Mrs Fitzpatrick attending to preparations for Chinese New Year...So intricate...and so important...ten ingredients in the salad as ten is important, it is a number of completion...no chicken as its not good on New Years Eve, fish is good. Prawns, sure, pork, absolutely, but not chicken. I learn slowly. the fish is barramundi from local chinese seafood market...fresh from either australia or thailand who grow very good barramundi these days... the salad is bamboo root, fungus, celery and 7 other things. Later on Mrs Fitz will make dumplings for midnight as the shape of dumplings indicate the shape of traditional chinese gold ingots, thus attracting good fortune. Learning as I go. Amazing. I am a fortunate man through no good deeds of my own that spring to mind. So, I am appreciative indeed.

All in all, I am appreciative of my life, of having life etc but I do cower away from the notion of somehow being grateful for life. What kind of sycophant wanker does that? We should give a nod to what we appreciate, I think, but we shouldn't just go overboard about it all. After all, life isn't everything.

Beautiful afternoon here. Sun on the green leaves in the trees in the yard, moderate climate, hot sun, cool shade. It has been said that Nature should really design the world as people design the best golf courses, and I agree...except, it should be the best backyards.This one is lovely. One doesn't have to own a golf course, nor a back yard. The important thing is occupying it for awhile and smelling the sunshine that only falls in that yard in particular.

One of the things about both being 63 and having an old complex trauma-PTSD from age 9 is that every now and then my mythical Egyptian Minor-Deity, Phil, the Dog, puts on a black coat and becomes the tedious, generic, Black Dog of Depression, and roams about the place and he is a dark critter indeed in that get-up. At the same time, he is so well known to me over the many decades that he has a name...Black Phil. It's amazing that even though all is going pretty damn well, the weather great, the family fine, that Black Phil turns up and I guess it is to be expected after moving house to a very different and new environment, new challenges etc. A big adjustment often smacks of some disorder or syndrome response, naturally enough, and it all takes quite some time, and it is very bleak, to be sure. One of the consolations of having such an intimate knowledge of Black Phil, is that, one day, should I die in Melbourne, in this most liveable of cities, Black Phil will die also. I remain happy to be alive and optimistic, and sometimes funny, and curious, in my own way. Black Phil is a cunt of a dog, but he is deeply acknowledged within, and even respected, and sometimes when acknowledged, and personally respected, he doesn't make such a awful mess of me. "I'm feeling better now" I said. "I'm sorry about that." "Why do you say that?" I asked and Black Phil responded (echoing Austin Powers): "I'm sorry that bug up your arse had to die." Happy New Year Comrades! JAIYO!

One of the things about both being 63 and having an old complex trauma-PTSD from age 9 is that every now and then my mythical Egyptian Minor-Deity, Phil, the Dog, puts on a black coat and becomes the tedious, generic, Black Dog of Depression, and roams about the place and he is a dark critter indeed in that get-up.
At the same time, he is so well known to me over the many decades that he has a name...Black Phil.
It's amazing that even though all is going pretty damn well, the weather great, the family fine, that Black Phil turns up and I guess it is to be expected after moving house to a very different and new environment, new challenges etc. A big adjustment often smacks of some disorder or syndrome response, naturally enough, and it all takes quite some time, and it is very bleak, to be sure.
One of the consolations of having such an intimate knowledge of Black Phil, is that, one day, should I die in Melbourne, in this most liveable of cities, Black Phil will die also.
I remain happy to be alive and optimistic, and sometimes funny, and curious, in my own way.
Black Phil is a cunt of a dog, but he is deeply acknowledged within, and even respected, and sometimes when acknowledged, and personally respected, he doesn't make such a awful mess of me.

"I'm feeling better now" I said.
"I'm sorry about that."
"Why do you say that?" I asked
and Black Phil responded (echoing Austin Powers): "I'm sorry that bug up your arse had to die."

Happy New Year Comrades! JAIYO!

Close the gap | James Fitzpatrick | TEDxPerth

Close the gap | James Fitzpatrick | TEDxPerth

Well, the Australian of the Year has been announced and he seems to be moderately worthy, I guess. Some kind of scientist involved in some kind of ... science. Good for him. Still, I would have preferred it be me, or maybe Wanyi, Ellie, Bonnie, or Viv, or Eileen, or Richard, or Penny, or Coral, or Siobhan, or Jordy, or Sarah, or Florence, or my brother Laurie, or my nephew James, or Ivy Rose, or Heidi, or Deb, or Sarah or Katie . I really don't know what is wrong with these judges. What were they thinking? It will take a long, long time to fix up Australia, that's for sure.

The winner, after me and my brother Laurie, should have been our nephew, James Fitzpatrick.