July 19. Day 200. Bricking it

I rather like it when life takes me out of my crazy routine and into places not on the normal route. The road less travelled, if you like. It actually gives you time to "see" things. So I was dropping off the photos as discussed in yesterday's blog. In my naivety, I thought that a parking spot would be available somewhere in the same suburb. Not so much. So I walked with a great big folio of photos under my arm which I had to try not to crush. But it did allow me to have a look. A real look. I love the old museum. It felt so sad when it stopped being the museum but small things such as fire risks and complete inadequacy to safely and appropriately display things apparently ruled it out. Anyway we now have a wonderful new museum and a beautiful old space. And my photos are in. Winning.

July 18. Day 199. Photographic memory

It was a case of deja vu, all over again (yes, yes I know).  This will be the third year in a row  I have entered photographs in the Ekka fine art competition. Let's just say, I'd better be more accomplished with a camera than I am at entering competitions. Third time lucky? Not for me. Practice is not making perfect. It goes like this. You have to enter and pay in May but the actual exhibits are not due until now. Actually they were due at the end of last week. Did I remember? No, I did not. I received a courtesy call today asking about my entries. Audible expletive. Had, I delivered the entries? No, I had not? Had I actually chosen my entries, or printed them, or mounted them? No, I had not. I was given until tomorrow. So bring on super thrust mode. I selected some shots, submitted them online for printing and went off shopping for such things as mounting boards.Then I did what any sensible person would do. I delegated. My lovely niece Scarlett was recruited to carry out the mounting. Against all odds, the whole process was completed in a matter of hours. Am I a happy with them? Honestly, not entirely. Some of the prints are not awesome. If I had more time I would have either chosen different photos or had a couple reprinted. But you can only do what you can do and at the end of the day you have to be in it to win it.

July 17. Day 198. All come out in the wash

Some times in life you are the statue. Some times the pigeon. As long as your life isn't more statue kind of days then you have to count that as a win. Attitude helps but attitude is not always that easy to control. But little things can make the difference. Today I found myself smiling at the pigeons and the dog bowl. The pigeons were taking turns at first drinking from and then bathing in a dog's bowl at one of the cafes near where I work.Clearly the bowl was not there for either purpose but they didn't care and who could blame them. They were having such a jolly old time and it made me smile. It distracted me for so long it made me late for a meeting. However the previous meeting in the room ran over so I was where I needed to be on time. Winning. A statue not a pigeon kind of day.

July 16. Day 197. Here Comes the Bride

My mother cries at weddings. I don't but I am endlessly fascinated by them even when I know neither the bride nor the groom. So when I saw a wedding party rock up at the Botanic Gardens this afternoon, I was drawn to go take a closer look. Rumple and Winkle made friends with one of the bridesmaids so I struck up a conversation and found out the happy couple are Kaz and AJ. As I watched I also noted how wedding photography has changed. No more superimposing faces in champagne glasses (although why that was ever a thing I don't know). The camera crew was circling the bride and groom, doubtless collecting 360 vision. And the final observation? Soft pastel dresses don't always survive well in a garden photo shoot the day after huge storms.

July 15. Day 196. Just hanging at South Bank

I'm old enough to remember when celebrity and chef were not words that went together. Ever. But in this world there are celebrity everything and chefs are right up there. As a BIG fan of Masterchef, I decided to wander down to the Regional Flavours event at South Bank and see if I could spot George, Gary or Matt. It might have helped if this fan girl had bothered to check the program. By the time I'd got there they had left and were doubtless off eating deconstructed something somewhere fancy. Anyone would have thought I'd never heard of social media. But all was not lost. Not by a long shot. The Living Room chef  Miguel was still smooching up to the crowd. I have no idea what he was saying - I never do - but in that Spanish accent he can just keep on saying it. Besides on a beautiful Brisbane day like today South Bank is a pretty good place to be even if it is just to watch the street performers.

July 14. Day 195. A Night at the Opera

Opera. So cultured. Except this is Gilbert and Sullivan which is very much at the lighter end of the scale which is a great place to be. Ruddigore is not the fat lady sings type of opera. And Opera Queensland embraced the event with just the right sense of fun. Cardboard cut outs in the same cartoon style of the show and just to prove this isn't the stuffy type of show there was a carnival cut out board where put your head in picture - the only way it was possible before Photoshop and Instagram filters. What I love is that given the right occasion (and perhaps the right amount of alcohol) age, income and the inner child is never really that far away. A good laugh is a really awesome way to bring out that child. And Ruddigore was a right regular laugh, something I didn't associate with Opera. I'm not afraid to admit I was wrong ... but I won't make a habit of it.
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July 13. Day 194. Birds of a feather

One of the tales that is on repeat in my mother's Same Story playbook, involves a walk with the dog when my two sisters and I were very young.
According to the story, we were dressed identically for this walk because why wouldn't you dress your daughters like living Babushka Dolls? But that's not the scary bit. An older woman stopped for a chat. Mum, who thinks baby babushka is an attractive thing, expects the lady to comment on how adorable we looked. Instead she admired our pound dog. She said she'd rather raise nine dogs than one child. At that moment, the dog spied and ate poo. I now have a version of this story for my own repertoire. The dogs were beautifully clean and shiny after their regular groom. We went to visit Margaret next door to show off the beautiful hair cuts and bows. Winkle disappeared and had been quiet for too long. She was discovered in the bathroom where she had raided a bin of incontinence pads. It was gut-churningly disgusting. I cleaned her up. Then she did a wee on the floor. We left with our tails between her legs. But would it stop me raising dogs? Not in a million years ... And will it stop Margaret from welcoming the dogs? She'd rather welcome nine dogs than one child