https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_dissonance
Am not really sure why am posting this here, as am sure that the three or four regular (?) readers of this blog are as astonished/amazed/horrified at the peculiar mindset of the American president as i am.
Am not even really sure that what i read on the interwebs and "news" reports about him are true or not -
however, i do read the 'reproductions' of some of his 'tweets' and have decided that the bloke is mentally unbalanced. Wasn't even sure what to call it - but cognitive dissonance came to mind.
Frankly, i don't really care how much of a twit the twat is; doesn't affect ME very much - however, it does seem to be affecting the Australian political leadership(?) a fair bit. Mr. Harbourside Mansion (Prime Minister) seems to have taken some sort of cue, and is ramping up our own draconian "internal security". (as well as ramping up his 'furious' attacks on South Australia for "mindlessly" pursuing the policy of increasing wind and solar electricity generation. While yep, South Au does have the highest consumer price for electricity - that price is mainly set and driven by "interstate" suppliers (mostly coal generated - which makes me wonder that IF coal generation is "cheaper" - how come they charge MORE for it ??)
Oh, back to one of President Twit's tweets. Can't find the exact tweet* just now, but relates to the so-called "deal" Between the Aussie gummint and Barack Obama - about the re-location of 1250 unfortunate refugees that we've parked, indefinitely, on some tropical hellhole of an island.
For a start, Donny Boy - there are not "thousands", and they're not "criminals" and it was never a "dumb deal" as America was given every chance to "choose" which one's to accept.
The other 'half cocked' Presidential decree is about the banning of citizens from countries which, by all accounts, have never supplied a 'terrorist' attack on American soil.
IN CONTRAST .....
have been looking up the statistics on American "home grown" mass murders.
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/feb/08/trump-muslim-terrorists-gun-violence-america-deaths
(well worth a read).
https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/ng-interactive/2015/oct/02/mass-shootings-america-gun-violence
(really worth a look, this one - pictorial graphic).
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_school_shootings_in_the_United_States
http://www.gunviolencearchive.org/reports/mass-shooting
This, of course, doesn't include the hundreds of thousands (millions) of civilians murdered by America in someone elses country since 2009.... but am guessing "State sponsored " Terrorism doesn't really really compute in some peoples 'world view'.
*https://thewest.com.au/news/world/trump-tweets-on-australian-refugee-dumb-deal-ng-b88374394z
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Thursday, February 09, 2017
Sunday, February 08, 2015
discarding awkward canines.
she was a "captain's pick" in the sense that she was already a neighbour's 'problem canine'.
So, cutting a long story short - after 12 months - had to "re-locate" her to the Orange RSPCA.
Choices? of course - she either ended up dead down a mineshaft ...
.. or i gave her other chances.
Monday, August 18, 2014
HOPE
Yer, i know, a four letter word. Have been thinking about four letter words.
And yep, especially since the demise of Robin Williams. Not least because the name 'Williams' belongs to my mother's family (no blood relation). Apparently my grandfather Williams (on Mother's side)
"Never gave up - or 'in'".
Yep, they have all, now, "exited stage left". My mother didn't go 'quietly', but needs some information as to why i write that. She held onto her arrogant assumption that she could 'remain in control' for eternity, until age 89. Then, oops, more parts of her body began to fail, collapse. She went into hospital with multiple organ failure.
I was with her then, and myself and cousin had to make some decisions. There was a discussion with the surgeon. He told us that yes, they could repair her heart valve but ....
Decision time. Do we say yes, or no. First time that self had been specifically confronted with a decision that meant life - or death. The surgeon told us that she would not survive major heart surgery. If i had said no surgery; let her go - she would have died that night.
My cousin was looking at me, and i was looking at him. We couldn't make that decision. So, the surgeon said, ok, wait for an hour or so. he went somewhere, consulted, came back and told us - ok, we can put in a 'stent', no guarantees. We agreed. That happened.
Dunno, now, whether that was the best decision. My mother remained in a coma, in intensive care, for six weeks. There was always, in my mind "hope" that she would 'return', talk to me - but it was not the case.
And yep, to be honest, would turn up at her bedside every now and then, thump her shoulder; tell her "Oy, yer not allowed to go out on an odd number. Try to get to 90". But she never listened to me.
the hospital called me in, one Saturday morning. Told me that she was 'very close', but knew what that meant.
Was holding her hand when she expired for the last time.
(inspiration- expiration, breathing).
The nurses told me that they called her 'the walker'. Even in a coma, she couldn't keep her legs still. Nobody knows where she was walking to.
And no, there were no "heavenly choirs" when she breathed her last. No "mysterious emanations" hovering around the ceiling. She was. simply. dead.
Dunno where i'll be when it happens. Hopefully won't leave too much of a mess.
Hopefully, each evening, when my days chores are done, i curl up into the warmth of the bedding, and a dog curls in beside me ... there will be a sunrise that kisses my eyelids a few hours later.
And yep, especially since the demise of Robin Williams. Not least because the name 'Williams' belongs to my mother's family (no blood relation). Apparently my grandfather Williams (on Mother's side)
"Never gave up - or 'in'".
Yep, they have all, now, "exited stage left". My mother didn't go 'quietly', but needs some information as to why i write that. She held onto her arrogant assumption that she could 'remain in control' for eternity, until age 89. Then, oops, more parts of her body began to fail, collapse. She went into hospital with multiple organ failure.
I was with her then, and myself and cousin had to make some decisions. There was a discussion with the surgeon. He told us that yes, they could repair her heart valve but ....
Decision time. Do we say yes, or no. First time that self had been specifically confronted with a decision that meant life - or death. The surgeon told us that she would not survive major heart surgery. If i had said no surgery; let her go - she would have died that night.
My cousin was looking at me, and i was looking at him. We couldn't make that decision. So, the surgeon said, ok, wait for an hour or so. he went somewhere, consulted, came back and told us - ok, we can put in a 'stent', no guarantees. We agreed. That happened.
Dunno, now, whether that was the best decision. My mother remained in a coma, in intensive care, for six weeks. There was always, in my mind "hope" that she would 'return', talk to me - but it was not the case.
And yep, to be honest, would turn up at her bedside every now and then, thump her shoulder; tell her "Oy, yer not allowed to go out on an odd number. Try to get to 90". But she never listened to me.
the hospital called me in, one Saturday morning. Told me that she was 'very close', but knew what that meant.
Was holding her hand when she expired for the last time.
(inspiration- expiration, breathing).
The nurses told me that they called her 'the walker'. Even in a coma, she couldn't keep her legs still. Nobody knows where she was walking to.
And no, there were no "heavenly choirs" when she breathed her last. No "mysterious emanations" hovering around the ceiling. She was. simply. dead.
Dunno where i'll be when it happens. Hopefully won't leave too much of a mess.
Hopefully, each evening, when my days chores are done, i curl up into the warmth of the bedding, and a dog curls in beside me ... there will be a sunrise that kisses my eyelids a few hours later.
Friday, March 08, 2013
How much is a heart worth (2)
Age? Perish the thought. If Rupert Murdoch's mum could reach a chirpy 103 - anything' s possible (though guess that she had considerable finance to help her along .. heh - but Rupert Murdoch reaching 103 is a scary thought).
Me? Quiet? Mmm, never have been particularly garrulous, and there hasn't been very much of interest or excitement around here to actually write about - EXCEPT -
Monday 4th March 2013 at about 4pm.
So, the story. As you know, have been pottering in to Bathurst to get my teeth (or what's left of them) removed. Am on the lower end of the socio-economic scale, so is being done as freebies through the equivalent of the NHS (probably by trainee dentists from various far flung parts of Asia- Pacific - but have to say that the lovely lady who is tackling my dental challenge is extremely gentle). Two teeth per visit, in/out in 20 minutes every ten days or so. All's been going well, so far; except yesterday.
Had been getting my friend Larry to drive me in and back, as am generally a bit woozy from the injections but generally recover in an hour or so. The extractions were a bit harsher than usual. One of my remaining eyeteeth had fused to the bone, so ended up with a slightly mangled jaw and gum. Larry seems to think it a huge joke, as have to spend the drive home with my jaws clamped together over the gauze pad to stop the bleeding - so he gives me schtick, and knows that i can't answer back (except by hand gestures).
Anyway, all in good humour. We arrived back at my place at about 3.30pm, made a cuppa tea (for him, me with glum face and jaws clamped sitting listening to Larry chortle).
Sometime between 3.30 and 4pm, he gets up from the table and wanders outside mumbling something about "bloody sausage roll". Left him out there for a minute or two, then wandered out to see where he'd gone. Found him rolling around on the lawn at the back door.
"What's up with you?"
"Feel like spewing".
He dry retched a few times, so i suggested the olde 'two fingers at back of throat’ trick. He did, but nothing much happened except a lot of dribble and, in retrospect, seemed a bit 'un-coordinated'. Tried to get him to drink a glass of water, but he didn't seem interested. Am, of course, at this time assuming that it was just a "tummy bug".
Brought him inside, sat him on the bed. By this time he didn't seem very well at all. He flopped back on the bed and it was really only then that i noticed that he was extremely pale; cold, and clammy. It was, actually, himself, who sat up and mumbled "ambulance".
Have to admit that it took a few seconds to digest that info. Bear in mind that the nearest ambulance is 35 kilometres away, and probably as many minutes. Not something that one does lightly. "Ambulance", he mumbles, "pain". "Where?" He points to his breastbone.
So yep, dial 000. Three brrings, voice answers "Police. Fire. Ambulance.". "Ambulance, thanks", say i. Three more brrings, "Ambulance service, what is your emergency?"
"um" say i, "I have a friend here who asked me to call. He's not well". (yer, i know, always the understatement, suspicious of histrionics - and covering my arse).
"What are his symptoms?" asks the very nice sounding female.
"Um, he's very pale, cold, clammy, and tells me he has a pain in his chest."
"OK, where are you?"
[give them my address] Slight pause.
“How is he now?"
[ I have a landline handset that is detachable from the 'base station' and can be switched to 'speakerphone', which i used throughout. "mobile" or "cellphone" access in this area is patchy , unreliable - ]
Me; “Larry how are you?"
Larry; (mumbling) “pain”.
Me; “Where?"
Larry; (barely conscious) “Arm”.
Operator; “Which arm?” [Larry indicates left arm].
Me; “Left Arm”.
"OK, am dispatching two units; one from Bathurst and one from Lithgow”.
Then ensued a longish conversation between me and the operator about estimated times of arrival, my exact location, and whether there was a defibrillator nearby. I told her yes, but it was in the bushfire shed across the road, but didn't know who had the key.
'000' Operator; “OK, I'll stay on the line with you until the ambulance arrives”.
Cutting a longish story short - for 40 minutes there was continual dialogue between me and the operator on the other end of the phoneline; explaining what was happening, my exact location; punctuated by grunts and groans from Larry.. The scary moments were when Larry 'became still and silent' for 30 seconds or so - probably the longest half minutes of my experience. Have never tackled the problem of CPR in a ‘real life or death’ situation.
Lithgow unit arrived first, with Bathurst a few minutes later.
For half an hour my little kitchen was filled with three extra blokes and one female; and a whole heap of electronics that had never seen - Larry was duly placed on a gurney and transported - first to Lithgow for stabilisation, and then, apparently, to Sydney.
Shortly after the ambulances departed at about 6pm, I drove to Portland to notify his family . - and give them his mobile phone.
Received a text message next morning at 2am. " ONLY YOU AND MY BROTHER CAN DRIVE MY CAR DONT DRINK AND DRIVE". (he left me the key).
So, guessed that he was still alive as of 2am that morning, and was being well cared for in one of Sydney's hospitals.
Post script - yes, have been in contact with his family. Am informed that there was a “blood clot” - apparently repaired with ‘non invasive’ surgery (a tube shoved up an artery in the groin) and a “stint”. Is probably back home in his own bed by now.
As Larry is only age 45, and me? somewhat older; found the whole episode (and concept) somewhat fascinating. Would there be anyone nearby who would - or could - do the same for me? Would anyone even “notice”. Would anyone else really ‘care’ whether i ‘fell orf the twig’? Some might feel a bit “sad", perhaps; but would have to admit that my ‘passing’ would have no serious effect on their own lives. And some that would be more than happy to see me "gone".
Such is life.
Me? Quiet? Mmm, never have been particularly garrulous, and there hasn't been very much of interest or excitement around here to actually write about - EXCEPT -
Monday 4th March 2013 at about 4pm.
So, the story. As you know, have been pottering in to Bathurst to get my teeth (or what's left of them) removed. Am on the lower end of the socio-economic scale, so is being done as freebies through the equivalent of the NHS (probably by trainee dentists from various far flung parts of Asia- Pacific - but have to say that the lovely lady who is tackling my dental challenge is extremely gentle). Two teeth per visit, in/out in 20 minutes every ten days or so. All's been going well, so far; except yesterday.
Had been getting my friend Larry to drive me in and back, as am generally a bit woozy from the injections but generally recover in an hour or so. The extractions were a bit harsher than usual. One of my remaining eyeteeth had fused to the bone, so ended up with a slightly mangled jaw and gum. Larry seems to think it a huge joke, as have to spend the drive home with my jaws clamped together over the gauze pad to stop the bleeding - so he gives me schtick, and knows that i can't answer back (except by hand gestures).
Anyway, all in good humour. We arrived back at my place at about 3.30pm, made a cuppa tea (for him, me with glum face and jaws clamped sitting listening to Larry chortle).
Sometime between 3.30 and 4pm, he gets up from the table and wanders outside mumbling something about "bloody sausage roll". Left him out there for a minute or two, then wandered out to see where he'd gone. Found him rolling around on the lawn at the back door.
"What's up with you?"
"Feel like spewing".
He dry retched a few times, so i suggested the olde 'two fingers at back of throat’ trick. He did, but nothing much happened except a lot of dribble and, in retrospect, seemed a bit 'un-coordinated'. Tried to get him to drink a glass of water, but he didn't seem interested. Am, of course, at this time assuming that it was just a "tummy bug".
Brought him inside, sat him on the bed. By this time he didn't seem very well at all. He flopped back on the bed and it was really only then that i noticed that he was extremely pale; cold, and clammy. It was, actually, himself, who sat up and mumbled "ambulance".
Have to admit that it took a few seconds to digest that info. Bear in mind that the nearest ambulance is 35 kilometres away, and probably as many minutes. Not something that one does lightly. "Ambulance", he mumbles, "pain". "Where?" He points to his breastbone.
So yep, dial 000. Three brrings, voice answers "Police. Fire. Ambulance.". "Ambulance, thanks", say i. Three more brrings, "Ambulance service, what is your emergency?"
"um" say i, "I have a friend here who asked me to call. He's not well". (yer, i know, always the understatement, suspicious of histrionics - and covering my arse).
"What are his symptoms?" asks the very nice sounding female.
"Um, he's very pale, cold, clammy, and tells me he has a pain in his chest."
"OK, where are you?"
[give them my address] Slight pause.
“How is he now?"
[ I have a landline handset that is detachable from the 'base station' and can be switched to 'speakerphone', which i used throughout. "mobile" or "cellphone" access in this area is patchy , unreliable - ]
Me; “Larry how are you?"
Larry; (mumbling) “pain”.
Me; “Where?"
Larry; (barely conscious) “Arm”.
Operator; “Which arm?” [Larry indicates left arm].
Me; “Left Arm”.
"OK, am dispatching two units; one from Bathurst and one from Lithgow”.
Then ensued a longish conversation between me and the operator about estimated times of arrival, my exact location, and whether there was a defibrillator nearby. I told her yes, but it was in the bushfire shed across the road, but didn't know who had the key.
'000' Operator; “OK, I'll stay on the line with you until the ambulance arrives”.
Cutting a longish story short - for 40 minutes there was continual dialogue between me and the operator on the other end of the phoneline; explaining what was happening, my exact location; punctuated by grunts and groans from Larry.. The scary moments were when Larry 'became still and silent' for 30 seconds or so - probably the longest half minutes of my experience. Have never tackled the problem of CPR in a ‘real life or death’ situation.
Lithgow unit arrived first, with Bathurst a few minutes later.
For half an hour my little kitchen was filled with three extra blokes and one female; and a whole heap of electronics that had never seen - Larry was duly placed on a gurney and transported - first to Lithgow for stabilisation, and then, apparently, to Sydney.
Shortly after the ambulances departed at about 6pm, I drove to Portland to notify his family . - and give them his mobile phone.
Received a text message next morning at 2am. " ONLY YOU AND MY BROTHER CAN DRIVE MY CAR DONT DRINK AND DRIVE". (he left me the key).
So, guessed that he was still alive as of 2am that morning, and was being well cared for in one of Sydney's hospitals.
Post script - yes, have been in contact with his family. Am informed that there was a “blood clot” - apparently repaired with ‘non invasive’ surgery (a tube shoved up an artery in the groin) and a “stint”. Is probably back home in his own bed by now.
As Larry is only age 45, and me? somewhat older; found the whole episode (and concept) somewhat fascinating. Would there be anyone nearby who would - or could - do the same for me? Would anyone even “notice”. Would anyone else really ‘care’ whether i ‘fell orf the twig’? Some might feel a bit “sad", perhaps; but would have to admit that my ‘passing’ would have no serious effect on their own lives. And some that would be more than happy to see me "gone".
Such is life.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
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