October 14. Day 287. Big boys toys

The things we do for our kids.
For Tommy it's remote control cars. The father of three was out late this afternoon after the vehicles had cleared from an office car park racing a very speedy remote control car.
He proudly told me the car was one of a number he had for the kids, one capable of more than 200 kilometres an hour over short distances.
Tommy and the kids like the empty car park. He says he often brings them down there to ride their scooters, skateboards and bikes.
It gets them all out and away from computers and the TV, he reasoned. I know this is true because I've seen them all there before.
But I couldn't help but notice that something was missing this afternoon - the kids.
It looked suspiciously like just Tommy and the toy. It's all right Tommy, I won't tell if you don't.
Growing older is mandatory. Growing up, not so much.
And as a big boy's toy goes, a remote control car capable of travelling more than 200 kilometres an hour is right in the ball park.

October 13. Day 286. Strange customs

During the high school years at All Hallows' one building was a mystery, strictly off limits, out of bounds.
This, of course, made it immensely interesting. Forbidden fruit and all that.
The old convent was where secret Nun's business happened and we mere students were to know none of it.
I am sure whatever happened behind those imposing doors was distinctly uninteresting but the interest lay in the not knowing.
So when I saw the Mercy Centre (as it is now known) on the list of buildings taking part in Open House Brisbane 2013 I decided I had to go.
Unfortunately it will remain a mystery as only two rooms on the ground floor were open to the public. Poo, bum, wee.
But I did find the building is routinely open to visitors on Tuesdays and Wednesdays so all is not lost.
All was not lost today either. As we had made the effort to join the thousands of families traipsing around the city to see behind doors normally closed to the public it would have been churlish to let one small disappointment get in the way of a good time on a beautiful Sunday.
So off we hiked to the Customs House to peek inside the stately rooms and the far less stately cellars where the tariffs from passing vessels would have been collected in bygone days.
And then there was lunch and a mocktail on the terrace overlooking the river. Very nice too. I may be none the wiser as to the strange customs of the convent but those of Customs House have now been unlocked.

October 12. Day 285. Starry, starry night

Grade 10B. All Hallows' 1980. Classroom at the back of the main building overlooking Kemp Place and the Story Bridge.
I'm pretty sure my love of that bridge and my hate of the smell of hops from the brewery across the road were formed in that classroom that year.
On stinking hot Queensland days in non-air conditioned rooms shared with about 30 other sweaty 15-year-olds, staring out the window and dreaming was the only viable escape.
Back in those days there were no lights in the bridge but in recent times it has become as pretty as a picture at night.
Indeed, one of the only original artworks to grace the walls of my home is called Story Bridge in Aqua by Brisbane artist Starr (which looks not unlike Story Bridge in Aqua and Lime as pictured above).
I'm sure I read somewhere that Starr went to All Hallows' for a time but it could have been something I made up staring out the window and dreaming. A girl's got to dream after all and with nothing else on my camera card today, it seemed as good a place as any to head with the tripod for a night shot.

October 11. Day 284. Legless

Friday night. The traditional night to get legless.
This is as close as I got - photographing the limb-lacking gecko on a light box display outside Brisbane State High School. I was out on a big Friday night on the town - where big night is defined as taking a walk. With my Mum. And my dog. Oh yes, I am the last of the big party animals.
I'm too old for that. Fact is the idea of a Saturday morning with nausea and vomiting, a mouth like the bottom of a cockie cage, pounding head and alcohol-induced anxiety holds no attraction for me at all. Plus I have other ways to fill up my body with empty calories and empty my wallet of any spare cash.
It's not that I am a wowser or anti-alcohol - I'm not - I enjoy a cocktail or glass of wine over dinner with friends as much as the next person. But in my daily life, it's the exception rather than the rule.
What concerns me is that as a society we seem to believe that excess consumption of alcohol is synonymous with a celebration or a good time.
Why is it that breakfast TV announcers start interviews with the latest premiership/academy award/Nobel prize winner they always seem to ask how they pulled up after the big night? Why? Because as a society we seem to think the only way to mark our greatest of days by drinking so much we can't remember them. Gee, that makes sense.
So if that makes me a wowser, I'm okay with that. 
I may be going out on a limb here but I reckon not feeling shit on a Saturday morning is an idea that should have legs (but probably won't).

October 10. Day 283. Killing them with kindness

Can you not read the signs? Seriously
Do people honestly think the "Don't feed the wildlife" signs were put there by the fun police just because they are a bunch of killjoys out to ruin it for everyone?
Yep, like everyone else we fed the ducks when we were kids and it was awesome fun.
But there were no signs and I'm pretty sure we didn't know how bad it was for them and neither did our parents.
But the signs around the reserve near Shaw Park make it pretty clear. Feeding the ducks is very bad for them.
And yet this afternoon, and probably every afternoon, there were people feeding the ducks, pretty much right in front of the signs. The ducks of course didn't seem to mind a bit. After all they probably don't know any better. Or perhaps they do and eat it anyway in much the same way as I eat things I know are bad for me. But as a species higher up the food chain that should know better we have a duty to do the right thing. Enjoy the wildlife by all means but just duck off and don't feed them. When it comes to duck fodder there are plenty of options that are a better thing than sliced bread.

October 9. Day 282. Motherly love

I tell you, you'd have to love them or you would kill them.
Here I am thinking specifically about my furry baby Rumple and the small matter of the ink stain on the carpet today because he decided that would be an awesome place to chew a pen to death.
But,of course, it applies even more so to the human kids.
You forgive your nearest and dearest no matter what. You'd call the police if the neighbours kept you up night after night screaming. If a friend wanted to be picked up at all hours, you'd give them the number of a taxi company. The lines of credit in the bank of parental finance remain open. The arms remain open. The love is unconditional even when you want to kill them.
I reckon this photo of Mum and chick on the pond at South Bank this morning captures it perfectly.
The little one was whinging non stop but the mum was still there in a touching display of affection.
Try as you might, a baby turns the hardest of hearts to jelly.

October 8. Day 281. Water torture

 Holidays really suck (when they are over). Back to work today and it was a bit of a struggle. To be fair, work was just fine,enjoyable even, but given the choice between a day on the beach and a day in the classroom I'm afraid I'll take the beach.
But the show must go on and to ease the pain I've decided to start the search for a holiday home for the Christmas holidays.
And until then it I figure I should seek out any relaxing body of water and this afternoon a walk through the Roma Street Parklands was the best option.
Rumple was happy to accompany me but I rather suspect he, too, would have rather been running along the beach. Patience fur friend, patience.