being another march in Brisbane, and I had determined to join it. Unfortunately my day time has slowed right down, and sometimes I find it very difficult to arrange to get a bus then a train to get into CBD. It seems to works some days, but not every day.

So this day made me decide to stay at home, especially getting back into bed if I became extra tired. I chose to visit the Redcliffe day market, and then return home as soon as I’d spent enough time there. It was a lot easier to do, just catch a short bus there and back.

The market certainly got into me. I love markets – I’d previously visited Rocklea quite a few times, visited Wynnum, walked through the Gold Coast market in the evening, hopped around whatever I found on my old holidays. It was lovely. Redcliffe is its own panther, with a huge amount of purring to set the visitor just right. There were a whole lot of market holders and a whole different lot of who held what. From veges to soap stalls, female clothing to wooden ornaments, kids rainbow coloured clothes to takeaway food. I found a lovely women’s clothing stall which had 2 for $10 – oh yes, I could just pay that for something for me! I talked to the stall holder and found out that she was from Woody Point. Perhaps I will meet her another day.

There were still at least a couple of music herds. I’d got pretty wrapped in what I’d heard, but I’d just spent a wee bit for a Futurizms CD from Matt James which is very musical and caught my ear.

Within the stall market there were a few dogs, all different breeds – some special – but simply on their leash, listening to their owner rather than pulling to meet other people. I know my Jordie would have pulled against me, she feels like a pretty popular dog! Some of the stalls sell pet stuff but previously I’d been into the actually pet shop, just around the corner from the new Woolworths. I didn’t really need to buy anything for dogs - mine would just eat!

Redcliffe has a street which is used just for pedestrians at these markets, but there are other things along the side which people can read about and touch. I found a wonderful presentation, described as “Apparatus for Non-destructive Transmission of Biological Visualisation (ANTVB)”. I didn’t look through it as there were a number of people choosing to do so, but the expression says “Miraculously, the machine still contains a projected image of a strange creature captured over 80 years ago. Is this evidence of existence of an underwater world which he believed was populated by mermaids?” Who knows – does it? This large, amazing NTV is something right real out of our own reality.

Still there are plenty of real cafes in the real estate behind the markets, on the street which is only allowed until 2pm for pedestrians, not vehicles. Most of them are pretty full, with food designed slightly more price than the market food stall dealers, but sitting in the shade with a late breakfast and a coffee is just what I needed to do. I found a seat inside, looking outside. So much to just watch and be entertained.

After a meal I walked down to the Redcliffe jetty, which I still remembered from our Ulysses motor bike around this area. It’s 6 or so years since I’ve been here, but it has grown of population, even on the jetty or on the beach or in the adjoining playground. No-one really knows whether or not people will be drawn away if there are no markets, but the basic busy day is certainly a lot different than the overall sleepy populace years ago.

Today was so summer-like, yet spring doesn’t start until tomorrow – and is celebrated next weekend by Redcliffe from Woody Point to the other side of Redcliffe. Next weekend I’ll work in the KiteFest celebration in Clontarf, neighbor to Woody Point. I reckon that will be just about as wonderful as Redcliffe has been today.

Moving on...

Moving to Woody Point in north shore of Brisbane was a wonderful life location handed to me. With a few days and nights of wet, I shrugged my shoulders at that and waited for sunshine days. They didn’t make me wait too long, they came into my life. The rental house might never have been great, but it was homely, happy, and so close to the beach. I have sighed in realise that this place is so different than where I have lived previously in Brisbane. I love it.

Many years ago I would ride my Ulysses group around the Woody Point road, out to Redcliffe, further out. The road has a Dugong road sign, and there is nothing to disagree with that. Now I live in Woody Point, mastered by the Dugong road sites.

I’ve only been here for 2 weeks, but it’s just wonderful. Next door neighbours are wonderful – not just next door, but people up the street who are introducing themselves. I haven’t had that in…. years, not in Brisbane!

The beach walk is perfect for dogs, especially old dogs who don’t walk fast. When the sun rises in the morning across the long sea, the air becomes warm and calls me for observation. In good mornings there are no hard winds, just wonderful warm air for walking dogs – or self. 

Today I watched some kayak rowers rowing from the opposite side to the open ocean. There were planes flying in to the airport, across the bay. Some ships cruised in slowly to the unloading dock also across the bay. A few days ago I took the extra walkway around to the Gayundah wreckage at almost the front of Woody Point. It’s almost sad to look at it, but it’s very old. A few days ago a young couple took advantage of the tide out, and climbed around the ship wreck to take photos.

Looking out from the road, out over the beach and the walk path, is a good feeling. I walked my dogs down there, they love it. I can unleash one old girl and leave her walking slowly behind while I take the other – slightly better old guy - faster. There are quite a few of other people, some with other dogs. No-one abuses my dogs, most will say hello to both me and chaps. This morning I saw a German Shepherd running around in the water, loving it. Smaller dogs walked so well along the beach or the road.

Last night I walked my dogs down to the inner bay, knowing that the old fella would love walking in the water. Oh yes, he did! He gets a wee bit frustrated that the old girl, on leash, is so slow, so much more than him. He pulls every day, so if I can unleash her, he gets a bit more of excess freedom.  

There’s a lot of sociality to get used to in Woody Point – cafes, hairdressers, Aus Post, pub restaurants (and some pool tables), croquet club, kayak yacht, fishers out on the jetty, lots of kids in the playground on the beach. If I get tired of that, I can bus or walk 2kms up the road to Margate. Warm days make the walk seem the best – although I know that middle summer will be a little too hot.

If I don’t need to buy anything at Margate, I would be best to catch a bus a further couple of kms to Redcliffe – at Woody Point it’s signed on the beach road as being 4kms. That’s not far to walk, if you’re used to it. Redcliffe was a stop on my Ulysses group bikes, but I thank that group with learning some history about Redcliffe. Now days not able to work gives me a feeling of belonging in this area. I never had that, but who understands the true history?

Two weekends away will be the Redcliffe Festival, shared right down at Woody Point and Clontarf, with the kite experience at Pelican Park just as last year. I met that kite expo last year with a few Meetup people, who travelled out here and enjoyed the fullness in the park. This year I’ll be working it – volunteering as a barista. Oh yeah! There are so many activities in the Redcliffe Festival that, if I feel like it, I can check out what’s happening and get a bus up there. Just Woody Point is going to get fuller than a day time of life!

I have a long future, building myself up, restructuring after my surgery and stroke, but now living in Woody Point is so good. Wish me the best, friends.

When women were warriors

"Death is our destiny, and nothing matters. In the depths of the abyss the end of all things lies. Death is too small a word. It is annihilation ... of everything that lives and of the world itself. In the end the whole world will fall." - Catherine M Wilson, "When Women Were Warriors"

Before my hospital stay I was writing. Nearly two years ago my past history had deeply desolate me, and I wrote www.itsokaytobeangry.com and, later, www.reibus.com.au. In Reibus I used some description about words, and it wasn't until I read this again, after leaving PA, that I felt okay about writing poems, stories and even manuscripts. However, since coming home I couldn't write what I wanted, let alone be able to do what I wanted. I finally wrote a poem about my feelings. I didn't feel like a Warrior.

Late story

If you're awake, let me tell you all about
how I am feeling, how I am living it out
And how I can't talk most of the time -
just rolling my life in the wasted grime
If you're awake, let me tell you of all my life;
you'll listen, I'm sure, without your reply
You'll nod your head, you'll look at me,
you'll make a 'tsk' or 'oh dear' or 'gee'
Then you'll turn and go when I can't leave
from my own house; it's frustrating, believe
If you're awake, let me tell you how much
it's not fair in my life when I can't seem to touch
It's awful, and hard, and makes me feel
so silly, so stupid, no obvious 'real'
When I'm at home on my own, I find it so
much easier to be alone, be unable to go
I don't want to blame you, you're okay, just cool -
carry on and live your own life, no rules
Me? I'm okay to be on my own
I just say that, because you have to be gone
I have no history, I thought I remembered,
but this time it's disappeared, backed off, tempered
If you're awake, let me tell you about my past
because it's gone; I have no recent to last

I felt complete about this, even though I have had up and down feelings.  When I feel very dispirited I can understand everything that I included in my poem. When I am high - having good, positive thoughts - I can deal with my poem, because it's real. Sometimes, then, I feel that I am a Warrior!

Today I have written a very short story, which is about a women who is questioning her medical letter. This subject is so close to me, but I think I'm just a bit too timid. Am I a Warrior? Perhaps one day...

No alcohol

No alcohol, she was told. It was not compliant with her medical prescription. She was told.

Or at least, she was told in her medical letter. Patients were “advised to abstain from alcohol” until their own doctor allowed them to drink.  Trouble was, this had come since 1950. Into 2000. Now 2014. Surely that wasn’t right? She’d checked out some websites, found out what she thought, found some truth.

She looked at one of the bottles which had sit in her cabinet since before she went into hospital for whatever she had had to put up with. What was it – some surgery? Oh yeah. With a mistake. Leading her into some lock ward. Kept her for too long, and no-one really wanted to release her. But she’d finally talked herself out of there.

She looked again at the bottle. It seemed to talk nicely to her. “Open me, girl. Have a drink, I’m sooooo good!” She smiled. She knew. And besides, her letter was – supposedly – only “recommendations”. Was this alcohol, small, not often, to repeat patient conditions? She thought not.

She unscrewed the bottle lid and took a deep breath of the scent of the red wine. Oh yes, it was sooooo good. Why would that be non-compliant with her medicals? She wasn’t even on medicals. Now. She’d stopped them a couple of weeks ago, and felt so much better now than she had been when she was on them. She pulled out her medical discharge letter again. “Do not consume alcohol for a minimum of two years.” Why? What would alcohol do to her body which some stupid surgeon had done? He’d made her un-wrong, un-normal, sort of…. different. Why would her alcohol be some real enemy? Wasn’t he?

She fetched a glass out of her cupboard, a proper wine glass, large.  She poured half way into it and sat it in front of herself. She didn’t feel completely good, as if she was doing some bad practice. After all, wasn’t she doing something that her letter told her not to do? Or wasn’t this not illegal?

This was silly though. She wasn’t really taking any medicals, especially not the stuff that was supposed to interfere with her whether or not she was going to drink. So if she wasn’t on medicals, why couldn’t she drink? Occasionally. Once or twice a week.

She picked up the glass, smelled inside it, felt good. She breathed deeply, taking the smell deep into her lungs, licked her lips, tipped the glass just a tiny bit. Until she got a small sip. Oh, that tasted so good, felt so good, casted away her memory of her letter. She rolled the sip around her mouth, over her teeth, down her throat. She closed her eyes, breath deeper. She remembered her wine, drank so well. Now again.

She was doing the “okay” thing. Yes, she thought. She put her recliner out and listened to her music, while she had a – small – glass. Only one.

One day, perhaps, I will be a Warrior. I'm pretty sure that would be okay for me.