Livin' and Lovin'

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” ~ Mark Twain

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”
~  J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

“How many slams in an old screen door? Depends how loud you shut it. How many slices in a bread? Depends how thin you cut it. How much good inside a day? Depends how good you live 'em. How much love inside a friend? Depends how much you give 'em.”
~ Shel Silverstein

***

Home again with a sick child.  I'll be so glad when this year is over.  I'm hoping all the illnesses will be over and done with so we can start afresh in 2012.  We even had our first experience with the Emergency Department this weekend as a result of a child with a croupy cough and laboured breathing. It was not a reassuring experience. 

Seven hours later, without having seen a doctor, the Strong Silent One, in consultation with nurse, decided to bail out at 4.30 am and come home.  There were still people ahead of us apparently.  Just keep her calm, they said. No magic elixir. Indeed, she is much better now after a home-nursing regime of rest, fluids and paracetamol.  On the night in question, I stayed up restlessly reading The Briny Cafe (still on my Susan Duncan binge), sipping hot milk and ironing like a woman possessed.  Charly and Ro-Ro displayed such loving care and concern for their little sister, that it made me wilt.  There were anxious questions and resolves to maintain a vigil until Daddy phoned in from the hospital.  She was equally desperate to see them when she woke.

Not having brothers or sisters of my own, this is the closest I've come to experiencing the intimate ties that bind siblings.  My three demonstrated this weekend how dearly and deeply they love each other.  I also noticed quite starkly, for the first time, how naturally they complement each other in temper and talent.  When one is not there, it's like a vital cog is missing.  It's been a sentimental (and tiring) ride these past few days.

Photo by me.  Gnome painting at Floriade, October 2011.

Baseball has the great advantage over cricket of being sooner ended.

~ George Bernard Shaw

***

Ain't that the truth.  Now that Wednesday soccer practice has been replaced by cricket practice and Sunday mornings will henceforth be dedicated to the sport.  Not to mention the televised version which will no doubt become our summer wallpaper music. The drone of the commentators. Strangely comforting nonetheless.  Nostalgic. Ro-Ro has decided to take his plastic cricket bat to school for lunchtime matches.  It sticks out of his backpack with pride.  Meantime I have grass stains to wash from the knees of white trousers but that is the extent of my commitment. 

Photo: By me.  Cricket practice at the local nets.

Wedding anniversary

To My Dear and Loving Husband

  ~ Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,

Or all the riches that the doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought anything but love from thee give

Thy love is such I can no way repay;

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let’s so persevere

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

***

Thanks for the ferris wheel rides, home delivered pizza, televised rugby and all the other things that drive me nuts.  

Photo by me: Floriade, Canberra. October 2011.

A meditation on the sea

In my Kitchen in New York

~ Allen Ginsberg

Bend knees, shift weight

Picasso's blue deathhead self portrait

tacked on refrigerator door

This is the only space in the apartment

big enough to do t'ai chi

Straighten right foot and rise--I wonder

if I should have set aside that garbage

pail

Raise up my hands and bring them back to

shoulders--The towels and pyjama

laundry's hanging on a rope in the hall

Push down and grasp the sparrow's tail

Those paper boxes of grocery bags are

blocking the closed door

Turn north--I should hang up all

those pots on the stovetop

Am I holding the world right? That

Hopi picture on the wall shows

rain and lightning bolt

Turn right again--thru the door, God

my office space is a mess of

pictures and unanswered letters

Left on my hips--Thank God Arthur Rimbaud's

watching me from over the sink

Single whip--piano's in the room, well

Steven and Maria finally'll move to their

own apartment next week! His pants're

still here and Julius in his bed

This gesture's the opposite of St. Francis

in Ecstasy by Bellini--hands

down for me

I better concentrate on what I'm doing

weight in belly, move by hips

No, that was the single whip--that apron's

hanging on the North wall a year

I haven't used it once

Except to wipe my hands--the Crane

spreads its wings have I paid

the electric bill?

Playing the guitar do I have enough $

to leave the rent paid while I'm

in China?

Brush knee--that was good

halavah, pounded sesame seed,

in the icebox a week

Withdraw and push--I should

get a loft or giant living room

The land speculators bought up all

the square feet in Manhattan,

beginning with the Indians

Cross hands--I should write

a letter to the Times saying

it's unethical

Come to rest hands down knees

straight--I wonder how

my liver's doing. O.K. I guess

tonite, I quit smoking last

week. I wonder if they'll blow

up an H Bomb? Probably not.

***

Actually, this is tai chi, Karate Kid-style, on a quiet road in a sleepy outpost by the south coast of New South Wales.  The photo was taken months ago when we last had a weekend away. I can't tell you how much I miss the beach, stuck here, land-locked on a warm, bright and cloudless day. I can hear the bush birds call from my vantage point in bed looking out across the treetops.  If only the ocean was on the other side.  We could go for a morning walk along the shore, eye the horizon and inhale the tangy air.  But it's the start of the cricket season and the first match begins today.  The boys have headed off early, faces glowing with sunscreen. The girls and I are lolling about, doing our own thing.  There's no milk.  The thought of Monday has already inserted itself into the lazy morning and dictated the chores that need to be completed before sundown. It seems like a harsh, unnatural rhythm; unlike the ebb and flow of the tide.  Pesky practicalities intruding on a meditation. 

Bikes in History

Mulga Bill's Bicycle

~AB (Banjo) Patterson

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"


"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows.
But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight."

***

A while ago we had a weekend excusion to the Australian War Memorial which has a marvellous children's section complete with replicas of whirring helicopters, smelly submarines and life on the home front.  It is a very worthwhile place to visit but I do need to remind my son of the horrors of war rather than the Boy's Own excitement of all the battle dioramas and display cases full of dashing military garb and real artillery. 

Here we are peddling away on a stationary bike in one of the social history displays - a rather spindly affair which reminded me of my own trusty, childhood steed; back in the days when bikes had front and rear mud guards, skirt guards and a levered contraption above the back wheel on which to strap your school bag, in addition to a snazzy wire basket on the handle bars and a bell.  There were no gears or hand-brakes and we seemed to get around quite fine without them. 

We hardly ever go cycling these days.  The children don't ride to school and as we are at the top of a hill with busy roads nearby, we don't allow them to ride unaccompanied.  It is usually a big production to strap the bikes onto the car and drive to one of Canberra's spectacular bike paths for a short ride.  A quite unfortunate predicament.

Welcome Your Majesty

Queen Elizabeth II is in town.  It is her 16th visit to Australia.  I'm a bit sentimental about the Queen; not so the institution she represents, but the woman herself.   I'll also confess to having soft spot for official visit programs for Heads of State and Heads of Government, with each item on the itinerary listed in impeccable detail -- every step accounted for, the security protocols, the gift exchanges, speeches and hand-shakes.

She'll be visiting Floriade and taking a boat ride along Lake Burley Griffin today.  She has picked a fine day for a bit of sightseeing.  Perfect Canberra weather.   I wonder if we'll catch a glimpse of her entourage at some stage over the next week or so?

Photo:  By me. Dress-ups at the Museum of Australian Democracy, October 2011.

xxx

October School Holidays: Howzat!

Twice a Week the Winter Thorough

~ A. E. Housman

Twice a week the winter thorough

Here stood I to keep the goal:

Football then was fighting sorrow

For the young man's soul.

Now in Maytime to the wicket

Out I march with bat and pad:

See the son of grief at cricket

Trying to be glad.

Try I will; no harm in trying:

Wonder 'tis how little mirth

Keeps the bones of man from lying

On the bed of earth.

***

School holidays are almost over and we've had a relaxing time at home for most of it.  Ro-Ro participated in the Kookaburra Cup cricket series at Manuka Oval and a separate, junior cricket clinic.  He's come home with two decent cricket hats signed by Ricking Ponting, two souvenir shirts made of a synthetic, breeze-through material, $10 off voucher from the Sportmans Warehouse and a couple of ornamental cricket ball key rings as part of the kit.  I hope he also picked up some decent cricket skills. 

The rest of us have enjoyed a semi-open house arrangement with the neighbouring children which has involved lots of competitive DS and Wizard 101 tournaments, zipping over the lower part of the fence at the back of the yard to bounce on our respective trampolines and probably eating twice as many snacks as strictly necessary as they blithely saunter into each other's kitchens and raid the pantry.

I've been cooking up a storm myself in order to use up left overs.  Rather like the daytime TV show which involves a chef and a member of the studio audience having to devise a menu around a handful of ingredients, this has resulted in some unexpected creations such as almond friands from "out of the fire and into the frying pan" - a collection of recipes from the Duffy Primary School community and friends - October 2003, Nigella Lawson's Mughlai Chicken and Susan Duncan's "House at Salvation Creek" Lemon Cake.   The results have been varied.  I blame the oven.  It has been fun trying though, without the pressure which normally accompanies the after school and work, weekday rush.  I could so get used to this more moderate tempo, in which I can hear and listen to bird calls and notice the flowering azaleas and lavender in the garden, rather than leave it all behind each morning unnoticed and unappreciated in a workday blur.  Would I miss work?