Those types who like inspirational posters and greeting cards with supposedly motivational quotes love the turtle. Try to be like a turtle. At ease in your own shell, one says. Behold the turtle. He makes progress only when he sticks his neck out, says another. How terribly clever those who write those things must think they are. It's all so twee. I see those turtles and I am I inspired to stick my neck out? No, I'm reminded that there are times when you should pull your head in unless you want to be seen as a dick. I see a creature so slow it's covered in algae and I'm reminded that if you are not careful where your surface you might end up covered in crap. Oh yes, I do have my glass have empty goggles on today. Marking days do that to my head. Marking days accompanied by the stabbing sinuses of spring just serve to empty that glass a notch. When it reaches that point the only thing to do is grab the dogs and head out on foot. The turtles themselves may not have me thinking like John Sands but the walk and the time to stop and admire the creatures along the way at least goes part of the way to ensuring the head stays above water for that bit longer.
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Monday, October 24, 2016
One swallow doesn't make a summer. Nor, so it seems, do two. This pair of Welcome Swallows at Roma Street Parkland today were pretty as a picture and, as their name suggests, perfectly welcoming. They warmth extended to me despite the fact that I was in the company of two fur friends. But while they may have been warm the weather has not yet reached that uncomfortable sticky level that one might expect by the final third of October. It is, in fact, deliciously moderate and at night often cool.
Please note this is NOT a complaint just an observation. By now I might otherwise be amassing an air conditioining bill the equivalent of the gross national product of some third world nations. I might even have given a passing thought to eating a salad for dinner. Fortunately those heat-induced moments of insanity generally pass quickly. But right now the only heat I'm feeling is that generated by the looking deadline of all marking. Unfortunately a cold shower or cranked up air conditioning is no match for that.
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Saturday, October 22, 2016
There's a sting in this tale and it has nothing to do with be bees. It's a tale of rights versus responsibilities. Actions and consequences. Specifically it's about a Saturday morning stroll along Kedron Brook with dogs. See I know this is an action we enjoy. I also know the consequence of such an action is wet smelly dogs covered in prickles and cobblers pegs. I also know that I have a right to let the dogs off leash and they have a right to run off into the bushes. I can stand around photographing the bees while they frolic and frolic they did. It's my right. We were all lost in our happy place (even the bees I suspect because they seemed to be amply rewarded in nectar). But then came the responsible pet owner bit. Rumple emerged with spiky sticks buried in his tail and back legs. He demonstrated his discomfort by staging a sit down strike and simply refusing to move. No dog is better at the walk refusal than Rumple. I had to carry him out on my shoulder removing the offending objects as we went. Winkle just looked like she'd been rolled in cocoa and them sprinkled with cobblers pegs. She was something like a canine lamington. Fortunately as a responsible dog owner I happened to know that the entrance to the run free zone was right next to the vet and Saturday morning hydrobaths. A small investment of $5 per dog was all it took to wash out at least the superficial stuff. I tried to explain to Winkle that the bath was a consequence of the act of going off road. She was having none of it. I caught her as she jumped out over the top. The girl washing the dogs said some of the little dogs looked like they could jump out. Winkle showed her at least one dog could go the distance. But I think it's all for show. She'd do it all again tomorrow given half the chance. But the hydrobath lady is only there on Saturdays. By then the last of the cobblers pegs might have been hunted down and removed.
Friday, October 21, 2016
I wouldn't like to be the one charged with writing the job description for mother. Let's just say it's a role that is complex and unrelenting but as a result overwhelming rewarding. Guide, counsellor, nurse, educator, driver, mentor, cleaner, social secretary, fashion consultant, personal shopper - there's never a dull moment. But from day one there's one job that's first among equals. A job that's a matter of life and death: caterer. Long before a child can wail "Muuummm. I'm starving. What's for dinner?" a baby is communicating just that loud and clear. And it pretty much never stops. As soon as I get to my mum's place I tend to open the fridge and ask "have you got anything to eat?" Unless you happen to like a dried up piece of cheese or a glass of milk that expired three weeks ago, in the case of my mum's fridge the answer is probably no. But still I ask the question. Feeding the young, or the not so young, is what parents do and what offspring expect long after they are capable of feeding themselves. Today, after giving up on mum's fridge I visited my old neighbour's John and Clare. It was feeding time. I was treated to a cupcake with pink incing and the magpies were given mince, lots of mince, because they had hungry mouths to feed. As soon as they collected a beak full of beef, they flew off to the lawn where the chicks were waiting. And weren't those little ones letting the whole world know in word and action that they wanted their share NOW (if not sooner). This was not a case of turn taking. I'm pretty sure either chick would have resorted to siblicide had a fair and proportionate share not materialised. I wouldn't be surprised if some of those cries amounted to "Not fair mum. She got more than me". Because the only thing more important than keeping up with the Joneses is keeping up with the sibling - especially at lean times.
Thursday, October 20, 2016
The old saying goes "Red sky at night, sailors' delight. Red sky in the morning sailors warning". Some versions replace sailors with shepherds. As I know about as much about sailing as I do about sheep, there's little I can add to that. But I do know the bible includes a very similar sentiment In the Matthew XVI: 2-3,) Jesus said, “When in evening, ye say, it will be fair weather: For the sky is red. And in the morning, it will be foul weather today; ..." Well if it's in the bible it must be true .... What I can say for sure is that the sky appeared red this afternoon. What I am less sure about is whether that was just because I was looking through eyes so tired and bloodshot that there was an inevitable red tinge that was nothing like wearing rose coloured glasses. I've reached the level of fatigue that is close to delirium ... I swear this afternoon I saw my son wearing a Nazi trench coat and lederhosen whilst cuddling a puppy. Actually that bit, I think was true. When you live with a Drama Teen strange costume choices are par for the course. In this case I was helping out Fame Theatre with promotional photos for an upcoming musical. Drama Teen has a role in The Producers which I hope explains the Nazi get up. The dogs came with me because we squeezed the photo shoot in en route to the dog park. I love these photo. There's a happiness and stupidity about it that brings joy to my very tired eyes. This is despite my realisation that posting a photo of one's nearest and dearest wearing a swastika is not without issues. At least he's not a royal heading to a costume party and it's not social media where all context is lost even for those who think context matters. Nazis are an historical fact and actors will need to play them even though I'm not to sure that lederhosen and puppies were part of the deal. But perhaps it's all part of my impaired sleep deprived thinking and it made about as much sense as some of the assignments I'd been marking ....