Gratitude

Concert Party (Egyptian Base Camp)
-- Siegfried Sassoon

They are gathering round....

Out of the twilight; over the grey-blue sand,

Shoals of low-jargoning men drift inward to the sound—

The jangle and throb of a piano ... tum-ti-tum...

Drawn by a lamp, they come

Out of the glimmering lines of their tents, over the shuffling sand.

O sing us the songs, the songs of our own land,

You warbling ladies in white.

Dimness conceals the hunger in our faces,

This wall of faces risen out of the night,

These eyes that keep their memories of the places

So long beyond their sight.

Jaded and gay, the ladies sing; and the chap in brown

Tilts his grey hat; jaunty and lean and pale,

He rattles the keys ... some actor-bloke from town...

God send you home; and then A long, long trail;

I hear you calling me; and Dixieland....

Sing slowly ... now the chorus ... one by one

We hear them, drink them; till the concert’s done.

Silent, I watch the shadowy mass of soldiers stand.

Silent, they drift away, over the glimmering sand.

***

Still dashing around not getting anywhere fast.  Right from the word go in the morning the race is on.  Trudging over hill and dale in a most undignified fashion to walk to work from a distant car park.  I found a raised mound over a gully/drain to teeter over instead of the usual hazardous uneven tussocks of grass.  I'm forging my own goat track.  It's a twice daily adventure.  I hum as I walk.  Those old piano medleys glide about in my head.  I suspect this derelict public site will be ripe for development one day and Canberra's skyline will become a dense thicket of highrise buildings.  I should enjoy it while it lasts. The children's piano tunes will also be a distant memory one day too.  So while I grumble, I also pause in gratitude. 

Photo. St John's Anglican Church, Reid, Canberra, Australia.  By me.

A Fine View

A few tin strips of fleecy cloud lies long

And motionless above the eastern steeps,

Like shreds of silver lace: till suddenly,

Out from the flushing centre to the ends

On either hand, their lustrous layers become

Dipt in all crimson streaked with pink and gold;

And then, at last, are edged as with a band

Of crystal fire.

 ~ Charles Harpur, Dawn and Sunrise in the Snowy Mountains ~

***

My latest hobby is collecting library fines.  We seem to live among a pile of borrowed books and audio books with no idea when they fall due.  Yesterday in a mad dash to mall while Little Wanna's ballet lesson was in progress, we bought a few new books including yet more Lego collector series and The BFG by Roald Dahl. So now we have our noses in brand spanking new books while time is ticking on the borrowed ones. 

I love putting on the squish-diddly voice of the BFG.  But I was beginning to think he wasn't suitable fare for a bedtime story with his imposing height, scary old face and big ears. He comes across as a formidable figure in the first two chapters. Thankfully, as it transpires, he doesn't eat people.  Not like library officials (nah, kidding). 

On our regular trip cross suburbs, we rise and descend over Hindmarsh Drive with astounding views of the Brindabella Mountains in the distance.  It really makes me gasp sometimes and forget all the outstanding fines and hundred-and-one other tasks awaiting me at home and in the office.  It's one of Canberra's redeeming features ... in the absence of a beach.   Mr Harpur has captured the magic accurately in his ode to a sunset over the Snowies.

Renaissance Family

The Strange Music

~ G. K. Chesterton

 

 

Other loves may sink and settle, other loves may loose and slack,

But I wander like a minstrel with a harp upon his back,

Though the harp be on my bosom, though I finger and I fret,

Still, my hope is all before me: for I cannot play it yet.

In your strings is hid a music that no hand hath e'er let fall,

In your soul is sealed a pleasure that you have not known at all;

Pleasure subtle as your spirit, strange and slender as your frame,

Fiercer than the pain that folds you, softer than your sorrow's name.

Not as mine, my soul's annointed, not as mine the rude and light

Easy mirth of many faces, swaggering pride of song and fight;

Something stranger, something sweeter, something waiting you afar,

Secret as your stricken senses, magic as your sorrows are.

But on this, God's harp supernal, stretched but to be stricken once,

Hoary time is a beginner, Life a bungler, Death a dunce.

But I will not fear to match them-no, by God, I will not fear,

I will learn you, I will play you and the stars stand still to hear.

***

Piano practice is coming along quite nicely. A few rondos rattle around in my head all day. I hum some Edna Mae* drills while buzzing about the kitchen. One of the sweetest sounds on earth is that of your child playing a musical instrument I reckon.  Even the simplest of tunes played faultingly makes me beam with pride. The neighbours may not agree, but to me it is a joyful noise.  With the exception of 'The Entertainer' which is cringe-worthy and so not in keeping with our Renaissance family ideals.  How did that get on the program?

Image 1: Madonna and Child with saints and donors by Gerolamo Giovenone, 1527.

From the Italian Renaissance exhibition at the National Gallery of Australia, Canberra.

Image 2: Edna Mae Burnam* (1907-2007) Dozen a Day series for piano.

Linotype Machines

"Linotype: The Film" is a feature-length documentary centered around the linotype type printing machine. It tells the story of people connected to the Linotype and describes its impact on the world.   My dad was a linotype operator.  He started his apprenticeship at the local regional newspaper and eventually ran his own printing business churning out race books, wedding invitations and commercial stationary in the days before letterpress was fashionable.  

I spent many a Saturday down at the shop decorating the display counter, making note pads and hanging out at the second-hand bookshop across the road.  So I have fond and sentimental memories of the linotype machine.  The smell of ink and the piston-like sound of its movement.  I have my name and address in linotype metal made by my father. Special. 

Having it all plus the laundry

Life is mostly froth and bubble,

Two things stand like stone,

Kindness in another's trouble,

Courage in your own.

***

Here I am, emerging from that strange other world which revolves mechanically around cut lunches, soaking socks, supervised music lessons (I use that term loosely, as I listen and shout encouragement from another room while stirring white sauce), Year Two Home Readers, water balloon games, unwrapped birthday presents, wiped food spills and overdue library books.  That is just my spare time. The bulk of the day is spent in the Big Open Plan Office reading and writing stuff of serious bureaucratic importance.  In addition to which, my work is entirely conducted in front of a computer screen.  In the remaining shreds of time at the day's end, therefore, I have hardly the energy to sit in front of computer even for leisure.  So this space if often neglected.

Lots of other women in this city juggle making or administering public policy with changing the sheets and pressing school uniforms. Most of my friends and colleagues are on the same mouse wheel. Sometimes I wonder if the hard-fought-for gains of the feminist movement weren't a little skewed.  It takes an exceptional person and lots of outsourcing of domestic tasks to keep a family afloat with two parents working outside the home.  Plus good parking or a fast commuter system.  I don't think you can really 'have it all'.  But the childcare industry, and a fear of not being able to exercise choice over essential items like health and education, creates an environment where we think we can, and possibly should 'have it all'. 

I read a ministerial press release today about measures to increase the standards of childcare in Australia.  It was citing the introduction of improved carer-to-child ratios and enhanced minimum training for childcare workers as huge advancements.  Indeed they may be.  But a small quiet voice in my head still thought that the care of children is best undertaken by a parent at home for the bulk of the time and that we have created an artificial industry out of Children's Services.   This is an issue I wrestle with daily. 

What do I tell my daughters and son as they work out their own careers? Am I doing the right thing? Is this a good example? Will I look back with regret at my efforts to 'have it all'?



Verse: Adam Lindsay Gordon, Ye Wearie Wayfarer

Images: Single quilt covers.  Laundry.

Henry King WHO CHEWED BITS OF STRINGS, AND WAS EARLY CUT OFF IN DREADFUL AGONIES

By Hilaire Belloc

THE Chief Defect of Henry King
Was chewing little bits of String.
At last he swallowed some which tied
Itself in ugly Knots inside.
Physicians of the Utmost Fame
Were called at once; but when they came
They answered, as they took their Fees,
'There is no Cure for this Disease.
Henry will very soon be dead.'
His parents stood about his Bed
Lamenting his Untimely Death,
When Henry, with his Latest Breath,
Cried 'Oh, my Friends, be warned by me,
That Breakfast, Dinner, Lunch, and Tea
Are all the Human Frame requires...'
With that, the Wretched Child expires.

***

No time for photos.  Busy as.  The eldest is at school camp.  In the wet and wind.  I'm indulging in some separation anxiety thinking of mud slides, treacherous seas and group tomfoolery.   That is when I'm not being driven into the ground with catering for the remaining crowd.  We got by with Steggles chicken fillets and steamed vegies tonight.  Somebody smuggled the bottle of BBQ sauce to the table.  The feta cheese in the home-made spinach pie did not go down well with the junior brigade.  Little S. was visiting and declared that she only ate peas with mint jelly and roasted carrots.  They're a tougher lot than those Masterchef judges.  Then the dastardly routine will all roll around again tomorrow.  I hope there's bread in the freezer.

Dinner Dealbreakers

When I see in a recipe with:

goat's cheese

440 grams of frozen raspberries (500 gram packs)

quinoa

muscovado sugar

sour cream

polenta

200 mls of white wine

chopped mint

rice flour

***

However, I can pull any number of meals together blindfolded with:

tuna in olive oil

tomato paste

mixed Italian dried herbs

dried yeast

frozen peas

balsamic vinegar

thickened cream

eggs

strawberries

rosemary

frozen spinach

oats.

***

It is amazing how I can stock the fridge drawers with a bag of limes and have to hand a tub of fresh ricotta cheese, and not find a suitable recipe using these items.  Then, just when I don't have these items in stock or they have turned rancid waiting,  I'll find a recipe for something perfect requiring the juice of one lime and 200 grams of ricotta.  Meal planning is not my forte.

A platter of dip and crackers and carrot sticks and tortilla 'pizzas' are not to be sniffed at for a quick dinner when you get home after six.   But having got the food to the table, it's as much effort again to have it consumed. Does anyone else's meals take five minutes to prepare but (seemingly) five hours to consume?  Ours go on and on, and on and on ... 

Fancy that

Peace, quiet and rest is her message,
Tired scenery heeds her call;
This gracious lady of Autumn,
Loveliest season of all.


Pamela Summers

***


My latest online obsession is TheFancy.Com. It's been suggested it will be a strong rival to Pinterest and appeal more to men.  I do prefer its unfussy look. 


My 11 yo thinks it pretty cool too. She shares my love of images although her focus is on photograghs of rad swimming pools, miniature terriers and lego constructions, and the thrill of sharing it with girl friends on the ipod.  She's enjoying a far richer slide-show before her eyes than the black and white world of my childhood.


Didn't Autumn come around quickly? I could do with that stamp.  This year has me flummoxed.  No stable work routine.  Home activities all over the place.  Still no decision on the blinds.


Image: Office Speak Rotating Stamp
Quote: On my desk calendar 2 March 2012