Below: Google Images                                                                                           This winner gave IT ALL

To think that GOD loves me

Autobiography                                                     Dieter R. Fischer                                                       Book 8

THE WINNER GAVE IT ALL    Index     ISBN 0 9577 426 8 1    Book 8 / Ch 11    Written/Published 17.2 - 24.2.10

(Early in this chapter I write about justice, or the lack thereof, in Adelaide. The second part continues our journey through New Zealand's South Island).

"For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for Him." (Isaiah 30, 18 b).

 

(No, God has not forgotten - Ch.7-6.03)

11. Oneone Rd - Lotsa colour 

Have you ever read a notice, which announced you own death? Probably not, unless your name is a very common one. 

My name is reasonably common, but not in Australia. I came across the following death notice, while checking the Google ranking of www.driving-school and dieterfischer.com.  

Somebody with the same Christian name and surname had passed away:

 

The Herald Sun Newspaper (Melbourne, Victoria) dated 3/2/10:

FISCHER. - Dieter. Passed away peacefully on Feb. 1, 2010 at the Gold Coast Hospital, South Port, Qld (late of Noble Park). Loving husband of Mad.eline, ....( various names ommitted) ....and Mi.mi.k. Loved and remembered always Family and friends are advised that Dieter's Service will be held at Integrity Funerals Memorial Chapel, 18 Tonga Place, Parkwood, Qld on FRIDAY (Feb. 5) commencing at 11 a.m. INTEGRITY FUNERALS GOLD COAST 1800 995 3.....

(I only printed two names of all the relatives listed. Dot's added). 

The date of the funeral had me bugged. I immediately translated Feb 5th, 11 AM into I I 5 I I.

(I just realized the date, when I had surfed this death notice. It was on Feb 15th or I I I 5. 

A little research in the Gold Coast White Pages Telephone Directory revealed that the only Dieter Fischer lives (or had lived) at No. 10 Ac ... St.

An interesting fact emerged as I searched Australia's White Pages: At this time (18/2/10) there are 120 entries under Fischer D. The above person (who may not be the one who had died) is listed at Oxenford, Queensland.

(In a later chapter you will read about the time I spent near Oxford, New Zealand - only en the difference.)

Another observation: The funeral parlour's 1800 phone number has 9953 in the centre of it - so does that of Dieter Fischer at No. 10 Ac... St.

 

I only casually took note of the address of the funeral parlour. I didn't store it on purpose in my memory bank. However, the very next morning, listening to the BBC, London I overheard a brief interview. A male voice reported from the Pacific island of Tonga. A bad storm had struck the region. It had hit Tonga and caused much damage. (At the time there were no injuries or death reported). 

Checking again online, the address of the funeral place was 18 Tonga Place. (We'll touch on this funeral again later in the chapter). 

But there was more. In the same BBC News bulletin (or it may have been a little later on the TV News) a train had crashed in Belgium, killing - 18 people. It must be the way my computer brain is wired (= weird) which makes these connections?

After publishing the previous chapter on 10/2, where I had highlighted the digits 2x10, a further 2 10 connection came in a strange fashion. I had found this item, in Christchurch on 10/1/10, at the same location, where I had spotted the Mitre 10 (10 / 10) ad in Opawa Road:

 

Flag, Otago Province, New Zealand

10 leaves - 1 stem - 10 leaves

(Found on 10th Jan. 10).

 

- - - - - - - 

 

(Back to legal matters in Adelaide) 

At the time of writing this chapter the trial into the conduct of Eugene McGee and his brother Craig is being held in Adelaide. They are charged with conspiring to avoid police following the hit-and-run death of cyclist Ian Humphrey. Very little has been printed in the newspaper (or online) concerning the case. A TV reporter last year announced that it was shaping up to become trial of the decade.

 

Other information, which the authorities owe the public of South Australia, is the full truth of the multi-million Dollar Kapunda Road Royal Commission. Commissioner Greg James, at the time of handing down his report, also released a 14-page, short version of his findings. One politician claimed during a TV interview: "...it contains dynamite."

Mr. Rann in an interview on the ABC's Stateline said the following:

Transcript from Stateline (ABC TV) Friday: 15/7/05

PREMIER MIKE RANN: I have had a brief look at that second report it (sic) just quite extraordinary. I can understand why it has been sealed. But, this is a total vindication of our intervention following the case.

(End transcript)

 

The people of South Australia have a right to know, what is in Commissioner James' report. They paid for it. It's a fair question to ask:

"What dynamite is in that report, why have we not been told, why has it been sealed and not made public?

Isn't now a good time to release this report, while the McGee case is in progress?

(But then, the present case is not much in the news at all, plus ... an election is coming up in 24 days time.) 

 

One morning I was driving my Suzuki into Adelaide to watch the McGee case. En route, driving south on Main North Road just after Gepps Cross, in my rear view mirror I spotted a vehicle. It was a gold-coloured, late model Commodore. My brain immediately produced a picture of the same model and colour. I had seen it online, while doing research the night before.

It happened on the same morning, when I had uploaded chapter 10 (it was technically on 11/2). Adelaide woke up to the bombshell news (pardon the pun) of a gold-coloured Commodore exploding, killing two men in the Adelaide suburb of Enfield.

Investigations found that the crime was gang (motorcycle) related. Police suspected the bomb detonated accidentally and was allegedly meant for a rival-gang member, who lived nearby. 

Two facts made my antenna go up as I drove into the courts that morning. One, the vehicle in my rear-view mirror was the same make, model and colour as the bombed vehicle. Two, the location when I first spotted the Commodore behind me. It was at the nearest point to the bomb blast, a few hundred metres east of my journey.

As I continued south the Commodore overtook me. I noted its registration plate ...318. I counted at least 4 antennae, protruding from the vehicle. I was convinced it was an unmarked police vehicle.

But there was more. The Commodore changed into my lane and stopped right ahead of me at the Regency Road traffic lights. I noticed the badge on the rear. The vehicle was a Commodore - Omega. 

That's funny, my outside the box brain made a connection at once: Just a few streets ahead, off to the right, was Alpha Road. I turned into Alpha Road, which ...

... it just came to me on writing this: Was this not the scene of an assault on a school girl, who I had read about and wrote about? It was a long time ago - I had questioned the truthfulness of the alleged crime ... Later I proved right in another alleged incident - a girl had faked a kidnapping - or she never even existed ...? (Book 2, Chapter 35).

 

... I normally would not have travelled on.

That Friday morning 12/2 I parked my Suzuki at Christ Church, North Adelaide, and cycled the rest of the way into Victoria Square. To reach the entrance to the courthouse I usually pass the main entrance to the Hilton (take note) International. That morning, as I walked my bicycle along the footpath, I noted a person, who was handling a suitcase. I glanced to read the black T-shirt the person was wearing: Royale ....  (More T-shirt-slogans a little later). 

The Sunday following I happened to visit Mrs. Herzberg, the lady in the nursing home. Since I was not far from the scene of the Enfield bomb blast I cycled home via Truscott Ave. As soon as news reports had mentioned Truscott Ave I knew which corner it was, close to Newton Tce and Gove Street.

 

Holden Commodore, destroyed in bomb blast on 11/2/10 Truscott Rd, Enfield

                                                                           (Photo, The Advertiser, Michael Milnes)

 In Book 4, Chapter 26 I wrote about a house-fire at that very same corner, at House No. 24 - the street name is Newton Tce. Way back then, the name and number were pointing in our direction.

 

That Sunday afternoon, three after the blast, all that was left were yellow markings on the pavement, which marked the location of, possibly, body parts. (More yellow at the end of the chapter).

I didn't carry a camera. Thankfully, the internet is a great source for pictures, one of which is shown above. Diagonally across from Truscott Street is the street sign for Gove Street. On that sign, in addition to the name, it gave house numbers, the direction of addresses: 1, 3, 5, as well as 2 - 18 underneath.

1 3 5 could resemble Jan 30 50. 

218 only takes another 10 to arrive at 228. The blast had occurred five hours, since I uploaded Chapter 10...

  ... as I edit this part, I can see 8 - the time of the explosion - 5.30 AM

So what does it all mean? 

Did I received my answer a few streets away? As I cycled away from the Enfield bomb scene I distinctly recall seeing two young people, parked in an open-top, red sportscar. They were discussing, almost arguing, rather loudly. As I rode past my mind took in two things - the registration plate ... 010 and the make of the sportscar - Triumph! Loved it.

After having experienced all that, I again passed the front entrance to the Hilton Hotel on Tuesday, 16th Feb. This time, without meaning to, I noticed a different T-shirt. (I am not eagerly searching street scenes, spying for writing on pedestrians' T-shirts. I simply noticed it and am here writing about it). A middle-aged man, smoking a cigarette, was wearing a T-shirt with the word ...Bombers ... on it. (There is a Melbourne football team, called The Bombers). I smiled not just because of bombers, but for another reason, the name Hilton.

That very morning, before cycling into Adelaide's Victoria Square, I had watched the German DW TV News. My outside the box brain saw the name of the female reporter. It was Hilt. (Hi to you too!)

Watching the remainder of the Journal from Berlin two events came to mind - Karneval and Valentine's Day. Karneval is a big occasion in Southern Germany and around the Cologne/Frankfurt region. 

While I associate Karneval with silliness,  Valentine's key word is LOVE. I saw LOVE in both and emailed DW-TV's feedback page, dated Feb. 16th 10

 

Hi all,

It's Karneval time - right on Valentine's Day! Let me have some fun with the last 4 letters of Karn.eval, which are the same as the first 4 letters of Vale.ntine. Swap a to o - voila - LOVE!

Kind regards from Adelaide, Australia

Dieter Fischer

www.dieterfischer.com

PS  The little word on, added onto the surname of your Berlin reporter Hilt, would give us Berlin Hilton! Love on - Love it - Love Paris and Berlin.

 

(It just came to me on writing - did not an incredible 14.4 story start in Enfield at Easter 2006? This story points to the greatest act of LOVE ever! (Book 5, Chapter 3). 

Had this world-shattering event taken place today - what better place than Enfield, in a RED TRIUMPH! (Think about that one). 

 

But there was more, the day after the above Love-Hilton email. Again, where else, as I walked my bicycle past the front entrance of the Hilton Hotel, en route to the courthouse, I saw a T-shirt a young man was wearing: It read: LIFESTYLE  LOVESTYLE.

I'd love for truth to Triumph, preferably without any more red liquid wasted. 

- - - - - - -

 

A school bus, pictured on the front page of our Sunday Mail Newspaper on 14/2/10 came with this headline: SCHOOL BUS BATTLE.

Somebody had filed a complaint, claiming age discrimination, because they were refused transport on a school bus. This 'life and death' issue dominated talk-back shows for some time afterwards.

Taking this thought further, could an adult, who doesn't know how to read and write claim age discrimination, if a primary school refuses to admission? 

Our society, obsessed with individual's rights, got it all wrong. A far better way to live as a society - hand over all your Rights to the ONE, who showed us a far better way - the way of Love (his name is not Valentine).

Those who make these selfish, sometimes unreasonable laws, are not creating a happier society. They only keep lawyers busy and create material for newspapers to fill their pages with 'somebody done somebody wrong' stories.

 

Sunday Mail, 14/2/10 - School Bus  Route J - German-made MAN.

If there ever was a fat, front page, bulldust headline, it was on Valentine's Day 2010, in the Sunday Mail: SCHOOL BUS BATTLE.

The bus' registration plate, however, was well chosen for Vale-entine's Day. W or V V = 55 or LoVe.

The letter J is the bus route, also part of the registration plate - I 6 3 6 = Verse 16, Chapter 3 of St. John. 

6 = F (6th letter of the alphabet).

The German-made bus, fleet number 2352 (75) is called MAN, Machinenfabrik Augsburg Nuremberg. (The little word man will feature again later in this chapter). 

Taking M as the 13th letter of the alphabet, we could play our game: M + A = N

Add code [+ E] >>> AMEN  >>> NAME  >>>  know what I MEAN?

- - - - - - - 

 

(Back to New Zealand - Jan. 12th 2010)

 

Queenstown and Lake Wakatipu (Otago) - viewed from the cable car station, on the slopes of Ben Lomond, which towers above the town at 1748 m). 

 

 

I love Paris, Berlin and Cromwell. But a little gem called Queenstown in New Zealand's Otago Province, would beat them all in a beauty contest.

Reader's know that my writing is not an ordinary travel-dairy. There are travel-writers who do a much better job, reporting on exotic tourist destinations. Whilst I take an interest in the places we visit, I get excited observing co-incidentals. What happened moments ago, as I took a meal break, is a classic example.

While I ate my meal, on the 6.30 PM SBS TV News (18/2/10) I watched a segment about the assassination of a Hamas leader in a Dubai Hotel on January 20th. The TV-journalist, who was reporting for the BBC London, was Jeremy Bowen. Until then I had never heard that name before. So where is the twist?

After my wife, my mother-in-law and I arrived in Queenstown on Jan. 12th, we parked our hired Mazda Demio right in the heart of the pretty town, to move into our apartment. As I exited the car I noticed a familiar face: Where do I know this person from?

The round-faced gentleman, who looked much younger than I, was walking slowly along the pavement, holding the hand of a very young child. We made brief eye contact. I casually called out: "Aren't you from Adelaide, Australia?" 

His one-word reply: "Sydney". I apologized, explaining that I thought we knew each other from Adelaide, and moved on. 

Even Isobel said, she thought his face looked familiar. We chewed it over for a some time, both wanting to know the ID of this person. A day or so later it came to me: It looked very much like Mr. Bowen, a high-profile politician, a Minister in the Labor Government.

In a further twist, that's why I am writing about it, a day later I was driving out of the town centre of Queenstown, looking for the Salvos Store. As visitors do, I took the wrong turn. I realized I had turned up Bowen Street; same spelling as the person we were thinking about (and the BBC journalist a moment ago).

A short distance up that wrong street, I found myself in Kiely* La, where I had to use a driveway to turn my Mazda around. As I did, I report it as it was, I noticed that I was using driveway of house No. 5 to turn around. A Ford Meteor was parked in it, registration plate ... 1963.

 

*If that wasn't enough. One of the British citizens, whose identity was used fraudulently in the alleged assassination of the Hamas leader in Dubai (I heard the name only moments ago on SBS TV) sounds similar to Kiely >>> Keeley.

This is how businessgaze.com reports on the gentleman: 

"Another British-Israeli, Paul Keeley, 43, who lives on Kibbutz Nahsholim, in ­northern Israel, said he too was scared. “I’m in absolute and total shock,” he told the Ma’ariv newspaper. “The whole world is asking whether that’s me, what I am, who I am. I’m a home renovator who earns his living in and around Nahsholim. What do they want from me?”

His passport had not been stolen and he had not left the country, he said. “It wasn’t lost. It’s in my hand. I’m holding it. They simply stole my identity."

(The British Government has announced an investigation into the passport fraud. Tonight's news report failed to mention that the murdered man was a suspected dealer of weapons from Iran into the Gaza strip. Early reports of the incident had included this piece of information.

- - - - - - -

 

We stayed in a very comfortable apartment in Beach Street. The position could not have been better, right amongst restaurants and shops, opposite the port, where it all was happening. It was a short stroll along the lake front to the Botanic Gardens.

Doing just that, early one morning, I felt I was walking on the Lago Maggiore in Northern Italy. The promenade right on the lake, tourist boats in the quaint harbour, towering mountain peaks in the distance, some still covered in patches of snow.

In the Rose Garden of the pretty oasis, across the bay from central Queenstown, I learned a little history. A statue is erected in remembrance of five brave British explorers. The pioneer adventurers had started their expedition from Lyttleton Harbour (Christchurch) to become the first to reach the South Pole. Their names were: Bowers, Oates, Wilson, Evans and Ncott, sorry Scott.   

Unfortunately, en route, after struggling through storms and freezing temperatures, they learned that the Norwegian party, led by Roald Amundsen had reached the South Pole on December 14th, 1911.The Norwegians had beaten them by 34 days. 

Regardless, the five explorers pushed on, enduring unimaginable hardship. They reached the pole on January 17th, 1912. On the return trip, Scott and his four companions all died of starvation and extreme cold. Scott's last message is engraved on the memorial in Queenstown's Botanic Gardens: "We bow to the will of Providence." 

The paint in the engraved letter P had faded. Other letters also were not clearly visible. I recorded PT and TH.

 

I walked slowly among the rose bushes, smelling them as I went. Continuing along the wide path of the well kept park, I noted near a trash bin a child-size thong, also called flip-flops or (in New Zealand) jandals. A name was written on it, in large black letters - Hunter. Just in case Hunter or his parents parents were searching for his missing jandal (nice name jandal), I placed it on the bin, name up. 

That day, when all this took place, the world was still in shock, being confronted with images and news reports from one of the world biggest ever natural disasters. A tragedy of immense  proportions was unfolding in one of the poorest countries on earth, Haiti. Why do I comment on this right here?

How ironic, during one of my most beautiful, relaxing morning walks I found myself confronted with firstly, one of the saddest adventure stories, the death of those arctic explorers. 

Next, walking on through the Botanic Gardens the tragedy at Port-au-Prince suddenly met my eyes: In huge lettering (each the size of a motor car) I saw the word PRINCE, around the tennis courts in the middle of lovely park. (The shade-cloth around the courts was made by a company named Prince). 

 

Our 3 boys enjoying a drink on the sundeck of our Beach Street, Queenstown apartment. The view of the waterfront, the lake and mountains beyond are best described as spectacular, bordering on breathtaking.

 

Same sundeck, different drink! View toward Queenstown's Botanic Gardens. 

Even mother-in-law (on right) loved the fabulous position I (pictured left) had chosen to stay three nights in this pearl of a place. It was right across the port, where the famous steamboat MSS Earnshaw loaded its passengers for cruises of the lake.

My sons had made the point: Realizing that we'd all be in Queenstown, unplanned, at the same time, they briefed us well beforehand: We want to enjoy the place alone; parental guidance is not recommended or needed! 

However, how things changed, after they'd discovered what a superb spot our sundeck was - world-class scenery, mum's food and a beer with your brothers! We were so popular, I was considering taking bookings ... 

 

A real holiday is one where you find time to do things you don't find time for at home. Flicking through the newspaper, the sundeck was vacant for a change, I indulged in a crossword puzzle. It was of a different kind, one I had never done before. Each square on the grid has a number. Each number represents a letter. To solve the puzzle, two letters are given, the rest is for you to solve. 

The puzzle had been published in the SundayStar Times (on Jan. 10, 10). Instead of throwing away the whole paper I kept the page with the puzzles. Now I'm glad I did, because what I found, as I solved the crossword puzzle, teased me. My numbers, my story in a NZ crossword puzzle!

 

Crossword Puzzle of a different kind - only numbers supplied plus two clues 2 = T and D = 19.

 

 

 

 

 

 

How ironic - the word EAR* are letters 11 14 4 !

(* For the interesting EAR story, see Book 5, Chapter 12)   

I saw another (spiritual) lesson in the puzzle: There is only one (letter 13) - U.

(I just saw that U is right next to R (letter No. 4).

At the bottom of the puzzle (not shown) is the overall answer, letters 7, 13, 4, 24 - SURF.

Strangely, the number 5 had no letter allocated. I created it, using this formula (my school algebra is coming back):

[R x F] minus  [S x U] = 5.

The letter J did not show up anywhere, either, unless we go back to the MAN bus.

 

- - - - - - -

But there was more, another riddle, a quiz, where I again found an interesting answer: 

Question 44. Traffic instruction indicating direction of travel (3, 3)

I see 4 4 1 Way

 

- - - - - - -

We had contemplated a trip to the world famous Milford Sound. From Queenstown this would have meant a 600 km return-trip. Besides the long distance, where would we find time to take a boat ride, a must when visiting the world famous fjord. Milford would have to wait until next time.

(Two of our sons travelled to Milford Sound. They said there is only back-packer accommodation. A good place from where to visit Milford Sound is TeAnau). 

A short drive from Queenstown we discovered another little gem, Arrowtown. Had I had a bicycle, no question, I would have enjoyed the lovely, 20 kilometre road to Arrowtown on two wheels, early one crispy morning. 

Had I done so I would have missed a most interesting event, one that was possibly rare in this small town - the funeral of a young man. 

At the Arrowtown Hall people were exiting onto the street, which had been closed to traffic. At first I assumed a wedding had just taken place, and the bride and groom would appear any moment. By the faces of the people, who exited onto the street, I soon realized we had stumbled onto a funeral.

Friends, I am astounded what I read in my diary, preparing for this writing. As if my experiences were all intertwined, divinely appointed. I write it as I saw it. 

The funeral was for a young man, who had drowned on the Gold Coast on January 8. His name was Richard James Doyle.

Googling the event, I stumbled across a USA website, OregonLive.com, and read that only 9 days prior to the day of this writing, a young man was sentenced for killing his young passenger. He had crashed a borrowed Mercedes Benz. His name was also Richard James Doyle.

 

Moments ago, as I surfed OregonLive.com I read the feedback page on the sentencing of (the USA) Richard James Doyle. He lived in Happy Valley. The newspaper had obviously made a mistake and printed:

HAPPY VALLEY PLEADED GUILTY TO KILLING ...

The word MAN was obviously missing. I signed into Oregon.live.com and commented:

"So they had forgotten the word man in the Happy Valley headline? Now fixed. I just surfed across to you, because I am writing about a sad death of another Richard James Doyle, who died in the surf on Australia's Gold Coast. We have a suburb Happy Valley. I thought he was from there.
The world certainly got smaller since the internet.
Hi from hot, hot Adelaide.

 

(Something just came, on the evening of sending the above feedback to Oregon USA: In my Book 7, Chapter 24 is a photo, taken at Happy Valley, South Australia. I seldom visit Happy Valley. The photo is the only one I ever took in that suburb. An arrow points to .... 

Hey, I just saw ... Arrowtown ... !  

... a cemetery! Very interesting! It really is! 

More amazing, just prior to taking the photo of Candy Road - now you know what I mean - I had been to church at Aberfoyle Park Uniting Church.

Exactly one hour ago (19/2 at 9.12 PM (numbers totally unplanned) I had sent an email to Aberfoyle Park Uniting Church. This was before discovering the above Candy Road / Arrowtown link.

To the best of my knowledge, I have never emailed this church before and only ever visited there twice.

 

- - - - - - -

 

(Back to New Zealand) 

In Arrowtown I noticed the hearse's registration plate was ... 361. As it drove away, how could I not see it, a trumpet had been placed on top of the coffin. Richard must have been a trumpeter.

Strolling through Arrowtown I made a point of having a quick glance inside the town hall, where refreshments were still being served. On the screen were photos of the unfortunate young man, who was believed drowned, after having suffered an epileptic seizure. In very large lettering, I had read Richard James Doyle 1990 - 2010, otherwise I would not have known, who the dead person was.

It may seem strange to the reader that I mention this. On the morning of writing a TV breakfast program advertised one segment as: Most popular song of 1990.

I could understand - most popular songs of the 1990's - even though they would all be over ten years old. What do I see in (1990+2010) 4000? I see M for Melbourne and M 4 1000).

Doyle is a common surname. South Australia's chief justice has that surname, and a popular TV personality and ... 

 

My diary on that Thursday in Arrowtown, note the date 14.1.10, states that I arrived back at the apartment and proceeded to do the above puzzle, discovering 11144.

I had made the keyword EAR. The actual keyword was SURF (Read on).

As if a circle was closing, I found a link from the Arrowtown funeral to that of the one, Dieter Fischer, at the beginning of this chapter. The address of the Fischer funeral was Oxenford.

The body of Richard James Doyle had been found right there, a few kilometers away in the waters off South Stradbroke Island. He had disappeared, according to media reports, from "popular Northcliffe Beach."

(A search in Google maps did not yield a result for Northcliffe Beach. There is a Northcliffe Tce near the beach, south of Surfer's Paradise).

 

Stop Press: In the afternoon, after writing these paragraphs, I once again cycled into the city to watch the trial of the McGee Brothers. Nearing Victoria Square I was thinking: Would I see another T-shirt of significance outside the Hilton Hotel? (Usually, when I expect something - nothing happens).

Walking my bike again past the steps to the main entrance, it looked like I was right. No slogan on any shirt, nothing of significance, until ... about twenty paces past the entrance, a petit, young lady wore a top. In a quick glance I snatched the words: SURF SEASON. Loved it. 

But there was more. On the way home I was thinking about the word surf, chewing over my writing that day; about the crossword puzzle, and the key word, which was SURF and how I arrived at 5, deducting 91 from 96. 

I was thinking, as I slowly was pedalling up the slight hill of Hawker Street, Medindie, past the Wilderness School: What would be the result, if I added 91 X 96? No rocket science, it added to 187. 

That same moment, perhaps a nanosecond later, I looked at the only parked vehicle on that stretch of the road. A maroon coloured sedan carried registration plate 187.

As I wondered about all this on the way home, and thought about it later and analysed it thoroughly: Three elements of this incredibly timed magic came together in a split second: Firstly, the result of my calculating 187. Secondly, the thought: Wouldn't it be amazing, if I saw 187 ...? I hardly had completed the thought, when my eyes fell on 187 ...! 

Can science explain this? 

(Thanks to those, who are reading this, and are not brushing my thoughts off as triviality or madness. If I were to try and explain this to my family, they would not even bother to listen, and lock me into the 'needs repairs to the brain' box.) 

But how can I be angry at them? Can you be angry with a blind person for being blind?

 

A few kilometres away, cycling through Clearview on my way home from the courts, on the ground I spotted an empty Sunkist can. I had not picked up one of those in years. The location - aha - was right opposite a station wagon, whose owner had just parked it in his driveway. The vehicle's sign-writing, in large lettering, SUNDAY MAIL, reminded me of a recent contact with this newspaper (plus, of course, the MAN School bus headline and photo, earlier in this chapter).

I had recently tried to contact the Sunday Mail's legal reporter, Nigel Hunt, in regard to the McGee case. I actually walked into the newspaper's reception area in Adelaide's central business district, and asked to speak to the gentleman. I wanted to pose the question, regarding the short version of the Kapunda Road Royal Commission Report.

I also had planned to ask Mr. Hunt, why so little was written in the newspaper about the current McGee trail. A few months earlier TV journalist Riddell announced it shaped up to be the court case of the decade?

Mr. Hunt's secretary told me, via telephone, that Mr. Hunt was busy on the telephone. I asked for five minutes of his time. The female voice said that this was not possible. She offered me his email address instead.

Perhaps, I have lost my trust in newspapers? I did not email my questions to the newspaper. Instead I chose as recipient the ABC TV's Stateline. (No response at the time of writing - 24/2/10). 

There must be people, who think I am the devil, stirring up controversial matters by asking pertinent questions.

Closer to home, still pushing those pedals in Adelaide's summer heat, another empty drink container. It was one I had never picked up, or even seen before, an energy drink - Roaring Lion!

 

Roaring ion aluminium can

The letter L got crushed. The scan came out as Roaring ian ... (not Ian Hunter or ... Graham ...?

Checking my find more carefully on scanning, the 'best before' date smells of two tomatoes: 18 05 10 - 11.58*.

Roar energy - a certain A-League football team would love this name ...

 

(Should I email the company, ask them, if the expiry  time refers to 11.58 AM or PM? I bet I'd be the first maverick brain to do so.  Plus the only one in the world, who would associate this find with tomatoes.)

But it all makes sense, honestly, even the postcode, where it's manufactured  - 5013.

       

Two days later, in his weekly TV program, Bayless Conley quoted very briefly the scripture, which warns of the devil, comparing him to a roaring lion, ready to devour those who are not on guard, who fall for his trickery. 

(Remember a roar doesn't harm you - and God protects those, who call on Jesus. Hearing HIS name, the liar-lion will have to flee!)

*Stop Press: Can you believe this? On editing I decided to better quote the scripture reference, amazing how the numbers stack up!

1. Peter 5, 8: "Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour."

One hour later: As I was preparing lunch this little twist came:

Be sober! Good advice, after returning from a court case, where an alleged driver failed to ... be sober!

- - - - - - -

 

(Back to New Zealand)

How well timed is this part of my journey! On the morning of Friday January 15th I rose especially early to take a last walk around beautiful Lake Wakatipu. It was the day our small group of three was to depart for Greymouth. 

I took the walking track, skirting the Botanic Gardens and following the shoreline towards Frankston. Interrupting my morning walk, to combine physical and spiritual exercises, I followed the sign to Saint Joseph's Catholic Church in Melbourne Street. 

I say it was well timed for two reason: Firstly, just as I walked up the steps of the beautiful grey and white brick structure*, a gentleman unlocked the front door.

*Isn't modern technology amazing? Going by memory I almost wrote 'white timber structure'. This would have been incorrect, but thanks to Google Street View I got it right. 

Google View also revealed a logo, which looked like that of a Comfort Inn, right next door. 

Love the name [+e]  =  Come in n for t.

The second reason my visit to St. Joseph is timely was a news item, which is creating a buzz among Adelaide's Catholics, on the day of this writing. 

Sisters of Saint Joseph, a Catholic Order in Australia, are ecstatic because their founder, Sister Mary McKillop, who was born in Melbourne ...

 (Hey, a link to Melbourne ... amazing how these links just appear?).

... will be canonized, made into Saint Mary, Australia's very first Saint (besides Holy St. Kilda, just joking).

The good lady, who died over a hundred years ago, had spent most of her life in South Australia, working mainly for the welfare of children and the underprivileged. Pope Benedict XVI announced the date for the big event in Rome.

Many faithful Catholics, no doubt, will travel to the Holy See (no misprint, the Pope understands) to take part in the celebrations. No doubt Tim Fischer is looking forward also. (That's not my son Tim, but Australia's present ambassador to the Holy Sea and former deputy Prime Minister). The date when all roads will lead to Rome, God willing, is October 17, 2010. 

I was bemused as I listened to the TV News this morning. Channel Nine's breakfast program Today broadcast the above item in their news. Reading very fast, as newsreaders do, the very next item, an abduction of an 8-year old,  took place in St. Marys, a Sydney suburb.

Earlier on the morning of writing I overheard another good news item on the ABC Radio News. Again this item bemused me. It was about the breakfast food oats, which I eat every morning, and the positive effect it has on the brain of older people - well worn brains like mine? 

I combined all three news items into one and emailed it to Channel Nine's TV show Weekend / Today:

 

Date: 20/2/10 

Hi all,
On your news-update (8.00 am - Adelaide time) the two items re: St. Mary could have been separated, not run consecutively - Mary McKillop becoming a Saint, next an 8 y.o. is abducted in St.Marys!
 
In between you could have run the item, broadcast on the 7 AM ABC News (Adelaide). A study is looking into the effect of oats (not supermarket oats, but a derivative, whatever that means). It appears there is an improved capacity for concentration of the brain function, as I understood the item.
 
Maybe, that's my problem - I do love my oats every morning and ... I think too much?
 
Kind regards from Adelaide
Dieter Fischer
PS  For example - when your show broadcast from postcode 3802, my brain came to see *272? Too many oats that morning?

* If the recipient of my email worked out (Date of broadcast) 17.2 + C, I don't know.

Is it unusual that another 8-year old was abducted in Bundaberg, Queensland, only days apart? It's big news as I write.

- - - - - - -

 

(Back to New Zealand)

We departed from Queenstown with a touch of sadness. One day, we promised ourselves, we'd return and enjoy it some more. The scenery as we were motoring through Otago, toward New Zealand's West Coast, became more and more spectacular.

It was a pity to be passing so many scenic wonders, and not breath them in. The mirror-like surface of Lake Hawea sprawled to our right, mountains towering on all sides; moments later, another unspoiled body of water, Lake Wanaka, on our left. 

At the township of Wanaka a bike race was being held. We had to make a slight detour. The place is very popular for winter sports. (On the radio a person was saying that Wanaka had had snowfalls, a rarity during January).

Beside one of the many rivers we had to cross, mostly over one-lane bridges, we took our morning comfort stop. What a great idea, a simple sign: 'Five minute forest walk'. Even Isobel and grandma experienced the tranquil beauty of this forest. A perfect blend: Two minutes on the toilet, five minutes in the forest.

The world-heritage listed Fox Glacier can be reached by motor car with only a slight detour from the main highway. There is a car park near its base. It's a reasonably short walk to the ice, but not for the elderly. To walk on the spectacular 13 kilometre long body of ice would have taken too much time. Another promise for a future visit. 

Unlike Fox Glacier, the other major landmark on the West Coast, Franz Josef Glacier, would have meant a considerable detour. We restricted ourselves to a brief stop and a quick photo, typical for on-the-run tourists:

(Isn't this weird timing, unplanned? Moments ago I wrote about St. Marys, then St. Joseph, now back to another Joe...)

 

Franz-Josef Glacier, West Coast New Zealand

 

Julius von Haast in 1865 named the Franz Josef glacier after the Emperor of Austria. The small township Haast, where Highway 6  reaches the west coast, is a permanent reminder of the exploits of the German explorer. There is also Haast Pass and the Haast Highway. 

Strolling around Franz Josef township with Isobel and her mother, it almost felt like Grindelwald, in the background the ... Jungfrau ... I say, almost, because neither Isobel, nor her mother are still Jungrau; and I certainly would not call myself a Moench (just kidding).

(To appreciate my fun with names - Grindelwald in Switzerland is overshadowed by three mountains, the Eiger, Moench and Jungfrau. Jungfrau means maiden, Moench means monk).

 

The beautiful scene on the left was photographed by Isobel. She had requested we stop, so she could snap the picture. The scenery resembled that of the district she grew up in, in northern New South Wales, except the distant mountains are not quite as high. 

At the time, travelling rather briskly on Highway 6 I didn't really want to stop again: "Not another photo ...!" 

But then, I felt bad not to be pleasing Isobel. After another kilometre of debate, I gave in: "OK at the next safe spot I turn around so you can take your photo!"

As I did the U-Turn I read the name of the road, where I was turning the car around - Oneone Road.  I loved the name, plus the fact the date was 15.01 -  1L1.

But there was more: On the TV News in our Motel in Greymouth the next morning I heard the result of the match my football team, Adelaide United had played on that same day, 15.01. 

They had a 1:1 draw against the Central Coast Mariners. Oneone indeed won!

It was win/win all round. Isobel got her photo, I got my fun! And Adelaide United didn't lose that match. 

(As I write, at Hindmarsh Stadium Adelaide United is playing their first game in the Asian Champions League against Korea's Pohang Steelers. Remember boys, 1:1 is not always a win.)

- - - - - - - 

   

We filled the Mazda up with petrol at Hokitika, a pretty little town, founded after a gold rush in 1864. It was a lovely summer evening, a prefect time to walk around town. We would have dined out, but the three of us couldn't agree on a place. We decided to continue to Greymouth, where I fetched a meal of Chinese take-away, which we enjoyed in our motel room. It was delicious. 

I loved the size of the bill: $ 31.80 NZ, which is in the vicinity of about A$ 25.1083 approximately. (Travelling does not have to be expensive).

 

As so often, on this journey and other times, car registration plates were a constant source of eye-brain exercises. The eyes >>> they see ... the brain's >>> n-bit hears.

As we were entering the car to drive to Greymouth a motor vehicle passed us, registration plate ... 099. At the same time, I noted the vehicle, which had parked ahead of us. It also carried registration plate ... 099. On arriving at our Greymouth motel, I loved the van parked there - 4STAR.

 

Often, when driving or cycling, my eyes spy numbers and/or letters and the brains creates a meaning very quickly. 

Only the day before writing, again as I cycled to sit in Court 6 in Victoria Square, I saw a parked vehicle ...861. It was in the suburb of Prospect outside a building, which clearly I associated with radio station, ABC 891. 

I loved how the 6 had turned upside down! A real goer!

 

Our accommodation at Greymouth was south of town, but right near the beach. After dinner Isobel and I took a relaxing stroll along the beach. There was much driftwood and many smooth stones all over the beach. We had seen many driveways paved with such stones. I wondered, if so much driftwood remains on the beach in winter?

It had been a long time since my lovely wife and I had been watching the sunset, admiring a colourful sky, which changes colour by the minute. Isobel and her mother would be flying west, literally into that sunset, the next evening. 

We had yet to break the news to her mother that I'd be staying back, until the end of the month. Isobel knew her mother wouldn't approve. But I wasn't going to change my plans because of my mother-in-awe!

The next morning at Greymouth I experienced one of those episodes, a walk if you like, where I wondered - had I come to the right place, four thousand kilometres from home? 

It started, how ironic at Greymouth, with the colours black and white.

 

 Clever logo for the Grey district, West Coast - New Zealand

Lotsa colour - Lover of truth saw colour [s]:

First black and white, followed by yellow. 

 

It was our final day together in New Zealand. The ladies slept in. An early morning walk was a must. I crossed the main road and took the first street on my left and continued underneath the railway bridge. The huge beams, holding the crude structure together, looked like they'd been there for 100 years.

The street names were Keith Street, Clough Street, but they weren't clues. A fit young, lady came jogging the opposite way. She even gave me a smile, as our eyes met briefly in passing. It made my feel like ... (turn and start jogging after her, just kidding). 

A few minutes later, after again crossing the lady jogger's path, *I noted the colours she was wearing - black pants, white top. Not only in Greymouth, black and white makes grey.

 

*Hey, that's fun! On radio 891, which I just had written about above, at this point a man was reading out a poem. He read the words black, black, black with great emphasis.

I wasn't going to keep distracting your reading here, but when I realized, the presenter's name is Whitelock, how could I ignore it ...?  

 

I saw the black and white girl again from a distance, as I turned back toward my old girls. It led me back through the established part of this suburb, where everybody was still asleep. On the ground I spotted a yellow ribbon, an elastic hair band, which females wear to hold their hair together. Why I stopped, looked at it and picked it up, I do not know.

What does this mean, my spirit questioned my brain, which alerted my eyes, which moved across the road to see ... a for sale sign. I moved across to take a closer look at the (house for sale) sign. The phone number of the real estate agent ended in 0500.

Was this a test, were these clues?

If I were to remove one 0 (the round yellow ribbon), I could create 500; D in Roman numerals. For this reason I placed the yellow ribbon underneath the 0500. 

Silly, I know, and I would possibly have forgotten all about it, had I not spotted more yellow moments after leaving our motel. As we were driving out of Greymouth toward Christchurch, a lady was walking on the side of the road. She looked rather conspicuous, wearing a yellow cardigan. 

A nanosecond later a BMW motor car entered from a steep side road on our left, registration plate ... 586. Readers, who know how my oats-fuelled brain works, expect me to see 486. I did and wrote it all into the diary. 

Later in the day, motoring near Arthurs Pass in our hire-car, it suddenly came: The yellow ribbon, the yellow cardigan, the lady in black and white - these were the colours of the Real Estate Agent, whose phone number ended in ... 0500.

As I was writing - more came: Yellow Ribbon, led to G.ray White Real Estate. (Lotsa colours). 

One last thought, all born from one yellow ribbon: Remove 0 from 500 (D) results in 50 (L). 

Roman numerals LD - holding us hostage?

Not quite, but let's use these Roman numerals to take us back to Rom, back to Saint-to-be, Mary. A fact came to me during prayer on the morning, after the date for Mary McKillop's canonization was announced for October 17: Turn the calendar back 8 months and 10 days from that date and we arrive at Feb 7th...

Book 8, Chapter 10, the previous chapter, holds a photo of a war memorial in a tiny village in the Adelaide Hills. A few days ago, we took visitors for a drive through Houghton. Travelling toward Inglewood a flash of information entered my brain. I spotted in large letters a property's address on the fence, or gate: LOT 1.

Right underneath, in the same oversize lettering, 4US. 

Lover Of Truth won for US. Someone understood the message!

God loves yellow ribbons. HE has trillions at HIS disposal. How many has HE tied to your tree? How long has HE been waiting for you to get off that bus and come home? HE is ready for you.

What's the meaning of yellow ribbons? 

 God chose red to cleanse us from black to be HIS bride - in pure white.

 

Chapter 12

Index