G'Day USA And Australia Day 2014
Without Prejudice
It's cockatoos screeching at dusk and striding like sulphur crested soldiers of fortune, with determination and pride. It's the trees of pink and grey that fly upwards at speed and revealing themselves to be galahs.
It's nights streaked with purples and reds and dry creek beds that swell with rain and make the crossing slow and dangerous. It's The Shiralee and The Sundowners this spirit this essence that is True Blue.
It's calling red heads blues, and kelpies that run and herd the cows back to the dairy, giving them a little nip if they dare. It's Darwin night markets and Cottesloe beach. It's the far northern queenslanders laconic and witty. It's Sydney and harbors and billabong gatherings, it's morning and night times and Clancy singing as he rides.
It's red dirt that gets into everything and the corals of the Great Barrier Reef, it's Steve Irwin and cricket and the slap of wood on leather. It's hot days and water, shallows and streams. It's there for our hearts and fills up our dreams.
It's drying like raisins in the hot sun, it's the lines on the faces of the C.F.A Volunteers, grimy and gritty. It's there in our eyes, the vastness, the sun. Its the people that donate to bushfires and flood. It's Fred Hollows and Ita, Dame Nellie Melba, clingstone peaches only out for two weeks
It's an empty ute serenaded by thousands to the song, True Blue. Bone jarringly sad.
And from all over the world and through hardship and terror, people seek refuge in the land they call The Lucky Country. It's there in Treaty and Uluru, goanna oil and emu claw. It's there in the freshness of the morning spent by the Murray, it's there in the desolate Birdsville track and in the bones of those that attempted it and never came back.
It's there in the diggers, so old and so proud. It's Gallipoli and desert rats and trailing along the Kokoda. It's Hobart and Adelaide with Popeye the boat. It's north Stradbroke Island so far and remote.
It's the jaded Banjo Patterson in office dark and dingy and The Man from Snowy River racing down the edge of the world. It's in the eyes of the migrants that worked the hydro and in the boats that carried them from homelands far. This energy this intangible feeling we gather close to our hearts and call it True Blue. It's there in the navy singlets And stubbies of the long distance truck driver.
It's there in the customs officers smile as you return to Oz and the nasal twang of Welcome Back. It's irreverence and Ned Kelly and gum trees and Waltzing Matilda. It's cold beer on a hot day that slides down the back of your dry throat, just right.
It's Surfers strip on hot nights smelling of grease and salty tang in the air. It's The Sheraton steps on hot days with brides tripping down. It's hopping on sand too hot to bear. It's surfing and fishing and yacht races that can turn deadly. It's The Ghan and the distance and the vast open plain.
It's cordial sticky, virulent colours of orange and red, it's Graeme Kennedy, Bob Hawke, Barry Humphries. It's there in the suits getting ready for work. Shaving and slapping after shave on and wincing. It's Cathy Freeman and Ron Barrasi. It's football and rugby, tennis played on courts that melt sneakers.
It Christmas that's red hot and we sweat at the dinner table and wear silly hats and tell excruciating jokes. It's in the sweat of the headband of the old swaggie who thinks he is free and probably is.
It's in Cliffy and his gummys and gummy toothed smile who carried the well wishes of True Blue in his shuffle. It's Mount Isa and iron ore, it's in the gold pans of Ballarat.it rides with the wild brumbies and the graceful kangaroo, the slow moving koala and the platypus that looks like no other creature on earth.
It's there in the zoos with the snakes and reptiles, it's there in the log flume at the fun parks. It's there in Rosebud and in sand doused fish and chips with tomato sauce. Washed down with warm lemonade shared from a bottle. It's there in the chlorine of pools, vast and empty at 6am with steam slightly rising.
It's sugar mills and red back spiders,
Its kids swinging on a Hills Hoist in the backyard and getting bindii in your feet and hopping on one foot. Its thongs worn out with the footprint sweaty, its speedos on men who are of a certain age and European men. Its Elwood at sunset with damp towels and rinsing off under the outside showers, freezing and only to be borne in small bursts.
Its the mud of the cyclone rivers and the swollen torrents that gather trees. cars, cattle as they sweep along in their deadly dance. Its rabbits shot with spotlights on the roof of the Holden Ute and panel vans called Sandmans, highly poished and air painted.with Hula girls and waves.
Its the sprinkler on the lawn and the kids running through and shrieking and standing over the flow and letting it swoosh upwards. Its the gathering in the cool air when the days heat is done and looking up at the Southern Cross. Its drive ins and overprices snacks and the kids playing on the playground and driving off with the speaker attached.
Its Strictly Ballroom and fake tans and overwhitened teeth, flashing. Its the serenity of the long distance swimmers reverie as they focus on the white line at the bottom and practice their breathing to one side. Its the Black Box and the wine cooler and the discoveries in Medicine that change lives, the cochlear ear implant and the surprise of the child on hearing their first sound and the tears of the parents.
Its cruel a lot, its fierce a lot, its cool down channels of coolness and the bringing back of good beer. Its the roadside seafood vans with fresh today signs, its mud crabs caught fresh and eaten with a sauce and more beer. Salt and Pepper squid, mussells from Tasmania, rock oysters eaten fresh from the shell.
Its slow lamb roast with peas and gravy served on Australia Day and Pavlova dripping with strawberries and cream and passionfruit for the zing on your tongue. White mounds of marshmallow filling with the thin crust crystallised. Its the sound of the surge at Bells Beach and the walks on Wilsons Prom. Its back beaches and surprising country pubs with The Characters that, yell and drink a lot.
Big backside leant over pool tables, fierce concentration on their faces as they sink the ball. Its the calling of sheilas with witty banter and she will call back to the man its Ok Darl. Its sand coated kids tucked into beds asleep in the car on the way home and not stirring, icy pole residue on their lips and traces of sunburn where you missed with the sunscreen.
The smell of the sheets doused in sun and air as you carry them in from the line and the odd chance a huntsman will meander out to view and you will drop the bundle in fright and run. Shivering for half an hour after as your hair touches your face.
Its working in places where their is no political correctness and lots of tutting by the ladies. And the True Blue man will just laugh knowing he is a bit of a lad, a card and may explain the joke all over again in case you didn't get it.
Its parlours and booze buses near the pubs or on the Freeway and even though you haven't drunk anything you still manage to feel guilty.
Its always being caught in country towns for speeding with coppers who wear shades and look vaguely like that man from the Terminator movies. Its our best of the best, the cream of the crop going overseas and making it big. And coming home and we hope they haven't acquired an American Accent or even worse airs and graces.
Its camping in the bush and at least being in the company of other women as miserable as you are and the reverse being true for taking men shopping. Seems only fair. Its meat in the Supermarkets that could feed the hungry thousands and Australian bakeries that still serve a fresh lamington or Elephants Claw with apple and real cream. Its billy tea made over a fire in the open and the smell as the water hits the leaves.
Its the beach and sunburned noses and goosebumps on the arms when the night drops like a black velvet curtain making the sand chilly and running up to the car before the little crabs come out and the holes appear for the pippies.
Its our country, our beloved country, our land of sweeping plains and ragged mountain ranges. And at the centre of this vast and fairly unoccupied continent it is still as raw and harsh as when it was first discovered.
Its the dead heart of our land. Temperatures of over 50 degrees in the shade and there is no shade.
Its our Mistress, our love, our passion. We miss it when we leave like an arrow to the heart and long for twisties and violet crumbles and the blue sky and the warm sun. The freedom that is Australia. We are True Blues and we will continue to be. Happy Australia Day
Love Janette
It's cockatoos screeching at dusk and striding like sulphur crested soldiers of fortune, with determination and pride. It's the trees of pink and grey that fly upwards at speed and revealing themselves to be galahs.
It's nights streaked with purples and reds and dry creek beds that swell with rain and make the crossing slow and dangerous. It's The Shiralee and The Sundowners this spirit this essence that is True Blue.
It's calling red heads blues, and kelpies that run and herd the cows back to the dairy, giving them a little nip if they dare. It's Darwin night markets and Cottesloe beach. It's the far northern queenslanders laconic and witty. It's Sydney and harbors and billabong gatherings, it's morning and night times and Clancy singing as he rides.
It's red dirt that gets into everything and the corals of the Great Barrier Reef, it's Steve Irwin and cricket and the slap of wood on leather. It's hot days and water, shallows and streams. It's there for our hearts and fills up our dreams.
It's drying like raisins in the hot sun, it's the lines on the faces of the C.F.A Volunteers, grimy and gritty. It's there in our eyes, the vastness, the sun. Its the people that donate to bushfires and flood. It's Fred Hollows and Ita, Dame Nellie Melba, clingstone peaches only out for two weeks
It's an empty ute serenaded by thousands to the song, True Blue. Bone jarringly sad.
And from all over the world and through hardship and terror, people seek refuge in the land they call The Lucky Country. It's there in Treaty and Uluru, goanna oil and emu claw. It's there in the freshness of the morning spent by the Murray, it's there in the desolate Birdsville track and in the bones of those that attempted it and never came back.
It's there in the diggers, so old and so proud. It's Gallipoli and desert rats and trailing along the Kokoda. It's Hobart and Adelaide with Popeye the boat. It's north Stradbroke Island so far and remote.
It's the jaded Banjo Patterson in office dark and dingy and The Man from Snowy River racing down the edge of the world. It's in the eyes of the migrants that worked the hydro and in the boats that carried them from homelands far. This energy this intangible feeling we gather close to our hearts and call it True Blue. It's there in the navy singlets And stubbies of the long distance truck driver.
It's there in the customs officers smile as you return to Oz and the nasal twang of Welcome Back. It's irreverence and Ned Kelly and gum trees and Waltzing Matilda. It's cold beer on a hot day that slides down the back of your dry throat, just right.
It's Surfers strip on hot nights smelling of grease and salty tang in the air. It's The Sheraton steps on hot days with brides tripping down. It's hopping on sand too hot to bear. It's surfing and fishing and yacht races that can turn deadly. It's The Ghan and the distance and the vast open plain.
It's cordial sticky, virulent colours of orange and red, it's Graeme Kennedy, Bob Hawke, Barry Humphries. It's there in the suits getting ready for work. Shaving and slapping after shave on and wincing. It's Cathy Freeman and Ron Barrasi. It's football and rugby, tennis played on courts that melt sneakers.
It Christmas that's red hot and we sweat at the dinner table and wear silly hats and tell excruciating jokes. It's in the sweat of the headband of the old swaggie who thinks he is free and probably is.
It's in Cliffy and his gummys and gummy toothed smile who carried the well wishes of True Blue in his shuffle. It's Mount Isa and iron ore, it's in the gold pans of Ballarat.it rides with the wild brumbies and the graceful kangaroo, the slow moving koala and the platypus that looks like no other creature on earth.
It's there in the zoos with the snakes and reptiles, it's there in the log flume at the fun parks. It's there in Rosebud and in sand doused fish and chips with tomato sauce. Washed down with warm lemonade shared from a bottle. It's there in the chlorine of pools, vast and empty at 6am with steam slightly rising.
It's sugar mills and red back spiders,
Its kids swinging on a Hills Hoist in the backyard and getting bindii in your feet and hopping on one foot. Its thongs worn out with the footprint sweaty, its speedos on men who are of a certain age and European men. Its Elwood at sunset with damp towels and rinsing off under the outside showers, freezing and only to be borne in small bursts.
Its the mud of the cyclone rivers and the swollen torrents that gather trees. cars, cattle as they sweep along in their deadly dance. Its rabbits shot with spotlights on the roof of the Holden Ute and panel vans called Sandmans, highly poished and air painted.with Hula girls and waves.
Its the sprinkler on the lawn and the kids running through and shrieking and standing over the flow and letting it swoosh upwards. Its the gathering in the cool air when the days heat is done and looking up at the Southern Cross. Its drive ins and overprices snacks and the kids playing on the playground and driving off with the speaker attached.
Its Strictly Ballroom and fake tans and overwhitened teeth, flashing. Its the serenity of the long distance swimmers reverie as they focus on the white line at the bottom and practice their breathing to one side. Its the Black Box and the wine cooler and the discoveries in Medicine that change lives, the cochlear ear implant and the surprise of the child on hearing their first sound and the tears of the parents.
Its cruel a lot, its fierce a lot, its cool down channels of coolness and the bringing back of good beer. Its the roadside seafood vans with fresh today signs, its mud crabs caught fresh and eaten with a sauce and more beer. Salt and Pepper squid, mussells from Tasmania, rock oysters eaten fresh from the shell.
Its slow lamb roast with peas and gravy served on Australia Day and Pavlova dripping with strawberries and cream and passionfruit for the zing on your tongue. White mounds of marshmallow filling with the thin crust crystallised. Its the sound of the surge at Bells Beach and the walks on Wilsons Prom. Its back beaches and surprising country pubs with The Characters that, yell and drink a lot.
Big backside leant over pool tables, fierce concentration on their faces as they sink the ball. Its the calling of sheilas with witty banter and she will call back to the man its Ok Darl. Its sand coated kids tucked into beds asleep in the car on the way home and not stirring, icy pole residue on their lips and traces of sunburn where you missed with the sunscreen.
The smell of the sheets doused in sun and air as you carry them in from the line and the odd chance a huntsman will meander out to view and you will drop the bundle in fright and run. Shivering for half an hour after as your hair touches your face.
Its working in places where their is no political correctness and lots of tutting by the ladies. And the True Blue man will just laugh knowing he is a bit of a lad, a card and may explain the joke all over again in case you didn't get it.
Its parlours and booze buses near the pubs or on the Freeway and even though you haven't drunk anything you still manage to feel guilty.
Its always being caught in country towns for speeding with coppers who wear shades and look vaguely like that man from the Terminator movies. Its our best of the best, the cream of the crop going overseas and making it big. And coming home and we hope they haven't acquired an American Accent or even worse airs and graces.
Its camping in the bush and at least being in the company of other women as miserable as you are and the reverse being true for taking men shopping. Seems only fair. Its meat in the Supermarkets that could feed the hungry thousands and Australian bakeries that still serve a fresh lamington or Elephants Claw with apple and real cream. Its billy tea made over a fire in the open and the smell as the water hits the leaves.
Its the beach and sunburned noses and goosebumps on the arms when the night drops like a black velvet curtain making the sand chilly and running up to the car before the little crabs come out and the holes appear for the pippies.
Its our country, our beloved country, our land of sweeping plains and ragged mountain ranges. And at the centre of this vast and fairly unoccupied continent it is still as raw and harsh as when it was first discovered.
Its the dead heart of our land. Temperatures of over 50 degrees in the shade and there is no shade.
Its our Mistress, our love, our passion. We miss it when we leave like an arrow to the heart and long for twisties and violet crumbles and the blue sky and the warm sun. The freedom that is Australia. We are True Blues and we will continue to be. Happy Australia Day
Love Janette
