blog again 

Back at the blog...after a year of study, several months of holiday, then major internet frustrations i.e. we didn’t have any for ages after electrical storms etc .

I’m thinking I might start a new blog. I’ve never liked the name of this one. The word acidopholous is not pleasing. I suppose people with digestive tract issues are always accidentally stumbling in here in google-search of probiotics. 

And I don’t want to keep reinforcing the story that every morning I start off with good healthy intentions, and every day I end up succumbing to naughty, yummy, addictive bad-for-me chocolate...

A not entirely untrue story, but not necessarily not a version of things that I want to be constantly reminded about.

Anyway, for now, here I am again with a backlog of stuff ‘scribbled down’ into the laptop last year, and over summer.

June 2012

I’m missing blogging. I miss my gentle musings on things. In the last few days: the abundance of citrus -oranges, lemons, mandarines. Our trees and everyone else’s glowing with warm colours. We try to give them away, press them onto friends and visitors. There is a basket full by the front door, a note Please Take Some.

Or the Woolfie experience. Our neighbours cat, staying with us for two weeks while they’re away. We who object to all cats on principle, but have fallen for this cuddly amethyst-eyed princeling.

The little bird  that flew into the window on Saturday, then died in my hand - fluffed up all her feathers, then expired. 

All these things I long to turn over and contemplate for a few minutes more. But it’s already nearly 11 p.m. and I have an early start tomorrow, and an assignment to finish for class presentation on the work of Fiona Hall, and also a 3D work of my own due in next week for assessment, plus updating the art journal. I’ve gotta go to bed.

Fiona Hall

Up on the roof

august 2012

A few weeks ago F said he didn’t like bringing his friends home because I was such a  fascist, not allowing them to watch DVDs or play on the computer during the day. Like why couldn’t I just chill, like other kids’ parent?  I shrugged, gave my usual “I don’t care what other people do” speech. And felt pretty hurt. 

F spends a lot of weekend time over at his mates’. At E’s place they can ride their bikes along the river and shoot E’s bows and arrows in the paperbark swamp. Or at G’s there is the big garden, plenty of room to kick the soccer ball, and the tall climb-able pine tree; and of course unlimited access to G’s ipad and ipod touch.  Naturally the food at other peoples places is better too.

Sigh... 

Despite all the above, he asked if two friends could stay over for the weekend. Of course I said yes. They had a school project to work on, the making of a ‘trebouche’, a sort of catapult. Smart science teacher had snared the interest of three teenage boys who would normally avoid any sort of homework like the plague, if possible. 

But give them a chance to play with projectiles ( blowing stuff up has also been popular) and they are in. The three of them mucked around with their prototype out in the garden, with golf balls and tape measures and string and rocks to stop it all falling over. D got in on the act too, with his electric drill and adult blokey expertise.  I spied on them all from the kitchen window, clustered around their contraption, their heads bent in concentration, bright in the spring sunshine. How wholesome and sweet. 

Later, a soccer ball got kicked onto the roof. Soon all three of them were up the ladder and hanging out on the roof. Calling down ‘It’s really cool up here’ They stayed on the roof for ages. Came down briefly for food;  and to gather some of F’s old toy cars, which have been gathering dust for a year or two now. They’d devised a game involving rolling the cars down the roof slope, racing eachother. Late afternoon they rode their bikes into town and down to the water hole and swung off the rope into freezing water - this exploit recorded on F’s camera, was shown to us later. 

I made them a risotto for dinner, then asked them to wash the dishes, which they did surprisingly efficiently, after only minimal protest. After dinner I played cards (Ligretto) with them, and later on they wandered into my office/music room and we played the marimbas together. Then they all went to bed in F’s room. Listened to their music for a while, went to sleep. 

Not a single whinge all day, not a single request to watch a DVD, not a single scowl. A bloody miracle.