Kindness begins with cats on cycles

Is it too early to order an advent calendar? I saw one online that has a rock a day. Yup, my kind of adventing. But then my brain kicked into gear and I realized that it is over two months to Christmas and surely by that time I would have put the calendar somewhere and forgotten its hiding place. So, I rescinded my order and played with my existing rock collection. Do I really need more rocks? No, nope and absolutely not. They bring back memories of my Dad pointing out quartz, jadeite, jasper and many other bits of stone in rock pools of my youth. Is that why I love stones? A few years back we went for a holiday in Australia, well, actually two holidays, where the only thing I bought was rocks. Pretty pink, purple, green and even a black one or two. Now my son and I watch a TV show called 'Auzzie Gold Hunters'. They have all the new tech of metal detectors, mill crushers, and big earthmovers. Some of them are 'By Gosh and by Golly' miners, who do the hit and miss version. They sometimes find a nugget or two, but on the whole, they barely scrape a living from the red dust of Australia. Miles from anywhere and struggling with flies and heat and snakes, they wait for the ping of a find. They dig and often it is only a piece of tin or a musket ball they unearth. When they do find the tiniest speck of dust, they do a happy dance and put the nugget into their little bottles. But then there are the guys who want to get millions and are only happy with nuggets the size of my hand. My 2X great grandpa, Benjamin Bell, left the family in Dumfries, Scotland and by 1852 was mining gold in Australia. Was he a By Gosh and by Golly miner? Most probably. But by 1854 he had found his nugget and was in a position to marry the judge's daughter. Yup, it must have been a big ole nugget. He was one of 6,000 miners who arrived from around the world weekly at Ballarat. Yes, you read correctly, 6,000 miners per week. They lived in tents and life was brutal. Ben used his money to buy a house in South Yarra and installed his wife in luxury and went back to his twelve by twelve foot claim. As one claim ran out of gold, he would pay for another lease and move on. Mining between 6 and 10 claims in the four years he worked there. No metal detector, no fancy tools, just a pickaxe, a spade and the required muscles and endurance to make it pay. He must have spent some time in Melbourne because he and Eliza Adelaide Theresa Ackroyd had 7 children. His mining partner was his brother, Herbert Irving Bell. But they would sometimes hire a fellow Scot to help with the digging or the barrowing when they were feeling rich. As you might imagine the tent city was not big on sanitation and disease was rife. From the irritating bed bugs and fleas to much more serious illness spread like wildfire. Herbert travelled back to Scotland to marry his sweetheart with a pocket full of nuggets. By the time the young marrieds returned to Australia, Benjamin was dead. My poor great grandpappy died at the age of 40. Herbert sat with his sister-in-law and the decision was made to move to Mauritius, where her mother was living. Herbert became my great grandpappy's surrogate father and we owe him a debt of gratitude for taking on the seven children and their upkeep. But Herbert was ailing. He had caught one of the bugs in Australia that plagued the mining fields and by 1870 he was feeling the stress of it all. Oh dear, why am I so sad about something that happened over a century ago? Anyhow, my great grandfather grew up in Mauritius and yadda yadda yadda, he moved to South Africa to fight in the Boer war, became a policeman and two generations later here I stand as a witness to the gold miners of Australia and their love of shiny rocks. Is it something in my DNA? Should I take a holiday to Ballarat and wander those gold fields in search of more shiny rocks? Gold is still being found in the area, will I strike it lucky? By gosh and by golly I could walk in Benjamin James Bell's footsteps and get rich. Oh okay, no. Not a possibility. After watching that show, I will stick with my own shiny stones and dream of the riches of times gone by.

We are making a new post box for the front of our driveway. In previous homes, I have embellished, created and painted all sorts of odd stuff to make our post boxes stand out. But this one is next level freaky. We are making a version of Howl's Moving Castle. Yes, I do still watch animated movies. And yes, I am almost 68 years old. You haven't watched it? Okay then, it features a wizard, two wicked witches and a young girl who thinks she is plain and not of any worth. Wicked witch # 1 curses her with age and Sofie, the girl, becomes an aged hag overnight. Does she have any friends? Not really. She has workmates and a sister and mother who are all self-obsessed. But when Witch #1 gets cursed, Sofie takes care of her. She feeds her and looks after her and makes sure she is comfortable. She forgives her enemy and not only forgives, but goes one step further and ministers to her needs. How many of us can say we do that? But what I love is the graphics. As an artist, I love the imagination of animators and creators. They take us out of the world and into a fantasy filled with the weird and wonderful. The scarecrow is one of Sofie's friends and helps her as much as he can although he is stuck on a stick and has his own issues to deal with. Do I look at my disabilities and think, 'I can't help others?' No, I don't actually, but never mind I still admire scarecrow for his ability to think outside himself and see the needs of others. When we were broke and had barely any food in our cupboards, the girls and I made cookies and delivered them to a rich lady down the street. Did the rich lady need our cookies? Nope, but she did appreciate them. That rich lady died last month and to the end of her days, she spoke of us with affection and all for the cost of a few cookies. Life's great moments often hinge on tiny decisions whether to be kind or cruel. As a child, we would attend the movie house in town run by returned servicemen and women. These soldiers, who had risked their lives for peace, saw a need for escapism for us all. Doctor McLaren loved the horror movies, Mrs Dreyer her love stories and we all loved the cowboy serials that played before intermission. Where the good guys always wore white and no matter the battles they fought, they came out with their hats and hair intact and their clothes freshly laundered. Mrs Antonowitz (who I mention in my book Muddled Memories) would march into the theater aka community hall (with bats and owls in the air vents), and smack the poor soul sitting in her seat with her parasol. Mrs Antonowitz was a Russian dignitary who had fallen on hard times. They lived in my grandparent's garage for a while and my Gran always spoke of her with kindness and concern, even when Mrs Antonowitz was wielding her parasol in a tizzy fit. I was watching a talk about the Afghanistan exodus. The women fleeing from a regime that would take away their freedoms. They arrived at Ramstein Airforce base in Germany, many of them were distressed at losing their hijabs and prayer robes. Some local women heard about this. Christian women who looked outside their own comfort zones and sat down and sewed those displaced women hijabs and prayer robes. Women supporting women with kindness and understanding of their needs. Just like Sofie fed the wicked witch, as my Gran showed love to Mrs Antonowitz and those women sewed clothing they had no understanding of, we too can be kind. Sofie found her purpose and own future while serving others. The scarecrow becomes a prince, the wicked witch becomes a loved grandmother figure and the wizard, he has always seen the beauty within her. When we love others, we can see their real value, their true beauty and their potential, sometimes more than they can see within themselves.

Okay enough preachy preachy stuff. Spring has sprung and the blossoms are on the trees and I really should unearth my bike and get out in the fresh air. I saw a man in Wellington moving his whole apartment by bicycle. Well, I am not planning on doing that, but moving myself from one space to another is my goal. I will join the joggers and dog walkers, the strollers and the sightseers near the river. But knowing my cats, they will follow me. What to do? Should I buy them harnesses and drag them behind me yowling and howling in protest? Or should I make a nice warm bed in the basket on the bike and get a lid to keep them in place? Or a backpack? Actually, I think I will buy them a harness and make a comfy nest in the basket. Better safe than sorry. Do they make bike helmets small enough for the kitties? But then again cats are known for landing on their feet, would that be enough to keep them safe. Okay, I know I shouldn't worry about accidents when I haven't even started my journey. I should look down the road, set my goal to the river pathway and not be concerned with the distractions of my bad cycling habits. Did you know that England was known for over a hundred years as being a terrible cycling nation. Well, I take offence at that. My great grandpa, (another grandpa, not the goldminer) loved cycling on his pennyfarthing in races. But apparently the British Olympic team had never succeeded until they got a new coach. He suggested that instead of trying to win the races, they should change their habits one percent at a time. One little adjustment instead of a big one. Yes, I can get on board with that one. I can focus on just getting out the driveway, then just down the road, then the river pathway. Little steps folks. Even the cats will be done in stages. They might not enjoy cycling, but I shall persevere. First I will make a nest in the basket and place some treats inside. Then I will dress in PPE (Personal Protection Equipment) which is a requirement when trying to put a harness on my cats. Full facial helmet with drop down perspex face mask. Triple layer gloves. Padded clothing up my neck and down my arms. And when I am looking like an Abominable Spaceman, I will approach my cat and proceed with plan number one. Plan number two is more devious, wait until they are fast asleep and then attach the harness. Okay, plan number three, get my son to put his knee on a cat's neck while I wrangle the harness. And if all else fails, I will lock them in the bathroom while I go cycling. I look forward to Summer and hours of exercise. Oh okay, I am not actually looking forward to aching muscles and huffing and puffing, but I will get there. If all else fails, I have my trusty cell phone and I can always call 111 and the people in blue can come and return me home via ambulance or helicopter. But let us hope that it doesn't come to that. Well, I can only live in hope.