July 27 Day 209. What a real yawn

People often tell me that I am showing my age when I confess to loving nothing more than an afternoon nap. To them, it's a Nanna Nap reserved for women of a certain age.
Well then, that means I was a child prodigy. For as long as I can remember the nap has been one of my favourite things to do. Snoozen is not just my name on Twitter. Snoozen has been my nickname since my late primary school years.
This cat and I have a fair bit in common. Just after 3pm today, about the most perfect time for the nap, kitty was having a little shut eye in the sun just outside my house.
When I walked by it half opened an eye, yawned loudly and then went straight back to sleep. Clearly nothing was going to get in the way of the nap.
The subject of the afternoon nap sprung to mind today because tonight Mr O and I are off to Sing-a-long Sound of Music where everyone is encouraged to dress up as something inspired by the film.
We tossed around ideas for costumes many of which were based on the song My Favourite Things.
I considered and ultimately rejected going as a brown paper package tied up with string, whiskers on kittens or a snowdrop (that falls on my nose and eyelashes).
Eventually Mr O and his friends settled on girls and white dresses with blue satin sashes while I have a fetching Maria dress.
But as we threw around ideas I considered what would be a few of my favourite things. So with apologies to Rodgers and Hammerstein:
Sleep-ins on Sundays and afternoon napping
Great Turkish banquets with all the trappings
Theatre productions where everyone sings
These are a few of my favourite things
When the bills bite
When the fees sting

When I'm feeling sad

I simply remember my favourite things

And then I don't feel so bad

July 2. Day 184. Dad's words ringing in my ears

My late father was pretty much a big softy. Play your cards right and you could twist Dad around your little finger. Normally. But very occasionally there were issues that it was made clear were completely non negotiable. No amount of begging, pleading, sulking or reasoning and no appeals to the higher authority (Mum) was going to make a difference. No meant no.
Ear piercing was one of these non negotiables. We were banned from having our ears pierced until our 18th birthdays.
Whenever the subject was raised (which was often) the same lines were trotted out: "I'd rather hear the ring of freedom in my ears than the ring of slavery through my nose".
Yes, so would I Dad, but exactly how that relates to ear piercing I still have no idea.
Sometimes we were told that if God had meant us to have pierced ears we would have been born with the holes.
Of course, following that argument if God had meant us to wear clothes we wouldn't have been born nude but this clearly was not an argument that was going to be won or lost on reason.
So we just waited out our 18 years and then rushed without delay to the ear piercing shop.
So I am just a little bit jealous of Vaeda. I ran into the two-and-a-half-year-old at the balloon modelling stand in the Queen Street Mall today where she was being presented with a balloon sculpture for being a brave girl when she had her ears pierced. There were no tears and a slight red tinge was the only sign of the recent procedure. Doesn't exactly look like a ringing endorsement for Dad's position now does it?

June 17. Day 169. Nightmare

I've been having the same bad dream since early childhood, the nightmare where you find yourself in public still dressed in your jammies.
I think this dream can be traced back to kindy. As a big girl I was in the three-day group while my younger sister, Lisa, being such as baby at a whole 18 months younger than me, was in the two-day group. One day, Mum took me still in the PJs when she was dropping off my sister. I was seen by the teachers. Oh the horror.
I've had variations of  that dream since. Turning up at school, at work, probably even at my wedding in my pyjamas.
I'm pretty sure the dream analysts say this dream is all about feeling unprepared or out of place or something. Yeah, whatever. I reckon it's just about flannelette not being appropriate outside the house.
These days I try to buy pyjamas that look a bit like shorts and a T shirt or a track suit to minimise the mental scarring if I get sprung taking out the bin or emptying the mail box.
It would appear I shouldn't worry. Going out in public in your pyjamas is in, apparently, according to what I read in the media. And just a couple of days ago I saw a woman at the service station at about 8pm wearing not only the flannelette  PJs but also the pink plush dressing gown and furry slippers. Personally I still think this is something only fit for the bedroom.
I now know there are others that also believe pyjamas are strictly for the privacy of one's home. At the Out of the Box Festival today I watched busking duo Glen and Ben, dressed in PJs and carrying teddy bears and pillows, working the crowd.
The kids were shrieking things such as "Look Mum, they're in their pyjamas". Yep just wrong. Pictured is Ben running off. I think he's just realised he forgot to get dressed before leaving the house.

June 7. Day 159. On Ya Bike

 

I love cycling, I really do, apart from two small things

1) I can't ride up hills and

2) I don't want to die thus will not ride near traffic.

For a time when I lived in Nundah I would ride several times a week on the very flat, completely devoid of vehicles bike paths.

Now, however, I live one street back from a very busy major arterial road in a suburb with both high and hill in the name.I sold the bike.

I would take up cycling again if you could guarantee conditions like this. Suspended above the Ernest Street entrance to South Bank, the Man on a Unicycle has no traffic to contend with and given he's airborne there's nothing in the way of hills either, just my type of riding conditions.

This sculpture, photographed as the sun was coming up this morning, was one of 90 that formed the Human Factor series at Expo 88 in Brisbane. Most of the works created by John Underwood and the Artbusters team were auctioned off after Expo but this one is back riding high on what was the Expo site. Impressive isn't he? Given that I was never one of those kids prone doing wheelies or yelling "look Mum no hands", I'm particularly impressed. Hell, I never even learned to work gears which may, or may not, explain my problem with hills. Either that or the fact that I am unfit and lazy. Ill let you be the judge.

May 24. May 145. Doing birthdays buy the book

I broke one of my own rules today. I always give both my husband and son a book for their birthdays (and generally undies too, but that's another story).

But today was Charles' birthday and some time in the middle of the day I realised there was not a book in the gift collection. Nothing at all to enjoy between the covers.

I decided this was an error that needed to be rectified so I found myself in West End at Bent Books, one of the most fascinating second hand book stores in the area.

Bent Books is old West End to me. There's nothing shiny and new here. It's an eclectic mix of styles, a bit of a jumble and has a very bohemian feel. And it's packed to the rafters, literally.

To get to the biography section, I had to go behind the counter out into a bit of a lane and into something like a big shed. There was a Kennedy biography. Sorted

Charles likes his biographies. P.J. O'Rourke once said: "Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it." Charles will be okay on that front. I'm pretty sure the chick lit on my bedside table would not have people marvelling at my intellect should my time come.  I'd look tragically shallow but as J.W. Eagan said "don't judge a book by its movie".

Anyway, hopefully that's something I won't have to worry about for some time.

For now I have done my duty. I've done birthday presents buy the book.

May 7. Day 128. The workers united....

I am fully aware that saying you are a member of a union can extract a response akin to saying you are a child abuser or axe murderer.
But I am quite prepared to say I pay my union dues, in fact I am proudly a member of a union. You have to remember that Labour (the workers) is not the same as Labor (the party). As I see it, if you work for a large employer (and I always have) and you take the union negotiated pay rises you gotta be prepared to put your money where your mouth is.
This is not to say I am a flag waving, card carrying member nor do I support everything unions do but I'm a worker and the unions should put a bit more of the power balance in the hands of the workers. And as someone who has been made redundant twice during my working career, I know that the Strawbs were taking crap when they said "You can't touch me I'm part of the Union" but it's still good to have someone fighting for your interests.
Anyway, I have never been to a Labour Day Parade and I will never march in one but today I thought I'd arm myself with a camera and see for myself. I found it quite emotional.
I do have a word of advice for those who organise union rallies. Can we get some new chants?
"The workers united, will never be defeated" and the "What do we want. The right to..." war cries are getting a bit tired and old. Much preferred the BLF who had a group of cheerleaders heading their section of the parade proudly waving pom poms to "We're Not Gonna to Take it".

April 30. Day 121. Hanging on by a thread

Just another manic Monday.
The type of Monday where half the school uniform and the homework can't be found. The type of Monday where there doesn't seem to be anything to eat despite the fact that the fridge and the pantry are full.
The type on Monday where men in harnesses are hanging off the side of your building gluing rolls of paper to your workplace.
Frankly, while I know there is a better than even chance there will be some crisis in the getting out to door routine I am never really sure what I will find when I get to work *.
It's a bit hard to miss the building I work in given that the wall facing the busy Kelvin Grove Road is home to Australia's largest billboard, all 45 metres by 9 metres. Every three months the image is changed and this requires abseilers jumping from the roof and gluing a new piece of artwork in strips to the side of the building.
Then they unhook themselves and take the lift back up to the roof and do it again, 50 times in all to complete the installation of the giant piece of public art.
Today was poster change day. Canadian artist Joachim Froese's Tell Him it is All a Transition was scraped off and replaced by Daniel McKewen's Faces of Vanity Fair..
 About a third of the new work was in place when I snapped this mid morning.
While the billboard is the most visible example of public art around my workplace, it is not the only one.
The creators of the  Kelvin Grove Urban Village had a vision or a new type of community and public art was part of it. In fact, it was mandated that a significant percentage of the development cost went to public art.
There are giant illuminated balls on the side of buildings and stone carved seats, giant rock like sculptures and multi-media projections. Never a dull moment where I work. Most of this artwork you can't miss but some you could stomp on and not even notice.
The footpaths around the Urban Village are home to a quite bizarre collection of inlaid plaques with a fascinating, albeit unconventional, selection of local historical facts.
Did you know that

• During the Second World War every signpost within 50 km of the South East Coast was taken down in case of invasion
• The L'Estrange family amongst other feathered pets kept an emu
• During World War Two a student had his drawing confiscated after his art class wandered too close to the Military Camp in Victoria Park Golf Course 
• At one time during the Second World War Brisbane was home to more soldiers than civilians

or my favourite

• During the Second World War the American Troops introduced local women to chewing gum which they told them was a contraceptive

Now that's sometime to chew over on a manic Monday.

* Here I am using work in  the sense of paid employment, not in the sense of labour because as we all know most of that is unpaid and done at home.

January 15. Day 15. Memories come flooding back

The first anniversary of the Brisbane floods this week has brought the horror of last year's events back to the front of our minds. Most people visiting the city would see no evidence of the physical devastation but the reminders are there and as I live near places that were seriously flooded I see them often. Today's picture comes from the base of the Eleanor Schonell bridge where I walked to watch the river at its worst a year ago. This memorial is from the 1974 flood, the flood many of us believed would be the last of the great floods to hit the city. How wrong we were.

* for those interested in spart phone camera apps, today I played with SynthCam, a app that lets you play with depth of field