Flooded in

How being flooded-in and FaceBook-less enhance life.

A couple of times a year, the usually placid Barron River is swollen by a tropical deluge, and becomes a swirling brown torrent.

So also today.

About 300 millimetres of rain fell in the last two days, and the catchment was already sodden from the 500 millimetres that fell earlier in the month.

The only road into and out of our little village is cut.

Nowhere to go.

Nothing to do.

All day to do it in.

It’s like not having FaceBook. A sea of time and opportunity opens up.


Groups of locals stand around near the water to knowledgeably discuss time and tide.

Whose will be the first vehicle to be washed off the road?


School’s out, no teachers today.


The one and only shop in the village does a roaring trade.


Couples and families are strolling, seemingly aimlessly, inspecting the water.

Will it come into the house?


Slowly the tide that held back the torrent from the mountain is dropping.

One or two risk the road.

Soon the bus will come again, and life will be as it was.



I’m sticking to it.

No FaceBook.

House in the rising sun

A play on words for us oldies: a hit by the Animals in 1964. A new house being built along our beach reflecting a glorious sunrise, framed by my favourite trees: she-oaks or casuarinas.

So Long, Harry

One of my guiding lights, the Dutch theologian Harry Kuitert, died this week, aged 92. This was one of his favourite poems.

When spring arrives,
If I’m already dead,
The flowers will flower in the same way
And the trees will not be less green than last spring. Reality doesn’t need me.

It makes me enormously happy
To think that my death is of no importance whatsoever.
If I knew that I would die tomorrow
And that spring was the day after tomorrow,
I would die happy, because spring was the day after tomorrow.
If that is its time, why should it come at some other time?
I like everything to be real and to be right,
And I like it that way because that’s how it would be even if I didn’t like it.
And so, if I die now, I’ll die happy,
Because everything is real and everything is right.

You can pray in Latin over my coffin, if you like.
If you like, you can sing and dance in a circle around it. I have no preferences for when I can no longer have preferences.
What will be, when it is, is what it will be when it is.

Fernando Pessoa
7 November 1915

No Boundary

I can’t paint.

But if I could, I would paint thick strokes, outrageous colours, boundary-less swirling energy, with perhaps one feature in focus, all bathed in the most surreal light.

It would be the world before the word, before the concept, before the boundary, before I, before non-I.

The All as it was created. Before ‘God said’.

The wind of Spirit hovering over the chaos.

Chaos as that wind, billowing into what we have learnt to call ‘this and that’ , ‘you and I’.

That is what I would, if I could.

Every Valley

When you’re a diabetic, you’re always on the lookout for other members of the Dead Pancreas Society. Including those members no longer with us. Like the famous composer Georg Friedrich Händel. Definitely a D. He even composed a choral hymn to the diabetic’s holy grail: flatlining blood glucose.

“Every valley exalted, hills laid low, crooked straight, rough places plain.”

You get the idea. In my mind’s eye I can see him conducting the Messiah, syringe for baton, glucose monitor for metronome. 😉 Read More

Fairy Land

Bi-annual review this week. All results from an extensive battery of tests are in the normal healthy non-diabetic range, including A1c at 5.8% and total cholesterol at 3.3 mmol/L. 

Only another diabete and their loved ones would understand the hard work that goes into a result like this: the discipline, the diet (vegan plant based whole food high carb low fat), the exercise (1,000 km cycling, 200 km walking each month). All this means I require only 5-7 units of basal insulin per day, no bolus.

I have a sense of achievement.

The endo’s response?

“Your A1c is too low, your carb intake is too high, and your lifestyle is extreme”.

On Receiving

Getting a present for one’s birthday is precarious business. A control freak’s nightmare!

Will they remember to send a present? Will it be a two word text message a week after the event? Will they remember my birthday? Will they even remember me?

Perhaps that is why the Master taught: “It is more blessed to give than to receive”.

He was wrong. 😇

The photo is the reflection of the dawn of another gloriously gratuitous day in the windows of a local beach shack.

Very special. Like the pair of socks I may or may not get. 😁


Adam and Steve

Margaret Court says that Adam should not be able to marry Steve.

That would contravene God’s Word, better known as the Bible.

Margaret Court is a woman.

Margaret Court is the pastor of a church.

That too contravenes God’s Word.

Putting the fun back into fundamentalism😂!

Home 5 – Away 28

Never a dull moment in the life of a type 1 diabetic. No matter how strictly one sticks to the routine, some factors can’t be guessed at, let alone controlled.

My 87 year old father survived a heart attack recently. Wonderful news! Impeccable timing too, a week before his and mother’s usual minders leave on a seven week world tour. Read More

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