2013 Balance Sheet

Credits

• Having my oldest friend assure me (apropos of nothing) that she believes in me. 
• Having another friend still be here, when a year ago it seemed that another Easter would be impossible, let alone another Christmas.
• Seeing another medical student mentoree graduate as a doctor with a very bright future.
• Watching former medical students progress in their careers with confidence and aptitude.
• Having 3 new dogs come into my life, even though one lasted only six weeks (RIP dear Wynny - see below). 
• Finding out what it's like to take on rescued dogs - a lot to learn on both sides, but immensely rewarding.
• Discovering the joys of training a receptive and very entertaining puppy (daughter of my Mukela RIP - see below).
• Finding the perfect new home for "Lurlene", my treasured 1957 Holden car.
• Receiving heartfelt and treasured support from unexpected quarters during a time of great personal distress.
• Having a UK artist ask to use a photo of my rescued racer Rosie for her portfolio/gallery of oil paintings. And who could blame her - what a picture of serenity:

Debits

• Losing yet another friend (after the two last year), but in this case her death was what she wanted. RIP Julie - forever "DJ" in my thoughts.
• Losing two more dogs (after Thika's death in 2012). My dear old boy Mukela died a month or so after his daughter came to join us, and my first foster greyhound Wynny died just 6 weeks into a normal life after her racing career, as a result of the drugs given to keep her winning. Pictures of those precious six weeks and her unforgivable end can be seen on her site: Drughound Racing. This banner was kindly made by an overseas Greyhound Rescue site:
  
• Missing out on the chance to teach medical students - one of my most favourite jobs ever.
• Being knocked off my feet for months by a completely unexpected personal attack which destroyed my self-confidence and sense of worth in an activity I had loved for more than 20 years.
• Finding out (like countless other naive people before me) that some people will always prefer rumours to truth, even at the expense of friendship and loyalty.
• Discovering that getting through a truly awful year does not mean there'll be a better one ahead. My hopes for 2014 are therefore very conservative: 
  

Racing Greyhounds - You Bet They Die

NB All credit for the sadly clever title goes to a number of greyhound advocacy sites such as Greyhound Action International. Another group very kindly made this wonderful "postcard".

With my elderly Rhodesian Ridgeback still mourning the death of his lifetime companion, as recounted in my end-of-2012 "balance sheet", I faced the choice of getting another dog to help his loneliness, or a dogless house once he passed on.
I decided on a whim to take the short-term option of fostering a rescue dog, and applied to an adoption agency for ex-racing Greyhounds. Soon afterwards, Wynny arrived, straight from the trainer's kennels.

A mere 7 weeks later, after a harrowing few days and nights for all three of us, she died from long-standing liver disease - yet another victim of the Greyhound racing industry.

A great many people followed her album/story on social media while she was with me, so I made a tribute site for everyone to see the personal story of one lovely Greyhound, together with some sobering facts about the abusive and greedy industry which killed her. In order to raise awareness, I've also included links to adoption, welfare and advocacy groups around the world.

RIP Wynny, dear dog.

I hope "Drughound Racing" can save even one of your fellow victims.

Are you like your house?

It's an old saying the some people look like their dogs, but I wonder how many people are like their houses?

I recently noticed how well my house reflects me - in summary, it is colourful and interesting, but often a bit messy.

Like me, it has a rather unusual history, despite looking pretty ordinary on the outside. It also has some entertaining quirks which are apparent only on closer acquaintance, and it has an unquestionably broad outlook.

But ... also like me, some areas are best ignored, it would certainly benefit from a lot more organisation, and there is always a long list of things which need fixing or improving, a list which never seems to get any shorter. Similarly, as with my own experiences, people either like it or scorn it, but they usually remember it.

On the other hand:

I know tidy, compact people who have houses with the same characteristics. Both they and their houses are neat, orderly, well-organised, clean, and well-maintained.

Other people and their houses are larger, rambling, slightly dishevelled, but comfortable and welcoming. They often have children all over the place.

Some houses and their owners are luxuriously appointed, with every modern accessory and convenience. Perhaps a little ostentatious in proclaiming their success, but frequently admired and envied.

Dark and mysterious houses often have similar owners - a bit threatening and possibly even dangerous. Forbidding appearances, largely hidden activities, often with lots of highly-visible protection.

Down-on-their-luck houses and owners frequently look unkempt, don't care about appearances, let everything just hang out, don't clean up, and are often a source of great annoyance for those nearby.

Houses and owners with aspirations to a better life often try too hard. Everything is just a little too well thought out, a bit false, somewhat incongruous. Perhaps even a little jarring or grating, even if we don't quite know why. They make us feel a bit uncomfortable, as if we are seeing more than they might wish.

A (thankfully) few people and their houses are so flamboyant, boastful and generally over-the-top that it is impossible to admire them, and very easy to ridicule. I'm sure they know and hate that, but too bad.

And finally, there's the reassuringly ordinary house and owner. One with no pretensions, no surprises, no fancy ideas - just solid, dependable, familiar, and safe. They don't make us feel inadequate or judgemental. They are just there, comfortable and welcoming, whenever we feel like visiting. If we know such people and houses, we are lucky.

The Point of No Return

The title refers to the recent failure of the "Return/Enter" key on my brand new MacBook Air, and although I would love to claim the credit for such an inspired but excruciating pun, in fact it was suggested by an online friend who may wish to remain nameless. ;-)

However, that was the only bright spot in a tedious exercise involving

1. Finding the Invoice to prove it is still in Warranty (no mean feat in itself).
2. Wondering why this is necessary when the machine was registered with Apple - what is the purpose of that if you still need to produce the paper copy?
3. Driving 40 minutes to the nearest "Authorised Apple Agent".
4. Getting a phone call the next day to say there is no indication that it is still under warranty.
5. Reminding them that they took a photocopy of the Invoice I provided.
6. Grinding teeth while they looked for it, and grimly accepting their apology when they found it.
7. Getting another phone call to say the key worked fine (subtext "Perhaps you are just a really stupid user?")
8. Explaining that I had provided detailed notes on the service form about the fact the key only started to fail after repeated use.
9. Grinding teeth again while they looked for the service form, and even more grimly accepting their apology when they found it.
10. Hoping they can actually find the problem.
11. Waiting, and waiting ... and still waiting. ("Estimated service time 3-10 working days.")

Meanwhile, of course, I am without my laptop. My shiny, undeniably gorgeous laptop. Above all, my expensive and new laptop. It does not seem right that through a succession of faults or errors on their part, I should be the one so inconvenienced and out of pocket.

But wait, there's more ...

Even more recently than my MacBook Air purchase, I paid Apple Store Australia a large sum of money for a new iPhone 3GS, which I bought outright to avoid the confusion of different plans. After a week or two it duly arrived, only to crush my expectations and delight by failing to pick up the wireless signal in my home, even when I stood directly in front of the modem, pointing furiously.

Another predictable sequence of events:

1. Ring Apple Australia service department.
2. Speak to friendly person in India who is terribly polite but completely unable to understand the problem.
3. Get transferred to a succession of equally polite but unhelpful people in India.
4. Finally reach someone who can actually help. Take a very deep breath and explain yet again, trying very hard indeed to be as polite as they are.
5. Told to send the iPhone back to Apple, wait several weeks until more are in stock, and then receive a replacement.
6. Explain that I need to have a mobile phone, so that is unacceptable.
7. Ask why I can't keep this iPhone to use as a mobile phone until new stock arrives.
8. Told that they will not even order a replacement until they get the broken one back, so the "only" way I can keep the phone in the meantime is to buy a second one, and when that arrives, return the first one for a refund.
9. Momentarily speechless.
10. Check that they actually mean for me to pay TWICE for a working phone, trusting them to refund one payment at some unspecified time in the future.
11. Yes.
12. Decide to accept this incredible "solution" rather than be without a phone for another month or more.

Forgive my rant, but I simply cannot see the "customer service" in all of this.

In both cases I have paid in advance for expensive items that I have to wait for, and then subsequently have to return at my own expense and inconvenience, due to problems entirely at Apple's end.

I've been a devoted Mac fan since the days of the old Apple II computer, and I still think they are wonderful machines, but their service seriously sux.

Bits and Bobs

Happy New Year everyone!

I've been assembling this post for a few days, and intended it to be a sort of "wrap-up" of incidental items at the end of 2008.

But as usual, my procrastinator gene came to the fore, so now this will have to be the first of 2009's witterings. 

Volunteering

In earlier posts I've mentioned my volunteer work with an adult literacy organisation, and I'm pleased to say that my student is making great strides. It's very rewarding to work with someone so motivated and with such clear goals, and I enjoy the challenge of making our lessons interesting and fun.

My role as a meta-editor in ODP/DMOZ continues to have its ups and downs, but my new policy of ignoring pretty much everything said or done by directory management seems to be working well. It was initially very difficult, because I am by nature respectful of authority, but such respect has to be earned, so I have found it surprisingly easy to ignore them and just carry on with what I enjoy.
It is sadly true that management indifference to the volunteer community continues to be the single biggest challenge to the project, but it is obvious that those of us who do care about this are not in a position to do anything about it. All we can do is work away in our chosen corners and try to hang on to what is still great.

Many thanks to Keith Tipton, who sent me a very insightful article entitled "Why Volunteers Quit". It should be required reading for DMOZ staff and Administrators, particularly the section called "How to Keep Volunteers" - an echo of my own comments early last year. 

Learning

In my yearly Christmas message to friends, I mentioned that by the end of this year I will have completed my Post-graduate Diploma in Forensic Medicine, but in response to further questions I have found it hard to explain what this entails. Thanks to numerous "forensic" TV shows, people get rather confused about all the different professions involved, and assume that I will be a forensic pathologist or a forensic scientist, whereas in fact those are completely different specialties, with separate training requirements and roles.

The Victorian Institute of Forensic Medicine explains that clinical forensic medicine is:

principally concerned with the provision of forensic medical services to the living and medical advice particularly in the investigation of crimes.

So what will I will be trained for?

The Monash University course handbook says:

On completion of the [Post-Graduate Diploma] it is expected that graduates should be able to demonstrate a range of skills and knowledge specific to the units that they have undertaken. They should be able to: provide competent clinical forensic medical services; clearly communicate medico-legal issues to the justice system; prepare effective and objective medico-legal reports; critically evaluate the ethical and legal issues arising in forensic medical practice, and Interpret wounds and injury patterns with particular reference to causation. 

However, the only jobs available in this field in Western Australia are in Custodial Medicine, which is not an area that appeals to me. So unfortunately it looks like this will be yet another interesting but unused qualification in my CV. I seem to collect them!

Teaching

Despite the absence of any formal feedback or performance review from last year, I have been offered another position as a clinical tutor at the University of Notre Dame Medical School, so I presume I did OK. I certainly enjoyed it, and so did my students, (who all passed their exams, yay!), so I'm greatly looking forward to meeting another group this year.

Home

A recent addition to the family is Emily the Emu, made by a local sculptor who is also the creator of my (unnamed) kangaroo.

My dogs are starting the year as they finished it, comfortable, asleep, and thoroughly spoiled (yes, they get the prime position in front of the fan).

Wishing you and your loved ones a happy and safe 2009!

On the up and up

As I've mentioned before, my natural tendency is to be a "glass half-empty" sort of person, so I've refrained from posting for a couple of weeks until my "bio-rhythms" (does anyone still believe in them?) return to the positive side, or my chakras re-align ... or whatever.* 

So today, for a change, I'm going to leave my latest exasperation with ODP/DMOZ until the very end of the post, and instead concentrate on  things which have lately made me remember that I am a lucky person.

1. I love where I live.

Kalamunda is an outer suburb of a big city, and might be nothing special except for the fact that each day I can go walking in natural forest and bushland just up the road, seeing native birds, animals, and wildflowers. 

Yesterday I walked for over an hour and a half without seeing anyone else, and yet scenes like are within a mile of my house.

True, it takes me an hour and a half to get to work, but that's only 2 days a week, after all, and trains are great for making a fidget like me sit still and actually read a book!

2. I enjoy my work (paid and unpaid)

My class of medical students are nearing their annual exams, and getting very anxious indeed about how much they have to learn. So for the past few weeks I've been giving them impromptu quizzes to show them that in fact they already know most of the material. It's been a cross between light relief and revision, because naturally, they all enjoy watching someone else having to act out a symptom or draw surface anatomy on themselves. This week they enthusiastically answered questions about blood results, tremor, and  Xray interpretation using coloured pens, scissors, butcher's paper and glue ..."Gen Y meets Play School".

One of my volunteer activities has been delayed for months due to an unfortunate administrative bungle, but last week the adult literacy tutor programme finally linked me with a student, and we begin our weekly lessons tomorrow. His main difficulty is with spelling and punctuation, so as one of Nature's inveterate typo-spotters and apostrophe police, I can hardly wait to get started. Fortunately, there are plenty of adult literacy resources on the internet, and I've already got some teaching material from the excellent BBC website.

3. The obligatory ODP/DMOZ whinge

On the whole, my strategy for enjoying the editing experience is working out OK. It's a lot more isolated than I like, and sadly I still hear too much about poor management and lack of respect for the volunteer community, but I learned a very painful lesson indeed, and no longer tilt at those windmills myself.
So in comparison to my ultimately futile indignation and deep disappointment at the way most of the volunteers are treated, today's comment is no more than a single raised eyebrow.

I'm puzzled to see that the much-heralded official DMOZ/ODP blog has become a succession of articles written by editors, when for many years there has been a publicly available, editor-produced ODP Newsletter chock-a-block with similarly worthwhile and informative pieces. Of course I completely support the wider publication of such efforts, as part of our ongoing efforts to make the directory better known and understood, but I thought the blog was meant to be something new.

Mind you, just over a year ago, the Editor-in-Chief promised weekly posts, so it has certainly been a relief to see more frequent entries, after many embarrassing months of silence. Perhaps the purpose of the blog has changed since it began, as AOL staffers have come and gone. Anyway, I'll now retreat under my Cone of Silence and resume my meditative chant. ;-)

Better still, I'll go and enjoy the late Spring sunshine in my back garden, eating mulberries from the tree and watching the honeyeaters on the grevilleas and kangaroo paws. 

*Personally, I blame the two long anaesthetics and the month of post-op complications, for the simple reason that it therefore becomes someone else's fault. ;-)

Pirates Ahoy!

Here's a cautionary tale for all those who enjoy one or more of the following: 

• gardening
  
• occasionally saying "arrrrrrr" in a silly voice
  
• watching Johnny Depp buckle his swash
  

On Saturday night I watched "Pirates of the Caribbean" for the first time (yes, I'm a little behind the times). I thoroughly enjoyed it, despite the irritating presence of the undeniably decorative but very over-rated Keira. 

I also admit to being a fan of the gloriously inane Talk Like a Pirate Day , and when in similarly silly company I have been known to utter a few salty expressions of my own. 

On Sunday I was indulging in a little light gardening to counteract some of the effects of a very enjoyable lunch with friends. In particular, I was continuing my personal attack on an invidious weed called bridal creeper:

"It is regarded as one of the worst weeds in Australia because of its invasiveness, potential for spread, and economic and environmental impacts. ... In South Australia and southwestern Western Australia bridal creeper is considered the most important weed threat to biodiversity."

One of the problems is its tendency to climb and smother native plants, and the dangling fronds of young grass trees make them ideal targets. I am lucky enough to have several of these extraordinary plants, and I am determined that they will not fall prey to the creeper. 

This photograph was taken in my garden - the "double-headed" grass tree on the left is about 2.5 metres high, and probably over 100 years old. The younger one is maybe 20-30 years old.

The weed is a tricky thing to kill, because of the tubers underground, so I gently disentangle it from the grass tree, spread it out on the ground, and then paint it carefully with a mixture of potent herbicide and kerosene. Even so, it keeps popping up year after year, so it's an ongoing battle.

The "leaves" of the grass tree are over a metre long, very stiff, and with needle-sharp tips. ... Can you see where this is heading?

Yes, while I was enthusiastically scrabbling around underneath, I managed to stab myself directly in the eye. Owww.

Being medically qualified unfortunately does not make a person sensible about seeking medical help, so I dug around in a box of ancient medication samples and found some extremely out-of-date eye drops. Not surprisingly, these didn't help at all, and by 9pm I realised I had to go to the emergency centre for "proper" examination and treatment.

Night driving with one eye is not to be recommended, but I made it without incident, was seen promptly (eye injuries are usually a priority) and was relieved to find that I had a deep scratch in my cornea but not a puncture. Lucky! So I was jabbed with an anti- tetanus booster, squirted with antibiotic ointment, fitted with a cheery eye patch, handed a small parcel of medication, and sent on my way. 

It's now Monday, and I'm sitting here in my patch, squinting sideways with my "good" eye at the screen, feeling a teeny bit sorry for myself, but managing (just) to resist the temptation to tie a black bandana around my head and don some gold hoop earrings.

Goodgodspe'd ferrr now, me hearties!

Just peachy

Now that I am able to clonk about on crutches in my giant metal boot thing (feeling like Frankenstein's monster), I have resumed my former computer position near the French doors at the back of the house.

These open out onto the deck with the home-made but very pleasant water course trickling past. We all enjoy sitting (or lying) here, particularly in the mornings before it gets hot.

There's an old peach tree here, that was close to death when I bought the house, but has responded to my inexpert but well-meaning efforts at pruning by being laden with fruit each year. Unfortunately the last few years the whole crop has fallen victim to fruit-fly, so this year I set aside my principles about not using toxins in the garden, and sprayed. It really should be done several times, but once was all I was prepared to do, and it certainly made a difference. There are still lots of fruit-flies, but only about half the crop is affected this time, leaving plenty for me to share with local birds, lizards and the dogs.

The tree is so close to my chair that I can take photos without staggering to my feet, which is just as well, because crutches are not a very effective way of stealthily approaching wildlife. I've uploaded some of my favourite photos from over the past 2 weeks, and they can be seen here.

This female Red-capped parrot has been particularly entertaining, because despite being perfectly able to feed herself, she maintains a constant plaintive chirping which eventually persuades her mate to fetch the best bits for her.
But an awful thing happened 3 days ago. She took off from the tree and flew straight into the glass of the kitchen window with a sickening noise. She flopped to the ground and was making pathetic efforts to fly, but unable to co-ordinate or gain height. By great good fortune the dogs were inside, so I hobbled out as quickly as I could to try to throw a towel over her so she didn't injure herself some more. She managed to lurch up into the tree, however, and I couldn't reach her. She was calling piteously for help and it was all very distressing. I watched her for ages as she sat there panting and crying, until something startled her and she flapped off in a very wobbly fashion. I did not expect to see her again, but to my huge delight I heard her petulant chirping yesterday and sure enugh, she was back, tucking into a peach with gusto. It made my week!

Stir Crazy

I was gently chided by a friend today for not having posted here more often, when I have had so little to do since breaking my leg nearly 7 weeks ago. A justified comment, because there have been a great many hours when I did very little except feel sorry for myself, or stare disconsolately out of the window, but as I am now at last able to move around (albeit haltingly, and on crutches), my horizons have expanded and mood has correspondingly improved.

The 4 weeks I spent confined to chair and house were a very unsettling glimpse into the lives of those who are not simply waiting for a bone to heal, but for whom such confinement is a permanent and usually involuntary condition. I was prepared for a certain amount of boredom and frustration, but not for the interminable dreariness of days spent completely inside.





However, I am very fortunate to have an expansive view, and even when confined to the couch for days on end, I was able to gaze out over the coastal plain to Perth city and beyond.




But in the mild start to summer that we have enjoyed, it was immensely frustrating not to be able to negotiate the previously unnoticed door frame and move out of the house and onto the verandah, let alone to manage the subsequent step down to the garden. To be thwarted by an obstacle no higher than a matchbox was as infuriating as it was instructive.
I'm sure those of you without problems walking will look at this picture and fail to see the problem. Believe me, I would have too, a couple of months ago.

I will be forever grateful to the friend who arrived on day 10, armed with a simple picnic lunch, and declared her intention of helping me get the wheelchair over this lintel, through the just-too-narrow doorway and out onto the verandah for an hour or so. The sense of release was intoxicating!
It was certainly a turning point, even though I could not go further than that, or indeed manage it unassisted, for another couple of weeks.

Dirty Deeds

I am a bit of a magpie when it comes to acquiring tidbits of information (usually useless), but I confess that an intimate understanding of the workings of a septic system was not even on my distressingly long list of Things I Still Need to Find Out. For those fortunate readers whose homes are connected to municipal waste water systems, the concept of actually keeping effluent on the premises must seem a little bizarre, but there are many places, even in technologically advanced countries, where this is a fact of life. However, the situation is usually not something we think about, and like most people my interest in the subject ends as soon as I flush.

Well, all that changed last week, when during the course of some fairly routine and minor bathroom renovations, the whole issue came (ahem) to the surface. Within the space of a day, the cost of the internal improvements was eclipsed by the unplanned expenses outside, my back yard and garden were transformed into a smelly version of a mining site, I was introduced to a whole new subculture, and I learned more than I really wanted to about post-flush events.

But fear not. I do not propose to share my new-found knowledge. The above account is merely to introduce the subject of yet another scam to which the innocent public can easily fall prey.
It goes like this:

1. Householder notices unpleasant smell (or worse) indicating the septic system may be malfunctioning.
2. Householder calls trusty plumber, whose exorbitant fees are more than justified by some of the jobs he has to do.
3. Trusty plumber fiddles around with long bendy rods, plungers, and other mysterious items and announces that "The system must be blocked". Householder nods nervously, thinking back over what could possibly have been introduced to the system to block it, and by whom.
   
4. Trusty plumber disappears into the garden and starts stabbing crossly at the ground until he eventually finds the long-buried concrete tank.
5. Said tank is then excavated (usually by apprentice plumber), with blithe disregard for any plants or paths in the vicinity.
6. Having refreshed himself with the householder's tea and cake while the apprentice worked, the plumber now rolls up his sleeves, lifts the lid off the tank and investigates.
   
7. The householder, faint with horror and embarrassment at what might be discovered, has retreated to a quiet darkened room to await the verdict.
8. Plumber returns, wiping hands ineffectually on dirty rag, and announces "I found the problem. Your tank's full. You need to get it pumped out as soon as possible - I'll arrange it if you like." Weak with gratitude at not being invited to come and see for themselves, the householder accepts.
9. Huge smelly truck duly arrives the following day, a long wide-bore hose is unfurled, and distressingly graphic noises over the next hour or so indicate that the household waste is finally leaving the property.
10. The large account is promptly paid by the grateful householder, who is then left to spend the rest of the day re-burying the tank and trying to restore the garden.
    
11. Repeat every few years as required.

So where's the scam? It's brilliantly simple, and relies completely on points 7 and 8 above. Sublimely confident that no householder in their right mind will actually want to look at a tank of effluent, the plumber can claim that the tank needs emptying, and then cheerfully pocket the "consideration" passed to him by the tank-emptying man whose services were not, in fact, required at all.

Here are the true facts, which I learned from someone who opted out of this lucrative arrangement:

• Provided the system is working correctly, a septic tank for a 2-person household should not need to be pumped out any more frequently than every 10-15 years if at all. For a larger household, the interval may be as short as 5-7 years, but no more often than that. So now you know.

Be brave, breathe through your mouth, and go look for yourself. You might have to find a new plumber, but you'll save a lot of money, and you'll have struck a welcome blow for Honesty.