Saturday, 30 October 2010

Time flies

Any Other Time
                                                     ~ Andrew Barton Paterson

All of us play our very best game—
Any other time.
Golf or billiards, it’s all the same—
Any other time.
Lose a match and you always say,
“Just my luck! I was ‘off’ to-day!
I could have beaten him quite half-way—
Any other time!”

After a fiver you ought to go—
Any other time.
Every man that you ask says “Oh,
Any other time.
Lend you a fiver! I’d lend you two,
But I’m overdrawn and my bills are due,
Wish you’d ask me—now, mind you do—
Any other time!”

Fellows will ask you out to dine—
Any other time.
“Not to-night, for we’re twenty-nine —
Any other time.
Not to-morrow, for cook’s on strike,
Not next day, I’ll be out on the bike —
Just drop in whenever you like —
Any other time!”

Seasick passengers like the sea—
Any other time.
“Something . . I ate . . disagreed . . with me!
Any other time
Ocean-trav’lling is . . simply bliss,
Must be my . . liver . . has gone amiss . .
Why, I would . . laugh . . at a sea . . like this—
Any other time.”

Most of us mean to be better men—
Any other time:
Regular upright characters then—
Any other time.
Yet somehow as the years go by
Still we gamble and drink and lie,
When it comes to the last we’ll want to die—
Any other time!

The weekends are so fleeting it almost induces a panic state.  There is that pesky issue of work on Monday to contend with, and the associated mad routine of feeding, cleaning, educating, transporting, nurturing and, somewhere in there, enjoying, three sweet, fresh-faced children.  Not much has been crossed off that October list.  Must take a deep breath and dive headlong into November.  It wouldn't hurt to keep half an eye on 2011 too a it's just around the corner.  This year was a bit blah. So I think we need to set some some goals ... be a bit bold, imaginative, wishful ... and plan some fun things to look forward to in the coming year - other than housekeeping.  For it is true that time flies and the years zip by (faster now I'm sure). Children certainly remind you of that.  One minute you've got a house full of duplo blocks and nappies and the next it's cluttered with board games and stray socks you confuse with your own.  So while I'd love to curl up under the covers with the Beanie Bears, who are hiding in a cubbie under the bed, on this wet Sunday, I'd better get moving... and scheming. 

Friday, 29 October 2010

Hyperbolic crotchet

Ever since my mother and her crafty cohorts started crocheting lacy borders around hankies about 25 years ago, and then moved on,  to my utter incredulity, to edging face washers and kitchen hand towels, I have been bemused by the items people create in wool and cotton thread.  I do have a thing for granny squares, but otherwise find it difficult to get too enthused about amateur efforts with the crochet hook and knitting needle.  That is, until Kerry crocheted the rock paperweight cover and the dish cloth.  Now I find crocheted items keep popping up and I have quite unintentionally discovered an entire collection of quirky, practical and appealing pieces.  I am noticing that the standards have improved considerably since the Anglican ladies guild members met mid-week in the 1980s.  It is comforting and nostalgic.

Following is a mini exhibition.

Chapstick covers for keychain by Rachel at Crochetspot
 
Coffee cup holder by Rachel at Crochetspot
She also has tutorials for business card holders, soap savers, hats, cushions and shrugs.

The ubiquitous party bunting by Natalie Jost.  A personal favourite.
Mobile phone pouch by PaisleyJade

Then there is guerrilla crochet such as this magical tree in Copenhagen captured by The House That Lars Built.  There seems to be quite a bit of this going on in the northern hemisphere. 

But ... the piece de resistance is...



The Hyperbolic Crochet Coral Reef

The exhibition is showing at the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History in Washington
16 October 2010 to 17 April  2011.

It is a vast and splendiferous coral reef made entirely of crotchet!

The project is the brainshild of Margaret and Christine Wertheim, two sisters who grew up in Queensland and now live in Los Angeles where they are members of the fascinating Institute For Figuring.


"In 1997, Dr Daina Taimina, a mathematician, discovered how to make physical models of the geometry known as "hyperbolic space" using the art of crochet. Until that time many mathematicians believed it was impossible to construct such forms; yet nature had been doing just that for hundreds of millions of years. Many marine organisms embody hyperbolic geometry in their anatomies, including corals. This geometry maximizes surface area in a limited volume, thereby providing greater opportunity for filter feeding by stationary corals."



The exhibition website contains an ocean of information. I could swim around in it for hours. There are are instructions on how to make hyperbolic shapes and members of the public are invited to contribute pieces for the exhibition. Is there no end to the wonder of crotchet and its mathematical genius?

Monday, 25 October 2010

If music be the food of love...

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour!

Quote Act i. Scene 1. Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare.

It was a busy week-end. I'm still recovering. It started when we went to check out an old upright piano a work colleague was offering to give away.  (A bit worn and in need to service so we continue to hunt for a suitable model.)  Then the under nine cricket season got underway on Saturday with an 8.30 am start.  Not that I have anything to do with it, and neither do the other mothers by all reports.  Attendance was strictly lads and dads.  Little Wanna and I raced off to the Girls Grammar fete... well, actually, the book stall.  Not quite so good this year, or was it that we have moved on from picture books to chapter books and were just more selective? Anyway, the search is half the fun.  We scored ten books including a hard-cover single volume of the complete first series of the Deltora Quest by Emily Rodda, a few BabySitters Club paperbacks and a pop-up fairy book among other gems.    Then we screeched home, grabbed the others and dropped the children at their cousins' house so the Strong Silent One and I could go to see the Bell Shakespeare Company performance of Twelfth Night as a celebratory wedding anniversary outing.   Amazingly we got there early and had half an hour to kill.  So what could be more romantic than popping in to the Civic Library before the show!  He logged on and reserved a book and I found a copy of a novel I had been searching for and we generally mooched about browsing the shelves.  A day happily book-ended. 

Thursday, 21 October 2010

Philosophy

A Parable by Dr. Arthur Conan Doyle

The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there,
And warmly debated the matter;
The Orthodox said that it came from the air,
And the Heretics said from the platter.
They argued it long and they argued it strong,
And I hear they are arguing now;
But of all the choice spirits who lived in the cheese,
Not one of them thought of a cow.

Wednesday, 20 October 2010

Notes for a novice gardener


Many years ago, I did a garden design course at Canberra Institute of Technology.  It was led by Karina Harris and her partner Neil Hobbs, who now have a well-established landscape architecture practice in Canberra and whose gorgeous garden (bottom picture) features regularly as part of the Open Garden Scheme (unlike ours which they also designed). 

I still have my scratchy notes from the classes.  Not that I ever really put them into practice, as like most pursuits, you either have the knack of gardening or not, and I believe it is a skill best learned at some-one's knee.  Frankly, plants seem to need as much nurturing, and can be just as contrary, as toddlers - they both involve lots of heavy lifting and incessant feeding and watering.  Just another army of mouths to feed, I figure. I do like being in pretty gardens and appreciate them immensely, but I can never decipher what to do with plants from the specifications on their swing tags or the little plastic stakes in the pots at nurseries, and the complicated botantial names and common names simply leave me bewildered. Still, you never now when a bit of horticultural information might come in handy. 

Here's what I jotted down among other things in my notebook:
  • Forget-me-nots are easy to grow and make a good 'night light'. 
  • Dianthus, allyssum, ajuga and cerastium are good ground covers.
  • Delphinums grow well but can be infested by snails.
  • Clematis is a good climber with huge flowers.
  • Grevillia, melalueca and callistemon make good hedges planted under two metres apart.
  • Plant accent plants 800 mm in front of hedge.
  • Silver birches like water.
  • Plane tree leaves don't decompose.
  • Plant magnolias on the NE side.
  • Lupins and potatoes are good for the soil esp. before planting a lawn.
  • Good grasses are Lomandra and Dianella Tasmanica
  • Decomposed granite is good for paths and steps - 75 mmm deep on compacted soil, needs a retention edge in formal gardens otherwise it will spill out. Ok to do this in bush gardens.
  • Basket-weave paving pattern suits small spaces.
  • Don't dig narrow and deep; go wider.
  • Put black plastic around sides but not bottom of terracotta pots.
  • Euchy mulch becomes compacted and poisons the soil. Use pine chip.
  • Make a screen for climbers from F62 reinforcement mesh welded to steel posts and powder-coated.
Recommended plants esp with reference to Canberra

Shrubs and climbers: Hardenbergia Violacea (Australian native climber); Sollya Heterophylla (Blue-bell creeper); Correa Dusky Bells; Lonicera Nitida (Boxleaf honeysuckle or poor man's box); Viburnum Plicatum (Snowball bush); white flowering dogwood and Japanese star jasmine. 

 Pots: Daphne; hydrangea (lime for pink and acid for blue), gardenia, ginger and 'Gruss an Aachen' roses.

Flowers: Choisia, peonies, aquilegia (Granny's bonnet), fox gloves, delphinium, hollyhock, Dutch iris, bearded iris, Henry Martin rose and campanela.

As she showed us her favourite plants, some of Karina's great descriptive quotes were:

 "Nice leaf, nice habit" and "Doing wonderful things and looking great" which could equally apply to people and would be a charming way to be spoken of among friends.

Tuesday, 19 October 2010

Quickstep

The Dance
      ~ William Carlos Williams

In Breughel's great picture, The Kermess,

the dancers go round, they go round and

around, the squeal and the blare and the

tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and fiddles

tipping their bellies, (round as the thick-

sided glasses whose wash they impound)

their hips and their bellies off balance

to turn them. Kicking and rolling about

the Fair Grounds, swinging their butts, those

shanks must be sound to bear up under such

rollicking measures, prance as they dance

in Breughel's great picture, The Kermess.

 
Today is the day we have been anticipating all week.  The Year 4 girls and boys have to participate in partnered dances with each other.  "Charly has to dance with a boy today."  Titter, giggle.  Charly's nose wrinkles. I can see this is going to be the focus of her day.  They have to pair off themselves so this is adding to the nervous tension.  She does not want to dance with anyone. "Aren't there any nice boys in Year 4?", I enquire of Little Wanna, already an authority on the who's who of the school yard from her innocent vantage point in kindergarten.  "NO!", comes the frank and assertive reply.  Ro-Ro has safely decided not to wade into this commentary.  However, there is general agreement that this will be an awful experience for every-one concerned. 

Ah yes, I remember folk dancing and square dancing in the quadrangle at Berserker Street State School and squirming at the thought of holding hands with boys.  But trends have moved on, and now it's hip hop and ballroom.  Good luck Charly... in more ways than one.  

Image: The Kermesse of St George, 1628, by Pieter Brueghel the Younger.  In Private Collection

Monday, 18 October 2010

Tucked up

A DAY IN BED

                                    ~ Katherine Mansfield

I wish I had not got a cold,
The wind is big and wild,
I wish that I was very old,
Not just a little child.

Somehow the day is very long
Just keeping here, alone;
I do not like the big wind's song,
He's growling for a bone

He's like an awful dog we had
Who used to creep around
And snatch at things--he was so bad,
With just that horrid sound.

I'm sitting up and nurse has made
Me wear a woolly shawl;
I wish I was not so afraid;
It's horrid to be small.

It really feels quite like a day
Since I have had my tea;
P'raps everybody's gone away
And just forgotten me.

And oh! I cannot go to sleep
Although I am in bed.
The wind keeps going creepy-creep
And waiting to be fed.



Ro-Ro has been unwell since the week-end with sore throat, fever and the chills.  He comes good and is his old self again then fades away.  Little Wanna is also suffering from a general malaise.  They both stayed home from school yesterday.  Slept mostly, read Tin-Tin and did jigsaw puzzles. I came home last night to a cooked dinner.  A rare treat. The tantalising aroma met me at the door before the children did.  This is the added bonus of not being the parent who takes the day off.   But they're on the mend now and have spring in their step after a dozey start to the day.   
 
Image: The Sick Child, 1893, by J. Bond Francisco. Smithsonian American Art Museum

Sunday, 17 October 2010

Spring Wattle

The Wattle Fairies

by Christian Coutts


Some little yellow fairies
Were swinging on a tree
They were the dearest little things
That ever you could see

The fluffy hair all round them
Was soft as thistle down
But these wee fairies held on tight
To little stalks of brown

They swayed about so gently
While softest breezes blew
And every day, more fairies came
And so the family grew

Till all the trees were golden
Yes, every tiny spray
And every little yellow elf
Was happy as the day

At night those little fairies
Oft washed their hair with dew
But when the morning sun got up
He dried their hair right through

Did winds blow round them roughly
It was such jolly fun
They swung up high and then down low
And laughed till it was done

Now dears, I’ll whisper softly
Who were those sprites so airy?
The tree, it was a wattle tree
Each blossom was a fairy.

From a 1948 Australian school reader.

Image: Canberra Museum and Art Gallery exhibition, Wattle, Edwin Ride’s collection of objects featuring Australia’s floral emblem. The exhibition illustrates the development of wattle as a symbol of Australia over the last 150 years.

Friday, 15 October 2010

Books Bought and Borrowed: Grandpa


We recently came across a gem of a children's picture book from the library called simply, Grandpa, by Lilith Norman and illustrated by Noela Young. The realism of the text and illustrations is quite startling.

The story is a child's reflections about his cantankerous grandfather who lives with his family and occupies the boy's bedroom.  It spares no detail on the fragile nature of his parent's relationship with his grandfather, their irritation with his fusty presence, including his conservative preference for meals of 'meat and three veg' which constrains their cooking and eating habits. The boy shares some of this irritation but more equably, as children do.  Then Grandpa falls ill and is hospitalised.  The bedside scene is poignant. When Grandpa dies, the family misses his idiosyncrysies.  We see his mother weeping and, to close the story, the boy decides to take in to school some of the treasured items that Grandpa had made him and to share his fond memories with his classmates.

I am always grateful for books which deal sensitively, but accurately, with the sadder aspects of  life, for none of us are spared these experiences. It is no wonder that this book was awarded an Honour book in the 1999 Children's Book Council Awards and the winner of the 1999 Family Therapy Associations of Australia Family Award for Young Children.

There is precious little information online about Ms Norman, who did not reach the dizzy heights of celebrity as some children's authors do, but I found this quote in my web meanderings:

Lilith Norman creates works for children that are consistent in their loving portrayal of the author's native Australian landscape and their realistic young protagonists. A librarian by profession, Norman did not begin writing for children until she was in her forties. "I managed to avoid becoming a writer for quite a long time, mainly, I think, because it seemed like very hard work for a very speculative result," she said.  "It wasn't until I started working as a children's librarian that I realised these were the books I wanted to write. . . . I like to write about ordinary children trying to cope, for I believe that most of us can cope with whatever is thrown at us, if we really have to--otherwise we'd all be living in caves still."
Ms Norman, who would be now aged about 83, wrote many children's books from the 1970s to 1990s.  We will be sure to search for more in our library fossickings.

{this moment}


{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.  SouleMama

Thursday, 14 October 2010

Father knows best

Getting Information Out of Pa
      Anon.

My pa he didn’t go to town
Last evening after tea,
But got a book and settled down
As comfy as could be.
I’ll tell you I was offul glad
To have my pa about
To answer all the things I had
Been tryin’ to find out.

And so I asked him why the world
Is round instead of square,
And why the piggies’ tails are curled,
And why don’t fish breathe air?
And why the moon don’t hit a star,
And why the dark is black,
And just how many birds there are,
And will the wind come back?

And why does water stay in wells,
And why do June bugs hum,
And what’s the roar I hear in shells,
And when will Christmas come?
And why the grass is always green,
Instead of sometimes blue,
And why a bean will grow a bean
And not an apple, too?

And why a horse can’t learn to moo,
And why a cow can’t neigh?
And do the fairies live on dew,
And what makes hair grow gray—
And then my pa got up an’ gee!
The offul words he said,
I hadn’t done a things, but he
Jest sent me off to bed.


This poem is hardly like our Pa at all.  He is more than willing to explain things to the children in matter-of-fact detail and it always astounds me just how much he does know from identifying historic military hardware, the pH levels of various liquids and the origins of geomorphic structures to handy knowledge about calculator functions, the locations of capital cities of the world and how to grow pond weed.  Which gives me the perfect out.  "Go and ask your Father" I say, and they do.

Illustration: Cool Daddy Rat by Mike Lester.

Wednesday, 13 October 2010


It is a bit Groundhog Day-ish in the Gull's Nest this week as we get into the swing of the last term of the year.  The same old school lunches and the same old apples bouncing back in the lunch box.  The same suite of evening meals within the children's narrow range of tastes and my limited cooking repertoire.  The same restrictions on use of the Nintenso DS and stern, oft- repeated reminders to do music practice. The laundry rises and subsides like the tide.  There is continued indecision on what to do with the front footpath and huge raised garden bed out the back (and an apparent lack of Australian gardening blogs from which to draw inspiration, at least from my browsing) and a dire shortage of free time to attend to pressing home improvement jobs such as sourcing new blinds, exploring the possibility of purchasing a piano or browsing furniture shops for that elusive 8-seater timber dining table or some cupboards for the problematic alcove in the entrance foyer.  The new job already has me dragging my feet and struggling to keep my head off the desk. Nothing for it but to write another list.    

Tuesday, 12 October 2010

Right next door


This is the surreal view from our back deck looking towards the neighbour's extension which looks like it is being built out of styrofoam.  As it is mostly wall along both our sides, we won't be looking right at each other nose-to-nose but the structure is alarmingly near compared to what we were used to.  We are growing a vine on yachting wire to obscure the view, ensure privacy and gain some shelter from the wind and western sun.  It proved impossible to obtain an appropriate custom or ready-made outdoor blind or louvred awning as the roofline and deckline are at different angles. So we reverted to the original landscape design using a creeper after having searched high and low for alternatives. Believe me, it has caused no end of anguish and deferred decison-making. 

Our situation reminds me of my mother's story about old houses belonging to my great aunts and an uncle in Rockhampton being so close you could hear the neighbour's scrape their pudding bowls. Indeed, the affordable houses in pre-War Queensland were built so close you could almost touch the neighbour's wall if you leant out a window.  Must remember to eat my Connoisseur ice cream quietly in future.

Monday, 11 October 2010

B-Well Report: Walk to Work


The Government is extremely fond of amassing great quantities of statistics. These are raised to the nth degree, the cube roots are extracted and the results are arranged into elaborate and impressive displays. What must be kept in mind, however, is that in every case, the figures are first put down by a village watchman and he puts down anything he damn well pleases.

  ~ Sir Josiah Stamp, Her Majesty's Collector of Inland Revenues, more than a century ago  ~

I'm pondering as I walk to work through the increasingly dense thicket of weeds. 
Performance information, evaluation and measuring outcomes. 
Public opinion polls, feedback surveys and attendance figures. Endless data collection.  Must make it accurate, reliable and meaningful. I do believe some people enjoy this sort of stuff.  Study it even. Make it their life's work. 

Yesterday I disturbed a rabbit - much to my, and its, surprise.  Last week I was swooped upon by a magpie and I'm getting burrs in the hems of my trousers. I'm starting to think ... and look, like the village watchman.  

Last night for Daddy's birthday instead of cake we had a tub of Connoisseur brand Chocolate Honey Nougat ice-cream with four sparklers on top.  I thoroughly recommend it.  I had seconds and am already planning a tub of the macadamia one for my birthday... in January.  Must off now to walk it off as part of my commitment to the fabulous Jeanne's B-Well Report. (Maybe I need a pedometer to measure my effectiveness?  Or I could do a stretch test at weekly intervals to assess the impact on my flexibility or ...)

Sunday, 10 October 2010

Recommended Reading for Teenagers

THE CANBERRA TIMES

JACK WATERFORD

14 August 2008

Absorbing tale gets a guernsey
    
Dedicated apostles of the book maintain a little collection of volumes which they always buy whenever they see them cheap, and which they force upon often initially reluctant, but salvageable, people foolish enough to admit that they do not read books much. I have found another book for my list, even if it will take a few years for a paperback edition to be common in the second-hand shops. But that can be helped along by people buying the book now, ostensibly as a present for their mother or maiden aunt, but with a sneak read first.


People are able to be salvaged - for coming to love books at any event - by being pushed into a few good but slight books of the right type. We were often forced to read fine literature at school, but for many this was a chore and distraction. That the books were old and pronounced to be ''classics'' positively put people off. Such a pity, as so many people discover when, decades later, they come to read them - Pride and Prejudice, say - again and can scarcely remember them at all, except perhaps as film scripts.

Some others have been more diligent, particularly with cult books like the Harry Potter series, but came to find reading the series - with volumes which seemed to become thicker and thicker - so exhausting that they were daunted from ever engaging in such a project again. Neither reading as duty nor as marathon always inspires to see reading as fun, reading as addiction, and reading as essential pleasure. All stages well behind reading as complete addiction, with books as one's basic oxygen, and the cost of books the major expenditure of life, which is my problem.

The new find is The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer, and I would as earnestly offer it to a 15 or 20 year old girl as give it as a Christmas present to any of my score of surviving aunts. It's well written, well plotted, a romance based on a smidgeon of history, mock serious but very funny, reasonably slight and able to be savoured at leisure.

It fits in with a group of similar books none of which would ever be on an earnest classics list but which have delighted people for several generations. If you liked Cold Comfort Farm, by Stella Gibbons, or I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith, or The Loved One, by Evelyn Waugh, all books I have been pressing on young women for decades, you will love this. I also encourage gals to read Bonjour Tristesse, by Francoise Sagan, Devil in the Flesh by Raymond Radiguet, The Pursuit of Love, by Nancy Mitford, and Gone with the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell. Or any of the Mme Ramotswe books, preferably in order, by Alexander McCall Smith. Or The Nine Tailors, by Dorothy Sayers, The Country Girls, by Edna O'Brien, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, by Muriel Spark, Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote, To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, or Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier and Cakes and Ale by Somerset Maugham.

Someone who has read all of these is ready to re-read Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen, Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte, or, say All Passion Spent by Vita Sackville-West with a real sense of discovery, wondering how they made so little impression at school.

For teenage boys, I recommend True Grit, by Charles Portis (still seriously undiscovered as slight literature), Huck Finn, by Mark Twain (preferably read aloud), Lucky Jim, by Kingsley Amis, Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe, Midnight's Children, by Salman Rushdie, Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut, Kim by Rudyard Kipling, and Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. Ideally, these should encourage interest in, say, Graham Greene, Robert Graves, and Evelyn Waugh, and then encourage even wider reading.

A good many of these books may never fit into a solemn canon; what one can say about all is that they can be read for a sheer pleasure which incites an appetite for more.

I'm a little surprised at myself for picking up The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, unrecommended and alone, though by now, several weeks out in Australia, it has already acquired cult status and is moving briskly. The title is arresting enough, I suppose, but for me the temptation came from the word Guernsey. I was having a mild mania for it after picking up and becoming absorbed in the Book of Ebenezer Le Page by Gerald Evans, a book 27 years old, one of the great, if generally unremarked classics of the 20th century.

Ebenezer Le Page is a native of Guernsey born in the late 19th century, whose only venture ever off the island was a trip to Jersey for a tug-of-war early in his youth. The novel tells of his family, life, and life on Guernsey into his late 60s. Nothing much happens directly to him at any rate though he lives through the world wars, the second of which brought German occupation of Guernsey and the other islands in the English Channel, the introduction of slave labourers and great hardship, hunger and misery. But ultimate liberation proves, he thinks, worse, because it brings tourists and progressively destroys the island community.

It's not an autobiography, though the author was a Guernsey man, a well-educated one quite well known as a critic in the 1920s. Like the GLPPPS, it was published only after the author's death. It has elements of A.B. Facey's A Fortunate Life, but never adopts any sort of naive and simple presentation.

The GLPPPS is based around a central part of the Le Page novel - the German occupation and its effects on the inhabitants. The heroine, a London journalist and writer looking for love and for a topic for a book falls over the trials of the islanders and becomes more and more absorbed, initially only by a prolific correspondence (the whole book consists of letters between characters) and ultimately by travelling there. Buy it, it won't hurt you, and you may well come to love it, which is to say, that you will need several copies, some to wish on your friends and relations.

~~~
Jack Waterford is a local legend. This is another clipping I saved for future reference.  Nothing like a good book list.

Saturday, 9 October 2010

Designer noodle boxes






It’s raining pigs and noodles,
It’s pouring frogs and hats,
Chrysanthemums and poodles,
Bananas, brooms, and cats.
Assorted prunes, and parrots
Are dropping from the sky,
Here come a bunch of carrots,
Some hippopotami.

It’s raining pens and pickles,
And eggs and silverware.
A flood of figs and nickels
Is falling through the air.
I see a swan, a sweater,
A clock, a model train-
I like it so much better
Than when it’s raining rain.

                                             Poem by Jack Prelutsky

There is only so much children's art you can keep.  As much as I loved this noodle box as sometimes pencil, sometimes trinket holder, its time had come.  I did appreciate the fact that I bore a striking resemblance to a character from Charly and Lola in my portrait on the first side elevation of the noodle box.  With a shifty gaze... which is quite true, and the very becoming helmet hair... which is also true... occasionally.  The decoration clearly draws inspiration from Henri Matisse's collages.
Matisse arranged boldly coloured paper cutouts into striking compositions, and added text in his own handwriting to produce a book that has been referred to as "the visual counterpart of jazz music".  It seems as if kindergartners all over the world have him to thank for lesson plans involving collage.  Perhaps noodle and gift box manufacturers and party planners should take note. 

Friday, 8 October 2010

Search for the Obvious



The Search for the Obvious is about harnessing and celebrating the creativity of our community.  Truly creative people see things differently. Instead of seeing problems, they see obvious solutions. Look around you. What everyday objects or services have changed the world and make life better?

I've entered the ironing board despite the fact that it stands in my house as an object of maternal servitude.  However, I am reminded that things would be so much more tedious without it -- living as we do in the first world where pressed shirts matter.  I really appreciate crisp sheets, smooth table cloths and well-turned out school uniforms too.  Next up would be flushable toilets and child car seats -- designed for those of us living in an industrialised, mobile society.  I did want to register soap but some-one had beaten me to it. That, and penicillin would have had more meaningful global impact.  Check out the listings. 

The concept is supported by Acumen Fund, a a non-profit global venture fund that uses entrepreneurial approaches to solve the problems of global poverty.


Found via Swiss Miss.
Image by Amber Perrodin

Curves

Neither is it the right angle, which me attracts, nor the straight line, hard, inflexible, made by men. What attracts me is the curve, free and sensual, the curve I find in the mountains of my country, in the winding course of its rivers, in the waves of the sea, in the body of the beloved woman. The universe is made out of curves - the curved universe of Einstein. 

                                                       Oscar Niemeyer , Brazillian architect.


Friday. Last official day of the school holidays.  The end of a week-long indoor cricket program for Ro-Ro, and complex associated car-pooling arrangements, while Charley and Wanna attended the school vacation care program ... and enjoyed a rock climbing outing today.  After a week of distracted reading on new subject matter at work involving lots of Googling and hammering away at the computer, it's time to wallow in domesticity and cross off some of those items on the October to-do list.  I've noticed how the end of this week has taken on a comforting curvi-linear shape, so I shall continue to look for swirls and curls as I go about the Spring cleaning and gardening.

Wednesday, 6 October 2010

The Animals Noah Forgot




White Cockatoos
 by Andrew Barton Paterson ('Banjo')

Now the autumn maize is growing,
Now the corn-cob fills,
Where the Little River flowing
Winds among the hills.
Over mountain peaks outlying
Clear against the blue
Comes a scout in silence flying,
One white cockatoo.

Back he goes to where the meeting
Waits among the trees.
Says, "The corn is fit for eating;
Hurry, if you please."
Skirmishers, their line extendiing,
Shout the joyful news;
Down they drop like snow descending,
Clouds of cockatoos.

At their husking competition
Hear them screech and yell.
On a gum tree's high position
Sits a sentinel.
Soon the boss goes boundary riding;
But the wise old bird,
Mute among the branches hiding,
Never says a word.
Then you hear the strident squalling:
"Here's the boss's son,
Through the garden bushes crawling,
Crawling with a gun.

May the shiny cactus bristles
Fill his soul with woe;
May his knees get full of thistles.
Brothers, let us go."
Old Black Harry sees them going,
Sketches Nature's plan:
"That one cocky too much knowing,
All same Chinaman.
One eye shut and one eye winkin' --
Never shut the two;
Chinaman go dead, me thinkin',
Jump up cockatoo."
~~~

Eeeck! We are being invaded by nature. Holiday antics in our back yard include visits from cockatoos and blue-tongue lizards.  The children, plus neighbouring children, are attempting to catch the poor lizards under an old wire freezer drawer.  I am clinging to the railings.  It reminds me of the time we had a rat.  Never were we as glad  as we were when Daddy arrived home that evening and capably dealt with the vermin.  I have an acute aversion to reptiles.  I shall only venture downstairs with a broomstick from now on.

Sunday, 3 October 2010

Timeless Advice for my Son: On Style

How to be a top bloke

The Age, Wednesday March 5, 1997

by Leo Schofield

STYLE: A method or custom of performing actions or function, esp. one sanctioned by usage or law. A particular manner of life or behavior. Outward demeanor. Thus is style defined in Volume 16 of the Oxford English Dictionary Second Edition, one of dozens of definitions for this word that range from style in the literary sense to style as form of address.

Pretty broad description, eh? Plenty of leeway. But does this mean that usage has made the tattoo stylish? Or merely fashionable?

We're in deep water here. Declare some mode or practice to be stylish and you immediately brand those who reject them as unstylish.

It can be argued, however, that in male behavior, there are some things that mark out a chap as stylish, cut him from the crowd and give him an aura of specialness. Equally, there are certain things that are determinedly unstylish, among them BO, bad breath and plain old-fashioned rudeness.

Herewith, with tongue planted firmly in cheek, are 10 tips to help the late 20th-century male achieve that "particular manner of life and behavior" that the good old Oxford Second Edition reckons constitutes style.

1. Demeanor.  Will Rogers observed that a chap never gets a second chance to make a first impression, and he was spot on. Always appear interested in what others have to say. When introduced to someone new, give the impression that you'd like to meet them again even if you know you never will. Try to remember names and look people in the eye when talking to them. Don't yawn while they're talking to you. Imagine you're talking to the most interesting person in the world and behave accordingly.

2. Dirt. Thou shall not go grubby into the world. Dirt is for digging, not for deploying on self or clothing. Attempts by the grunge set to popularise grime are doomed. The stylish male is always clean. He bathes/showers/washes regularly. Uses a good stiff nailbrush. Twirls cotton buds expertly about his ear holes. Maybe even has a battery-operated nose hair clipper.

3. Hair (or what's left of it). Should be washed regularly and arranged according to personal taste. It must be said that dreadlocks, punk parrot looks, thinning hair grown long on one side and arranged artfully across the skull in doomed attempts to cover patently bald pates, ponytails and Veronica Lake falls of shoulder-length hair are all anathema to the stylish male.

4. Clothes. Truth is that some blokes can look as stylish in jeans, T-shirt and loafers as many of their fellow males do in suits. Clothing is a matter of choice and should reflect personality. Clothes should also be comfortable. Always. What marks a stylish male out from the pack is not his choice in clothes but their maintenance. Regular cleaning, brushing and pressing are essential. Placing a pair of trousers under a mattress and sleeping on them is a poor substitute for passing them through an Elna press. Shirts need special care. They look a mess when crumpled or poorly ironed. If you stain a tie, send it to St Vincent de Paul's, not to the drycleaner. Drycleaning makes a tie, especially one in soft silk, go limp and lose its form. Remember that the easiest thing in the world is to look like a dag and, to tell the truth, it's often tempting to do so. If planning a dag day, make sure you're alone or with someone you know terribly well. Otherwise make the usual effort to look both individual and spruce.

5. Shoes. OK, what with your early morning jog, triathlon practice, laps, there isn't a lot of time to devote to marginal tasks. Ah, but shoe-shining is no marginal task. Maitre d's can always tell a gent from a ruffian by looking at his hands. Or so they say. Another way of telling is by checking out the shoes. If they are scuffed and dirty, chances are the wearer is a bit slack. A shine, or better still, a spit polish, bespeaks organisation, attention to detail.

6. Surroundings Stylish surroundings come in all forms from upholstered Victoriana to a spare white box. There are no rules other than that the space you inhabit should be as much a mirror of your personality as a suit.

7. Conversation Thou shalt communicate. Grunts aren't good enough. Develop a facility for conversation. If this fails, elect to listen intently. There are lots of good talkers around but a dearth of good listeners. The stylish modern male should be able to converse on numerous subjects, not one. For openers, he should have a nodding acquaintance with politics, business and the arts. Enthusiasm is highly contagious, so if you feel passionate about any topic, get the habit of expounding zestily on said subject. Stylish chaps are good talkers.They're also good listeners.

8. Correspondence The stylish male writes letters, sends postcards, makes telephone calls. He is on auto-pilot when it comes to sending a bread-and-butter letter when he has been a guest at dinner. He answers correspondence promptly. None of the above should occupy an inordinate amount of time if one is disciplined about it and with e-mail, there is no longer any excuse for not doing so. A good tip: ring the day after to thank your host/hostess for dinner. If you miss out on doing so, there is no alternative to a note.

9. Cheerfulness. Most stylish males are upbeat, optimistic. Cultivate a sunny outlook. Don't let things get you down. God knows, what with demanding bosses, treacherous colleagues, lying politicians, fickle females, poor-performing sports idols, disappointing golf days, the tyranny of exercise and a dodgy Aussie dollar, there is no shortage of things to depress the contemporary male, but a little style will keep the blues away. That ultimate stylist Fred Astaire sang With a Shine on My Shoes. Another of his numbers included the line: "Pick yourself up, dust yourself down, and start all over again."

10. Generosity.  One of the things that marks a stylish man from the herd is his generosity. He gives freely of his time and himself. His gestures towards others need not be extravagant - indeed, they shouldn't be - but they are particular. An example. A lady friend was moving house recently and a gentleman friend, a busy businessman, arrived when her spirits and energy levels were at their lowest. He had twigged that having dispatched the fridge she would be without food, so he brought sandwiches and wine and they sat down to a modest but welcome lunch. She thought that a stylish gesture and rightly so.

There you are, 10 handy hints. Remember, style is a generic thing. It's not something you can buy ready-made. You can't say if you do this, this and this you have style. Style is an evolution of self. One makes one's own. It's a mix of habit, imagination and conviction.

Good luck!

***
I saved a copy of this article for more than 13 years.  I must have known I would have a boy.

Saturday, 2 October 2010

Books Bought and Borrowed: English Roses


Much to my surprise, Charley and her chums seem to be enjoying the 1993 English Roses series of books written by Madonna and illlustrated by Jeffrey Fulvimari.  She makes a bee-line for them at the local library.  However, they did receive rather scathing reviews in the British press and by other children's authors.  

"This story has an arc but no characters, a development but no detail. Most oddly, given Madonna's claim to fame, she seems entirely unable to make words sing for her. They lie as flat on the page as a failed pudding." says the Telegraph. 

The illustrations are "sub-Warholian, which is to say, highly decorative and distinctly perverse. The girls, all apparently suffering from anorexia, are dressed like mini-skirted fashion models, and their otherwise wholly featureless faces all have gaping eyes and rosebud lips." says the London Evening Standard.
According to Wikipedia, the book debuted at number one on the New York Times Bestsellers List for children's picture books and remained there for an impressive eighteen weeks. The English Roses received the widest launch in publication history as it was released in over a hundred countries on the same day; it also debuted in thirty languages. It is now available in 40 languages and in more than 110 countries worldwide.

The English Roses is a story of rivalry and friendship among schoolgirls in contemporary London. Four little girls-Nicole, Amy, Charlotte, and Grace-are eleven years old and the very best of friends. They have sleepovers, picnics and ice-skating parties that exclude Binah, a beautiful girl whose seemingly perfect life makes them "green with envy." However, when a feisty, pumpernickel-loving fairy godmother takes them on a magical journey, they learn to their great surprise that Binah's life is not nearly as enviable as it had seemed.

They seem to be the Bratz dolls of kidlit.  Should I also be worried that she loves and reads over and over again the Captain Underpants and Dumb Bunnies collections and the Naughtiest Schoolgirl series by Enid Blyton?  I can see her fascination for books with a clear and fast-paced narrative and short, realistic dialogue.  She likes stories that are funny and entertaining, rather than overly descriptive or moralising. She's in that transitional space between picture books and teen fiction.  For the moment, if it keeps her reading enthusiastically, superficial is fine.  What I don't like are the contemporary tweenie books, particularly those for boys, which make a virtue of being the troublesome child and the under-achiever, and those which focus on grubby humour - all snot and spew.  I can see the motivation and the possible appeal to some children - many are immensely popular and written by well-regarded authors, but if I am to act as chief censor while I can, these are the ones to avoid. 

October List

Friday, 1 October 2010

Saturday Suds

A Song from the Suds

Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,
While the white foam raises high,
And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,
And fasten the clothes to dry;
Then out in the free fresh air they swing,
Under the sunny sky.

I wish we could wash from our hearts and our souls
The stains of the week away,
And let water and air by their magic make
Ourselves as pure as they;
Then on the earth there would be indeed
A glorious washing day!

Along the path of a useful life
Will heart's-ease ever bloom;
The busy mind has no time to think
Of sorrow, or care, or gloom;
And anxious thoughts may be swept away
As we busily wield a broom.

I am glad a task to me is given
To labor at day by day;
For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,
And I cheerfully learn to say-
"Head, you may think; heart, you may feel;
But hand, you shall work always!"

Louisa May Alcott

Saturday routine in the gull's nest.



Painting by Lesley Giles.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Soulemamma.

Waiting for movie night.  Anne of Green Gables, 1985, and Woof-woof's first appearance as a much-loved member of the Gull's nest.  Hi Woofy!  Sponsored by Bunnings Warehouse - an Australlian hardware emporium (logo on football - a freebie acquired today apparently).  Actually WE sponsor Bunnings.  At one stage the Strong Silent One had an Owner-Builder's licence and qualified for trade discounts.  If you can't find anything in stock at Bunnings, we probably have it in the handyman's shed  under the house.  Oh, sorry 'no words'.  Shhhh.  I'm outa here.  Happy long weekend!!