Marguerite
Active Member
G'day, people.
I'm making my way to putting the past couple of weeks' problems in perspective. No need for details; besides, it would cause me difficulties and possible identification by the people who have caused the pain. But basically, I did a favour (a financially valuable one) for some people but because the boss of the group didn't feel sufficiently in control, things went pear-shaped and I got scapegoated, accused of being dishonest. I got independent opinion from experts in my industry who verified that I was not the problem, but it was no go. More vicious things were said and I was doing my utmost to not retaliate but to maintain dignified silence before severing my ties.
The worst is over, I never need to deal with these people again. Also, it's clear that any nasty things they've said aren't going to be believed by anyone that matters. But still - I realised tonight that I'm like someone who has been attacked by a knife-wielding thug in a dark alley. I'm in hospital, patched up, stitched and bandaged. I know I'm safe now, but there has been an assault and I'm still in shock, needing time to recover. OK, metaphorically. But I'm still shaky.
So this evening while difficult child 3 was having his tennis lesson, I wandered around the parkland beside the tennis courts. I was looking for white cockatoo feathers so I could use them in my Melbourne Cup Day hat (an annual Aussie tradition). The Rainbow Lorikeets were noisy, flying back to their nesting holes in the ends of dead branches. One very big Angophora (aka blood gum) had a hollow at the end of a thick branch and I saw a pair of Lorikeets taking turns watching, and going into their nest. It's definitely nesting time here now. I found it very peaceful to walk around the trees. I went over to the big Angophora to try to see what I could of the birds' nest. I spent quite some time just ambling around the trees.
Tennis finished, I had offered to drive the tennis coach home (her car had run out of fuel). We were just locking the gates when I heard a cracking sound. A large dead branch at the top of the Angophora broke off - I was glad I hadn't been standing underneath, also glad it didn't fall towards the tennis court.
Then, before the dead branch had landed, we heard another loud cracking sound that just kept on going. Incredibly loud - the coach said, "It's the whole tree!"
And it was - the entire tree, about 2 metres in diameter, was toppling over, ripping off the base at ground level. I was only about 6 metres away from the tree at the time. VERY glad I hadn't been walking where I had been so recently, it would have been difficult to get out of the way. The tree was so huge with such a wide branch spread, that trying to escape would have been difficult. And the tree had looked perfectly OK, I'd been admiring that very tree! However, I could smell the mould spores, a distinct mushroom smell, and see how branches that looked perfectly sound were almost completely hollow.
The birds - they seemed to have escaped, flown out of teir hollow before the fall. Their nesting hollow had been split open and I could see egg shell. But it was old shell, not freshly broken. Each shell was smaller than my thumb joint. No other sign.
People had heard the mighty crash and come running. It was awe-inspiring. I showed them the split nest hollow (it had been a wonderfully big nest, several metres deep into the tree) and a man put his arm in the hollow to feel. He found a tiny hatchling, the size of alarge marble. Then another. We checked the egg shells - only two eggs. The chicks seemed uninjured but very young. It was still only a few minutes since the tree had fallen so I took the babies to our local wildlife rescue person. Both chicks were snuggled together in the palm of one cupped hand.
The wildlife officer thinks they're about five days old and is going to try to raise them. She's pulled off some miracle saves before - a baby Pygmy POssum which was only 5 g in size when she got it, is her proudest acievement. She put the chicks immediately on a warming pad. Baby Rainbow Lorikeets are fairly easy to feed, there is a commercial mix like baby cereal which even the adults will get stuck into.
I drove the tennis coach home and barely got home myself before it was time to go back out to choir. I really didn't want to go to choir - sometimes itfeels like hard work with little reward. But tonight I feel like we've had a brakthrough - there were six of us there, the maximu number. And they said to me, "This way or learning is much better for us, I feel so much more confident. And I like the music we're doing now."
I had been feelnig discouraged because they seem to have been so resistant to instruction and trying to learn harmonies. So I make them sing rounds, and more rounds. They learn to listen to one another. It's been six months of "where are we going, I must be crazy to do this" but at last, tonight, I can say - we have a choir. They are beginnng to sound quite good. A vast improvement on "when do they stop singing? This is painful!" And even better - they're enjoying themselves.
So after everything - that crashing tree has helped begin to put my problems into perspective. And those two tiny chicks - what do they care about my problems? And how much do my problems matter, to them? They have enough to worry about, just trying to survive.
Sometimes we need a sudden change in perspective.
Enjoy your Wednesday, folks.
Marg
I'm making my way to putting the past couple of weeks' problems in perspective. No need for details; besides, it would cause me difficulties and possible identification by the people who have caused the pain. But basically, I did a favour (a financially valuable one) for some people but because the boss of the group didn't feel sufficiently in control, things went pear-shaped and I got scapegoated, accused of being dishonest. I got independent opinion from experts in my industry who verified that I was not the problem, but it was no go. More vicious things were said and I was doing my utmost to not retaliate but to maintain dignified silence before severing my ties.
The worst is over, I never need to deal with these people again. Also, it's clear that any nasty things they've said aren't going to be believed by anyone that matters. But still - I realised tonight that I'm like someone who has been attacked by a knife-wielding thug in a dark alley. I'm in hospital, patched up, stitched and bandaged. I know I'm safe now, but there has been an assault and I'm still in shock, needing time to recover. OK, metaphorically. But I'm still shaky.
So this evening while difficult child 3 was having his tennis lesson, I wandered around the parkland beside the tennis courts. I was looking for white cockatoo feathers so I could use them in my Melbourne Cup Day hat (an annual Aussie tradition). The Rainbow Lorikeets were noisy, flying back to their nesting holes in the ends of dead branches. One very big Angophora (aka blood gum) had a hollow at the end of a thick branch and I saw a pair of Lorikeets taking turns watching, and going into their nest. It's definitely nesting time here now. I found it very peaceful to walk around the trees. I went over to the big Angophora to try to see what I could of the birds' nest. I spent quite some time just ambling around the trees.
Tennis finished, I had offered to drive the tennis coach home (her car had run out of fuel). We were just locking the gates when I heard a cracking sound. A large dead branch at the top of the Angophora broke off - I was glad I hadn't been standing underneath, also glad it didn't fall towards the tennis court.
Then, before the dead branch had landed, we heard another loud cracking sound that just kept on going. Incredibly loud - the coach said, "It's the whole tree!"
And it was - the entire tree, about 2 metres in diameter, was toppling over, ripping off the base at ground level. I was only about 6 metres away from the tree at the time. VERY glad I hadn't been walking where I had been so recently, it would have been difficult to get out of the way. The tree was so huge with such a wide branch spread, that trying to escape would have been difficult. And the tree had looked perfectly OK, I'd been admiring that very tree! However, I could smell the mould spores, a distinct mushroom smell, and see how branches that looked perfectly sound were almost completely hollow.
The birds - they seemed to have escaped, flown out of teir hollow before the fall. Their nesting hollow had been split open and I could see egg shell. But it was old shell, not freshly broken. Each shell was smaller than my thumb joint. No other sign.
People had heard the mighty crash and come running. It was awe-inspiring. I showed them the split nest hollow (it had been a wonderfully big nest, several metres deep into the tree) and a man put his arm in the hollow to feel. He found a tiny hatchling, the size of alarge marble. Then another. We checked the egg shells - only two eggs. The chicks seemed uninjured but very young. It was still only a few minutes since the tree had fallen so I took the babies to our local wildlife rescue person. Both chicks were snuggled together in the palm of one cupped hand.
The wildlife officer thinks they're about five days old and is going to try to raise them. She's pulled off some miracle saves before - a baby Pygmy POssum which was only 5 g in size when she got it, is her proudest acievement. She put the chicks immediately on a warming pad. Baby Rainbow Lorikeets are fairly easy to feed, there is a commercial mix like baby cereal which even the adults will get stuck into.
I drove the tennis coach home and barely got home myself before it was time to go back out to choir. I really didn't want to go to choir - sometimes itfeels like hard work with little reward. But tonight I feel like we've had a brakthrough - there were six of us there, the maximu number. And they said to me, "This way or learning is much better for us, I feel so much more confident. And I like the music we're doing now."
I had been feelnig discouraged because they seem to have been so resistant to instruction and trying to learn harmonies. So I make them sing rounds, and more rounds. They learn to listen to one another. It's been six months of "where are we going, I must be crazy to do this" but at last, tonight, I can say - we have a choir. They are beginnng to sound quite good. A vast improvement on "when do they stop singing? This is painful!" And even better - they're enjoying themselves.
So after everything - that crashing tree has helped begin to put my problems into perspective. And those two tiny chicks - what do they care about my problems? And how much do my problems matter, to them? They have enough to worry about, just trying to survive.
Sometimes we need a sudden change in perspective.
Enjoy your Wednesday, folks.
Marg
