The cold and wet weather of the past three weeks haven’t been good for my horrible fascination with Donald Trump; I can’t stop watching the hateful  pour out of the orange-faced school bully. I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing and hearing and can’t believe there are so many people who think and feel the same way as him. It makes me anxious for our world and it cramps my stomach like I’ve drunk too much coffee.

Come this Saturday morning it’s cold and clear and I take my son down to his Saturday morning SozKick or whatever the soccer equivalent to AusKick is called.  We ride our bikes along the Merri Creek, we head down the creek through the black and silver wattles all flowering masses of bright yellow baubles.

On the way home from Sozkick we run into Paddy, a friend from WA I hadn’t seen for over 20 years. He’s in town for a day before he heads back to Perth. We look at each other a bit like ghosts not quite believing the other is real – minds stretching back,synapses firing, good feelings, memories flooding back to a time when we were young and uncertain, doing our best bluffing while we tried to work things out.

I catch up to my son, further down the bike path he excitedly tells me he saw a very beautiful bird with a blue face – this is the first bird he’s ever brought to my attention.  He’s usually more concerned with the infinite costume variations of the heroes’ from Lego Ninjago – a useful skill perhaps he’ll transfer to differentiating birds later in life.

The next day it’s my older son’s last game of football for the year – a round robin tournament in Box Hill.  At the end of the day I thank our coach Ufouk. I feel such gratitude and respect for this man who gives so much of himself to my son, who is not a natural footy player.  To all the team Ufouk is endlessly encouraging; he inoculates them with his love of the game, his sense of team, respect for parents. He challenges them to improve – which they have beyond all our expectations.  He rewards them richly with praise and they return it with their loyalty.

When we get home I check in to see how Joe Sgro, one of  Fair Food’s longest standing farmers, is doing after his hip operation. I talk to Joe’s wife, Rose, Joe’s just gotten home and he’s okay, resting, ready to begin his rehab. He’ll call during the week and I look forward to talking him about the same stuff we always talk about; how muddy his paddocks are this time of year, how out of control the weeds have gotten and how the bloody wild ducks are eating his bok choi seedlings again.

This wonderful weekend draws to a close and I’m reminded that in this lucky country, the job is still ours to make things the way we would like to see it, not Trump’s, the internet’s, the TV news’.  Ours.

Have a great week
Chris

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