Somewhere in one of the Chronicles of Eirie, there is a statement by a male protagonist about love and the corollary of loss. I wish I could remember where it is because I haven’t the inclination to flick through the pages of three novels to find the line.
On etiquette. I was prompted to think on etiquette when my social media profile page was interfered with. On the nature of those people who think it amusing to create software that intrudes on someone’s life. Which led me to think about lack of etiquette in other areas. 
Most notably mobile phones.
Sounds. My world is made of sounds. I sit with my eyes closed and I listen. I hear the waves chuckling along the shore in a breeze-driven chop. I hear the sea-breeze shivering the leaves of the silver birch, maples and willows; a silvery sound.
Occasionally, Sei Shonagon would veer into a more detailed journal entry instead of her sharp little vignettes. They could be four or five pages long and invited the reader deep into her life – details of speech, mannerisms and settings all wrapped up in her sometimes gentle, often acerbic point of view. This latest Pillow Book of Prudence will depart from the norm and journey into a longer journal entry in deference to Sei Shonagon.
Things that are amusing:
Joining Twitter. Fun in 140 characters, that is assuming one is prepared to leave one’s real persona behind. @Lucas_North’s,
@Lucas_North
@MalcolmWJ’s, @Dimitri_MI5’s and @SirHJPierce’s behaviour on Twitter. Making macaroons without learning how to use a piping bag first. Looking at self in mirror after cane blind has fallen and hit the bridge of the nose. Having funny shared thoughts with MG. The younger dog showing off by having a giant swim at the beach. Watching the parking-meter man trying to book me when I had beaten him to the meter by a sucked in half-breath. The lambs . . . cheeky and very cocky because they have made it!
Lambing is finished . . .
Things that aren’t:
The loss of privacy at university. The sick humour of the internet and You-Tube. The loss of a life.
Looking at self in the mirror after the blind fell on my nose and seeing the blood. The loss of a ewe birthing triplets . . . mother and babies died. The northwest wind: who was it on Twitter who said ‘the wuthering wind is snapping at the corners of the house.’ Rudeness . . . of parking-meter men. Saint Kilda losing the Grand Final. SSAE in the mail. The chance that I will have to pull out of the Dogs’ Home until hand and ankle fully repair. I have only been back two weeks.
On this first week of October, we can be hopeful. Winter is over in this far-flung little outpost of the Southern hemisphere called Tasmania. The lambing has finished. My garden rewards me.
My garden rewards me . . .
The boatshed is being framed up. The manuscript has attention from a major editorial agency O/S . . . free of charge. I shopped for clothes today and bought capri jeans, shorts and two polo-shirts in less than 10 minutes. Such things rarely happen. It’s time to think about the myriad family birthdays. To enjoy a major book launch on Thursday night. To wish my son and his partner safe-travelling as they leave for three weeks holiday in Samoa.
It’s heartwarming that sixty dogs were adopted from the Dog’s Home in the month of September. It has been a week of enjoying the generosity of overseas friends and of realising that even though an SSAE arrived in the mail, better things await. And that the world has joined together to condemn those students at Rutgers University.
Things to think about:
How quickly the body loses its fitness and how relevant is the old saying ‘Use it or lose it’. 
How my old dog asks for so little in life . . . food at regular intervals, a comfy bed, a walk once a day and the need to know exactly where I am at any given time. How incredible it is that newborn lambs can survive rain, a southerly change and then frost and temps of zero degrees. 
How valuable is friendship. How maybe the story isn’t too bad . . . that it could entice readers. That winter is over and we are launched into the heady scents of Spring. How all sensations of any sort, good or bad, are impermanent. Life is short and worth the effort.
Sometimes we must recognize sadness in our lives because it is real and must be dealt with. Sometimes even the half-full glass must seem half-empty.
Things that are sad:
Hearing that a cousin may have leukaemia. That another distant friend has once more succumbed to breast cancer. That ewes reject the weaker twin as they give birth. The cries of that weak twin. That my fritillaria bud has been broken by one of our not-so-friendly possums. 
That both the Border Collie and the elder Jack Russell are utterly deaf and losing their sight and must be walked on leads to give them a feeling of security. 
Pakistan. Australian soldiers in Afghanistan. That the ruptured ligaments are behaving in a totally unsuitable way and causing undue pain. There are many sad things in our lives which could drown us if we let them which is why one must balance things out with . . .
Brevity: Things that are brief can be appreciated or they can be a vast disappointment.
Eating a block of chocolate is too brief. Chatzy to America is too brief. The series of Return to Cranford and Doc Martin likewise. Sunny warmth on a winters day: all too brief. The scallop season. The dog’ s good behaviour. Exercises for a damaged ankle are not brief enough so perhaps they should go into the longevity category. The current flood of political mind-bending should be so brief as to be non-existent. In fact politics as a career should be non-existent.
In this last week of July, with only 9 weeks and three days to daylight saving and 36 days to the first day of Spring, one learns that it is a week of observations, inanities and vanities.
One learns that by placing a completely inane statement on a social network about what one should do with one’s day, that one invites the Fates to decide for one. In the case of myself, the Fates decided I should wear my most favourite shoes. They are pale turquoise JP Tod’s moccasins with rubber stops on the soles. Vanity of course, because on that day I liked turquoise. Today I think it is a heartless colour although better than black.
