Celebrate, and look after each other.

The New Year. A chance to reflect on the past, present and future. While reading about the first world problems of doctors’ fees, obesity (New Year resolutions), binge drinking and yobbo behaviour. I cast a thought to the millions of displaced people in the world. We are all part of this global village. Sending out greetings for peace across many lands. As Alfred Tennyson said - You are all part of who I am. We are all part of this comedy of life. Celebrate, and look after each other. Jenny Esots 27 Kookaburra Court WILLUNGA SA 5172

What I know is true seems so less certain than when I was a growing up.

The year ticks over and we are in the midst of the post Christmas slowdown and steamy weather. I, like Helen Razer, cave in when the heat assaults my whole body. I resent the malaise that my brain succumbs to. But I found time to think about the premise Helen raises, how do we know what is true? (448) Thanks Helen, I needed something to ponder on the drive home from work. As I see it everything is still up for debate. The universe, cosmos, inner consciousness, 70’s fashion. It all comes down to who has the best argument. Life can be so confusing and ambiguous. Even an overwhelming amount of scientific evidence cannot convince the general public that our planet is warming at an alarming rate. What I know is true seems so less certain than when I was a growing up. The search for truth is never easy. But who wants an easy life?! Blessings to you & yours for the new year and the Big Issue in 2014.

Redemption on Bougainville.

•image: my link text Mr Pip I came into the world on Bougainville with all its horrors and brutality. Where savage acts were never far from daily life. When destruction was unleashed on the village the people seemed so powerless. Everything was taken from them, their homes, possessions and people they loved. But still they had the air, the fruit, the sea and each other. We are guided through the story by Matilda, a child in the village. Who discovers the world of Mr Dickens and Pip of Great Expectations. Pip becomes a saviour to them all. To the children of a ramshackle school, their teacher – Mr Watts and the village. But in a cruel twist ‘Pip’ is sought after as a renegade rebel. The events unravel. One is kept hoping for some redemption, which comes with a terrible price. A master story teller, who knows how to leave the reader guessing and yearning for more.

Christmas day is almost over.

Christmas day is almost over. The yearning for Christmas past is very real. The morning you woke up and found that little sack (pillow case) at the foot of your bed. Father Christmas had been. For some reason I recall this only once, finding a big children’s bible in it. The stories from so long ago. But they live on. Isaiah and his prophesy still read out thousands of years later. The coming of the messiah, one who saves. Be open to the light of God, change, the annoyances of ageing and the friendship of your mates.

Giving more

Christmas greetings and thanks you for all the editions throughout 2013. In times of uncertainty it is tempting to keep with what is known. Publishing and digital technology is flying along. Information is becoming downsized to a tiny hand sized object. The economic landscape is riven with change. Where is the certainty? But the head line of Tuesday’s Advertiser states that we are to explore the spirit of giving. Not in the spirit of flinging gift wrapped socks under the Christmas tree. But in the spirit of giving compassion to each other. Negotiating change will need more than simplistic mantra’s of cut spending and tighten your belts. We in fact need to give more, more time, more understanding, and more compassion.

Oil and Honey - a memoir of an accidental activist, Bill McKibben

Oil and Honey by Bill McKibben A treatise on living in a global warming world and the rallying cry against fossil fuel. This is a surprisingly human account of the campaign to put climate change squarely on the agenda. Bill McKibben is a journalist and writer and he writes in a flowing conversational style. So you feel like you are with him on that campaign trail. You are on the bus that crosses the country, attending rallies, going to give talks and speeches with the media and all manner of people. You feel Bill’s pain when he receives ugly threats. You can feel the calm as he finds home base. This account of an accidental activist as he calls himself is mixed with his self-guided retreats to a beekeeper named Kirk. The story of how bees exist is a mirror of the modern world breaking open the natural world with horrible consequences. Chemical overkill and the wipe out of half the bee population. But still there is hope. Hope is a word never written here, but is exposed on every page. We are fighting against the odds, but there is hope. A message that is often submerged in the gloom of the facts on global warming. Yet this story tells of a seemingly motley bunch of people, melded into action by the very real threat to their livelihood, their land, and their home. Our home, our planet. The sense is that the movement does not have all the answers. They make mistakes, but they fight on. The pollination is the thing. Sowing seeds in many hearts and minds. The personal reflections of Bill show a man guided by a love for this creation and the creator. As he reflects that global warming is like Genesis in reverse. There are so many more stories that could be written here. But that is the mark of a good writer, leaving you wanting more. On a broader level I was made to question our way of being. As Bill gently probed his bee keeping neighbour, Kirk, on how he survived day after day, year after year with such a basic existence, devoid of all the usual amenities. He reported he never got bored; there was so much depth in each moment. He followed the seasons. Not the conventional wisdom of days. Thanks for the education Bill, I want to hear more.

Oil and Honey - Fossil Fuel in free fall.................

I am currently reading the book Get Up! sent me - Oil and Honey by Bill Mc Kibben and am very interested in the story of how environmentalists are fighting the Fossil Fuel industry, which has a massive budget across the world. It seems that few governments are willing to stand up to this industry. Our planet is in peril. Changes need to be made on pricing carbon. Am thankful that the Labor government made changes ie the carbon tax - but is it too late to save it?

May the wisdom of his brave soul live on.

Thank you for your Saturday edition honouring Nelson Mandela. I have not encountered such an outpouring of love for one man in a long time. The grief is written large among so many. Mandela didn't just talk about forgiveness and reconciliation, he lived it. May the wisdom of his brave soul live on.

The conflictions of Mary.

The Testament of Mary. Told from the eyes of the mother of Jesus. Strangely I seem to have little sympathy for this Mary. She is painted as conflicted, living in fear, resentful of the fate of her son. The word used to describe the disciple, unnamed, The Guardian, her keeper. The disciples are described as a bunch of misfits. Mary portrays a puzzling picture. Why was her son saying these things? Doubt about the claims of his miracles. The Wedding, the storm. Lazarus far from being a figure of great jubilation, being raised from the dead, is a pariah. Set apart. Jesus was set apart too, but Mary seemed to want to have none of it, in this version of events. The New Testament is rewritten. Who will ever know the real Mary? This is a writer capable of poetic flight. Particularly in the final scene. Mary waits the final curtain, being let free. A very poignant final bow.

Jonathan Franzen –The Discomfort Zone - rewriting a personal history belongs only to you.

Jonathan Franzen –The Discomfort Zone. Rewriting a personal history. When writing about awkward adolescence JonathanFranzen excels. The title relates so well to this. He has nailed this time of wanting to fit in. He lets us into his life and times. His recollections of his parents and brothers. Looking back from the safety of adulthood. He is able to analyse why his mother reacts to the township ground rules, but is not able to accept a faith in the Christian church. Upon which so many of the townships social and moral standing is based. Jonathan relates a lot of his time in a group called fellowship, but no mention of his own faith. The reader is taken in to this inner sanctum of Franzen’s but as with many memoirists the reader is taken only so far. The tale of how he eventually meets a girl he likes enough to marry seem to be missing. Real insights into this person. A lot of time is spent on relationship blues, but unless we know the person he loves in some measure it is an exercise in anxiety ridden therapy. So nearing the end of the book it seems to abruptly leave his time as a student in Germany, sponging off his parents, and leaps into the therapy session time with relationship angst. We haven’t been let into a large slab of time that leads up to these breakups. So it feels disjointed. The details of the adolescent are not matched by detail in the young adult Franzen. Did he just run out of emotional energy for this? He finishes off talking about his deep love of bird watching that infiltrates his life. Even in this passion Franzen is conflicted about it not being cool enough. But I guess that is what adolescence it is all about, the desperate need to be seen as cool. Franzen spends years trying to work out why he can’t be cool enough. Before heading off in other directions. His ends the book with a personal recollection of finding out how much he loved his mother, but only after she dies. He recalls her deep love of seeing him, when she would say, ‘Tell me, what did you see?’ A mantra for an up and coming writer? We are so shaped by our early life, our parents, our siblings, our school years, our home town. Jonathan takes the time to return to these places and make sense of it. But rewriting history is more compelling, trying to get the answers to fit the questions created in the ensuing time. A memoirist rewrites history, as no one else can write your own inner life with more carefully constructed ‘truths’. My sense of writing a memoir is, get it on paper first. Other people’s memories will inevitably be different. But your own rewrite belongs to only you.

The voyeur in me

Affair of the Art Michael Abbot QC describes his awakening to art as a university student. Adelaide now reaps the reward of his collecting over many decades. We seem to be good at developing collectors! I take voyeuristic pleasure in being able to wander thought a rich and diverse art collection. Currently the beautifully installed Realms of Wonder. All for the price of the petrol to get there. Plus the obligatory stop at the gallery cafe. My only quibble, get the trains back on the tracks and my petrol bill will be a lot less.

All the world's clamour

Thanks for a smorgasbord of the spirit of God in action in your November edition. (Love is Playful) There are so many competing demands for people hearts, minds and souls out there. It takes a very committed spirit to find rest amongst it all. I have found the words of the psalmist most revealing. 'He (God) quiets the raging oceans and all the world's clamour'. (Psalm 65 vs.7.) This rings so true as it seems the 'clamour' of our world has always been around us. Demanding, overwhelming and pursuing us. It is helpful to share our stories in the midst of all the clamour.

The idea of church

Having just attended a very dry lecture at a gathering entitled 'What is church?' During which it was lamented about the media's poor concept of it, I was delighted to read Tory's Shepherd's insightful column. Debating the merits of what is the point of church either atheist or christian and other faiths. Looking at it from the theory stand point of view only, is doomed to failure. The point of church is to put theory, faith and beliefs into action. You can't celebrate, connect, discover and explore beliefs in a vacuum. The church is people, where ever that setting may be.

Overtaken by a toddler

Book publishing is forever changing as the digital age pushes on. With toddlers able to program iphones with ease, it is a real worry. Especially since I don't even own one. Surpassed by a toddler(!) Reading a book seems to be more and more a subversive act. As a bookaholic I cannot bear to walk into a home devoid of books. And I have seen many that are barren. Thanks to Peter Goers as a true believer of books.

The other side

The baby boomers are facing the other side. Of 50 that is. Are we turning into our parents? Mark writes of a declining interest in adventure pursuits, with a leaning toward the well-appointed hotel buffet breakfast side of celebrations. While still wanting to make new discoveries I share the love of buffet breakfasts. Having instilled this in my children from an early age! There were days of celebrating in a pub so smoke filled visibility was foggy with a hazy layer drifting across the ceiling. Our lungs have suffered the consequences. But a message to Mark, do book in for that prostate test. If women have to have invasive tests from teenage years, the least men can do is catch up in later life.

Reward and punishment

Thanks to Philip Adams for turning his light on the problematic area of justice and how to dole out judgement. Nov 2nd Human beings have been battling with this forever. An eye for an eye? A tooth for a tooth? Where does it stop. Now we have the new pope willing to acknowledge ‘who am I to judge?’ But if you have ever had anything to with rehabilitation, this always comes up. ‘But there needs to consequences’, is the constant catchcry. Reward and punishment. But what if someone needs the safety of prison and never gets high on the lure of a reward? If we were all the same it would be a very boring life. The premise of reconciling instead of retribution warrants more investigation. Peace.

All the presidents

I have heard this movie described as a good movie, that could have been a great movie. It features the civil rights movement through the eyes of a butler in the whitehouse. A potted history of the USA since the second world war. Hollywood loves to eulogise its presidents. However the portrayals can only be a snapshot of time and for me this was just a bit too shallow. But what could they do in 132 minutes? Gerald Ford and Jimmy Carter are over in seconds! So not sure what happened there. It definitely plays on the heart strings and Oprah is surprisingly good in her role too.

A History of Silence - Lloyd Jones is following his bloodline.

Lloyd Jones is following his bloodline. What gets left behind? What gets hidden? In this review I refer to the author by his first name, Lloyd. As I somehow feel I have come to know him. Why does Lloyd make this journey into his past history at this time in his life? The other side of fifty, more questions about mortality, purpose, searching for answers that remained out of sight. Beginning to wonder, having your own children. Remembrances. Lloyd delves into why we retain the things we do. In the process revealing himself to be an exceptionally gifted and reflective writer. p.245. ‘ I looked into the hairdressers window once and saw her, wide eyed beneath a dryer, like someone receiving electric shock treatment. My father used to say I’d send my mother to (an early grave) to the loony bin if I carried on the way I did. I can’t remember what I did to cause offence. This recollection has no role to play. But, it continues to exist, like a card fallen out of a pack, representative of other such moments that fail to add up to anything more. In this way life sheds itself. It leaves skin on the furniture, hair on a pillow. A life reduces to a couple of walk on parts in other people’s recollections. And while some fade, others remain stuck forever like an overbearing portrait glowering down from the walls.’ This is one of the standout examples of Lloyd’s take on memory, those remembered moments that stick like glue. Whether we want them there or not. The silence, the hidden pasts of families, Lloyd equates with stage fright, echoes of fear and shame. There are many, many stories of hidden pasts. The dead end of a generation. Lost without any artefacts to trace. Lloyd is able to trace his threads from the past. The artefacts, letters, transcripts, voices left to be heard. Overlayed with the trauma of loss of the scale of disaster that struck Christchurch in 2011. Is this why the author feels the need to walk the streets and stand where his ancestors stood? Any ancestors. As he curiously goes to a place named Zula with a fabricated family history from his wife’s ancestry. Finding the missing pieces of the past helps to discover why things happened the way they did, why people are the way they are. But one hundred years on there is a lot of the benefit of hindsight. Dying Lloyd recalls one of the last looks of hope and trust by his dying dog and mother. The sense of helplessness at having to let them go. The knowing what was to happen seen as a massive betrayal. For each person dying it is like we haven’t done this before. Like we need to know the rules, but it appears we don’t. So people blunder on. Lloyd earlier relates the story of the doctor asking if his mother knows she is dying. The tip toeing around the central truth of dying. Eventually Lloyd tells his mother ‘You’re on your last legs’. She relates that she has been let down. The conclusion being ‘Dying feels like we have let down our loved ones.’ As if there is more that could have been done, somehow for human or animal. It could also be her mother surmising that in life she had been let down, the abandonment by her mother. Despite the implied emotion of family secrets Lloyd is not a sentimentalist. He describes his search for reasons behind his known world. Childhood, family home, pets, relatives. The shared habits of a lifetime, without undue fuss. Much like his parents’ generation, the worse sin is to make a scene or cause a fuss. There are tiny fragments of his own life in the ‘now’, apart from the retracing of steps and revisiting the past. We learn he was asked to write about the Christchurch earthquake not long after it happened, but doesn’t get back to them. But perhaps a genesis for this book appears. Other fragments occur with a mention once or twice about his own children, wife and a separation. But these are submerged by the wider purpose of the memoir. Which is looking back. To look inside himself. To get the answers the author has been denied. But as often happens, his parents have left the scene by the time this search really begins. They will not hear the resolutions. Memories are such fragile things. I was stirred to write of my own search through family shame, sadness, brokenness and silence. There is a wider framework here, as many families have a silence. Unexplained ancestors, lost in time. Or lost to follow up as reports might say. The energy to do the follow up is huge. So well done to Lloyd Jones for having the fortitude and courage to go through the midst of time. This was a book that was always at the top of its game and I relished it all.

The seventies will never die!

Peter Goers manages to write deceptively simple words, full of home truths. (October 20th) It is very sad that Australia still has the open wound of missing children, particularly three from one family. It weighs heavily. But this was balanced by life's small joys. Who doesn't enjoy a solo sing-a-long in the car. My favourite is the My Generation radio show on Saturday arvo's. Coming home from my volunteer spot at the Art Gallery. After seeing the obligatory weddings on the footbridge and North Terrace. The seventies will never die!

Shoot Me First

Shoot Me First An absorbing firsthand account of the life of development aid worker on the front line of the volatile countries of Pakistan and Afghanistan. A memoir by Grant Lock over a period of 24 years. He is deeply committed and patient man who has the insight to meet people where they live from vastly different cultures. There is an early account of a worker who comes in all guns blazing about women’s rights and how things should be done, completely missing the enormous cultural challenges that exist. Grant recognises that many, even his own kin may see this as insurmountable challenges. But as if to leave on a note of hope he relates the tale of Omar and his redemption. He relates a long-time coming tale of a slow awakening from a corrupt life. There is an overlap with another memoir ‘Three cups of tea’ of an American who gives up his old life to build schools in the mountainous terrain of Pakistan. Languages are learnt. Trust gained. Terror in their backyard. But oh the sadness when circumstances force the eventual return for good to Australia. Afghanistan has had a turbulent history to say the least. The corruption belies belief in this country. Hard to comprehend this correlation with the strict call to prayer and faith. Grant writes of his experiences, but also his inner conversations. His rationalizations and worries. I am still however feeling I don’t know the real author. His early life that moulded him was missing. His education and background, his hometown and beginnings that got him on this road. There is mention that his father was against the plan to go to Pakistan. But other than that the reader is none the wiser. Mention was made by other readers of this book, that it is a lot better than the cover. Please reissue with a more inspiring cover. Thank you to Grant and his wife Janna for sharing the immense hardships of life in a fundamentalist Muslim country.

Wine O'Clock

Thank you again to Kathy Lette for the licence to have a glass of wine while doing the multitude of tasks that seem to be ongoing as the day nears its end. Another maxim is to always keep a bottle of champagne in the fridge for special occasions. Sometimes the special occasion is having a bottle of champagne in the fridge. Cheers!

Braving the storm

Louie and his mate Mike in Heart of a Nation made my day. (October 5th) The face of the little dog and his owner are melded together. Through hell or high water, and they have certainly braved many storms. I cannot however bring myself to read stories about inhumane devastation and tragic child neglect. It seems more and more is coming to light that is an assault on the spirit. I pray that there are more tales of Louie and his remarkable resilience. But even more that there is a light on for all those who are suffering and need help.

Canberra is so inspiring.

Canberra is so inspiring. I fully recommend the National portrait gallery, cafe, bookshop and tour. I find it is the computer sabbatical that really refreshes. More walks, books and chill out time. Plus seeing places and people I have never seen before. Talking with locals at the Narrandera sheep dog trials. It was their 150th celebrations and the sheep dog trials where a big feature. Those dogs are remarkable, so eager, fit and their concentration is unwavering.

Giving is inside of us all.

Giving is inside of us all. This essay brings up the topic of suffering. Christian ethics are written large about caring for our neighbour. That is for all of us. "On the last day, Jesus will say to those on His right hand, 'Come enter the Kingdom. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was sick and you visited me.' Then Jesus will turn to those on His left hand and say, 'Depart from me because I was hungry and you did not feed me, I was thirsty and you did not give me to drink, I was sick and you did not visit me.' These will ask Him, 'When did we see You hungry, or thirsty or sick and did not come to Your help?'. And Jesus will answer then, 'Whatever you neglected to do unto one of the least of these, you neglected to do unto Me!' It is not an optional extra to volunteer, as a Christian. It is a deep held belief to give to those who are suffering. However much of life is seemingly taken up with earning to cover the basics. The basics in the western world are all mod cons. It is a privilege to serve others. Volunteering ones time as a Christian is not meted out for the kick back of ‘feeling good’. In fact volunteering can be confronting and challenging. A long way from the ideals presented as ‘self serving and self promoting’. Australia has one of the highest rates of volunteering in the world. Apparently we also rate very high as the least corrupt society. The motivations of volunteering are various. Altruistic values are not a tick box category that you manufacture. It is from the heart. There are personal gains to volunteering. Research backs up the gains of interpersonal relationships, less isolation and the development of confidence and skill sets. There are also moves to make it mandatory in some countries for anyone receiving a benefit to volunteer their time back. This really makes the onus as an ultimatum. A final quote on volunteering, from a new convert, working in a childcare centre. ‘I feel alive again’. Giving is inside of us all. With thanks to Alice Johnson for this timely essay, from Eureka Street - 8th of October, 2013. http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=38308#.UlSmUCjIbE0

Old and invisible.

Old and invisible. The article sums up by asserting ‘you are old when someone else has to make decisions for you’. This is another way of saying you stop looking outwards. Things go in ever decreasing circles. Stop looking ahead and you fall behind? But why the neurosis over being called old? Your body does slow down, despite all the gimmicks and perks medical science can throw at it. I prefer to go with the flow and embrace the changes. As the great Cat Stevens says in Father & Son. Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy.

The house plays centre stage. The Glass Room.

The Glass Room A family of wealth and privilege has aspirations. There is a wealthy business man, his pampered wife and new additions of two children. The story is enlivened by the presence of Hana, a family friend and godmother to their first daughter. Hana presents as a woman untamed. Bisexual and able to seduce both male and female. She seems to chase experiences and society status. It all comes tumbling down, as Hitler’s Germanization philosophy and army marches in. What was once a whirl of social connections becomes a desperate fight for life. Married to a Jew Hana knows they are on shaky ground. The novel explores the fall of so many across Europe. That sense of this can’t be happening here. The underpinning of this narrative is the architectural triumph of the glass house. Its genesis and many lives are threaded throughout. The house plays centre stage. I was enthralled by the luxury described and found myself trying to picture it. Then discovered it is based on a real house. Villa Tugendhat. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Villa_Tugendhat I connected with the Landauer family, Hana and the more minor characters. Their survival is what wills the reader on. Will they meet again? What will become of the glass house? Still reading the final few pages and still intrigued.

Home is a sacred place.

Home is a sacred place. A refuge, a place to have a cuppa and just relax. Every picture on every wall tells a story. Every plate and cup. Childhood mornings spent in the PJ’s. Running around the yard with the smell of freshly mown grass. All destroyed by the inevitable parting from the family home. I feel for Nikki Gemmell as she helped dismantle a home. (September 21st) There is the grief of a loved one leaving that home. Plus the grief of knowing you will never go back to that home again. Having had to dismantle my father’s home and by association my long departed mother who was still everywhere there. With every shelf and cupboard I was caught. The sense of betrayal is still so vivid at having to let go of so many of those everyday objects. All anyone really wants is that they go to good home again. But the logistics of somehow recreating a special place for it all is a hopeless case. It may have only been an old brush, coffee table or serving bowl. But it was home to me.

Luscious Oranges

I was only writing this week about how home is a sacred place. A good poem flicks your mind into many places, a memory, a place, a sadness. I recall taking the family to my mother-in-laws small yard to pick luscious oranges from the tree. The bought ones never tasted as good.

Poor cousin

Australia is perpetually cast as the poor cousin of the Western world.

Adelaide, likewise of the capital cities.

Go to the outskirts of the city and you guessed it, once again the poor cousin.

But make of that what you will I wouldn’t trade places.

The ecology of our resources is quite a rare balance.

The openness, food and wine, lifestyle, wonderful beaches and art on the streets is a gift people may be enticed from far afield to visit.

Ian Henschke is eager for Adelaide to get a new groove!

But do Adelaidians secretly enjoy being a best kept secret and the poor cousin?

Diana’s allure

Diana’s allure

Diana was always going to be immortalized dying at 36 while at the height of her fame. She was the people’s princess because people could relate to someone who was ‘one of us’. Not sure how this came about, as she was actually from a very privileged background.

I found Sophie Quick’s observations spot on in relation to a famous person doing kind things attracting lots of media attention. As if this was extraordinary. The thing was Diana knew she had power and directed it accordingly. Making her quite an exceptional person.

However I don’t think I can bring myself to see a karaoke version of her on film. However wise and well crafted a film like The Queen was, I get the sense that this drama cannot come close to Diana’s allure or legacy.

Many thanks to Allan Attwood and Sophie Quick for their remembrances and reflections. (big issue 441)

Old Willy Willunga

Old Willy has been around. A wily old man with a penchant for tradition, with his old stone cottage with grass growing on the chimney, which tumbles upwards. The old wood paling fence has seen better days. He delights in going to the pink church across the road every Sunday.
Old man Willunga.

Blackbird fly

Blackbird

Spring time has proven particularly vivid this year as a nest appeared in very quick time, fully formed on the top of our outside coat rack. One day I looked over near the back door and there it was. On closer inspection a bird was observed to come and rest on the nest, but often flitted off by the time I had gone and got my camera.

I was able to hold the camera up high and take pictures of the development in the nest. Tiny, embryonic, skinless creatures lay together. Four of them with big black spots for eyes.

I was able to track their progress as they reached their open beaks up looking for food when the camera appeared. No I am not your mother(!)

Gradually their heads appeared above the nest. Ever vigilant, waiting for mother and father.

I will admit I was slightly anxious about how they would survive. They were in quite an exposed position and there were four of them to manage. Would mother and father find enough food? Would they cohabitate in this small nest? Would they fall out of the nest and then what?

As of yesterday they had made test flights and seem very close to flying the coop.

It is the season of birthing.

I have seen other young birds and their parents. It is a joyous time, but fraught with dangers. Mother and father duck on a jaunt with their many babies. Would one lose its way?

In my message on Sunday I advocated getting out for a walk, breathing in, feeling the spring air and hearing the bird song.(Not everyone is thrilled about bird song, especially first thing in the morning.)

By the way I have since been put right on the identity of the bird on ‘our’ nest. As the young developed as brown and speckled I assumed they were starlings, but on closer inspection they are blackbirds. 

An apple commercial on the big screen

Got the computer, seen the movie. It may be a huge commercial for apple(!), but it works.
Steve Jobs created a desire for the home computer that is still escalating. It is really weird to see life before computers. It seems unthinkable to not be online anymore.
Ashton Kultcher is believable as Steve Jobs.
I feel like I want to know more about this man.

The Question is why?

Questions of Travel


Examinations of the parallel lives of Ravi and Laura occupy most of the book.

Laura is a motherless child, brought up by her great aunt. Divorced from her older brothers who spurn her presence. She floats in and out of jobs, countries and relationships with no real purpose.

Ravi’s life is thrown into disarray after the murder of his wife and son. This event seems to occur without any context of how, why or by whom? He then takes flight in fear of his life, but who is he being pursued by? There are vague mentions of his wife being affiliated with a political party, but no details.

Ravi and Laura’s lives coincide when they both work in the same publishing firm. There is something about writers writing about being a writer that seems quite insular. The perception given is that it is no picnic.

The themes throughout centre on observational commentary about the lives of others. Travellers, modern life, family schisms and lonely people.

In fact the book could easily have been titled the loneliness of the long distance writer/refugee.

Does the reader feel engaged by these characters? I felt like I was just floating along the top of this.

Because the observations are so apt and close to the bone, one is enthralled while sensing that there is in fact, not a lot of substance to the whole thing.

Ravi and Laura stumble on in various stages of despair and detachment. Detached from a family and country lost in Ravi’s case. Plus for Laura a bleak detachment from family, close relationships and fulfilment.

There is a sense of bleakness to this tale. There is no sugar coating or feel good prose. I am nearing the end of the book and no wiser to what really motivates either of these characters.

I do, I do, I do, I do, I do

I do, I do, I do, I do, I do need to pay homage to ABBA.  Australia is where ABBA really began on the charts. Having the vinyl records, scrapbooks and all manner of things, I would love to see if the ABBA Museum is on par with my collection.

My soul grieves for our humanity when dollars are put over wholesale cruelty.

This is one they didn't publish.

Are Australian politicians, the livestock industry and The Australian all deaf? Front page article on Rudd envoy to Indonesia.

Despite repeated abuses of a horrific nature it is all business s usual with the live animal export industry.

Nothing has been learnt. More empty promises. See Steve Geoganas response below.

At least this is a response, as opposed to silence.

My soul grieves for our humanity when dollars are put over wholesale cruelty.

The blog is working again!

The blog is working again!
It was misbehaving, but have found a way back.

Now in its 12th year? Willunga Christmas Tree Festival 2013- November 30th - December 5th.

Willunga Christmas Tree Festival 2013, now in its 12^th year

Christmas Around the World:  November 30^th – December 5^th

You are invited to submit a tree for display to promote your business, group or community organisation. Plus in the process create a unique tree for your Christmas celebrations.

Entry is free, and open to all. Your tree will also be included in our popular vote. The theme this year can encompass Christmas as your identified cultural homeland(s) and traditions or your new found traditions or heartlands. The sky is the limit!

I will share my theme of an Australian Bush Christmas.

An Australian Christmas is usually set among a hot and dry climate. We gather for carols and the obligatory hot roast and pudding with family. We fall asleep on a lazy afternoon in a haze of champagne, and an indulgence of yummy food, chocolate and cherries.

Our home is set among the gum trees of national trust property; we hear the kookaburras calling…. My tree shows a kookaburra named Kenny and other Australian bush animals on a eucalypt. With the words to a favourite Australian hymn ‘The North Wind is Tossing the Leaves’ which instantly takes me back to my childhood and Christmas’ past.

I do not have a monopoly on the Australian theme! There will however be plenty of eucalyptus as part of our displays. The more the merrier. Several groups are well underway with their creations. Looking further ahead, our festival will be part of the finale in 2014 of the Willunga 175 Celebrations.