Kickin’ Through the Leaves

My advice on letting go your inhibitions and and kicking through the leaves:

Anywhere else; do it.  

Here; Don’t.

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Deathadder
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Wayside

My blog entries have slowed to meanderings and I have fallen by the wayside.  Re-reading my old posts, especially some of those on my first blog,  made me realise that sometimes in my writing I was almost achieving what I once aspired to, but I am not any more.  An old friend’s Facebook posts recently have driven home that she is a better writer than I and indeed a better person with a more interesting and worthwhile story to tell.  She should be writing a blog.

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Tui in a Kowhai Tree

I feel I am at a dead end.  My life has been one of neophilia and hodophilia, the love of new things and of travelling to new places.  I believed, or told myself,  each new adventure in a new location was also a way to do something good.  Maybe it was.  Maybe it was actually just running away from old places.  Most of the major moves I have made have been after events I would rather forget.

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Battle Hill Stream

That raises another disturbing thought.  I spend a lot of time remembering things I would rather not, and trying to remember things I cannot.  Odd.  Mnemophobia is a word that means both the fear of memories of past events and fearing memory loss caused by mental illness such as Alzheimer’s.   The irony of the duality in that word, and in my current frame of mind, is not lost on me.  I have already written that one of my greatest fears is Alzheimer’s.  I have also written, sometimes obliquely, of the memories I wish I did not have.    Then I remind myself that I am writing this blog principally for some future me so I might remember.

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Owharoa Waterfall, Karangahake Gorge

I watched  Hunt for the Wilderpeople on Google Play last night.   I really liked the movie.  I never read the Barry Crump novel on which it was based, but Taika Waititi made a gun movie from it.  Not flawless, but  so very very kiwi and so very entertaining.  One of few films that can make me laugh out loud, and one of many that can make me weep.  What was interesting was that it was not the poignant heart-rending scenes that caused the latter reaction, but two simple things – or perhaps three; Kiwi humour in a kiwi accent, and the New Zealand bush.  This made me realise something.  I think I may be homesick.

I pondered this for a while and this morning I think I have pretty much come to the conclusion that as soon as I have a few more grand stashed away, I am going home to retire.  Maybe next year.

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Roadside Grass near Thames, Coromandel

These are four of my favourite New Zealand photos.  Each a pleasant memory.

Gilbert’s Dragon

Proud of young Zeus. He found a dragon (Lophognathus gilberti) caught in some wire mesh. Instead of tearing it to shreds he called me. The rescue operation was followed by a quick check for injuries and a short photoshoot. Then the dragon was on her way unharmed.

Gilbert would be pleased.

Coming Down

Almost like the Lost Weekend.

No snakes came out of the walls, no bats flew around my room.

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Scene from The Lost Weekend, a Billy Wilder film starring Ray Milland and Jane Wyman (1945).

But I had some really weird dreams and I was pretty much incapable of doing normal things without being clumsy.  I walked into walls and felt disoriented. On the up side, I felt none of the usual leg pain.  That was remarkable.  It was actually a pleasant buzz and I sort of liked it.  But I was fully aware that I was not in operational mode and should not, for instance, be driving a vehicle.  The GP did not mention any side effects like this when she prescribed this medication.    I learned about it on the web.

Maybe the GP did not anticipate my reaction at the dose prescribed.  Perhaps I am sensitive to this drug, or the other medications I am on interacted in some way.

Whatever, this morning I still felt a bit wonky so after tending to the laundry, feeding and playing with Zeus, I spent much of the day in bed enjoying some more weird dreams.  All a bit surreal, if not psychedelic.

Before I did I spoke to the neighbours who were up early raking up leaves in their yard. They asked how I was and I told them I was still a bit stoned and told them why.  My natural honesty and frankness coming out.

It may be coincidence, but shortly after I spoke to the neighbours, the boss called on the phone.  I told her about the state I was in and why.  She was very supportive.  I promised to get back to normal before I drive up to town.

I shall not be taking any more of these pills until I have spoken again with the doc.

When I was 16 I had a similar experience taking some medication prescribed by one Dr. Ogg at the Bexley clinic in Remuera.  He was supposed to be curing my stammer.  I know he started me on Mogadon, then switched me to something else.  I don’t know what it was; the pills were stamped with the letters OCPA.  I was stoned out of my head for months until Peter Gruebner, my form teacher and subsequent friend and role model, contacted my mother to say the school thought I might be a drug addict.  She flushed the pills down the loo.  I went through a difficult withdrawal period.

Mind you, I never stammered while I was taking those pills.

I was riding a 250cc Triumph Tigress at the time.  FSM only knows how I stayed alive.

I did not like giving them up though.  The withdrawal was difficult.  I don’t remember much about that time, except while coming down I had a fight with my brother for some reason I do not remember and smashed my guitar over his head.  That ended my future as a rock star and set me on a different path.  I never did learn to play.  A tragic loss to the world of music.

That is not going to happen again.

 

Dingone

After a few days my wild new friend stopped turning up at my place.  Such gratitude after I fed him so often. I had even made arrangements for someone to feed him while I was away.  I also have in my freezer half a kangaroo that I got just for him.  Ah well.  At least I still have someone to talk to.  Rim Leaper, my green tree frog, is still living in my toilet.

Dingo

A young wild dingo has come in from the desert and is hanging around the community. Half the residents want him shot, others want to catch him.  He has been coming to my place after dark.   I feed him and talk to him in a calm, soothing voice.  Tonight he became a little braver and actually came onto my deck inside my security cage.  He came pretty close to sniff me, and almost took food from my hand.

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I shall call him Dingo, and he shall be mine, and he shall be my dingo.

The elders tell me that the first thunder will be soon and this will awaken the goannas from hibernation.   If I make friends with Dingo, he will help me track them and dig them out.    One of them says that I should consider Dingo to be mine already.  He says a dingo will only accept one leader, and I have already begun to earn his trust.  He tells me everyone in the community knows I am the animal man.

I have to consider whether I really want a pet dingo.