I have been feeling poorly so apologies for the lack of content. By way of conciliation I offer these words from Audrey Hepburn.
"I heard a definition once: Happiness is health and a short memory! I wish I'd invented it, because it is very true."
February 26, 2012
February 20, 2012
Small arcade in the city
Philip Johnson
February 19, 2012
Play this as I am going on my way
Last night Chris and I went to the 2nd concert at Sidney Myer Music Bowl of the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra's free summer events. We were treated to a sublime happening- William Barton world reknowned Didjeridu player and composer (yadaki) and the orchetsra playing "Kalkadungu". Then a piece from Jean Sibelius (Finland), Sympony No. 2 in D, Op.43. I was one happy gal.
Play this as I am going on my way out because this to me brings such a sense of contentment it is impossible to put into words.
I hope it brings you some joy too!
February 16, 2012
Get yourself some craftercise
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| Floor of Crafternoon |
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| Owner and crafty host- Tegan |
Does attempting to draw, paint, collage or knit fill you with anxiety or even worse palpable fear? I can tell you I survived to tell the tale, thrived even, and created. An owl to be specific.
The cafe, run by Tegan Cumerford, is a place for patrons to enjoy some creative time out. And at the very least this is a lovely spot to sit in an unpretentious environment and take in the artwork around you. But to be honest that would be a shame.
I brought along a book to inspire my painting, but you don't need to. Everything you need to be inspired and create is provided for a modest fee. A painting easel, set of brushes, A4 paper, palette or six paint colours will set you back $4. Or if painting feels like too much to tackle, try making your own badge for $3.
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With some trepidation I mixed some paint, at first concerned I would not remember how (it was more than two decades ago I last worked with paint- with the exception of painting the deck). Tegan gave me a few wise words of advice which ended with ...'and have fun'. That helped and after a few unsteady brushstrokes I was on my way. In fact I was so thrilled that what I was creating did actually look vaguely like an owl in progress, I actually punched the air and found myself beaming like Forest Gump.
I grew hungry half way through so a Mocha Latte ($4) and CCC Fritter ($7) meant I was refuelled and ready to go a few minutes later. I finished my owl, signed it with a final flourish feeling very Margaret Olley and Tegan pegged my creation to a line suspended from the ceiling.
How wonderful that no matter what the value of my owl as art, it is pegged with pride.
This is not just the domain of children. This is a space where you can reconnect with that youthful energy from long ago, the little self who did not worry about what people would say about the end product. Simply creating purely for the joy of taking a blank space and replacing it with a piece that was created from hands and mind working together, unencumbered by judgement or embarrassment.
Get yourself some craftercise. Move it or lose it!Crafternoon- 531 Nicholson Street, Melbourne, 03 9077 6998
February 12, 2012
Flight of the Warrior Chapter 1- Swordplay in the moonlight
Welcome to your fortnightly soap.
Turn your intellect off- you won't need it. This is confection, fairy floss, a guilty delight. Escape to another world.
Enjoy.
Chapter 1- Swordplay in the moonlight
She could not sleep and so decides she will fly under the moon to her favourite spot.
There have been many sleepless nights lately and she curses herself that she has not had the courage to go to her place earlier. But then the last trip left a mark, down her right side finishing just above her hip bone. The experience also left other marks, but those were less obvious.
It is cold as she steps out onto the grass, maybe the winter will come sooner after all. There is a slight breeze, it tickles the skin so that the hairs stand up on end, not from alarm but delight.
As she flies she sees little but that spot in her mind's eye. She must get there quickly, it is not safe to be in the air for too long. But this time the trip is uneventful, and she arrives.
The trees sway slightly but beneath them in the small clearing she cannot feel the breeze. A different breeze to that gentle one standing outside her hut. This breeze travels from the oldest place, funnels its way between giant mountains, drawers on power from the frozen glaciers in a distant land. It is a warning on the air. One she cannot read yet, but she is aware of the threat.
Could the wind be whispering to her tonight? If she practices, if she is diligent maybe she will hear.
She takes the jian wrapped in her favourite cloth and unwraps it. She says a small prayer before removing it from the scabbard and the metal sighs as it is drawn. She takes the tassel attached to the pommel and places it round her right wrist. Today she will practice two handed, her right hand, and three fingers of her left.
She moves through the first steps, and notices her body resist. She is stiff, it has been too long since her last practice. It takes some minutes before she feels a flow, a warmth creeping into the muscles and with it she moves more easily. The second rotation is completed and now she moves through the third, and finishes with the stabbing movement, the jianfeng finding its mark glinting beneath the moon as the light catches the central edge. Breathing heavily the sword resting by her side, her hand loosely gripping the hilt, she is finished. She moves her focus inward and can feel her heartbeat at first pounding and crashing heavily and then moving more softly. She can feel her body at last healed from the attack.
She goes to the sotoba, marking the small collection of stones where her father is buried and she nods quietly in deference.
It is then she hears it, a wolf cry. From the west higher on the hill it comes to her delivered on the wind. There is a rising and falling to the howl with a sliding off the note at the end. It is a lonely sound. It is impossible to know how close the wolf is. She holds her breath and listens to see if the cry will be returned, turning her head to the east.
It is not. And the wolf does not cry again. She feels a sadness and is not sure why.
Perhaps now she has visited her place, flown again without incident she will sleep. She has practiced well despite her stiffness. The old slashing wound to her side did not trouble her. She replaces the jian in the scabbard and covers it in her favourite cloth. Before she leaves she stops to listen again.
Nothing, not a whisper.
She leaves with a promise on her lips to return again soon.
Turn your intellect off- you won't need it. This is confection, fairy floss, a guilty delight. Escape to another world.
Enjoy.
Chapter 1- Swordplay in the moonlight
She could not sleep and so decides she will fly under the moon to her favourite spot.
There have been many sleepless nights lately and she curses herself that she has not had the courage to go to her place earlier. But then the last trip left a mark, down her right side finishing just above her hip bone. The experience also left other marks, but those were less obvious.
It is cold as she steps out onto the grass, maybe the winter will come sooner after all. There is a slight breeze, it tickles the skin so that the hairs stand up on end, not from alarm but delight.
As she flies she sees little but that spot in her mind's eye. She must get there quickly, it is not safe to be in the air for too long. But this time the trip is uneventful, and she arrives.
The trees sway slightly but beneath them in the small clearing she cannot feel the breeze. A different breeze to that gentle one standing outside her hut. This breeze travels from the oldest place, funnels its way between giant mountains, drawers on power from the frozen glaciers in a distant land. It is a warning on the air. One she cannot read yet, but she is aware of the threat.
Could the wind be whispering to her tonight? If she practices, if she is diligent maybe she will hear.
She takes the jian wrapped in her favourite cloth and unwraps it. She says a small prayer before removing it from the scabbard and the metal sighs as it is drawn. She takes the tassel attached to the pommel and places it round her right wrist. Today she will practice two handed, her right hand, and three fingers of her left.
She moves through the first steps, and notices her body resist. She is stiff, it has been too long since her last practice. It takes some minutes before she feels a flow, a warmth creeping into the muscles and with it she moves more easily. The second rotation is completed and now she moves through the third, and finishes with the stabbing movement, the jianfeng finding its mark glinting beneath the moon as the light catches the central edge. Breathing heavily the sword resting by her side, her hand loosely gripping the hilt, she is finished. She moves her focus inward and can feel her heartbeat at first pounding and crashing heavily and then moving more softly. She can feel her body at last healed from the attack.
She goes to the sotoba, marking the small collection of stones where her father is buried and she nods quietly in deference.
It is then she hears it, a wolf cry. From the west higher on the hill it comes to her delivered on the wind. There is a rising and falling to the howl with a sliding off the note at the end. It is a lonely sound. It is impossible to know how close the wolf is. She holds her breath and listens to see if the cry will be returned, turning her head to the east.
It is not. And the wolf does not cry again. She feels a sadness and is not sure why.
Perhaps now she has visited her place, flown again without incident she will sleep. She has practiced well despite her stiffness. The old slashing wound to her side did not trouble her. She replaces the jian in the scabbard and covers it in her favourite cloth. Before she leaves she stops to listen again.
Nothing, not a whisper.
She leaves with a promise on her lips to return again soon.
The patient goes on an outing
After a favourable first vet check up we took them both to Healesville. An appropriate name for our destination. It was pouring with rain when we arrived which gave us an opportunity to grab a coffee and by the time the get up and go juice starting taking affect rain clouds had cleared and the sun came to stay.
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| Foot of Maroondah Reservoir |
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| Rose Steps |
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| Reservoir wall |
February 5, 2012
Leap leap leap
Today I am doing something I have never done before.
"All growth is a leap in the dark, a spontaneous unpremeditated act without the benefit of experience."
Henry Miller
"All growth is a leap in the dark, a spontaneous unpremeditated act without the benefit of experience."
Henry Miller
February 1, 2012
Measured
Tomorrow I am going to a funeral. As is only proper tonight I am reflecting on this lovely man and sending my family love and peace.
There are around 300 people expected to attend, a large gathering by any measure. He was very involved in the community and apparently there will be a CFA guard of honour for him.
It does make me wonder in the end what will we be measured by?
Measured
We are
going the distance
taking stock
maximising our profits
chasing the dollar
calculating assets
taking what is ours
We are
holding back the years
counting down the days
pursuing beauty
cutting a fine figure
getting a makeover
developing a taste for the good life
Are we
selling out?
selling ourselves short?
selling our soul?
The years roll by in
but a moment
In the end
what are we meaured by?
Dedicated to Charlie
There are around 300 people expected to attend, a large gathering by any measure. He was very involved in the community and apparently there will be a CFA guard of honour for him.
It does make me wonder in the end what will we be measured by?
Measured
We are
going the distance
taking stock
maximising our profits
chasing the dollar
calculating assets
taking what is ours
We are
holding back the years
counting down the days
pursuing beauty
cutting a fine figure
getting a makeover
developing a taste for the good life
Are we
selling out?
selling ourselves short?
selling our soul?
The years roll by in
but a moment
In the end
what are we meaured by?
Dedicated to Charlie
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