Perfume River

This is my other daughter's effort.

She is younger, so it's a bit more experimental.
We were cruising down the Perfume River (Hue) at dusk.
The soundtrack is provided by a Yanmar diesel.

I don't know why she turned the camera sideways at 0.53.

She doesn't either - seemed like a good idea at the time.

The Yanks bombed the bejesus out of Hue during the Tet offensive.The Battle for Hue lasted 25 days.
You're safe now, dear readers - this is the last one.

A Drive in the Country

For reasons I don't understand, suddenly I am able to post videos longer than a few seconds.

You can therefore expect to see a few more. I have a backlog.

This one is a drive in the MX5 a few Sundays ago. The camera is stuck on the dashboard with blu-tak. It works. The road is between Withcott and Murphy's Creek, an area devasted by the 10th January flooding.

They're only just beginning to recover, although this particular sequence doesn't reflect that.

Why post this? Because I can.

Hanoi Traffic

I was going through some old files today, and dug this up.

It was taken by one of my daughters in the old quarter of Hanoi when we were there a few years ago. She just pointed the camera at whatever took her fancy. Consequently, quality is poor.

It's great example of the wierdly organic flow of the traffic in this part of the world.

Watch the negotiation of the busy intersection at about 1.32. 

I wonder how long my mate from my last post would last in this environment. Horns are used widely and to good purpose.

Uncivility in Jindalee

Last Wednesday I had to travel down to Brisbane to take some documents to No. 2 daughter.

I took the MX5 – it needed a run.

Traffic was heavy all the way, and the M5 was a parking lot at about 8.30am. So I turned on the radio and resigned myself to a slow trip. There were no deadlines to meet (except catching up with daughter before she left for Uni at 10am), so I was relaxed and comfortable.

At one point, there was traffic merging from a slip lane on my left, so I held back and let two vehicles into the space I’d left. I make a practice of leaving at least one car length space when the traffic is stop-start. It’s easier on the ankles in a six-speed manual, as it leaves time for coasting.

Suddenly, a large black and blinged crew-cab came out of nowhere and began to cut across my path. When the gap closed to 10cm, I tapped the horn. It occurred to me that the driver hadn’t seen my relatively diminutive vehicle. This has happened before in the case of prime movers whose drivers are so far above the action, that there is a real possibility they’ll drive right over the top.

He kept coming, and I had to hit the stoppers pretty smartly to avoid contact. The driver behind me also had to brake hard – I heard the squeal.

Muttering to myself about the uncivil behaviour of my fellow road users, I was surprised to see the driver of the crew-cab gesticulating wildly – with the length of one arm out the driver’s window. He’s obviously taken violent exception to my use of the horn. I returned serve, but without my hand leaving the steering wheel. You know the gesture – more casual than aggressive.

Next thing I know, the traffic’s halted again, and he’s out of his vehicle sprinting towards me throwing his arms around and swearing profusely. I checked that both windows were up and doors locked. He looked intent on homicide. Fortunately this character (early twenties, sunglasses, slight build) had nothing in his hand, so I wasn’t too alarmed. The last time I felt threatened the person concerned was carrying an AK47. He wasn't. I thought about the fire extinguisher I keep in the cabin of the Mazda and how it might become useful.

He stood at the driver’s side of my car screaming at me. The only thing that was vaguely intelligible was “Get out of the fucking car!”

Given his agitated state, this didn’t seem advisable. Instead I sat in the car, eyes front, and pretended he wasn’t there. As a teacher, this strategy usually worked with out-of-control kids intent on homicide, so I figured it might help in this situation.

It seemed to infuriate him further, and he began to thump the window with his fist. The result of this was (I assume) a bruised hand, as he was hitting the window hard enough to have it moving in its frame.

The traffic began to move again, and whether it was this, or the bruised hand causing him to desist, he took off back to his ute and drove off.

I had my iPad on board and made a quick note of his rego and the rego of the vehicle behind (driven by a young woman) who would have seen the whole thing. I also used my hands free to phone the nearest police station and report the incident. I passed on the rego details of both vehicles (the perpetrator and the witness). The Junior Constable who took my call asked me to come into the station to make a statement.

Generally, I wouldn’t bother with this follow-up – I reckon I have better things to do with my time – but there was something about this bloke that was worrying. The thought that he might eventually do someone (or himself) a major mischief was a consideration.

The copper I spoke with was more senior – a Sergeant, and seemed to take the whole thing very seriously. I wondered why it was him, rather than the junior copper who took my statement. Turns out that this character was known to the police, and they were more than a bit interested.

I’m not surprised, after the exhibition a bit earlier.

Anyway, the update is that I received a courteous email from the Sergeant this morning –

The vehicle ****** is registered to a female person and I conversed with her. She stated that she was driving the vehicle at that time. I suspect that the driver was in fact her husband who has come to our attention before and I spoke to him also.

Both denied having any knowledge of the incident.

I have contacted the driver of ****** and they do not wish to get involved in the incident (not uncommon I’m afraid)

We are therefore at a bit of a stalemate. I have recorded this incident on our database and at least I have ‘put the wind up him’ 

I suppose the best outcome is that you were not injured and that's the main thing.
As I said, I have put an intelligence report on the system and it all adds up.
Sorry we couldnt be more of a help.

So according to this pair it wasn’t him – it wasn’t his car, it didn’t happen, and I must have dreamt the whole thing - or it was his wife in drag. The female witness, I suspect, decided after this exhibition that she wasn’t prepared to give evidence. I don’t blame her – she probably lives closer to him than I do and has to use that road daily.

What have I learned?

There are plenty of nutjobs out there. Some of them drive crew-cabs. Treat everyone else on the road as a homicidal maniac.

Coppers have a tough gig.

And next time, use the camera phone to record the incident. I could have done so, but didn’t think of it.

Civility in Orange County

We're constantly being brainwashed by shock jocks about the alleged propensity of the "Left" for hate.

Take a look at this.

It was filmed by people attending the fundraising dinner of the Islamic Circle of North America (ICNA) in Orange County, CA. ICNA conducts charitable programs in the U.S., including disaster relief and family counseling.

Obviously disaster relief and family counselling are considered dangerous activity by some in Orange County.

Let's hope this nonsense stays on the other side of the Pacific, despite best efforts of B & B and Alan Jones to whip it up here.

Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics

(Pic courtesy Crikey).

Recent additions to the Myschool website have provided new data which restates the bleeding obvious.

For example – the fact that there is no clear connection between the amount of money a school spends per student and learning outcomes.

It also shows that subsidised* schools spend a lot more on buildings and infrastructure than state schools. After working across both sectors for years, I didn’t need a website to tell me this.

This phenomenon (keeping up appearances) is not so obvious in many of the small Catholic (Parish) schools I’m familiar with, but once a school has (for example) the term “grammar” in its title, it is consistent.

I’d like a dollar for every conversation I’ve had with support teachers in top-end subsidised schools (when they employ them – STs that is) about spending a few dollars on staff training or recruitment to develop programmes for kids with special needs. No matter how often I make a formal recommendation about this, spending any money on these initiatives remains at the bottom of the priority list.

They’d much rather put up a new (and expensive) administration block, in order to make a good impression on parents of prospective enrolees.

Turn up at one of these schools as a prospective enrolee with a child with disabilities, and they’re less interested in impressing you. You’ll get short shrift usually couched in the words – “Sorry, we don’t cater for”-  (insert the appropriate label from the following - intellectual impairment, autism, Down Syndrome…..etc).

How about a new data point on Myschool – the percentage of students with disabilities enrolled in the specific school compared with national disability incidence rates?

Now that would be interesting…………….

 * I won't use the term "private". These schools are heavily taxpayer subsidised.

Choice

I'm blogging this - originally published in the Catholic Leader - because it is thought-provoking, wtitten from the heart, and attaches a meaning to the word "choice" which probably doesn't get enough exposure in the mainstream media.

I'd like to dedicateit to the many parents of kids with Down syndrome that I've taught during the last 40 years.

Making the wonderful choice for life

Published: 27 February 2011

Choosing life: Maria Bozikis and her son Theo

Brisbane woman MARIA BOZIKIS was a guest speaker at the annual Rally for Life in the city on February 12. She spoke from the heart about her experience in the lead-up to giving birth to her son Theo

I SPEAK from my personal experience as a mother of four and a carer of a child with a disability.
This is a story of what happened to me less than eight years ago, and since I have started speaking about it more women have shared similar stories.
Life has no guarantees, and the death of a child leaves in its wake pain and anguish that no one should have to face. I lost my third child to a miscarriage in the first trimester of pregnancy and to say it hurt is not saying enough.
My husband and I had always wanted four or five children. As with many women of my generation, I didn't marry until I was 30 and so by the time of my last pregnancy I was in some statistically dangerous waters medically as a result of my age, 36.
By this time I knew the prenatal procedure fairly well and so I took my time in having my GP confirm my pregnancy. As a result, my dates were a little fuzzy and so he requested an ultrasound to confirm the age of the baby.
I attended this appointment alone. Everything seemed to be going normally until the sonographer started to double check measurements.
She asked my age. I asked what was wrong and she said the nuchal translucency measurement was very high. This is a measurement of a fold on the back of the neck.
I was told to go back and see my GP immediately with the scan results.
I was puzzled. She had shown me the screen. I had seen a heart, two arms and legs, a profile. It looked like my other scans. Why all the urgency? How could folds at the back of the neck spell disaster?
My GP told me the test results indicated the possibility of a chromosomal defect most likely to be Down syndrome.
The nuchal translucency measurement was used as an indicator of the condition.
Down syndrome is a common genetic condition, and its occurrence increases with the mother's age.
Some of the characteristics are physical, like slanting eyes, flatter profile, general floppiness of the muscles and hyper flexibility.
People with Down syndrome have some intellectual impairment, and difficulties with speech and understanding concepts.
They may also have health issues such as heart defects, thyroid problems, vision or hearing issues. All these can be treated with current medical and therapeutic practices. They can also occur in children who do not have a genetic condition.
I had read that amniocentesis was the only sure way to determine whether a baby had a chromosomal condition. However there is a risk of miscarriage following this procedure.
The doctors insert a needle into the womb and get a sample of amniotic fluid which contains some of the baby's cells. They then check the chromosomes and determine the results.
This procedure results in miscarriage in between one in 200 to one in 400 women.
The doctors do not consider this high risk. The fact that the baby tested could die whether it had any detected genetic condition or not was too much for me. I had lost one baby. I did not want to do anything to jeopardise another.
My GP referred me to a genetic counsellor at one of Sydney's major maternity hospitals.
My husband came with me for this consultation. He is an Orthodox Christian priest and dresses in traditional black cassock - a readily identifiable figure.
We were greeted by two doctors, Dr A and Dr X. They told us that I would be having an ultrasound, further measurements would be taken and possible action recommended.
They said the nuchal translucency measurement was significant, still too big. The most common outcome would be a baby with Down syndrome.
My husband and I held hands and waited. The doctors printed out the results. The nuchal translucency coupled with my maternal age of 36 gave me a one in 20 chance of having a child with Down syndrome.
They began to list all the possible consequences of this syndrome. My baby might have congenital heart disease; severe intellectual retardation, thyroid problems, Hershbungs syndrome, hydrocephaly.
He would have an extremely poor chance of survival after birth, if in fact, he did not die in utero. Their recommendation was for amniocentisis to prove the diagnosis one way or the other.
I asked if this wasn't a dangerous procedure. They told me it carried minimal risk, but it would give knowledge on which to act.
I hesitated. The terror of this entire test harming my baby shook me. The doctors said they'd give us a few moments of privacy.
My husband and I spoke about the possibility of a baby with a disability and the very real chance of this test causing a miscarriage. I could not bear to think of my baby dead. We both agreed to no amniocentesis.
The doctors came back and we told them that amniocentesis was not an option for us. I explained about my miscarriage and the accompanying grief and that it took nearly two years to conceive again.
Dr X looked at me and said the risk was minimal: didn't I want to know, so that I could choose?
Choose. Choose, what?
The statement hung in the air. We both said we didn't want to risk the pregnancy. Knowing wasn't worth it. Dr X shook her head.
I told them I was happy to do any non-invasive testing like ultrasounds if it would help us be prepared for the baby.
They referred us back to our GP to discuss the result and implications and they would see us again in one week for the next scan. I would be 14 weeks pregnant. There was not much time until the magic 20-week cut-off for abortions.
Our GP said the amniocentesis would only be useful if we decided to abort a foetus with a negative result. If we decided to continue the pregnancy all the necessary information could be obtained via ultrasound.
What the magic risk factor of one in 20 did do was give us an opportunity to rethink our attitudes towards disability. Did this make a person any less valuable, worthwhile or loveable? Did it define who this person was or their potential? Did we have the right to discriminate and judge?
Our parliaments legislate for anti-discrimination measures to be taken in the public arena, such as access ramps and beeping traffic lights so that people with physical impairments have greater access in our communities. It supports the mainstreaming of special-needs students in our schools but our baby's right to live was being questioned because he MIGHT have a disability.
Over the next 26 weeks I had seven ultasounds and visists with Dr X. I saw the head of paediatric cardiology, a paediatric gastroenterologist, and facio-cranial doctor.
Dr X offered me amniocentesis on another two occasions. The last one was at 30 weeks. The shocked look on my face said it all!
She said I wouldn't miscarry but would probably go into early labour. So, not only was I to have a baby with a possible disability but a premature one as well, thereby adding to the possibility of further complications.
"Choice" is a word that is constantly used in this arena. It is the catch cry of those supporting abortion.
It is often a very uninformed one-sided choice.
Where was my choice? The choice to keep my baby.
During this pregnancy it was constantly being questioned, disregarded and dismissed.
My decision to continue my pregnancy was not respected or supported.
The doctors' logic was baffling. The baby would either die in utero or soon after or I could choose termination and kill my baby before nature did. Either way my child would be dead, my heart shattered and my arms empty.
Only the means and timing would be different and the fact that I chose. Only one choice would guarantee my child's death - the choice to abort. Nature at least gave me a chance.
We chose a different maternity hospital to have our baby.
Our son Theofilos, Theo, was born after a one-and-a-half-hour labour in the birth centre on August 15, 2003, at 5.30am. After a chromosomal blood test it was confirmed that he has Down syndrome.
Not once throughout my pregnancy was I told about any support groups like the state's disability services, the Down syndrome association or the multitude of early-intervention programs like physiotherapy from six weeks old, speech and occupational therapy. I didn't even see a social worker until five days after Theo's birth.
Never was anything but a dismal and bleak future envisioned for my child.
His very humanity was ignored by doctors who constantly referred to him as the "foetus" or "it". This makes it easier to distance yourself.
Our son, Theo is a lively seven-year-old who loves dress-ups, Superman and riding his bike. He attends a mainstream school, loves show-and-tell, goes to birthday parties and on play dates.
The only one of the doctors' predictions that happened was that Theo has Down syndrome. But that is not why he is important and valuable.
He is a loved and cherished part of our family as are his brothers and sister. We would not be complete without them all.
He is valued because he is a unique human being. He has the right to live a dignified and meaningful life, to reach his potential and to be accepted for himself, the same as everyone of us.
The current genetic testing and counselling, result in 97 per cent of Down syndrome pregnancies ending in abortion. A recent survey in Toowoomba found no live Down syndrome births in more than a year which is statistically impossible.
Do we really want a world where no one has Down syndrome? We would lose so much to gain what? Who will be targeted next?
I would gladly do it all again to have my wonderful children and all that they have contributed to our lives and will continue to do in the future. I would make the same choice. I would choose life.