December 6. Day 341. The Renovators

I am ever so slightly addicted to home building and renovation shows.
I love how with just a little effort and a big fat wad of cash the architects, builders and interior designers get to turn something that looks like it should be demolished into something that looks like it should be in a glossy magazine (what none of these houses EVER looks like is that anyone actually lives there but that's another story).
But no matter how much I love these show I know there is no way I would ever undertake such a project. There are several reasons.
1) I have watched enough of these shows to know that no project ever comes in within a bull's roar of the projected cost
2) We own only three tools and I am not sure we know how to use any of them
3) I'd rather not get a divorce and there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that a major building project would end in the divorce courts.
It would go like this. I would show my husband a colour scheme and offer a suggestion. He would say (sensibly) "Whatever you think". I would make a selection and later when it was all locked in he'd say "I thought you would have gone with the orange". Repeat. Often.
This would drive me nuts. I want him to have an opinion (provided it is the same as mine) and I need to hear it when it counts.
Plus building projects are inherently stressful and when stressed somewhat toxic things have been known to come out of my mouth.
Still I watch other people's  building projects with the same fascination as I do the TV versions.
So my eye was taken by the "renovator's delight" which I spied on my morning walk today.
This house will be fabulous with a little tender loving care (and one of those wads of cash).
I'm not sure what's happening there but whatever it is must be as toxic as my stress response if the attire of the tradesmen on site this morning is anything to go by.
Either that or an alien invasion happened and no-one told me. Jusy let me check my Twitter feed.

December 2. Day 337. Oh Christmas tree

I love my Christmas tree. I love its extravagance. I love the way that it lights up the room. I love its presence (and the presents) but most of all I love that Rupert Murdoch paid for it.
The tree was bought with the proceeds of a story I wrote about my father's struggle and death at the hands of Alzheimer's Disease. He was only 62.
Very little is known about early onset Alzheimer's and I decided that I had the skills to tell the story no matter how painful it was. I also decided that the cheque that followed needed to go to something special.
I wanted to buy something that would be with my family for a long time. I wanted something joyous but I would not normally be able to justify buying. But most of all I wanted something that would always remind me of the happy times with my Dad.
For some families Christmas seems to be a battle ground and a magnet for the worst possible behaviour. Our Christmas were never like that. Our Christmases are never like that and the tree is a symbol of that.
The rule is that the tree goes up on December 1 and comes down on January 1 (that's a little bit more flexible depending on how big New Year's Eve is).
So it was that the tree went up last night and today the kids across the road came and had a look. Checking it out are Eliana, Mitchell and Kirralee who were heading off home to put up their own tree.
So, once again, Merry Christmas.

November 22. Day 327. Cruel to be kind

Not all that long ago, the Grand Arbour at South Bank Parklands was looking just a bit sad.
The bougainvillea has been pruned back rather savagely leaving no blooms and was not a lot more than dry looking twigs.
Look at it now.  On reflection, it's bloomin marvellous again.
Sometimes a bit of tough love is required. You really do have to be cruel to be kind.
That's easy to say but implementing it in just the right measure is really tricky.
Being tough is as difficult on the person administering the punishment as it is on the subject, sometimes more difficult.
Yep, who'd be a parent? (Did I say parent? I surely meant gardener).
Either way, you'd have to say the results are worth the effort.

November 16. Day 321. The elephant in the room

One of the things I hate most about the political process - and there is a long list of potential contenders - is that there is so little room to see any good in the opposing side.
Oppositions, as the name suggests, are meant to oppose but surely not everything a government - even a dreadful government - does is bad.
Similarly governments are charged with governing but surely that doesn't mean that every policy put up by the other side is inherently dreadful.
A little bit more bipartisanship would go a long way to restoring confidence in the political process.
Which leads me to this elephant.
The five metre, 5.5  tonne bronze sculpture The World Turns by New Zealand artist Michael Parekowhai was this week hoisted into place outside the Gallery of Modern Art at South Bank.
The security fences are still there and installation is obviously not yet complete but I must say it looks  million bucks which is just as well because that's exactly what it cost tax payers.
This, according to the government, was "a ridiculous waste of money". The thing is the government would say that because it was commissioned by the former government and we could never be in the position of acknowledging a good idea from the other side. That's against the political rules.
But like the elephant there is an ability for politicians to turn things on their head when it's convenient.
Slam the sculpture one day, turn up to cut the ribbon to welcome it the next. Read into that what you will.
Yes, the world does indeed turn.

HOW THE ELEPHANT GOT ITS TRUNK

My father loved Rudyard Kipling and the Just So stories were a particular favourite.
We delighted in hearing about the great grey-green greasy Limpopo River all set about with fever-trees.
What child wouldn't be spell bound on hearing of the young elephant so full of questions whose curiosity led him into trouble.
This may explain why I love elephants and don't at all begrudge my share of the tax payers money that went into our new great, big bronze elephant statue on the banks of the Brisbane River (a river that is grey more than green, glassy rather than greasy and set about mainly with mangrove trees).
So in a special post, this is how our elephant got its trunk or at least how it got to be where it is.
These photos were taken on Wednesday afternoon as the great sculpture was being hoisted into place.

November 1. Day 306. Pecking order

I'm not a violent person. At all. In fact, if I was to select a phrase which best describes my attitude to conflict it would be "anything for a quiet life".
I know this conflict avoidance is not always helpful. Sometimes things are not best left unsaid. Sometimes it really is better to put your cards on the table instead of assuming those around you are mind readers and know what is troubling you (Although by now my family should have come to realise that the silent treatment and over enthusiastic cleaning probably means they are in trouble. Big trouble). When that happens keep your distance.
Life is so much simpler if we learn those rules. Establish a pecking order, work out what role each of us is going to play so we don't have to keep going over and over old ground.
And learn when to back off and give each other space. These ducks in the City Botanic Gardens today exhibited over and over again what happens if you don't get the pecking order sorted.
The black duck's feathers were a little ruffled. As soon as any of the other ducks came within floating distance this is the reaction they got. Short, sharp and unmistakable. "Quack, quack get out of town".
If you are going to mess with someone make sure it's not this little black duck.
Time to take off and find a more peaceful section of pond. Anything for a quiet life, I say.

October 29. Day 303. Happy Anniversary

Love is the thing that enables a woman to sing while she mops up the floor after her husband has walked across it in his barn boots.  ~Hoosier Farmer
I'm sorry, what?! 
Today I have been married for 18 years and I can honestly say I have never sung while I've mopped the floor and the noise that would come from my mouth should muddy boots belonging to my dearly beloved have created the mess, the noise coming from my mouth would in no way resemble a song.
Seriously, who writes these quotes? Let's try another one.
 A wedding anniversary is the celebration of love, trust, partnership, tolerance and tenacity.  The order varies for any given year.  ~Paul Sweeney
Actually the order doesn't just vary for any given year, the order is very much a day to day prospect, sometimes hour by hour.
Time is a weird thing. In a way, 18 years doesn't seem that long at all. In another way I can't remember a time when I wasn't married to Charles.
I think marriage is a but like Still Life with Landscape by Robert Parr which I photographed in the sculpture park on Wickham Terrace today.
Sometimes it's flowers. Sometimes it's a long road. Sometimes there are clouds and sometimes it's just hanging around the house.
Marriage isn't my whole life but it's very much the framework for how I do everything.
So Happy Anniversary, Sweetness. According to the index of modern anniversary gifts for 18 years I can expect porcelain. Perhaps just cleaning the porcelain thrones we have... I wouldn't even insist you sing while you do it!

October 28. Day 302. The F Word

Today's post is brought to you by the letter F.
When my son was in about Year 2 another boy in his grade came up to me and whispered conspiratorially: "I know an F word."
"Goodness," I replied. "At your age you should know quite a few words starting with F."
Of course he didn't mean an F word but THE F word and as we all know not all F words are created equal.
Fat is not a nice F word when referring to flab on your body but bloody fantastic in food.
Which brings me to families where finding fun so often involves finding funds.
The best things in life may be free but an awful lot of the other things we volunteer to do or get talked into are anything but.
It's not fair (or is that fare).
Anyway when there is free fun on offer, families will come flocking.
So it was at the Carindale Recreation Reserve today where the Green Heart Fair saw large happy crowds under grey skies.
One of the favourite activities was the giant slide which Peter Maddock and daughters Mya, 3, and Grace, 5, were totally getting into.
Fabulous. Frivolous. Focused.
I have no idea how many F words that is. Too many. But does show that sometimes the best things in life ARE free and that is fair or perhaps fayre.
Finished.

October 24. Day 298. Not waving drowning

South Bank, Brisbane 6am. All the other sea gulls were placidly floating on the pools or gently preening themselves.
All but one.
Remember those drinking birds, those instatible little birdie ornaments that used to bob in and out of a glass in a seemingly perpetual motion desperately trying to quench an insatiable thirst?
This bloke was like that. He was creating quite a few ripples on the otherwise smooth surface of the pool. It was like he was trying to draw attention to himself. Not waving, drowning.
And universally the other birds were totally ignoring his antics.
That's the problem isn't it? You are never really sure when someone is desperately splashing about whether they are really floundering or whether this is just attention seeking behaviour designed to do nothing more than create a few waves.
I find parenting a teenager to be much like that. There's a lot of frantic splashing going on and it's hard to know when to stay calm and just try to float it out and when you need to throw the buoyancy ring.
I keep trying to remind myself that the other birds may look calm but there's bound to be plenty of desperate paddling going on beneath the surface.
And it you can't make a few waves when you're a teenager ....

October 16. Day 290. Up to your neck in it

I'm drowning (and not JUST in snot).
You know the feeling? (well with any luck you don't but I suspect I'm not the only one).
You are desperately treading water trying to keep at least the bits that suck in oxygen above the rising tide of crap that always seems to threaten to drag you under.
Thus I feel a real affinity with the water dragons I saw at South Bank this morning. They could only just be seen poking out from the depths of what the sign announced was "recycled water".
Recycled.
Yep, there's a real feeling of dealing with the same s*it over and over again instead of tackling it and putting it behind you once and for all.
The good news it that the end is in sight. Week 12 of a 13 Week semester. Hallelujah. That and a liberal dose of cold tablets will keep me in the swim.
In the mean time if the eyes are a bit beady, the skin a scaly and I'm breathing more fire than usual forgive me. If all else fails, ignore the signs that warn against feeding the wildlife and administer chocolate.

October 3. Day 277. Go take a running jump

You know what it's like. You are heading off to breakfast but you see a wall and you just have to leap off it for a bit, right?
Okay, that never happens to me. Nothing distracts me when en route to my daily date with the bowl of Uncle Toby's Plus Protein with skim milk (no, this is not a sponsored post but you should totally try the stuff, it's delicious).*
But it seems I have got it all wrong (not about the cereal, it's still delicious). If I really want to make sure nothing comes between me and my cereal obsession I should do what these teens were doing at South Bank this morning and go take a running jump.
The boys (from left) Dalton Collis, 17, Les Hampson, 18, and Izaac Fabian, 16, were practicing parkour which they explained was a way of overcoming obstacles to get from point A to point B in the fastest and most efficient way possible. You run, climb, swing, vault, leap or roll - whatever it takes - to make that bee line to your destination.
It was just after 7am when I ran into the boys and they'd been at it since 5am and had been heading off to find something to eat when they saw this spot and decided it just demanded a few more practice leaps.
Clearly they just love it. While other teen boys (you know who I'm talking about here Mr O) were still tucked up in bed making the most of the school holidays these boys were really throwing themselves into it. Izaac also explained how he had invested about $60 in raw materials and was planning on building launch pads in his back yard. And then after a polite chat the boys were off.
Two hours later on the other side of the river in Ann Street across from the Cathedral I happened to see the same trio leaping off another wall obviously having found their breakfast and recharged their tanks.
True to their word. no obstacle was too big.

* Uncle Toby's feel free to send me large boxes in gratitude for this mention

September 19. Day 263. 50 Shades of Grey

Battleship, pigeon, sturgeon, dark cloud, chimney sweep, jet plane, shining armour, stormy shadow, armoury, Phoenix fossil, day's end - only a Taubmans' colour chart can make 50 Shades of Grey sound attractive and interesting. (I often wonder about what type of person gets to name those colours. Someone with far more imagination that I it has to be said).
Social media has enriched our lives in so many positive ways but one of those is not its ability to make "writers" such as E.L. James overnight sensations.
I admit I was sucked in by the hype and purchased the 50 Shades of  Grey ebook. I struggled through seven chapters before deciding I had already wasted $9.99 on the download and I refused to invest time on it as well.
Absolute crap. Cliche ridden appallingly written, exploitative crap. I have nothing against "Mummy porn" but I have a whole lot against such injustices being committed to the English language.
Grey has already been punished enough. If someone is ill we say they look grey. It represents pessimism, unhappy moods, ambiguity and a shade of hair we battle to cover.
How unfair is that? I reckon there would be at least 50 shades of grey in this image taken this morning of the barge used to power the Brisbane Festival City of Lights laser show. I think, grey though it is, it is quite attractive. Now if we could just get Taubmans' paint namers to apply their grey matter to describing the colour range  ...

September 6. Day 250. Mirror, mirror on the ball

I bought a pair of jeans this week, the first in I'd estimate six years.
There is a particular torture involved in jean buying matched and surpassed only by trying to purchase swimwear.
Unforgiving light, mirrors from every angle and things that cling in all the wrong places, it is not a happy experience.
I'd never make a Wicked Queen because my conversation with the magic mirror would go something like this: "Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, who has the fattest arse of all?"
And it really wouldn't matter what the mirror replied because I wouldn't believe it anyway.
In so many things, we only see what we want to see. We can each hold a mirror up to the world and each see something a bit different being reflected back.
Which is why I liked the Golden Casket Light Sphere, a giant mirror-covered globe which was being set up at South Bank today as part of the Brisbane Festival.
So many different takes on the same landscape all coming at it from a slightly different angle.
It is even possible that there is one  angle where my bum didn't look big in jeans. Perhaps not. That would be a trick requiring both smoke and mirrors.

September 4. Day 248. Breakfast is served

Given how much I love food, it is amazing how much my mother would have to fight to make me eat breakfast. As a good parent she would encourage, nag, bribe, punish - anything to try to make me eat.
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, she'd say. You won't be able to function at school without food, she's say.
Of course she was right. Of course, I took know notice That's what teens are for.
Now as the mother of a teen I feel that the universe has conspired to pay me back. Call it karma if you like.
These days I couldn't imagine not breaking the fast.
I'm up with the birds eating a diet of grains and seeds which seems better suited to a creature with wings than one with teeth. I'm tucking in with all the enthusiasm and none of the athleticism displayed by this rainbow lorikeet snapped on this morning's pre-breakfast walk.
I think we are now both set up for the day. Now excuse me while I go and have a fight with someone who appears to be on a hunger strike. In his mind breakfast is for the birds.

August 22. Day 235. Having a real spray

Kids today have opportunities we could never have dreamed of.
Their worlds have few barriers. They travel more, the see more, they are exposed to so many new, exciting and wonderful things.
And of course as digital natives, the things they can know and experience in Virtual sense at the click of a mouse are also quite extraordinary.
But when we look at what they have gained, occasionally it is worthwhile considering what has been lost.
Simple things. Things like running under a sprinkler.
Remember those summer days before every second person had a pool in the back yard where we would run under the hose or the sprinkler? Remember how much fun that was?
They were serious sprinklers too, not like these water efficient ones doing the business at South Bank this morning. You would get a serious soaking not a gentle spray like these ones deliver.
Until they develop a laptop that can deliver you a real spray, happily there are still things the real world does far better than Virtual Reality.
Spray over.

August 19. Day 232. Superheroes

Do you ever find yourself wondering what super power you would take if they were suddenly handing them out?
I  used to think being invisible would come in pretty bloody handy. There is a, however, a certain chain of department stores where you get to try that one on for size. Whatever you do to try and attract attention of the staff they seemingly just look right through you. It really is no fun at all.
As with so many things in life you really need to be careful what you wish for.
One power we could do well to harness is resilience - that ability to pick yourself up and dust yourself off no matter what life throws at you.
I saw bucket loads of that on display at the Brisbane Billycart Championships at Chandler this morning.
I only stayed for the events for the kids aged 4-6 but these little ones were amazing. They would hit the wall, they would crash and burn but they would then get up and head back up the top to have another go.
Here's the caped crusader in action. He was not going to let the small matter of stacking it interfere with his day.
He got up and finished the race on foot pulling the cart behind him.
There may not have been any super powers on display but he's what I consider a boy wonder.