It must be a female thing. Yeah, yeah.

Further to my 11 August Farmdoc’s Blog post [1], I’m now the proud owner of a Survival Ark grain mill. I collected it from the Mole Creek Post Office nine days ago. And seven days ago I bought a few kilograms of organic wheat. But I haven’t yet ground any. I duly unpacked the mill, attached the table clamp and installed the grinding stones. As the stones are grooved obliquely, it occurred to me that the handle should only be turned one way, i.e. clockwise or anticlockwise. The instructions didn’t say which, so last Friday I emailed the supplier (who’s also the designer) to ask him. Last Monday he emailed me back as follows: ‘Yes, it does make a difference. Clockwise when turning the handle from the rear of the mill. If someone is watching from the front, the flour falling from the stone from their view, it would be turning anticlockwise’. Blimey, I was even more confused. So I emailed Sweetheart Vivienne thus: ‘Am I visuospatially challenged or is he linguistically challenged? Can you understand what he’s trying to tell me?’ To which she replied ‘I understand. You turn the handle in a clockwise direction. It must be a female thing’. So now I know. And tomorrow I’ll no longer be a wheatgrinding virgin (or a virginal wheatgrinder). ‘It must be a female thing.’ Yeah, yeah. Just to prove how clever men are, take a look at this 19-item slideshow [2]. I rest my case.

Mole Creek: only 114 years behind the times

Wikipedia tell us a post box (or mailbox) is a physical box that collects outgoing mail from the public; and the first mail box began service in Paris in 1653 [1]. Different post box designs have different names, e.g. a wall box is set into a wall [2], a pillar box stands on the ground and has a cylindrical (i.e. pillar) shape [3], and a lamp box (which is the smallest post box used in the UK and the Commonwealth of Nations) was named because it was designed to be affixed to lamp posts though it may sit on its own pole [4]. The first lamp box appeared in London in 1896 on a trial basis as inexpensive alternative to the pillar box [5]. Until last week, the Mole Creek Post Office had a wall box, i.e. essentially a lost set into the post office’s wall. Then last week, out of the blue (or rather, the red) appeared the pictured post box. If you’ve paid attention to the foregoing, you’ll know what type of post box it is. Sorry, no prizes. The postmaster told me the change is because Australia Post considers wall boxes safety risks, i.e. a burning item placed in a wall box will do more damage than one placed in a lamp box. Oops, I’ve let the cat out of the bag – or the box. Anyway Mole Creek’s only 114 years behind the times. That’s one of the things I love about the place.

From Alec to me

Alec Baldwin [1]. Whilst I’ve admired his film acting, I think he’s perfect as Jack Donaghy in the series 30 Rock [2]. So when last 28 March’s Selected Shorts podcast promo listed a reading by Baldwin [3], I couldn’t wait. A native New Yorker, he read ‘Lost and Found’ by fellow New Yorker Carston Whitehead [4]. (Listen here [5] starting at 16’ 8”; read it here [6].) Baldwin sensitively and knowingly interprets this poignant story – a meditation on walking the changing streets of New York City. ‘You are a New Yorker when what was there before is more real and solid than what is here now… you are a New Yorker the first time you say ‘That used to be Munsey's’. To put off the inevitable, we try to fix the city in place, remember it as it was…Maybe we become New Yorkers the day we realize that New York will go on without us.’ Powerful stuff, eh.

This week they’re replacing Mole Creek Post Office’s mailboxes. I don’t know why. I’m told the old boxes are only 30 years old. As I live in rural Tasmania, the mail’s a key part of my life. Hence these two posts (pun unintended) [7, 8]. I’m pleased my box number’ll stay 181. And that I’m a Mole Creeker (or Creekian) because I’ll say I remember the old boxes. Inevitably, though, one day I’ll be gone. But Mole Creek, and its post office boxes, will, just as inevitably, go on without me.