Little Zac the Eager Cat in a paroxysm of pleasure launched himself at the wood stove last night - perhaps expecting that if it was so very comfy right next to the fire - sitting atop it would be nirvana. Well the speed at which he approached his destination was nothing to how quickly he left it! Poor little one has burnt pads on his front paws, but the rear ones are fine - must have used the "Cats Only 9 Lives Propulsion Power" for the FTL exit.
Someone who wasn't so lucky was the cow who died in the dam. She's in the cow morgue awaiting identification. CSI preliminary report suggests she went down the steep embankment to brunch on the bull rushes and get a drink, lost her balance, slid in, and due to the steepness and sticky mud, couldn't climb free. Her cries for help unable to attract anyone with opposable thumbs, she drowned. No suspicious circumstances, just a tragedy. (I'm grateful that Dad didn't suffer the same fate trying to get her out. Some things ought not be attempted by a man alone with a tractor).
That she died one day or so before we had three solid days of rain just compounds the pain. Our neighbour has fenced off his dam for this reason, and we're thinking of doing so too now. What a horrible senseless way to die. I've never been able to reconcile myself to this part of farm life.
We have had some rain, and that's the good news. There's a tinge of green back in the landscape, and even the soft sound of it on the roof was a sensual pleasure. No frog calls yet - normally they'd be croaking up a storm, but there's just the rain and the sound of it falling into the tank. Where are you froggies? Please don't all be gone - please don't let that have come to pass.
Hump day. So very humpish today too. There's a chocolate coated cherry (or more if I don't share) waiting for me tonight to balm away the hours until the next attempt at being a citizen. I really am such a worthless bag of meat waddling around. I don't mean this in a bad way - just calling it how I see it. Perhaps the chocolate will help me recalibrate to a shinier, happier state. In the words of the great philosopher John Denver, "some days are diamonds, some days are stones".
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Dogs Bring People Together
Neil Gaiman blogged today about walking his dog:
You know, the best bit of having wound up with a dog, apart from the dog of course, is the walking. There are whole worlds out there I hadn't known about until I started walking them..."
and it reminded me of an incident from this morning. Sitting at my desk I could hear a dog howling and out the window there are these two beautiful hounds, wrapped around a pole with a bit of baling twine in the cold. Shivering and howling. Well what could I do but go out there to comfort them and see if I could possibly see who would leave them stranded like this (my window looks out onto the main street of the town).
Head sideways out from the door of the postoffice a straggly man watches me.
"Hey! These your dogs?"
"Yeah."
"You gonna be real long?"
"Nah" he walks towards me and he's dirt poor this guy, and nervous looking. "I'm looking for a stanthorpe phone book." (this is like saying - I'm hoping all my needs in the world are handed to me wrapped in silk)
"oh yeah, you findin one?"
"Nah".
"Right... you need a phone number?"
"Yeah."
"Well these dogs can't stay in the cold, I can look 'em up for you."
Eventually he comes in and perches on my visitor chair and we plug a few names into the whitepages online. He asks me how to spell Michelle. Lots of the people have the same surname.
"Plenty of these Clancy people."
"Yeah, we're a family of ten."
"Try Sonya" he says.
"S. Clancey," I type "where does she live?"
"Sydney" he says so I enter NSW
"Which Suburb?"
He looks right at me and just says "Sydney"
"It's a real big town" I say, "you're gonna need a suburb." But he doesn't know.
Here we are : I help him so his dogs aren't cold, and he's trying to find the phone numbers of some of his brothers and sisters whose names he can't spell for certain and who live god only knows where. He got 5 or 6 tho, and went on his way, and I'm still not sure that he was glad for the help for the truth it cost us both.
By the way Neil - congratulations on picking up the Locus awards for best short story & best collection. You so rock. And you have a cool dog.
You know, the best bit of having wound up with a dog, apart from the dog of course, is the walking. There are whole worlds out there I hadn't known about until I started walking them..."
and it reminded me of an incident from this morning. Sitting at my desk I could hear a dog howling and out the window there are these two beautiful hounds, wrapped around a pole with a bit of baling twine in the cold. Shivering and howling. Well what could I do but go out there to comfort them and see if I could possibly see who would leave them stranded like this (my window looks out onto the main street of the town).
Head sideways out from the door of the postoffice a straggly man watches me.
"Hey! These your dogs?"
"Yeah."
"You gonna be real long?"
"Nah" he walks towards me and he's dirt poor this guy, and nervous looking. "I'm looking for a stanthorpe phone book." (this is like saying - I'm hoping all my needs in the world are handed to me wrapped in silk)
"oh yeah, you findin one?"
"Nah".
"Right... you need a phone number?"
"Yeah."
"Well these dogs can't stay in the cold, I can look 'em up for you."
Eventually he comes in and perches on my visitor chair and we plug a few names into the whitepages online. He asks me how to spell Michelle. Lots of the people have the same surname.
"Plenty of these Clancy people."
"Yeah, we're a family of ten."
"Try Sonya" he says.
"S. Clancey," I type "where does she live?"
"Sydney" he says so I enter NSW
"Which Suburb?"
He looks right at me and just says "Sydney"
"It's a real big town" I say, "you're gonna need a suburb." But he doesn't know.
Here we are : I help him so his dogs aren't cold, and he's trying to find the phone numbers of some of his brothers and sisters whose names he can't spell for certain and who live god only knows where. He got 5 or 6 tho, and went on his way, and I'm still not sure that he was glad for the help for the truth it cost us both.
By the way Neil - congratulations on picking up the Locus awards for best short story & best collection. You so rock. And you have a cool dog.
Windy Whistling Weather
The wyrd wefer from down south has made its way to us i fink.
the wind winds around the windows and wails at being locked out tonight.
Words.
I'm doing quite a lot of words these days. Actually I love this, but I am very much "paying my dues", it's not the glamour end of town I can tell you.
Example: 3 different 100 word blurbs on the same thing. None quite right, but no actual content related problem feedback. No worries say I, I'll do them again tomorrow. Also on the list - 300 word blurb on same topic. Last week? 3 different blurbs on a different same topic. Press release, radio ad scripts and a fluff "lifestyle" piece that gets described as "editorial" (? I always thought editorial was written by editors - not advertisers). I do enjoy the challenge of writing with a different voice and pace - or at least trying to. It has shown me some of my habits and I'm sure that's just the beginning of the craft lessons I am going to face.
Then there's that website that needs restructuring, and loads of re-writing. A project I welcomed, but between you and I looms as hungry and as demanding as a white elephant. Every step towards or away from it is now fraught with possible political implications - let alone finding the right voice for the thing. A girl needs a hobby on these long nights.
the wind winds around the windows and wails at being locked out tonight.
Words.
I'm doing quite a lot of words these days. Actually I love this, but I am very much "paying my dues", it's not the glamour end of town I can tell you.
Example: 3 different 100 word blurbs on the same thing. None quite right, but no actual content related problem feedback. No worries say I, I'll do them again tomorrow. Also on the list - 300 word blurb on same topic. Last week? 3 different blurbs on a different same topic. Press release, radio ad scripts and a fluff "lifestyle" piece that gets described as "editorial" (? I always thought editorial was written by editors - not advertisers). I do enjoy the challenge of writing with a different voice and pace - or at least trying to. It has shown me some of my habits and I'm sure that's just the beginning of the craft lessons I am going to face.
Then there's that website that needs restructuring, and loads of re-writing. A project I welcomed, but between you and I looms as hungry and as demanding as a white elephant. Every step towards or away from it is now fraught with possible political implications - let alone finding the right voice for the thing. A girl needs a hobby on these long nights.
Monday, June 18, 2007
James007
Over eight months ago, a *friend* signed me up to passionet and insisted that I populate my profile, which I did end up doing under duress. When you don't set up your own username, it's way easy to forget, as I'm sure any reader can sympathise with. Hey, I don't use a login for a week I may be stuffed. Eight months has got to be some kind of record, really, for a free account remaining active.
So tonight I get this message:
>"Hi 'red'
>You have an admirer!
>'007james' has sent you a Cupid Arrow.
>He wants us to let you know that he has read your profile and believes you could have fun >together."
How cruel is life!? Daniel Craig finally decides to get in touch and I've been caught out with a daft username and no fracking idea what my password is.
So tonight I get this message:
>"Hi 'red'
>You have an admirer!
>'007james' has sent you a Cupid Arrow.
>He wants us to let you know that he has read your profile and believes you could have fun >together."
How cruel is life!? Daniel Craig finally decides to get in touch and I've been caught out with a daft username and no fracking idea what my password is.
Honeymoon is Over
Hi,
I'm back from the Honeymoon. I really thought it would last longer - maybe even a whole month - but looks like I'm too old now to stay starry-eyed for long. Not that things have taken a bad, downward turn, just that there's hope, and then there's reality. I find it easier to deal with the reality and push it forcibly(*) towards the memory of hope, rather than get knocked about and continually hurt that the hope isn't being fulfilled.
It has also been somewhat sobering to realise that one of the main skills I have learnt in my working life is how to survive in a Machiavellian environment. Hence the * above - because of course one chooses very carefully those barrows one will push, and where. I don't mean to intimate that I am a Machiavellian player/operator/sympathiser - rather that I learnt early on to *know*thy*enemy* and strangely enough their textbook is widely available. Go on - read The Prince. You can get it in bookstores, you can download it from the internet. I can't believe it's just laying around in libraries. It makes it a lot easier to spot the dilettantes, and stay out of the way of the real players.
Anyway, enough pillow talk.
How have you been?
What have you been up to?
I was going to make June "Good News" month - loads of feel-good updates from the world of grown-ups and corduroy where science and art and music and culture all contribute to making the human race seem like a good idea. It got to the 15th and I hadn't found any, and now I've kinda shelved that idea for the time being. Even just reading the Arts pages can bring me down - on only one day last week David Hockney had a hissy over *ipods* ruining the visual arts, a painting got nicked from the AGNSW!, and Brett Whiteley's drug addled eroticised landscape of the Olgas became the most expensive Australian painting - selling at auction for $3.8m.
Clearly, the world has gone mad and is in no need of my help on this matter.
I did what any self-respecting bogan looser would do, and blew $4 of the grocery money in the op-shop on a VHS copy of Ronin. And it was good. Yes, I escaped into a world where violence and the destruction of beautiful eurpoean cafes is only used to heighten dramatic tension. A world where the deadliest killers (who will shoot a little girl just to prove the point that they're meanies) really are the horrible ex-kgb, and anyone who says they're ex-CIA is really only in deep cover. It all made such good sense for about an hour and a half.
Where did I leave that case of ammo?...
I'm back from the Honeymoon. I really thought it would last longer - maybe even a whole month - but looks like I'm too old now to stay starry-eyed for long. Not that things have taken a bad, downward turn, just that there's hope, and then there's reality. I find it easier to deal with the reality and push it forcibly(*) towards the memory of hope, rather than get knocked about and continually hurt that the hope isn't being fulfilled.
It has also been somewhat sobering to realise that one of the main skills I have learnt in my working life is how to survive in a Machiavellian environment. Hence the * above - because of course one chooses very carefully those barrows one will push, and where. I don't mean to intimate that I am a Machiavellian player/operator/sympathiser - rather that I learnt early on to *know*thy*enemy* and strangely enough their textbook is widely available. Go on - read The Prince. You can get it in bookstores, you can download it from the internet. I can't believe it's just laying around in libraries. It makes it a lot easier to spot the dilettantes, and stay out of the way of the real players.
Anyway, enough pillow talk.
How have you been?
What have you been up to?
I was going to make June "Good News" month - loads of feel-good updates from the world of grown-ups and corduroy where science and art and music and culture all contribute to making the human race seem like a good idea. It got to the 15th and I hadn't found any, and now I've kinda shelved that idea for the time being. Even just reading the Arts pages can bring me down - on only one day last week David Hockney had a hissy over *ipods* ruining the visual arts, a painting got nicked from the AGNSW!, and Brett Whiteley's drug addled eroticised landscape of the Olgas became the most expensive Australian painting - selling at auction for $3.8m.
Clearly, the world has gone mad and is in no need of my help on this matter.
I did what any self-respecting bogan looser would do, and blew $4 of the grocery money in the op-shop on a VHS copy of Ronin. And it was good. Yes, I escaped into a world where violence and the destruction of beautiful eurpoean cafes is only used to heighten dramatic tension. A world where the deadliest killers (who will shoot a little girl just to prove the point that they're meanies) really are the horrible ex-kgb, and anyone who says they're ex-CIA is really only in deep cover. It all made such good sense for about an hour and a half.
Where did I leave that case of ammo?...
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Long Cold Nights
It got to -2 degrees C last night.
No wonder I woke up with a jumper wrapped around my head. Once the sun comes out it very quickly gets to a cheerful 20 or so (24 we're expecting today.... again). That's the upside to a drought - no real concern about cloud cover, getting caught without an umbrella, or having to mow the lawn on the weekend.
Yes, we are still in a drought here, despite our cousin int he south getting utterly hammered by the wetter parts of nature last week. We didn't even get a heavy dew.
Next week is going to be Winter Solstice. I've been feeling a bit down because all the people I want to invite to the feast are a long, long way away. Well, it's me who moved, but as the centre of my own universe that re-calibrates everyone else. Sorry kids.
Anyold how, I had just assumed that I wouldn't go ahead and have a feast this year because of that, but in the spirit of "bloom where you're planted" fuck it - I'm gonna do it! Yeah! Mulled wine and roast up some pumpkin here we go!
Table for one madame?
Yes, certainly.
I invite everyone to do what they can to celebrate Winter Solstice on the 21st - the longest night of the year. Or summer, for those of you who insist on being in the northern hemisphere.
No wonder I woke up with a jumper wrapped around my head. Once the sun comes out it very quickly gets to a cheerful 20 or so (24 we're expecting today.... again). That's the upside to a drought - no real concern about cloud cover, getting caught without an umbrella, or having to mow the lawn on the weekend.
Yes, we are still in a drought here, despite our cousin int he south getting utterly hammered by the wetter parts of nature last week. We didn't even get a heavy dew.
Next week is going to be Winter Solstice. I've been feeling a bit down because all the people I want to invite to the feast are a long, long way away. Well, it's me who moved, but as the centre of my own universe that re-calibrates everyone else. Sorry kids.
Anyold how, I had just assumed that I wouldn't go ahead and have a feast this year because of that, but in the spirit of "bloom where you're planted" fuck it - I'm gonna do it! Yeah! Mulled wine and roast up some pumpkin here we go!
Table for one madame?
Yes, certainly.
I invite everyone to do what they can to celebrate Winter Solstice on the 21st - the longest night of the year. Or summer, for those of you who insist on being in the northern hemisphere.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Over the Hump and Far Away
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a princess. She wasn't a particularly beautiful or clever princess, nor was she enchanted or musical. She was a normal princess, and as such, never expected to get her own story.
But everyone gets a story, even if it turns out to be a dull one.
But everyone gets a story, even if it turns out to be a dull one.
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