THE EARTHRISE DIARY (Dec 2012)
© text Don Diespecker 2012
Don Diespecker
Before sunrise the sky was grey
with low cloud that looked like smoke in the early light, but now that the sun
is up and I’m standing in the lounge room looking downstream I see the surface
of the Bellinger glimmering with flashing sunlight. Away to my left the lawns
are lighting in patches. At eye level I can now see several fine strands of
silk between the riverside casuarinas: the light flashes along each length like
a laser. These are only snares or hunting strands intended for some tiny flying
creatures over the water. I wonder if the little spinners in the trees know how
beautifully they have contrived this flashing display; their suspended strands
are only microns in diameter: I see them clearly from 40-m away.
DD Dec 15 2012
Dec 9 2012. –Already this is the second week of December and the month
is well under way and speedily taking us all to the conclusion of year 2012! I
see that the eucalypts have begun splitting and shedding their barks. If I sit
quietly and watch and might see some of that happening, live. This being Sunday
I’ve allowed myself an entire hour to sit outside and to creatively write an
outline description of one of my long stories so as to have something prepared
for online self publishing in the next few days.
The past two weeks or so have been a busy time for me and one of my
greatest difficulties is the Earthrise Connection to The Weather. To explain
that: there have been frequent thunderstorms with sometimes heavy thundery
showers here. This weather pattern has persisted through the last part of the
spring and into the summer; consequently parts of the property are like a
jungle. Also, there have been planned electricity interruptions (necessary for
infrastructure improvements), as well as power failures due to noisy electrical
storms (candlelight is useless when I have work to do on the computer or
reading that always seems essential—reading implies the best of light) and
there have been essential outside jobs (clearing debris; mowing when the
weather allows). The lawns being so much in the shade have been more wet than
dry and the grass is close to impossible to properly mow if it’s always wet—and
growing apace.
At lunchtime I sit on the belvedere to make notes and to pass the time
sensibly with a water dragon in need of sustenance (juicy stinging flies) after
having left some food scraps in the compost area for Jason, the inimitable
brush turkey (Jason is getting close to accepting hand-feeding, like certain
dragons). Sunny warm days are not quite as frequent as I would like:
thunderstorms and heavy showers are more usual this year—not a good sign
because it implies another wet summer of flooding rains, a full river carrying
big loads of debris and large portions of that being dumped here.
I had rolled up the TV Guide with which to swat flies that attacked me
relentlessly. I saw two juicy stingers valiantly parked on the toe of my work
boot where they were so determined that I assumed they were surely gaining
nourishment of some kind from the battered leather. I rolled the Guide tighter
and attempted the mutual assassination of the flies but failed, apologised to
the dragon for my poor marksmanship and then noticed an item in the TV Guide
and read that Marina Abramovic, had presented herself as an exposition in New York’s Museum of Modern Art in 2010 (“The
Artist is Present”). She did this by having sat in a chair from morning till
night every day for three months, “allowing members of the public to sit in front
of her for as long as they liked.”
This seems an attractive notion because a variation of this work could
become a fashionable possibility here at Earthrise. I could charge visitors a
reasonable admission price to my belvedere on days when the weather is fine and
when I fancy an hour or so sitting diligently for the viewers who would be
happy to see me reading, making notes and possibly even having conversations
with the water dragons—so long as the visitors would guarantee to not block
either my downstream view of the rapids or the slightly upstream experience of
seeing and hearing the rapids running into the Pool. I would even allow at no
extra cost, photos to be taken of myself appropriately reading, writing and
from time to time mugging genteelly for the camera. And why would I not? I
suppose that if this exhibition or more correctly exposition were to become the vogue up here in the Darkwood there
would be a certain amount of competition between the locals as ‘performance
artists’ or ‘living rustic treasures’ and some might risk spoiling the show by
encouraging the customers to buy Devonshire Teas, on the one hand, or to
request certain beverages like very dry Martinis or chilled chardonnay or even
beer in cans. When I think more deeply about this I still felt encouraged
because with enough paying customers I might then be able to invest in a laptop
and do even more work while sitting
benignly on the belvedere during these summery days while writing a book or two
out there. I might have to draw the line at too large a crowd of viewers though
because they would tend to obscure my best views (I quickly visualise a
solution: I would restrict the location of viewers to seats below and on the
river side of the belvedere so that only their heads would be visible over the
edge of my lookout).
These playful possibilities remind me of my teenage years in South
Africa: in Durban I would sometimes visit a Tearoom Bioscope called, I think,
the Roxy. South Africans have long tended to speak of the cinema as The Bioscope
or ‘the Bio.’ Puzzled readers will find plenty of information about these names
and phenomenon by Googling the words. The Tearoom Bio is a cinema in which the
price of admission includes refreshments. The one that I remember in the early
1940s had a continuous (I think) ‘table’ like a rack that was built on to the
backs of the seats so that after an usherette had asked the customer for
his/her preference for refreshment, she would return with ice cream on a saucer
or a sweet drink and place the item in front of her customer.
I realise that although I could arrange something similar here (and
remembering that the Roxy usherettes were uniformed and wore pillar box hats) I
would have to employ kitchen staff in
my kitchen and outside staff to
deliver refreshments from the house to the belvedere. Problems might arise:
some of the staff might resist being uniformed; others might insist upon it. It
still seems a feasible idea, however, and so long as customers avoid making a
mess or tipping over backwards in to the river I’m sure the scheme would work
well enough. Think of it! My visitors would pay me an admission price, be
seated at footlight level, be delivered refreshments and have the pleasure of watching me intently for hours as I
creatively whiled away the time on summery afternoons! I’d probably earn enough
money to retire all over again.
Some readers may be interested to know that I have begun
self-publishing some of my many unpublished MSS hitherto stored in a computer
(and there are also some printed text copies in cardboard boxes). More eBooks
are now being published Online than regular text editions offered for sale by
regular publishes. –Not because of me, I hasten to add, but because there is
now a worldwide trend or ‘fashion,’ if you like, to do so. I won’t say more
about this because readers may find abundant information about this and other DIY
method of self-publishing at a number of Online sites. The one I have been
exploring and using (self-publishing is free, by the way) is called Kindle Direct
Publishing. –That, in turn, implies a Kindle reader or something similar:
iPhone, iPad or iPod. Ebooks can be selected and paid for with a credit card
Online. So far and with assistance
from friends and mentors I’ve been able to self publish in November and
December, these:
“Finding Drina,” a novella
in three parts and in three distinct styles (those approximating the styles of
GG Marquez, Ernest Hemingway and Lawrence Durrell). In my narrative my
characters meet the characters from other novels (this makes my novella, also,
metafiction—fiction about fiction). Each part of the story, as a homage piece,
is also a tribute to a particular novelist. The narrative is set in Venezuela,
Australia, Paris and Rhodes and includes some so-called magic (or magical) realism.
“The Earthrise Visits” is
one of my long (20-k words) stories and is set here (it’s a literary ghost
story and includes magic realism).
“Farewelling Luis Silva” is
another of my long stories; it unfolds partly in Canberra, Paris and Brussels
and mostly in Lisbon. This is a dystopian story set about a decade into the
future.
About two years ago I wrote a long story titled, “One morning in May.”
Bruce Furner and I had been discussing our mutual admiration and fondness for
that fine soprano, Miliza Korjus. I was a 9-year old kid in Pilgrims Rest (E
Transvaal, South Africa) in 1938 when the movie, The Great Waltz was released
and a copy duly arrived in our small (gold) mining village. Many will recall
that one of the songs featured in that film was “One day when we were young,”
(one wonderful morning in May, &c &c). Miliza Korjus, (aka ‘The Berlin
Nightingale’) starred in that movie and sang the song. I can never forget her:
in appearance MK was strikingly similarity to Mae West.
I had recently heard the song, was able to again see some of the images
Online and also hear some of MKs singing. Adapting the title of that song was a
nostalgic way of titling a story that had no real similarities to the 1938
movie, The Great Waltz. Long stories in this country never achieve publication
in Australia—unless the writer is famous—and this narrative is nearly 23-k
words long. The story depends partly on the notion of coincidence for it to
work in the way that I wanted. There are several of these partly synchronous
episodes in the story and there’s also one that startled me because I hadn’t
planned or contrived it.
On Dec 9, I was doing a final check on the draft of this retitled long
story. There is a brief mention in a short scene that takes place in an oyster
bar in Lisbon where Sarah Hart and Harvey Giraud are having a light lunch: I
had written into this scene that Harvey was preoccupied but that Sarah had
distinguished from among the many sounds they could both hear, that particular
music (above) from the movie, The Great Waltz (but not any particular voice
like that of Miliza Korjus). I was re-reading the particular paragraph when I
suddenly heard on my radio here at
Earthrise a chorus of voices singing “One day when we were young.” It’s not a
piece of music we might normally expect to hear at all frequently these days,
but there was no particular reason that I was aware of for it to have been
broadcast on that particular day and at that particular time. The hair on the
back of my neck stood up and I had shivers along my spine. It was an eerie
experience.
Each of the above three eBooks are listed ($0.99) and the first two
have their own covers (rather than one ‘provided’ by KDP). Though it’s possible
to navigate from the Kindle Direct Publishing site there is a more direct way.
I asked Kerry Smith and he recommends this: Go to amazon.com
then select Kindle eBooks and then do a search for Don Diespecker and the above
books will be seen listed. Or, more quickly: do a search on Amazon, kindle,
eBooks, Don Diespecker.
I’ve also been preparing and editing a quite
long novel, “The Selati Line” and will self-publish this soon, too (this is a
sequel to my novels The Agreement
and Lourenço Marques, is also a post
Boer War story, a train story and also an early flying story. The protagonists
Alexandrina (‘Drina’) de Camoens, Louis Dorman, the prodigy/savant, Louise
Dorman and a number of other familiar characters reappear in this full length
novel (about 120-k words). Because it’s much bigger than the other three stories
this eBook will probably be priced a little higher than the first three, but I
haven’t yet made that decision.
Don’s Day Out (3
and 4)
DD
It’s December 11 and I’m up at dawn for an early
start. Not only does the old 1987 Honda require a big Service (she’s doing very
well at 190,000-km but she does require increasing attention). There has been
increased concern because I recently discovered that the battery tray had
become so corroded as to threaten the battery (this is a polite way of
indicating that I suddenly was rushing pell-mell toward terminal neurosis
because I feared the battery might fiendishly break loose from its once secure
platform and fall through the corroded metal and on to the road (there would be
blinding flashes and possibly large detonations and almost certainly a
horrendous onboard fire developing into a mushroom cloud that would be seen
from space by umpteen Intel satellites and which would alert Global Security
Countermeasures as the crippled vehicle, now enveloped in flames, plunged from the
highway into one of the coastal forests, destroying every forest in sight as
well as Yours Truly). Fortunately for myself and for the ageing Honda, none of
these terrifying events occurred.
A few days prior to the 11th I had wandered over to
the Coffs Harbour CBD and the Palm Centre (I am now able to walk more or less
normally thanks to the wonderful effects of silica tablets and the presumed
reducing of the ‘spurs’ on my spine). I expected the Muffin Break café to have
remained upstairs at the Centre where there is ample light and psychologically
an airy feeling (and where there are appropriate distant views through the many
windows up on that level), but the café has reverted to its downstairs location
where, psychologically, there is gloom that approaches semi darkness, no
windows, and the kinds of hoardings and temporary structures to be found in
buildings undergoing renovations and reconstructions. Worst of all, there were
unsettling reflections of criminal-looking and dangerous persons to be seen whenever
I glanced at the dark shop- fronts in this area—until I realized that I was
seeing only the pallid reflections of myself and other early morning beverage
drinkers and that the most threatening of all images, strangely enough, was my
own.
On Dec 11 there is a little more light and being a
creature of habit I buy as a treat some black espresso coffee and a gluten-free
blueberry muffin and wander away from the busy counter to a seat and tiny table
nearby; I can see most of my fellow drinkers and they can see me. I adopt my
casual Old Bloke on Day Out Publicly Drinking Coffee posture and look craftily
about whilst peering through the fumes. The coffee is good—somewhat better than
the rare brews that I make in an old coffee pot at home and the far more sophisticated
drink that Kerry S makes with a dangerous-looking little espresso machine. I
imagine my blood pressure going up rapidly and although I would prefer that my
surging blood would relax a little I do enjoy the caffeine blast.
It is summer and crowds begin subtly to form before
08:00 hours. The temperature and humidity rise. The early morning crowd is
moving at Coffs Harbour speeds which is to say that the people are all moving
much faster than the average person either in the Darkwood (where most folks
travel fast in motor vehicles if they can, rather than totter along the
dangerous Darkwood Road with it’s loose stones and depths of dust, or in
Bellingen where the pace is faster than Darkwood but slower than it is in the
Coffs CBD. Again, that kind of walking speed is a notable psychological factor.
If a Bellingen walker (some go barefoot) were to move at Bellingen speed in the
Coffs CBD he or she would attract attention, if not suspicion, and that person
moving at that ‘country’ pace could possibly become a Security Risk. In Coffs
CBD one must learn to move at the appropriate pace (close to running before
08:00 hours).
There I am sipping coffee and keeping the locals under
surveillance. Opposite me there is a brightly lighted chicken butchery; I am reminded
of waiting for a kibbutz bus in Upper Galilee where I passed the time idly
watching an open-air chicken butchery in action (live chooks at one end were
dispatched somewhere along the conveyor line and chooks minus their heads
arrived at the other end). That, in turn reminded me of a similar enterprise at
the so-called ‘slaughter pole’ in Pilgrims Rest when I, all of eight years old
learned where our table meat came from (I can see it all now and will spare you
the details).
I am surrounded by the unforgettable and unstoppable
sounds of Bing Crosby with orchestra and chorus singing ‘White Christmas.’ This
music is suddenly and loudly contested by a quite different kind of music from
a store nearby; the resultant noise is unbearable. Perhaps there are local
psychologists, psychiatrists, counsellors who have set this up so as to attract
hitherto innocent and now unhinged coffee drinkers?
This part of the Centre looks very unfinished; I
suppose that’s a consequence of builders building while trying to avoid being
watched by coffee drinkers. The ceilings above the Muffin Break café look very
unfinished. A crime thriller I saw recently on TV indicated that refurbished
ceilings were opportune places in which to conceal murder victims. I wonder if
there are any murder victims that have been concealed above my head here now? I
also wonder if the Bing Crosby music fans and the more modern and clashing
competitors would be driven to murdering each other? Is that why the ceilings
look so unfinished directly over my head?
I finish my coffee and saunter off toward the
escalator. Upstairs where it is more open and well lighted there is a Christmas
tree with flashing lights and the top of the tree has a nice big star attached
to it. Naturally I remember such trees and stars on the Christmas trees of my
childhood, especially those in British Columbia. I remember that in one year in
the 1930s our tree was so tall that deft and discreet surgery was needed to fit
the star at the apex—it otherwise would have been affixed at a horizontal
angle.
I wander over to the tree and then make a discreet
inspection of several attractive wooden seats placed along the wall beneath the
windows with the expansive views. Nobody sits on these grand benches that look
like park benches, highly varnished. I wonder why. I discover that there are
shining metal labels on each of the benches that reads: “Big W Courtesy Seat.
We sell For Less.” I don’t think that Big W intends the sale of those benches.
Another reason for their being empty may be that the benches are on the raised
level where Muffin Break had once been temporarily located because of
reconstruction and building on the ground floor. Anyone sitting up there would
be able to look down on the rest of the crowd.
I sit on the now battered sofa I have sat on in the
past. One book reader has just left; I take his place and browse my book of
essays. Opposite young women assistants pace and chat moodily, each with an eye
for parents with children to be photographed; business is slow; there is no
photography because there are no indulgent parents while I read my book.
After a while I go into the Big W and browse their
books section. I am at pains to show the Security lady at the entrance my bag
of books, medical items, iPhone, notebooks, diary and my swish new external
hard drive for the computer. When I come out again I again show my bag to the
Security person and we chat. Sometimes an alarm goes off when a neglecting
customer has failed to pay for a purchase. I learn alarming things about some of
the customers.
Later, and following this casual little interview and
chat about Security matters, I walk down the street to the Book Warehouse. On
the way a car’s security system loudly begins to sound a warning. I turn to see
why, but am none the wiser. Suddenly a young woman ahead of me rushes into the
street aiming a hand-held device. I consider diving into the gutter there to
take cover but realise that the device is not a firearm but an electronic
instrument intended to switch off her car alarm…
Life in the city has undertones and sometimes
overtones of danger. I later drive home in the rejuvenated Honda.
Dec 17. The year is moving on at breakneck speed. I am
up early for the weekly Practice Run combined with Shopping to Coffs Harbour
and Park Beach Plaza. The Honda moves delightfully along the highway as
smoothly as Starship Enterprise. It is a fine summer day and humid. I note that
Jason, the splendid brush turkey has used the Honda’s roof as a perch and left
a mess for me to clean up. I pray that he hasn’t discovered how to get in to
the dahlia garden and dig up all the tubers. I mention these matters to the
bird when I return home mid morning. Jason is busy turning over everything
loose on the slopes between the carport and the house; yet again. Brush turkeys
are hard to reason with. I am pleased to see that there is at least one
Christmas orchid on this path that has survived Jason’s predations and that it
is flowering beautifully. Massed choirs of cicada percussionists greet my
return. I can see clouds forming and there will surely be thunder soon. It’s
almost Christmas again.
Dec 18. There was yet another electrical storm
yesterday afternoon followed by heavy showers—by which time I had switched off
and disconnected the computer and disconnected the phones. Just as well. The
power failed at 4:30 pm. When the rain stopped I went out to check my incoming
power line: it was secure and undamaged. Good. I found Jason brush turkey in
the carport; he doesn’t much care for electrical storms and heavy rain.
‘Jason,’ I said severely, loafing about in the carport makes you a target for
foxes; you need to roost—but not on the roof of the Honda.’ Jason cocks his
head and stares enquiringly. ‘What’s more,’ I earnestly say, ‘I’ve heard all
the fox stories and some can reputedly run up chicken wire, go over the top,
terminate all the chooks down below and then escape by running up the chicken
wire again. You might bear that in mind.’ Jason seems to toss his head before
wandering away.’ I leave him to it and return to the house.
The electricity came on again after 90 minutes. Hours
later I happened to look outside in the dark; the dark was nicely lighted by
fireflies flashing on the slopes next to the house. In the past the fireflies
always were seen only in the spring, usually in September. Here they were on a
warm humid evening in early summer. Climate change and global warming, I
suppose. –And of course Jason’s rearranging of the landscape.
I’m closing and posting the Diary early (there are
hours of editing the Selati novel ahead). This has been a momentous year for
me—the 1,000th month, my citizenship, and now self-publishing
Online.
Please see, also, Russell Atkinson’s blog at:
www.theoldestako.wordpress.com/
Best wishes to all Diary Readers, from Don at
Earthrise. December 18 2012.
