An explosion!

"What was that?!" ....  I called out, after an extremely loud bang in the front room.

"It was an explosion!" ....  an electrical explosion!" ... exclaimed Issa.

"What made it? .... "What did you do?"

"It was my gun!"

Where is it?"

Issa just showed me a small bamboo stick.

"Where's the rest of it?"

"Under the sofa!"

Issa rushed outside, and I suspected that he was hiding another part of his gun.

He was very excited and proud of himself, and disappointed that I wasn't sharing his excitement.

To get a suitable reaction from me, when he came back inside Issa said ..... "I think I'll practise lighting a fire now!"


A few minutes before the explosion Issa had been playing with another kind of gun, ...  pushing a pencil back and forth inside a coconut opener with very sharp points at the end, using it as a gun barrel.

The coconut opener on its own had looked dangerous. but what might Issa have used with it?

When Issa came back inside, he looked at the front room ceiling, saying  .... "It nearly hit the light there.!"

He was looking for a hole or mark in the ceiling.

We could see an indentation near the light, but Issa wouldn't tell me what the projectile had been.

Next day he showed me the reassembled gun he had used, with the projectile in place.

It was just a thin bamboo stick with a spring hanging off one end, with a DD battery in the spring.

The bamboo stick was still attached at one end to a bunch of similar bamboo sticks.

I photographed the "gun", but instead of getting Issa to show me how he had used it, I removed and hid the spring.

So Issa reverted to shooting projectiles out of a worn out bicycle pump, but without much force,
and sometimes he makes and plays with trebuchets, successfully shooting objects across the room.

VIBRATIONS.

One day Issa was playing with his little wooden train set, with rails set up on the carpet in the front room.

He likes to make little hills for the rail track and lots of curves, so that the train's journey is exciting.

On this particular day the train's engine didn't have enough power to go up any rises, or around any corners.

It couldn't even pull any carriages, because its battery was too flat.

Eventually all the engine was capable of was proceeding very slowly in a straight line.

At this stage Issa lost interest, and just left the train engine running slowly across the floor.

From the kitchen, I could hear a lot of noise going on outside.

In the street around the corner a house was being demolished.
A digger was crashing and banging as it knocked the structure down.

There were clatters and bangs and rumbles as it gathered up the rubble and dropped it noisily into the back of trucks.

I was washing dishes when I noticed a noise coming from the fridge.

"It must be picking up vibrations from the machinery working outside,"I thought.

Eventually I thought I should check the fridge, to make sure there was nothing wrong with it.

I could definitely hear noise coming from the fridge, and it seemed to be loudest near the top.

I opened the fridge door and listened, and the noise from inside seemed to be more of a hissing sound rather than a vibrating sound. I hoped it wasn't being caused by leaking refrigerant gases.

I'd better turn the fridge off, but where was the power point?

I couldn't see a power point on the wall in the space beside the fridge, and I couldn't see a power point on the wall above the fridge, because the space between the top of the fridge and the cupboard above it was too high and too narrow and dark.

I assumed that the power point was behind the fridge, and that the fridge would have to be moved to get at it.

I decided not to try this because of my injured shoulder.

Although I didn't want to disturb my daughter, who was working upstairs, there now seemed to be no alternative, because urgent action might be required.

When I got my daughter to come down she listened to the noises from the top and inside of the fridge.

She was tall enough to see through the crack above the fridge that the power point was on the wall just above the fridge.

She quickly got a stick and poked it in to turn off the power switch.

The vibrating noise from the fridge continued, and, without hesitation, my daughter used the stick to sweep the floor from side to side under the fridge.

In the process, she flicked something out.

It was the source of the noise and vibrations. 

It was Issa's little model train engine, which was still running, after it had proceeded slowly across the carpet, then crossed the tiles unnoticed, reaching the kitchen, and ending up under the fridge. 

Here it had been unable to proceed any further, once it reached a back leg of the fridge.  

Why couldn't I have diagnosed and solved the problem as smoothly and swiftly as my daughter had done?


Another time, at another place, I sensed another vibration. 

Steven had just switched off the light in his bedroom when I became aware of it.

"Can you hear that faint vibration?" .... I asked?

Steven listened, and said that he could.

It was a very faint "... d d d ... d d d ... d d d ...", but where was the noise coming from, and what was making it?

Steven got out of bed to listen, ... trying to locate the noise.

First he opened the door into his walk in robe leading to his en-suite. The vibration wasn't coming from in there.

Then he moved along the wall towards the bedroom door, which he opened, to listen in the next room.

The noise wasn't coming from in there, so he came back into the bedroom, shut the door, and put his ear to it.

"I've found out what's vibrating," ... he said.

"This shoe horn hanging from a hook on the back of the bedroom door is vibrating ever so slightly. "

I got up to listen too, and noticed that as the shoe horn vibrated it just managed to tap the door in a faint rhythmic pattern.

Or was the door vibrating slightly and making the shoe horn vibrate?

In the distance faint noises were coming from either the limestone mine, or the new hard rock quarry, or from both.

Were noises from the mines making the shoe horn vibrate?

Another night at Steven's place I was woken by a train blowing its whistle, before starting to move off into the distance, on the train line that services the mines

When I couldn't go back to sleep I got up for a cup of tea. 

I again heard the faint vibrating noise, and saw the shoe horn on the back of the bedroom door vibrating slightly.

Then in the dining room the back sliding door was vibrating noisily.

My daughter once told me that if vibrations go on and on they will eventually shake a house to bits.

So maybe it's just as well that someone is interested in buying Steven's property.

Outside a loud noise was coming from the direction of the nearby mines. Sometimes you can hear the mines and sometimes you can't, depending on conditions, but both mines actually continue operating 24 hours a day.


As I drank my cup of tea, I thought ...  "The vibrations must be coming from the big crusher at the hard rock quarry, or from the crusher at the limestone quarry, or from both, but how were they travelling?   ....through the ground?, ....  or through the air?"     ....  "And what was under the ground between the quarries and Steven's house?"

"Is it just more hard rock, and / or more limestone, or a mixture, or some other rocks or minerals?"

"And why had a helicopter with a sensor on it been criss- crossing Steven's property recently?  ....  and why had some sort of drilling been taking place across the road on one of the mining company's properties?"

"And why had a someone recently expressed an interest in buying Steven's property?"

"What did he know?"

"And what did the mining company know?"

Now that I had finished drinking my cup of tea I felt like going to sleep, so I went back to bed.   



When a manager from the mining company visited Steven's house one day recently Steven told him about the vibrations.

The manager suggested .... "I don't think that vibrations from machinery could travel through the ground all the way to your house." 

"The distance is too great, and there are different types of rock, none of which are continuous."

He continued  ...  "I'm inclined to think that sound waves are the cause, probably infra sound from the mines." 

Soon monitoring equipment was set up near Steven's house, and today the technician came back to pick up his equipment, so the results could be checked.

Unfortunately all hadn't gone well.

It was discovered that one of the leads to the equipment had been cut through, and Steven suspected that a rabbit was the culprit.

Once in the past a rabbit neatly cut through the phone line under Steven's house in similar fashion.



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SORRY Is Not Good Enough

The day arrived for the Ecovillage Open Day.

"Although it's raining, I really want to go", said my daughter.
"I think we'll really like the place".

She set out ahead of us, to go to her Yoga class on the way, and the children and I took our umbrellas and the pram, and set out to walk to the bus stop.

There we found a familiar figure sitting on the bus stop seat, busily smoking cigarettes.

Strewn on the footpath at her feet were the butts of all the cigarettes she had been smoking.

We had come across this woman smoking at the bus stop before.

On the first occasion, my grandson Issa had complained about the cigarette smoke, so I had said loudly enough for her to hear .... "It's illegal to smoke near children, ... and illegal to smoke within ten metres of a bus stop!"

The smoking woman had responded by saying "Sorry", before stubbing out her cigarette.

But almost immediately she had lit another cigarette!

So other people waiting at the bus stop had joined in, focusing their attention on her, making comments including .... "She must be smoking so much because she's just received her Centrelink payment", and ... "I've seen her stealing from cars in Tower Street". 

The dumpy, unresponsive woman stubbornly continued to smoke her latest cigarette until people began to tell her ... "Go away!". 

Finally she walked off up the street.
.

Today, when we again came across the smoking woman at the bus stop, instead of saying to her ... "It's illegal to smoke near children or within ten metres of a bus stop", I ignored her, and moved with the children further up the footpath, to get away from her cigarette smoke.

A car accelerated noisily around the nearby corner, spinning out of control.

I felt a moment of fear, when I saw it heading straight for the children and me.

Fortunately the driver regained control, before accelerating off at great speed.

Meanwhile, at the bus stop, a man waiting for the bus said to the smoking woman .... "You shouldn't be smoking at a bus stop!"... to which she replied ....

"It's OK".... "There aren't any police around!"


He told her to stop smoking, and she moved away, and went into the nearby Chemist.

The man watched her, then, as she came outside again, he called out .... "She's just stolen something!"

Now that the smoking woman had left, I was able to move with the children to the bus stop seat.

Next thing, Issa jumped up, and out of the way of a man hurtling towards us, his arms stretched out in an effort to stop himself.

He had come off his skateboard, and he came to a stop when he bumped into me, saying "Sorry!"

Our bus finally arrived and took us to Revesby Station, just before my daughter came up the stairs and found us, and just in time for our train to Central Station, where we caught the next train heading towards our destination.

There was still quite a journey ahead of us.

When we reached our station there was a two kilometer walk to the Ecovillage.

My daughter said: "I'll take Mariama in the pram, and walk, and you and Issa can catch a taxi."

Issa and I arrived at the Ecovillage seconds before my daughter, and we then walked together through the gateway, and along the road, past large hot houses to the combined lounge/dining room/reception building, overlooking a rainforest gully.

We were taken in groups on a tour of the property.

To the right, the land dropped down to river flats, with orchards, glass houses and a vineyard, then the creek.

To the left, and straight ahead, rose forest-covered mountains, and in a valley ahead was a huge dam.

There were flat areas for houses a little way up to the left of the road, and various farm and administrative buildings close to the road. Along the way we passed, or walked under, many of the huge trees planted on the property well over one hundred years ago. 

We liked the feel and smell, and beauty of the place. We liked the people we met, the lovely afternoon tea, and what we were told about the Ecovillage during the presentation in the comfortable lounge area. 

Then it was time to set out to return home.

It was very pleasant walking the two kilometres back to the station together.

There was something soft and gentle about the gold and green of low sunlight on houses and gardens and paddocks, and the creek we crossed.

We reached the station, and found that the train we were waiting for had been delayed a little by an accident up the line.

As it came into the platform I saw "Strathfield" displayed on the front.

Then we were on our way..

We were sitting at one end of our carriage, where there was plenty of room for the pram and for the children to run around a bit.

At one stage a young man burst in.

He addressed my daughter with: "Where does this train go to?"

She replied: "To Strathfield, ...  I think."

I added:  "Strathfield was written on the front of the train."

Meanwhile, Mariama was dashing around in our section of the carriage, and even opening the doors between the carriages, and playing in the space there.

Once, when she opened the doors, Mariama went into the next carriage, and made a bee line for the nearest red emergency button, and pressed it.

My daughter had to get up and apologise to the train guard when he answered the intercom.

In spite of our best efforts to keep Mariama away from emergency buttons she was too smart for us.

She rushed about and found three more red emergency buttons, in our carriage, and pressed them all in turn, and each time my daughter  had to answer the intercom to tell the guard what had happened, and apologise to him.

And the train guard wasn't the only person my daughter had to apologise to.

We had another visit from the young man who had earlier asked my daughter where the train was going to.

He was very agitated when he burst in this time.

"You told me this train was going to Strathfield, and it's going to Central!"... he shouted at my daughter.

"I'm sorry!", replied my daughter.

"SORRY!!".... "SORRY!!" .... responded the young man, waving his arms around in the air.

"SORRY IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"

"Sorry is what the rebels in Ukraine said after they shot down the Malaysian Airlines plane!"

He went off, and back upstairs, still shouting: "Sorry!".... "Sorry!", .... and every now and then we could hear in the distance..."Sorry!" .... "Sorry!".... "Sorry is no good!"

And that wasn't all!

The young man soon barged down the stairs again, saying:

"You have to fix things, after the trouble you've caused"

"I want you to ring my girlfriend, and apologise to her for sending her off to Strathfield instead of to Central."

"Instead of me getting closer to her, she's now going in the wrong direction!"

By now my daughter was getting upset, and she didn't have credit on her phone anyway, so I handed the young man my phone, and he sent a text message, which I saw later said .... "Stay where you are."

My daughter felt like pressing the red emergency button herself, to get assistance from the guard, to stop the young man from harassing her any more. 

But she didn't dare do that now.

The agitated young man still hadn't finished.

He was soon back again.

This time he shocked us by saying ....

"If the police arrest my girlfriend, and put her in gaol, it will be your fault, .... for sending her in the wrong direction, when she was carrying a shitload of drugs!"

WHAT"S WRONG WITH THE PHONE?

 I tried to ring Steven, but couldn't get through, although he was expecting me to ring.

That's a concern!

I hope nothing has happened to him, and that he hasn't fallen from a tree, or hit a kangaroo on the road!.

My brain works slowly until I decide to ring Steven's mobile with my mobile.

This time I get through, and he asks: "Why are you using your mobile phone?" and I reply: ..."Because your home phone isn't working".

"What makes you think that?"... he asks.

I reply..."I tried to ring you, and I couldn't get through". ..."There was no dial tone".    

"Its your phone that isn't working" ...he replies

"What makes you think that?". I ask.

Steven replies: ..."If there isn't a dial tone on your phone your phone isn't working.

He adds:... "You should ring your phone company straight away to let them know your phone isn't working." ...  "The number is in the phone book."

"I haven't got a phone book".

"Then you'll find the number on your latest phone bill."...."Or look on the internet, for "Service Difficulties and Faults".

"I'll do that later", I say..."I may as well continue talking now on my mobile phone".

"Will it cost you a lot?", ...he asks.

"No,"....."I get $450 worth of credit a month and I've hardly used my mobile phone lately".

So we continue our conversation, and when its over I go downstairs and tell my daughter: ... 

"The home phone isn't working." 

"Can I have the latest phone bill please, to find the number to ring?"

My daughter, who is busy, replies ...."I've filed it away and it would take too long to find right now".



So I rushed upstairs and took it on myself to ring the phone company right away.

The phone isn't even in my name, but that didn't seem to matter, after I looked up Service Difficulties and Faults on the internet, and told the technician my daughter's name.

That technician didn't communicate very well, so I wasn't all that upset when I was cut off.

I got a competent lady when I rang again, and soon I was down on 
my knees under my desk, trying to disconnect the phone from the power point in the narrow space behind the desk drawers.

It was hard for me to get down there, and see what I was doing, and keep my glasses on, while holding my mobile phone and talking to the technician, all at the same time.

When I was asked to get down under my desk again, to reconnect the phone, but with the internet disconnected this time, it was too much for me.

Which of the long tangled cords was from the phone, and which was from the internet?

I lost my phone somewhere, after my two year old grand daughter came into the room, and climbed onto me, while I was down on the floor, squeezed up in the tight place under my desk.

Eventually I found my phone, and got away from under my grand daughter, and then I had to try to get up, after explaining to the technician that I was going to get my daughter.

My daughter wasn't pleased about this, because she had just got out of the shower, and she wasn't dressed yet.

She took over as soon as she could, and I had to try to keep my grand daughter away from her mother. 

When all that could be done about the phone at this stage had been done, and it still didn't work, my daughter said that she was cross.

She had important emails to send that night and now her internet wasn't working.

Fortunately she remembered that she had an internet dongle to use.

Also, she hadn't liked being told by the technician that it would cost $170 for a technician to come to find the fault.

A few days later I was preparing my room in case a technician came to look inside for the fault.

I had removed the drawers fro my desk, and moved the paintings that had been resting on my desk.

I was about to move my desk away from the wall to allow easier access to the power point and phone input, when I was rung on my mobile phone to see if the home phone still wasn't working.

I said that it wasn't.

I was told that a technician had come to check the phone line out in the street, and that he hadn't found any problem there.

A technician would now ring to make an appointment to come inside.

I passed this information on to my daughter. 

She asked me ..."Did you check downstairs before you rang the phone company in the first place? 

"No",.. I confessed.

"Well", my daughter replied ..."I could remember one day seeing that little Issa had plugged the downstairs intercom into the downstairs phone outlet.


Remember how Issa used to plug the old fax machine he found in the street, into the phone outlet downstairs, and it used to affect my internet.

My daughter continued: .... "I've just looked downstairs and found that the intercom was again plugged into the phone outlet".

"Now that I've unplugged the intercom the phone is working again".

"I hope we won't be charged $170".

I rang the phone company to tell them that the phone problem had resolved itself.

Later a lady rang to tell me that they would give my daughter credit for the days we were without the phone and without the internet.

CAPTAIN SAUSAGE

We're walking down the street, my two grandchildren and me, and we see all the usual things on the way, only this time five year old Issa asks ....."Who put that black plastic bag up that tree?"

I reply ...."I don't know", then I add ...."It must have been Mr Kafoops"


Next day, while walking down the street again, Issa asks ......"Who put those cracks in the footpath?" ..... then......"Who put that box against that tree?", ......and my reply is again ....."It must have been Mr Kafoops."


Day by day, when we went walking, Issa would ask things like ....."Who made those lines in the sky" ....."Who broke that tree" ....and I would reply ......."It must have been Mr Kafoops", and one day I add ....."Mr Kafoops must be a very busy fellow!"


When Issa said one day "I saw Mr kafoops walking past our house yesterday" I was so surprised that I forgot to ask him what Mr Kafoops looks like.


Issa still asks ..."Who did this" .....or "Who did that"....., and sometimes it's something I did, so then I answer......"Mrs Kafoops must have done it."


One day when I was at home with the children, I couldn't find Issa anywhere.

He had been there in the living room half a minute earlier, then, after I got something from the kitchen, he was conspiculously absent.

"He must have gone outside"  I thought, so I looked everywhere out there, going to the edge of the verandah to look along to the laundry steps, then making my way along the verandah so I could look around to see the side of the house.

Issa was nowhere to be seen.

Back inside I asked Mariama if she knew where Issa was, and she said "No".

I looked out the front window and couldn't see Issa.

I looked behind the sofa in the front room, and behind the sofa in the living room.

I looked in the toilet, and in the laundry.

The garage door was still locked, so Issa couldn't be in there.

Next I looked in all the rooms upstairs, and out on the balcony.

No sign of Issa anywhere there. So I went downstairs to begin to repeat the process of looking there.


Out on the back verandah I retraced my steps to the end of the verandah to look up the side of the house again, and as I returned I wondered about the big cardboard removal box I had been stepping around.

Was it empty, as I had assumed?

I felt the box and there was something substantial inside, and when I lifted the box up there was Issa, looking very pleased with himself.

I was amazed at his patience while he remained quietly inside the box, waiting to be found.

Issa got up from his crouching position and said: "Mr Kafoops told me to do it."


Mr Kafoops continues to be busy in our lives.

Last night, when two year old Mariama was in the laundry with me she kept on saying...."Mr Kafoops in the window"....."Mr Kafoops in the window, " ....and I could imagine that I saw him there too.


One day Issa began talking about "Captain Sausage"

The name made me laugh, so every now and then Issa would say again ...."Captain Sausage".

I asked my daughter if she knew anything  about Captain Sausage, and she said "Yes".  ...."When we were on the bus to Avalon yesterday, do you remember how it diverted off the main road?"

"Yes" ....I said.

Daughter: "Well, you were sitting apart from us, so you wouldn't have heard Issa and me talking about the cafe we passed called "Captain Sausage".  "Its a funny name isn't it".

Next day I was sitting at lunch, wearing my new top with navy and white horizontal stripes.

I was feeling rather nautical so I said ..."I hope I don't look like Captain Sausage when I wear this top!

My daughter was delighted, and said: "You're Captain Sausage now!"

TRIP TO AVALON

Should we travel to Avalon for the Memorial Service for an elderly family friend who has just died?

"I'm planning to go", I announced.

"Maybe the children and I will come too," said my daughter.

We wondered how this would go. Would it be OK to take along a two year old and a five year old to the Memorial Service?

So we rang the lady's daughter to check and she said it was OK, and that if the children got bored they could always be taken outside.

The train journey to the city went smoothly, but then the bus journey began very slowly, because of heavy traffic

"I feel sick!" said Issa, before we had gone far.

So we got off the bus to walk to the next bus stop.

I was following behind, walking too slowly because my near-new shoes had begun to feel uncomfortable.

When I turned a corner my daughter and the children were nowhere in sight.

"Maybe that's them in the distance at the next bus stop", I thought.

So I hurried on ahead.

Then I heard my name called out, and I imagined that my daughter was calling me from the bus stop, because a bus was coming,

So I surged ahead, until I heard my name called out again, this time from behind me.

I turned around, but didn't noticed my daughter waving to me from outside a shop, as she called out to me again.

I retraced my steps, then when I hesitated near some shops, wondering where my daughter was, I saw a lady waving her arms at me from inside a coffee shop window.

She wasn't my daughter, but she looked happy when she saw that I was coming inside.

I could now see my daughter and the children ordering at the counter.

We enjoyed our coffees, and hot chocolates and banana bread while sitting at a table near the window.

"That was a nice break", we decided, as we got on another bus and resumed the journey.

When we finally arrived at Avalon, and found the Memorial Service venue at the bowling club, ladies were playing bowls in the sunshine, while others were sitting around talking.

So we sat outside too, and kept an eye on the children as they ran around playing.

Maybe we let them play for too long before we moved up the stairs and inside the building.

The room was already full of people and most were already seated.

After being greeted by members of the bereaved family, we were ushered to the remaining empty seats which were up the front, in the second row.

"I want some chips", said Issa when he saw the chip vending machine against the wall in front of us,.

My daughter could see that the chip vending machine was disconnected, because a projector had been plugged into the power point.

This was unfortunate, because, with no chips, Issa was in a grumpy mood when the Memorial Service started.

He began to make a loud, continuous Hummming noise, to show his displeasure.

The expression on Issa's face showed that he was determined to continue his noise, until he got what he wanted.

Everyone must have been able to hear him.

How embarrassing!   I was sitting closest to Issa so I felt responsible for stopping his humming.

What could I do?

In desperation I reached for Issa's knee, and gave it a little pinch.

A tickle may have worked much better, because Issa responded with very loud, indignant cries which were much more disturbing than his humming.

Now it was my daughter's turn to act.

She grabbed one child under each arm, and made a hasty retreat from the building.

No doubt many members of the audience felt relieved that now there would be no more disturbances.

Meanwhile I was able to remain inside, enjoying the service, the tributes, and the poems read by family members and friends, followed by the slide show and commentary about the lady's life.

At the same time I was feeling guilty for causing my daughter to miss the service she had made such an effort to attend.

When my daughter and the children returned after the service none of us felt very comfortable.

We were embarrassed by the disturbance we had caused when the memorial service began.

"Let's go to the beach", I suggested, and we were relieved to slip away, to enjoy the sand and the sea.

I was sent to buy some refreshments, then everyone was happy in the fresh air and sunshine, my daughter and the children paddling in the sea, with the windswept headland as a backdrop.

So it seemed that the trip hadn't been a waste of time for the others after all.

When it was time to leave we tore ourselves away from the beach and caught a bus to the city.

I was sitting apart from the others, at the side, up the front, minding the pram which was opposite me.

An overweight man was squashing me in, and I couldn't stretch out my legs in the aisle because people kept walking past to get off.

On top of that, my shoes were hurting!

My phone rang, and while I was talking I began to feel too hot, so I took off a jumper.

Then I began to feel bus sick, and soon I felt exhausted.

In this state, I decided:  "What a nightmare of a trip!" "We shouldn't have come!"

And I began to wonder how I would be able to endure all the rest of the journey home.

How would I be able to make it from the bus stop to our train at Wynyard Station?

I didn't feel as though I would be able to walk that far.

And then how could I cope with the train journey home, perhaps having to stand all the way.

I thought "Maybe I need to lie down on a seat in Wynyard Park for a while, while the others go home on the train ahead of me."

When we did get off the bus it was actually good to walk a little bit.

And I discovered that lying on a seat in the park would not have been a good idea after all.

Night was approaching, and homeless people were already meeting up in the park close to the seats where they were planning to spend the night together, and I would have been caught up in their midst.

On the other hand, it might have been fun.

The homeless people who had gathered looked rather jolly, happy to see one another again, and at the centre of the group was a charismatic young African man with dreadlocks and a guitar, ready to entertain them with his music.

We reached the station, and had to wait for a lift to arrive to take us down to our platform.

Then we had to wait again, while a frail elderly lady was helped out of the lift.

She reminded me of our elderly friend, whose memorial service we had attended that morning, and I hoped it had been up to her expectations.





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