Monday Memories.

I'll bet what motivated the British to colonize so much of the world is that they were just looking for a decent meal. ~Martha Harrison


My Dearest is a true blue Aussie man. He has become more cosmopolitan in his advancing years but his one & only venture onto the continent he originated from left him rather more rotund than he began thanks to the abundance of good German pastries, French sauces & robust red wines, which he was forced to drink alone because I do not drink red wine.



I, who should have been the size of a small suburban village, gained no weight at all.

However, towards the end of our travels through France Dearest began to get lonesome for the taste of home ~ which in his case was a craving for that solid Aussie staple, meat pie & tomato sauce.

Accordingly when we pulled in to the next patisserie I was forwarded with a wad of French francs & instructions to get him a pie, or at the very least a sausage roll. My French, never very good, had not been overly improved by my mangling it all over Europe & I quailed at the idea of negotiating my way through a maze of unfamiliar vocabulary.

Besides, by then, we were very experienced with foreign patisseries &, " They won't have it," I argued.

"Yes they do, " Dearest argued pointing in the laden window dripping with things glazed, creamy & rich with butter. "There. What's that if not a sausage roll?" I looked at the concoction dubiously. If nothing else experience had taught me that whatever that was in the window it was extremely unlikely to be a sausage roll but I gathered up my battered French to do battle with the little French proprietress who was listening to our exchange with keen interest but little understanding.

My fluent French comes down to one well used phrase: Que est Ce? [which I can't spell either. I could once, in the far of long ago but no more] I tried it out uncertainly on the little round lady behind the counter pointing to the article in question & her face lit up with a huge beam of pure happiness. The foreign girl spoke French! She was beside herself with delight & rattled off a long paragraph like a Gatling gun of which I caught just one word as the stream rushed by: chocolate!

No, whatever it was it wasn't a sausage roll but pastry filled with rich, dark chocolate; something I would definitely experiment with but that Dearest wouldn't eat under any circumstances except near starvation.

We made our choices & I got to try out the other phrase I got to use a lot: Combien? How much?
The two most important phrases in any language. What is it & how much?!

me~meep.

When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking. ~ Albert Einstein.

Sandra hasn't got enough to do so she is doing memes ~ & passing them along.

The rules are simple; I need to tell 10 things about myself that are true. The temptation to lie is extraordinary. Remember all those fairy tales where the peasant girl is discovered to really be a princess? That's me. You don't buy it? Nope; me either.

1. I do not suffer fools willingly or gladly. God wants an attitude change on this one because He keeps throwing them my way & I keep rolling my eyes & tuning out. Not that I'm so smart but I do prefer intelligent conversation.

2. Which leads to 2; I'm not good at small talk ~ or with people I don't know well. See one & two. Most people don't do well when greeted by a stranger & asked their views on the purpose of black holes. The exceptions are usually worth knowing. You know where to leave your views on black holes. Thank you for enlightening my ignorance.

3. I am taller than my mother. This was a source of delight when I was 12 & finally overtook her 5' 1 3/4". My girls are taller than my 5'5". This is a source of delight to them. I am less than happy to be the second shortest person in the house. Issi really shouldn't count being the cat & all but if I don't count him I am the shortest person in this house.

4. I am 2nd generation Australian on my mother's side. Dearest is 2nd generation on his mother's side. This means our children have more Scottish blood in their veins than either of us do. Life is so not fair!

5. I miscarried a child at 3 months. My whole body wept. It was one of the hardest griefs because only Dearest even knew I was pregnant & no~one really understood my grief for the possibilities that ended with my child's death. Dearest practicaly pointed out the 4 children I had needed me. I needed to grieve for the child I'd lost. For my sins when we finally fell pregnant again we got Ditz.

6. The last math exam I sat I failed so spectacularly I didn't get a single question right. In point of fact I couldn't do any of the paper at all & merely got marks for making an *attempt*. On the other hand I was in the top 5% of my state for English. Totally right brained.

7. I have an inconvient sense of humour. I laugh in all the wrong places & weep over nothing at all. Unfortunately I have passed this deplorable trait along to my children. I notice even Ditz has acquired this trait. She is the only child at choir picking up on black humour.

8. I will eat escargot swimming in garlic sauce & I have even tried frog's legs but I eat no seafood at all, under any circumstances. Never. Ever. Ever. Seafood should stay in the sea. Do you know what that stuff eats?!

9. I didn't want children. 'Nuff said. You can count as well as I can.

10. I was an adult before I ever read a non~fiction book of my own free will. It was about King Arthur. Some people would probably argue I hadn't actually moved out of pure fantasy.

I do solemnly swear I have told the truth ~ if not the whole truth. As Sandra says, "I tag anyone who reads this and wants to participate."

Falling into the hands of a living God.

There are two kinds of people: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, "All right, then, have it your way." ~C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters, 1943

Sometimes it takes me a while to get to what's actually on my mind. There are things that happen all around me & then there's what's happening inside my head. Of the two I usually prefer what's going on inside my head but putting words to it all is sometimes a little difficult ~ especially if you are me & lurch between extremes.

So I was reading here ~ which is interesting because I would have asked many of the exact same questions yet reached the completely opposite conclusion. I abandoned the liturgical churches as not meeting my need for knowing God & because I will be judged on the amount of knowledge I have ~ not the knowledge the church has! ~ & it is up to me to sort out my relationship with God.

I do not find most of the props in most churches helpful: music, liturgy ~ even the sacraments, & I believe the sacraments are important; all become impediments to knowing God because God is not any of those things though He may indeed be in those things, or use those things. So I must admit it bewilders me when people hide behind liturgy, or ritual, or dogma which reduces God to a formula.

Don't shoot. Just thinking aloud here because it's something I just don't get myself. I don't get it because the one thing I always wanted from God was to know that he was indeed real & the only way that works for me is to come face to face with God; to fall into the hands of the living God ~ & when that happens it shatters whatever preconceived notions one has about who & what God is. God is not who I thought he was; but He is indeed exactly who He says He is. I should have listened better.

I know I work completely differently to most people. Even inside my own house no~one else gets the use or delight of seeking God in silence. I am constantly compromising to accommodate the rest of my house, bewildering them nearly as much as they bewilder me. Ditz is all froth & bubble & noise on the outside but I'm like that on the inside. I make so much internal noise I have lots of trouble being still & hearing God. We have these conversations that go, "Look God, I don't know so you are going to have to be really, really clear ~ as in unmistakably clear~ as in I can't mistake what you want..." And this is how I know God is real because again & again & again He makes his intentions unmistakably clear to someone so thick~headed & internally noisy they can hear little above the froth & bubble of their own noisy self~importance. Believe me, it takes some doing to make yourself heard over all that!

The thing is I would rather run my own risks & risk everything on working out a personal relationship with God than clutch at a format that may be tried & true or dried up & deader than a dodo, too afraid to step out in faith just in case God doesn't catch me. I can't do it. I suffocate within ritual. I can see it's attractions. I can see its beauty. I can't live within the framework.

From one extreme to another. I have also been reading here because Ember has been hitting on a number of issues that have been bugging me for more than 20 years; how does one simplify one's life yet still do all that needs to be done? When does simplicity become more complicated, defeating its prime purpose? [I live on an island; of course I'm going to ask this question!] How am I personally called to live out gospel simplicity because what I am personally called to do may not be at all what you are called to do? Which aspects do I need to consider? What is irrelevant to my state?

And there's the difference. Working out my salvation in fear & trembling, as God Himself leads according to His spirit within me. How He leads me is never going to be exactly the same as He leads you. Never. Remember to thank Him for that. Trust me; you don't want my journey.

“Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I assure you, it's much more serious than that.” ~ Bill Shankly



Ditz doesn't think much of my musical ability & Liddy is scathing about my soccer ability but just for a moment here I want to brag on me, instead of my kids, because today I scored a goal. One goal. As oppossed to no goals. I was standing in just the right spot at just the right time & got my foot to the ball at just the right angle to put the ball in the back of the net. As even a little pressure usually sends my balls wide I am rather chuffed.



It was hot again, but not as hot as last week, so I moved forward as there were fewer bodies on the pitch this week. I think we were playing about 7 a side but it's only the little kids who are prepared to run & run & run. The rest of us wilt after about 10 minutes & have little bursts when absolutely forced to move.

I got the second coat on the verandah before the storms hit last night & Issi had a complete meltdown. That cat is a complete nut job! The rain was much needed but no~one remembered the washing so all Liddy's jumpers were wet this morning & we draped them over the heater desparately because she is running a temperature & I've got her sniffles & Ditz is just ratty. I do so love it when we all get sick together.

A Musical Wednesday.

“Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.” ~ Angela Monet.
I was sitting here happily breathing, contemplating my navel in the blissful state that so seldom eventuates when there is nothing to do & nowhere to go when my peace was shattered. We have 2 performances in the middle of this month, one at QPAC.

I know the schedules are posted for a reason but looking at them gives me brain melt. *sigh* Why anyone would want to do this for a living beats me but there we have it. Ditz is far from normal!
Anyway we have been door knocking clutching the VM newsletter & pamphlet selling raffle tickets ~ which Ditz is extremely bad at & Liddy is very good at. Liddy doesn't think much of our efforts & tends to take control, concisely pointing out that Ditz belongs to this very elite choir [she says no~one will know what I mean by ensemble; Sorry, Alison.] & having been invited to Singapore they are now fundraising. We did very well only we must look approachable because everywhere we tried people chatted to us for absolute ages & we only did 5 houses in 2 hours. I know, but we only have 3 tickets left & my mother bought one she doesn't know about yet. I figured as the prize is a bunch of CDs she could use them in her radio show. Ditz was scathing & asked if I even knew the artists? [stupid question; of course I don't] Oh, well. It was a good idea.

Anyway after a week with no ensemble Ditz was champing at the bit. Alison was in fine form & I nearly chocked in my corner up the back trying not to die of laughter as Alison was not happy with sight reading results & in an effort to imprint the necessary information in the children's brains had them moving. Alison is a very kinesthetic teacher but having those poor kids pecking like chooks & jiggling like baited worms had the whole room in stitches till not one of them could sing any longer. Ditz was in trouble for cracking on the low G on a song that falls in a difficult place in her range & then I was in trouble for failing to pay attention. I swear, that woman has a 6th sense of when anyone in the room is zoning out because she always waits till I'm deeply immersed in my book to ask me a question & scares the living daylights out of me! Yes, I think the kids are improving! [I think that's what I got asked?] Ditz has done very well by me the last few trips to the library. Finnikin of the Rock [Melina Marchetta] is very good but now Ditz is peeved because I started behind her but read faster so am now well ahead of her but Wednesdays I always do a lot of reading. I'd got to the exciting part & am not so fussed about Ave Maria so had completely submerged & as all my children know, once I'm gone it is rather difficult to get me back again! I actually thought my focus & attention were exceptionally good ~ just not for the music!

I must be a bit odd [please, no comments] because I find the kids singing scales extremely pleasant. There's something about trained voices doing this that is quite beautiful but apparently Alison's neighbours don't agree & are likely to scream about shutting that racket when she has students! Oh my! The things that I don't think about. Our neighbours are mostly older & a fair distance away but flute carries so I'm really pleased none of them have taken to screaming at us!

Encouragement for all the kids, most of whom sing in their school choirs & struggle as the training is nowhere near as thorough & some very odd practises occur. Rightly or wrongly once we started VM I pulled Ditz out of other singing activities because I could see how frustrated she was becoming. Ditz might be off the air in a lot of ways but not when it comes to music & one term with a choir director Ditz didn't get along with up at the school was enough to convince me never, ever again! Ever. Ditz frustrated & angry is no fun to play with & who knows what sort of damage could be happening. Unlike my Ditz I know absolutely nothing about music but I do know a good thing when I see it & Alison is very good for Ditz. She brings her out of the ether into the reality of the business end of the music industry because the arts have their practical, hard~edged business side as well as their creative aspects. Ditz needs to stay grounded. For all our sakes.

Tuesday's Trivia.

"For seventeen years he did nothing at all, but kill animals and stick in stamps"
- Sir Harold Nicholson (1886-1968) in Diaries and Letters about King George V.

My Dearest collects stamps. Not the pretty stamps with butterflies & flowers & *Things of Interest* emblazoned on them in bright colours but dull, boring stamps in dishwater colours 0f a king who was just as dull.

Why does he do this? Well it is a little complicated ~ but only because I find stamp collecting incredibly boring. No~one ever kills anyone. No~one gets martyred. There are no great political intrigues, insane love affairs dooming entire kingdoms [Ditz has just finished reading about Antony & Cleopatra], or heroic rescues...just little scraps of paper in insipid colours.

Yes, I am a big picture random thinker; Dearest is detail oriented.

Anyway, I have been helping him set up his blog & in the process today's trivia arrived because stamps may be boring but the people involved are raving lunatics. Raving lunatics are interesting so here's 3 random things about Australian stamps.

1: In 1809 Isaac Nichols became Australia's first Post Master. He was an ex~convict. {OK, so most of the colony were ex~convicts but I can only dream of the lovely hoo~ha doing that would generate in Australia Post today.}

2: Federation is 1901 [That's when we stopped being the penal satellite of Great Britain & became a Nation in our own right]. To celebrate this severing of the apron strings The Post Master General held a competition to design our very own Australian stamp. {Not to worry we designed a National Flag & an National Anthem using the same means} The resultant design was a one penny red roo on a map of Australia ~ & very nice too, incorporating as it did obviously Australian elements.

3: The King at the time was King George V. The man was an obsessive stamp collector charging his Royal Philatelist with procuring him the very best stamp collection in the royal kingdom, not a very good collection, not the 2nd best collection, but the premier elite collection. He also seems to have had an ego problem though my scattered reading seems to have reached a discrepancy about the actual events.

The Royalists out here objected to not having our head of state on our very first stamp, or KGV himself objected to being so very publicly snubbed. Either way the end result was the KGV issue ~ which is what my dearest collects ~ & very dull it is of him indeed! To add insult to injury, it is still treason to post any Head of State [king or queen] upside down on your letter!

I don't think it gets more trivial than that!

Monday Memories.

"It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was. " ~Anne Sexton

My father built a number of things: a boat that sank; the boat he built in the living room & then couldn't get out the door; a canoe [lots of boats]; the rabbit rocker come high chair.

I remember the rocker. It was relegated to the dim dark regions under the house where all the things he had no further use for lived ~ boats & canoe, his old air force hat, parts to cars we no longer owned, things that nobody could name & nobody owned to bringing into the house.

The rocker is a reminder of a man I never knew. I remember my father, the man who spent ages trying to get his 2 year old daughter to say, "Cheese please." &...failed. I would say "cheese" or I would say "please" but "Cheese please" I would not say.

There was another man. One I did not know. Oh, I got glimpses of him sometimes. Sometimes I got a glimpse of him through other people's eyes & could hardly recognise him. Did the cautious man I knew who insisted we wear life jackets before setting foot in a boat ever sit up a mango tree swinging a billy can of rocks for his brothers to shoot at with their .22s? Was this the man who rode a motor bike [an Indian for the curious] & totaled at least one car? I know those genes got passed down. My youngest brother was something of a menace on the road for a while there, but then it wasn't a car that killed him.

I can't see far enough back to recognise the small boy who threw up when he learnt his father had just died, or the one who was babied by his big sister, or even the young Lothario my mother met & fell in love with.

I know he grew up on a farm. Gardening is a family failing but none of us have ever made any money from it. Gardening is just what we do. My grandfather was a market gardener. Twice in his life dad farmed cattle, once with his brother, once on the 50 acres he retired to, but farming is not how he earnt his living. Nope. Dad was a pilot. He went into the air force during the war & when he came out he continued flying. Mum was the young & very pretty air hostess he flirted with her very first day on the job. The men in my family are not backward about going after what they want.

Dad held the trophy of the Wooden Spoon for being the biggest stirrer but he was a softie at heart. The last family cat was the sole survivor of an airfield litter whose mum had chosen a poor spot to have her kittens. My mother nearly had a fit but dad just wanted to know what she expected him to do; he could hardly leave the poor thing there!

Year by year my father buried some things so deeply they blurred who he was. He never spoke of the war that scarred him deeply ~ or of his father's death ~ yet the telling of stories is the thread that binds from my Nana, grandchildren gathered at her knees, telling us the story of Who Killed Cock Robin? & the Babes in the Wood till we were all howling like dervishes, to my aunt cheerfully rewriting the family history in romantic hues to my father singing on the long, long car trek between Sydney & Brisbane, 3 squirming children crammed amongst the luggage, the 2 with the windows hurling up, " Tell me a story/ Tell me a story/ Tell me a story before I go the bed...."

The stories are all the truth that remains because it doesn't matter who my father was, only how we remember him. I remind myself of that on the days when I am tempted to be the ranting, raving, shrewish, harridan I could so enjoy being if I let myself get carried away. That is not how I wish to be remembered so I refrain. Mostly.

Who came visiting us.

"A Thaum is the basic unit of magical strength. It has been universally established as the amount of magic needed to create one small white pigeon or three normal-sized billiard balls." ~ Terry Pratchett

Ditz & I were immersed in her history ~ well I was immersed; Ditz...who knows? We were occupied when I noticed this rather large pigeon happily ensconced on the verandah railing. Ditz immediately declared it a dove but it is in fact a white headed pigeon & rather shy, shy enough that sightings are rare.

It is also a dope. For whatever reason this mad bird decided that Camphor Laurels were good tucker. Camphor Laurels are an introduced species & councils all over the country are busily trying to eradicate them after the birds had merrily spread their seed all through the native bush creating a massive weed infestation of ~ you guessed it: Camphor Laurels! Unfortunately bird numbers decreased with the removal of the Camphor Lauurels & as these birs only lay one egg replacement numbers are on the slow side.

I know the one we saw was a male because the white was very white & the dark back had a green sheen to it. Females are greyer & lack the sheen.

These guys like tropical & subtropical rainforest so I'm not sure what they were doing round here. We're not really either. They are really secretive & wary too, usually hiding in the dense canopy rather than perching out in the open as this one was. Issi was very interested but eventually turned his back & went back to sleep in the sunshine. The pigeon is a fruit eater so that might be why he was round & I'm pretty sure he's whatever is making all the racket at night that's keeping me awake. I'm used to Mopokes, bitterns, screeching curlews ~ & several other species ~ all carousing under my window all night, every night. What disturbs me is the unfamiliar & something is making an odd & unholy racket in the wee sma's. Now that I think I've figured out what is making the noise I'll sleep better. I think. Hope. Hopefully.

Home is the sailor...

Home is where you can say anything you please, because nobody pays any attention to you anyway. Joe Moore
We are home. As in on the island. Two whole blissful weeks where the furtherest we've travelled is to another island. The weather has been lovely & warm during the day, coolish at night. It just feels so good to be doing the boring regular chores around the place: hanging out the washing, wiping down the kitchen, reading Ditz her history, grooming my poor moulting cat, eating breakfast on the verandah ~ well I was until I started painting. I have done the top deck only because everything else just got moved to the lower deck. When I have done the top deck we will move everything back around.


I enjoy a bit of hustle & bustle but the last month has just been insane & enough is enough. I now have lots of chores that have back piled & it has taken me some time to recover from a month of insanity.

Saturday the girls & I played island soccer. This is always interesting because how many are on the pitch at any given time depends on who turns up & lots of the other rules get waived as well. The size of the blokes is one reason I stand waaay, waaay out on the wing & only move if the ball actually comes to me ~ which it very rarely does. Those who've played with me a while know I can boot the ball to some purpose & if I'm close enough I am nippy enough to steal a ball from the unwary but I have no stamina & no speed any more & I refuse point blank to run round a patch of grass after a little round ball in the sort of heat we had on Saturday.

I, at least, pay attention. Ditz was so busy spinning like a helicopter stray balls zipped right past her & she never noticed. [& she wonders why she got that nick~name!] When she pays attention she is a semi~useful back with enough weight & size to simply let strikers run into her ~& bounce off!

Why, I'm sure you're wondering, do we do this at all? P.E. I write it off as P.E ~ which Ditz is still suppossed to be doing but is rarely around for. I do it because thanks to Ditz I already do more sitting around waiting than is good for me. I, however, have learnt to take things gently, especially when I haven't played for a while.
This is all that survived the unexpected winter rains in the garden: celery, which is beautiful & flavoursome, & cabbage ~ oh, & the basil. I have more basil than we know what to do with. We planted huge amounts of things but it pretty well drowned & rotted in the ground thanks to the tropical deluges that just shouldn't have happened at that time of the year ~ & the rain never let up until it was too late to replant. Oh, well, about time to plant for summer & that will probably burn to a crisp this year. However the grape, passionfruit, strawberries & nectarines should do really, really well before summer is finished.The nectarine is flowering profusely but just look at all the gum blossom along the sides of the road!!! The whole road was creamy with it at one point ~ & my driveway... & my clothesline area...& my verandah. I've never seen such a profusion of gum blossom spread like a thick berber carpet over everything! Can't say I'm real thrilled but is is pretty.

See what Liddy bought...

"There is onlyyou & your camera. The limitations in your photography are in yourself, for what we see is what we are." Ernst Haas.

Liddy's weekend arrived & she took herself off for another driving lesson wherein she had a little trouble with her reverse parallel parking. No surprise. The parking spots over here are huge so you get a fair bit of leeway not possible on the mainland.

To revive her spirits she went & saw Young Victoria & bought herself a new camera ~ & very nice it is too ~

Which she promptly used to bug the rest of the household. I don't think my kitchen is terribly photogenic in the after dinner aftermath & I really, really hate being on the wrong side of the camera, which means not being the one pushing the shutter.

Ditz, on the other hand, was more than happy to pose

That's the Creative Gen T~shirt.

And see, I told you she did a great Death Stare! ☺