Black Saturday fire storms

These are amazing photos from the February 2009 firestorms. Wish I could say I took them. But I didn't. They are copied from NowPublic online media.

(latest toll by 10:17 p.m. on Sunday...84 dead.)

If you were to look at a map of Australia, it could look as if the entire state of Victoria is in flames.

Such a map exists. On the Department of Sustainability and Environment's (DSE) website in Australia, little flames show active fires, stars show contained fires, and dots show "controlled" fires that are no longer endangering areas.

As of 12:45 p.m. today, there are 30 wildfires still going out of control, with nine started today...ranging in size from 1 acre to 186,000 acres. In addition, six wildfires have been recently contained, and 20 are controlled. That's just Victoria, not New South Wales where Sydney is located, or South Australia where Adelaide has suffered fires.

I am blessed where I live. There are no wildfires nearby, the closest is about 90 minutes away. I can't even smell smoke or see plumes on the horizon.

However, thousands of people haven't been so lucky.

Yesterday was the worst fire day since Ash Wednesday in February 1983 when more than 40 people died, hundreds of homes were lost and hundreds of thousands of acres burned.

One newscaster stated,"This is a worst case scenario...sort of like The Perfect Storm." In that movie, several unusual factors came into play that caused a horrendous storm that took several lives. In Australia's "perfect storm" several things were in place: the hottest, driest year in more than a century, and 80 mph HOT wind gusts and sustained winds from the HOT inland north that quickly dried areas out and pushed flames into roaring cauldrons skimming from tree to tree, with gum trees exploding all around. Stringy bark ignited and floated to unburnt areas where fires took root and raced along with the wind. At the end of the day, the "cool change" came through, and I watched the temperature drop from 110 F to 100 F in 10 minutes. Within an hour, the temperature was almost chilly. But along with the cool change was a wind-shift (as typically happens) that brought wind from the cooler south...only gusts were still strong, and shifted the blazes from going in one direction to unpredictable others.

Kinglake, and Marysville, towns north of Melbourne literally vanished in the blaze when the wind changed directions. At least six people fried alive while trying to escape in a car. As of this morning, the official death toll statewide is 25, with the worst in Wandong, Strathewen, and Clonbanine. But officials expect it to rise as high as 50 when rescuers can get into places that were unreachable before.

Local firefighters have been busy. They spent nearly all day at the fire station arranging strike teams and other crews. They are back there this morning arranging relief crews, and may either go out on one of those or go flying to spot check for other, newer fires.

When fire rages statewide, ABC radio (fondly called the "Auntie") which is Australia's premier station for news, broadcasts 'round-the-clock updates and warnings for people to flee areas when needed. I can't tell you how many times this morning I heard a broadcaster say, "increased fire activity" in this area or another, and, "residents should have their emergency gear ready," and, "the fire is expected to reach (some location) within two hours."

Although so far, today's weather is much better, it's cool (65 degrees at noon), there's no wind (it's expected to pick up again after mid-day) and we've had a two-hour thunderstorm with sporadic bursts of rain, crews are on high alert because not everywhere got moisture, and lightning also came with the narrow band of weather. Lightning strikes often smoulder for days before bursting into flame.

But hearing the sound of rain drumming on the roof for an hour this morning was nice.

It's the first precipitation we've had in seven weeks. I was also relieved a bit because it dampened the areas around where we live, and I wonder what would happen if one roared toward here. I live a few minutes from a state forest full of wildfire fuel. I "know" what to do, but I need to practice turning on the generator and using hoses again. I would be one of those who stay and fight it out.

So...yes, it's as bad and likely worse than you've probably seen on television and in newspapers. But where I live, we're safe.

For now.

Frightening experience

In America, guns are almost commonplace.

In my home country's Bill of Rights, there is the Right to Bear Arms.

There are rules and guidelines, of course. Those laws are mostly followed, but everyone knows that there are lawbreakers .

In Australia, there is no such thing as a Bill of Rights.

No freedom of speech, freedom of the press, etc., and no way, no how, no where...the right to bear arms.

All guns are outlawed unless farmers and/or ranchers or those so inclined in livestock management obtain a special license for hunting non-native species animal predators, and/or crop nuisances. Period. Or so I've been told. No leeway, unless one is a policeman. Therefore, drive-by shootings and murders with guns are not commonplace at all. Knives and drugs are rampant, however.

However, as the bumper sticker in America reads..."If guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns."

Steve and I were on our way home last night from the Mornington Peninsula southwest of Melbourne. After a pleasant dinner at a Thai food restaurant, Steve decided to take the scenic way home along the Nepean Highway that hugs Port Philip Bay. As we approached the "Big City", we passed a taxi van. It was nearly 10 p.m. Curious me, I usually look at vehicles we pass. No reason...just looking.

This yellow "city van" was going slower than the speed limit. As we cruised by in our sedan, I glanced at the passenger windows and noticed a 20-something-year-old man in the back seat sporting a blue bandanna wrapped around his curly, dark hair. Strange thing was, he had his face pressed against the window, making monkey-like faces at me.

"Well, that's attractive," I thought.

Then my eyes shifted toward the front of the van as we passed and the world as I knew it passed in slow-motion.

One of the passengers had what appeared to be a nickle-plated, 9 mm handgun stuck out of an open window and "dry-fired" directly at my face as we went by. I heard a "click" as we passed. My window was open as it was a really warm evening, and I heard the loud "click."

It felt as if all my breath went out of me. My hands and toes went tingly-numb. I felt motionless.

In an aside, have you ever heard the "click" of a gun pointed at you in a moving car or anywhere else? The thoughts that go through the mind are so fast. Did it miss a round? Are there more? Did the bullet get stuck? Will they catch up and finish the job?

Stunned, it took a minute or two to register, and I said to Steve (according to him, because I don't remember this part), "That was a gun."

"What?" he said.

"Someone in that taxi van pointed a gun at me and clicked it (dry-fired.) I don't know if it was real. It looked real, and sounded real. It clicked. That was definitely a gun of some type."

He braked suddenly so we could slow down and let the van catch up to us again ("I was ready to hit the brakes if I saw a gun," he explained. I was ready to hit the deck! My stomach was so tense, I thought I'd chuck my dinner.) As the van passed by, I saw four young adults laughing themselves silly, but no gun. Thank God. I was terrified. I got the license plate number and a pretty clear description of those I could see in the window because my senses were on high alert. Then Steve accelerated ahead.

Then I called 000 which is the equivalent of America's 911. I gave the dispatcher information. Surprisingly, the van stayed behind us for several miles, and we kept the police updated on their location and behavior. Several times, Steve saw someone hanging out of the van window brandishing the gun at other cars as we traveled along.

Long story short, the police caught up with the culprits, let us know, kept us informed, asked if we would be willing to serve reports of the incident...and we were the first, but not the only ones who filed a complaint.

The gun was fake, thank God. But in Australia, as in America, brandishing any type of gun, real or fake, is a felony. Those "young adults" in the van likely had the "scheisen heisen" scared out of them when cop cars from all over the St. Kilda area in Melbourne swarmed the taxi with lights and sirens blaring, and police with guns drawn ordered them all out with hands up. An officer called me later and said four were in custody and asked if Steve and I would give a statement. "Of course, absolutely," I said.

He thanked me for being a good citizen.

I smiled.

I'm not "officially" a citizen yet.

But as of last night, I am proud of Melbourne's Men in Blue.

The only problem is that the adrenaline rush I got from a "gun" being pointed at me kept me awake most of the night.

In fact, everytime I think of it, my heart pounds.

Una (revised)

"I cry every day," Una said as she gingerly set down a serving tray supporting three cups of carefully prepared tea for two visitors and herself, and two plates brimming with delicate sweet treats.

"It happened right here," the 80-year-old woman said of her husband's death, gesturing to an off-yellow naugahyde-covered, steel-framed chair. It was to my left and pushed against a faux wooden table that seats six.

I nearly chose that chair in deciding where to sit. I was secretly glad that I hadn't.

"Maybe I shouldn't be talking about this," she said, unsure.

"No, it's okay" I said. "We'd like to hear your story."

Una's husband, George, passed away in May 2008. On this day, nine months after he left her side forever, she was in the midst of selling us his 25-foot (sailboat) yacht, his pride and joy. To pay for funeral expenses, she said. Steve and I were at her modest, older home to complete the transaction. She invited us in and insisted that we stay for tea and "bickies." (Australian for cookies)

"How long were you married?" I asked.

"Fifty-seven years," she said, after a few seconds of mental calculation. "I was hoping we would make our 60th anniversary...but..." she sighed.

Una and George raised five sons and a daughter on and near the Mornington Peninsula near Melbourne. George was an engineer/designer for International Harvester and General Motors Holden in Australia. I believe that Una was a stay-at-home mom.

George dabbled in photography, created oil paintings which adorn the walls in their home, restored old vehicles, did construction work for others and on his house, and specialized in electrical work among other things, such as raising chickens and keeping a vegetable garden. But, according to Una, one of his greatest joys was setting sail in his yacht, The Liberator.

After listening to these stories of George, Steve said, "It sounds like he was very talented."

Una chuckled and said, "Oh, you have no idea."

Una told us of adventures she and George had traveling Lakes Entrance off the Tasman Sea, sailing around Port Philip Bay near Melbourne and its offshoot Corio Bay, saling into a camping at Malacoota in New South Wales, and a failed trip to Geelong when the wind kept sending them in circles on the sails away from there. They finally ended up at home after several hours of "futile" sailing.

"Oh, it was fun," she said, her blue eyes twinkling. "The wind kept pushing us away, but George was determined. In the end, we just went home. But we enjoyed the voyage."

Their last planned trip was to the Whitsunday Islands off of Queensland in June 2008 with a son. But George died in May.

Una's favorite memories are of her and George casting anchor offshore somewhere, anywhere, on the salt water, catching fresh flathead fish or a small shark or two and combining the fresh, flaky meat with a salad she had made at home to go with the evening dinner to be pan-fried in the on-boat galley.

"You do plan to camp on the boat, don't you?" she asked me.

"Of course," I said with a smile.

Una seemed pleased.

"Those are the best times," she said. "There's starlight, the sound of the water splashing against the boat, the salt smell on a cooling night, and the rocking as you go to sleep. Yes, those were good times."

For an 80-year-old woman, Una appears to be a young 60s. She's of Scandinavian descent from the Klingsporn family branch. Her great-great grandparents helped settle the Snowy Mountains near Mansfield and Mount Buller in the state of Victoria. One of her uncles helped create skiing areas in that region and took adventurers there on horseback in the mid-to late 1800s. Today, there is a festival by that name. She is proud of her heritage and brought documents out for Steve and I to see as she read them to us and showed us photos.

When she wasn't looking, I studied Una. Her grayish-white hair is thick, wavy, and stylishly cut in an easy-to-keep shoulder-length do. A portion of her curled bangs were pulled back with a bobby-pin adorned with a tiny, purplish, glittery, fake butterfly. She wore purple and gold angel-fish earrings, a mis-match to her light blue t-shirt and darker blue comfy stretch slacks. The earrings were her last gift from her husband. The skin around her eyes is barely wrinkled as is the area around her cheeks...obviously from smiling. Her lips are smooth and uncreased, which is surprising for a woman her age. She could wear lipstick without it getting caught and smeared in ridges, as happens to other women her age. Her hearing is good...we spoke in normal tones...and she is mentally sharp as a tack. I love her breathy, uninhibited laughter.

But Una misses her husband, her companion, her adventurer of more than half a century.

"He passed away right here," she said again, gesturing to his chair.

Una described their normal morning routine on the day he died: She made buttered toast and black tea and laid out the morning Melbourne Herald-Sun newspaper on the dining table for him to read. She went into another room to put addresses on envelopes while leaving him to peruse the morning news in peace. A typical day, she thought.

"I heard him call my name, 'Una!'" she said.

That was his last word on earth.

whimsy

life is a carousel;
pick a gaily painted horse,
a unicorn,
a sleigh-ride,
and board the platform.

'round and round we go
in circular fashion
over and over
with smiling faces all around
as we ride by on fake steeds.

30 things

Okay, I'm stealing another idea from my daughter-in-law, Naomi. But she's such a wise young woman, and I think these exercises in really thinking about oneself and one's life-mate is a good idea. It's never a bad idea to focus on the positive.

I must say I was pleased to read her 25 things that she loves about her husband, my son. I hope he blogs the same about her. If not, I know he's busy.

Anyway....

25 things I love about my husband, Steve:

1. That he does love me...through tough patches and the good times. I believe he is committed to me and to us. He loves me despite my flaws.

2. I love that he loves my children, daughter-in-law, my grand-child (which is ours, even though that's a new wrap around the brain concept for him), my extended family and friends in America.

3. He works hard to provide for his loved ones.

4. He loves adrenaline-rush adventures.

5. He's a "manly-man," and yet sensitive enough to tear up at things that move him deeply...such as war heroes, children, and talking about things that are hard for him to articulate.

6. He's proud of me and what I write.

7. That he brings home "exotic" bugs and other treasures (such as a crystal vase from the last century) that he's dug up in his course of work. He's an asset inspector for PowerCor, Victoria's electricity provider, and part of that entails digging around power poles.

8. That he thinks about things that will please me, and acts on them. Such as a backroads trip in a four-wheel drive to church that he took a few days to plan, looking at maps. We arrived dusty and happy. He also plans weekend getaways and surprises me with them.

9. He's generous, and encourages me to shop for anything I need for myself or our home, and I'm never "in trouble" for anything I've spent. He's frugal, not stingy. He appreciates anything I get for him, and doesn't return gifts.

10. I love his smile, and his out-of-control-laugh.

11. That we can go anywhere, anytime, and I don't worry about his sense of direction.

12. That he can diagnose and fix anything that has an engine in it.

13. That he makes things with his hands...woodwork, metal work, etc.

14. That he can be a Christian, a follower of Christ, without being stuffy and legalistic and Pentecostal about it.

15. That when he's wrong, he can admit it, and make steps to change.

16. That he encourages me to be the best I can be...and even if he gets irritated when I'm not moving forward, he doesn't slam me down.

17. I don't love his messiness, but I know that if he weren't around, I would miss it. It's pretty minor anyway...clothes on the floor, mail on the counter...crumbs and tea bag stains, shoes and boots left where I trip on them, etc. :)

18. The way he thinks that is so different from anyone else. It's so outside the "box" of normality that he keeps me on my toes.

19. He likes music and to sing to me, and dance.

20. He's got a green thumb, especially with roses.

21. That he was in the Royal Australian Navy for six years and learned lots of discipline and useful things, and it made him into a man. (He joined when he was 16). I love that he's so patriotic.

22. That he's a volunteer firefighter. I love the way he looks in red suspenders and yellow turn-out pants and lace-up boots, and the stories he tells when he gets home.

23. He watches chick-flicks with me and actually enjoys them.

24. That he's affectionate and likes holding my hand wherever we go, and that he likes touching me.

25. That he enjoys exploring Australia with me and showing me new things.

26. He enjoys exploring America with me and meeting "my people."

27. That he brings home the newspaper nearly every day and we lively discuss what's in the news.

28. That he trusts me.

29. That he loves the sound of rain on our metal roof, the silence of an evening listening to parrots and wattle birds and magpies while enjoying a glass of wine on the verandah.

30. That he enjoys my company.